<div class="floatright">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v50/BriarRose/RP%20Characters/Reel%20Peeples/4f7e8a87-1105-4493-97b9-3c029eb6890c_zps70265bce.jpg)</div>Time seemed to speed up during that last week of normalcy. Almost four years had passed since Kamala Jai's divine heritage had been confirmed to her, but communication with her father since then had been minimal and strange encounters few and unexpected. She had thought little of the conference, except that Vegas would be a welcome distraction, until her father showed up telling her to expect more. Fate had come a'knocking, and time was ticking. Her normal life had an expiration date, which had finally arrived. Looking back, the last week had been sadly unremarkable, but it would be preserved as the final vestige of a familiar routine. Standing in the doorway with bags packed, Kamala mourned the loss; after a lifetime of planning, she didn't like not knowing what the future would bring.<br/><br/>The flight to the city of lights was torturous and uneventful. While the medical firm had paid for business class, they didn't have the forethought to pair Kamala with someone she hadn't dumped. In fact, both of the other researchers they sent with her were former flames, and one had immediately succeeded the other in her affections, though neither man knew that until about an hour into the trip. With Kamala seated between them, their shared history bled into conversation, and the flight from that point was filled with possessive glares and heavy silence. She tried to disappear into her seat, or at least sleep through the awkwardness, but a well-meaning flight attendant had seated a four-year old behind her, who delivered regular kicks to the back of her chair. By the time the plane landed, Kamala was stretched to the breaking point. After claiming her luggage, she fled the airport without waiting for her colleagues, jumping into the first taxi she saw. "Garden Arcadia," she said, giving voice to her destination.<br/><br/>Finally away from awkward exes and kicking four-year olds, Kamala had a chance to breathe. The final leg of her trip was the most relaxing by far, and it gave her a chance to ponder the contact her father had given her a week before. As she had done many times in recent days, she unfolded the scrap of paper containing the information of Kurtis Frieson--by this point, she had repeated that action so frequently the paper was beginning to develop holes in the folds and she had memorized everything on it. It was starting to feel like a safety blanket, a charm to ward off the unknown. "Should you have need of him," Ganesha had said. Not knowing the future was much more terrifying, she mused, when it might contain mythical monsters determined to destroy you.<br/><br/>In the end, she folded away the paper and tucked it back into her purse, as she had done many times before. Despite her father's warnings, there was always the possibility Fate might pass her by, and the conference would be boring, and informative, and harmlessly awkward. She would not contact Kurtis Frieson until she had to. If she did so before then, that would be giving in to the inevitable.<br/><br/>When the taxi pulled into the loading lane, Kamala jumped out of the vehicle and grabbed her luggage before the driver had a chance to, handing him a wad of cash for the drive. She was impatient to get a drink (though alcohol hardly affected her these days) and fall into bed for a quick nap before exploring the city. The conference didn't start for another day, and aside from her chronic worrying, Kamala was eager to enjoy herself, away from the watchful eyes of her grandparents.<br/><br/>Her plans had been to drop her bags in her room before coming back downstairs to go to the bar, but the first sight of the interior of the Garden Arcadia changed all that in a moment. Balmy and exotic, the hotel lobby was filled with staff dressed in stylized togas that often left little to the imagination, unfamiliar music filtering through a hidden sound system. The expanse of the stone floor was broken up by little rivers flowing into another section of the hotel, from which echoed shouts, and splashing, and laughter. Most of the guests in the lobby were dressed for vacation; Kamala stood out in her business suit, though it had been flashy enough in Baltimore. The atmosphere was invigorating, and she felt her need for a nap melt away. But she still had luggage to attend to, and she reluctantly walked to the front desk and gave her name to the concierge in exchange for a keycard.<br/><br/>A half hour and a shower later, Kamala returned to the hotel lobby, a leather bag slung across her shoulder. Thick black hair tumbled around her shoulders, falling into brown eyes heavily lined and mascaraed, and between her defined brows, a ruby bindi winked in the light. She wore a little white dress, revealing long golden legs and a pair of plain leather gladiator sandals that fit the theme of the hotel rather well. Her arms were bare, though a pewter bangle stylized as a snake eating its tail adorned her wrist. Her lips curled up into a smile as she followed the signs to the bar, where a Cosmo waited with her name on it.