Project ZEAL

The following scene is a work in progress by ZeaLitY. At the time of writing, its placement in the grand scheme of the work was not determined, and it was never posted in the official story thread.

Scene #C - Nasreen and Roget (ZeaLitY)

The gentle, golden tones of the platinum harps were heard emanating from the stately edifice, even manifested as caressing crests and waves in the sensitive minds of dreamers nearby; these alluring sounds, though often heard within the chamber's corridors, now announced to all within their aura -- even those not invited -- that a grandiose function neared its hour of beginning, when the hearts and minds of the most humble and inflated members of the Zealian society would be of one mind and purpose -- to bask in the royal glory of the continents, and celebrate the birthday of its prince's sister, whose flowing beauty and charm were considered a crown treasure by their own merits. Azure, crimson, and violet robes crafted most meticulously shifted into the palatial halls, their owners and wearers each seeking to be a luminary to the amassing crowds. Drinks were in free, plentiful flow, as magic granted the use of fountains of wine that flowed elegantly near the marble walls, allowing patrons to dip their cups in the forming pools and partake of the mirth and passion yielded from a draught of vintage. More than ever, those in attendance were aware of their position in the heavens -- the centerpiece of the universe, of viridian pastures and blue skies, and the honors therein.

However, not all were able to be detached from their daily tussle fully; some still scrambled as they did within labs and centers of research, permanently caught in the rigors of analysis and invention. These sorts were now furiously checking, for the fourth time, the presentation planned for the evening; if one nonfluency were detected by the audience, or one hairline crack in the visual screens noted, the showing would be deemed a failure, and the aristocracy would scoff at the bustling of the temporal researchers, comparing them to rodents starved for a piece of cheese. One of the top officials of this gang of rats was correctly adorned in flowing blue dress, with shoulder lapels that granted him seniority over those with him behind the majestic curtains upon the stage. As he directed the checkups, the music became more swift and uplifting, and some began to dance. Roget was at once attracted, for dancing was the epitome of the social arena he had heretofore been shielded from by the Centre for Dimensional Research; the women, in ageless beauty and grace, enchanted him, though he did not wish to be their partners -- for he was cognizant of their dull and empty lives; of their revolting at the drop of a needle -- of their lack of substance, which he, as a participant in the most truly zealous project even undertook and approved by the Council, had regularly. Even at the moment, the worry of a faulty speech and display of the project's on goings -- an attempt to appease the aristocrats -- made him feel alive, something these monotonous "leaders of men" could never experience.

The analysts, their hands still glowing darkly from their run-throughs of the inner, magical workings of the presentation, gave their approval, releasing Roget from responsibility temporarily. He sauntered off the stage, his face beaming, and his carriage perfectly upright, and surveyed the room. He was unshakably happy this night, proud to be a pillar of Zealian society, the empyrean of the world; at this length, he walked by the sides of the main corridor, sampling the wine with a glass nearly rendered invisible by its transparency, and was subsequently taken aback upon his view of a woman approaching the wine falls near him; though the wives of the aristocrats were able to feign a kind and dashing radiance with their tools and devices of artificial and prolonged beauty, this woman, to his more warmer senses, shone with a luminosity that was not blindingly bright, but reverently steadfast; it was as the stars -- eternal in their reign in the sky, overshadowed by a full moon occasionally, but always aloof and present. It demanded his submission by merely hinting that it was deeper and more meaningful than anything he had ever known -- and this it received, as Roget was now so unbearably off-center that he awkwardly struggled to have mind of doing even trivial things, such as raising his glass to drink. The woman, too appearing imbalanced across from him, opened dialogue.

"Ex-excuse me, is this...Blushful Spring?" she asked.
"Uh, yes, it is, the stuff. Good," he answered.
"Thank you."

The woman held her cup below the pouring crimson, and sipped. Long through the ages, alcohol had been thought of as a numbing drug; its definition did not fail Nasreen Ferdows, whose sips at last made her feel more at ease in this foreign setting.

"Are you with the...project?" she asked.
"Uh, yes; we're giving a presentation, and--"
"Oh, I see; I was asked to come here by them."

Being interrupted nearly critically wounded Roget, but his alert mind fortunately accepted the possibility that her accidental rudeness was due to the Blushful Spring.

"Them? The Council?" he asked.
"Yes...I don't know why..."
"Well...yeah, they're kind of shifty..." he soon remembered manners. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Oh, sorry; I'm Nasreen...you are..."
"Roget. Yes, are you interested in the project?"
"Well..." stuttered Nasreen, accustomed to acquiescing to positive answers to questions given to her.
"Yes, it is all very interesting."
"Great. I hope you enjoy the presentation. I'm one of the project officiates. It's...a good show."
"Oh, I will..." she said, glancing behind her.
"W--" Roget began.
"I have to go; my mother requests me. It was nice talking to you," she concluded.
"You too."

Roget immediately brought the container in his hand to his mouth, and cooled his nerves. This woman entranced him, though he initially did not know it; his Romantic senses were not finely tuned, nor experienced. However, this meeting had planted a seed in his mind, sharply drawing his attention and unyielding in its demands. The project remained the focus of the evening, as well as his thoughts and actions -- but his eyes were purely Nasreen's. He returned to the platform, and continued to prepare for the events of the evening.

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