Secret Passage

[The Exodus]

So galas aren’t your thing. You’re bored, half-wasted, and thinking of leaving. Pity. Those looking for adventure have one reprieve: behind a still-life painting in a second floor corridor, there is a revolving wall that leads to a passage way. Where the passage leads, though, is a mystery. If you’re brave (or foolish) enough, perhaps you can weave your way through the labyrinth. A word of warning: Once you’re in, you may not be able to find your way out! Usual Rules Apply Party End Date Will Be Announced Have Fun!

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: For Katy, for whenever we get to this scene. BiC:

Penny MaCarthy

Mingling was simple enough, but when your French was a lamentable, ludicrous jumble, hardly capable of getting her hotel room, much less a place in Parliament, mingling was suddenly a difficult feat. It wasn’t that Diego wasn’t doing a good job—he was, but Penny’s talent for grasping foreign languages was next to none. So she resorted to people watching, sipping her champagne idly, eyes darting between the exchanges of the French Ambassador and other important people attending. So Penny found a nice bit of wall beside some portrait or other on which to perch, stationary for watching purposes. The Ambassador’s secretary’s assistant surely wouldn’t be missed.

Growing more bored by the moment (which she had come to expect from most parties), she rested her head on the wall, leaning heavily into it.

The wall shook, roaring to some sort of still-life and turned, taking Penny with it. She looked around, perplexed, too careful not to spill her champagne on her front to scream.

Another passage way. Another several hours she would spend being lost. She was beginning to see a pattern here. Karma, she heard William’s voice say in her head. You should have taken my help when I offered.

William was here today. Maybe he’d get bored, too and go looking for her. But maybe not. William rarely got bored, especially at parties.

It was up to Penny to get herself out. No prince in armor, no big brother riding through on a steed. She’d come to expect that now. She wasn’t the kind of damsel that got saved. She was the kind that got, well, lost.

But screaming might do her some good. After all, who would staple the Ambassador’s papers without her? And at least there was light. “Hello?” she called. But after no response, she sank on the floor. At least this one was only a little dusty and not strewn with the bodies of the fallen from centuries ago.