Name: Imeras Raul
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Species: Descendent of a treaty child
Occupation: Part time student, full time vocalist
Sexual Orientation: Hetreo

Hair: Always changing color due to the wonderful technology in the twenty second century. Ranging from silver to gold, crimson to ash it is only technology that insures that her hair stays healthy throughout these molestation. The style is the same though, that is… her hair is down to mid back, and either very straight or curly, the huge loopy curls that seem to be all spiral like and separate.
Eyes: A plain ordinary brown, the deep shade of the Mexican shades in the heart of the country. It seems ordinary compared to her attire and her hair, except they are the most intriguing aspect of her. A dark brown whose shade seems normal until the fire enters her eyes, and then her eyes seem almost possessed.
Built: Tall and waif thin to the annoyance of Anarae, reaching almost 6" with the built of a dancer, the lean almost ballerina frame which appears fragile and unlike the modern singers who are athletic, too dainty. It is almost an irony that the almost innocent frame holds one of the most passionate forms. Strong not when it really comes to strength, but violence enough to make up for it, while on someone else the waif thinness may have appeared innocent or at least princesa like, on the soul of Imeras it appears almost like a lean, angry rabid wolf whose about to bite you any second.
Coloring: Her skin is a dark olive brown shade due to the harsh sun, the deep shade a true mexican chica turns it she loves the sun as much as she lives the music. Once a long time ago her hair had also been a wonderful shade of brown, but alas to the sadness of her mother, it has been molested too many times to stay put.
Markings: She bears no apparant markings. She has her ear pierced three times, two at the lobe and one at the upper curve of the ears. She bears two tattoos, one that resembles a thorny rose at smooth underside of her left arm in black -whose meaning is yet to be known to any but Anarae- and a very vivid celtic symbol at the base of her spine, a celtic cross of sorts in shades of black crimson gold and green.
Dressing: Rich enough to be clothed in natural materials, Imeras sticks to synthetic fibres because 'it makes me feel like a cheap, used slut'. Dressed in shiny material or/and bright vivid shades, the last time she wore beige and camel she was dragged to the mental asylum for a thorough check over.

Personality: The surface of Imeras is crude, cheap and crass. She's like one of those experienced escorts who line the streets of the seedier sections. She likes cheap food, smokes and drinks, occasionally dabbling in drugs. She is a reporter's dream and a manager's nightmare, cool and confident, always creating a scandal every month and never listening to well meant advice. She is very charismatic, naturally adjusting to the spotlight and incredibly inhibited.
The base of Imeras is rarely seen, rather like the botton of a full coffee cup. The bitter thickness of the coffee hides what she really is. Anarae has seen it, and so has Henri when Anarae went missing. She is actually sensitive, creating the crassness to deflect blows upon herself. She is also good, except it's so hard to see at times that it seems almost impossible. The life she has built for herself is exactly that. She built it like a fortress to hide away, and it seems too late to turn back and change things.

"QUE?!" the voice shrieked. Even in this it sounded magnificent. A rising contralto that ended at such a high pitch the agent was amazed that the glass had remained intact. Through the dressing room screen he could see her shadow still, vibrate for a moment and then a bright red robe disappeared from the hinges. As the low cursing in Spanish was heard, he had to hide a smile as she emerged from behind the Chinese screens.
Tall, slender as a stick and dressed in a tiny bright crimson robe that ended below her crotch and gaped at chest, soft hair as crimson has the dress fell down in curling waves around her face, hiding on glittering brown eye. It was fat and curly, like that ancient icon, Marilyn something, except longer and... softer. The visible brown eye seemed to glitter with such ferocity that the agent was positive the VP -visual producer, a fancy name for stage manager- cringed in his spot.

"Imeras, we cannot supply your beverages for your guests before and after the show." the poor man actually stuttered. "You are starting to pick deep within our pockets, the council" a name for the three who had hired Imeras in the first place "are starting to feel your spending is... larger then your earnings."

"I am Imeras." her voice rose into a shriek, and he marveled at the fact that the little man was still standing. "Not some local pop idol, or international superstar. I am IMERAS. I have my own status. Tell your" she muttered rapidly in Spanish. "Council that they were lucky to be having me. Me spend more then I earn? It is because of me that this worthless hovel" New Atlantis, a hovel? "Has had such a boost in tourism. It is because of me that people even know the name of your pathetic council." speaking of course, of the largest music production company in the New United States. "And your council dare try to take me for granted?!" she snarled then, and spun to him, the agent. "Paolos, enough is enough. Cancel the show; tell them Imeras will not stand for this type of treatment. I go."

"No! I mean...you cannot do that... the seats are already filled...two more concerts tomorrow...you cannot leave without a notice." the poor man started to blubber, paling and knowing that this would cost him his career. For what this woman said was true. People considered her a goddess, not just some famous icon. If his managers did not kill him, surely the others will, for she was boosting the entire Atlantic economy.

"I am Imeras. I do what I want." she proclaimed loudly, turning away from him and she snapped her fingers, causing a small rather stunning dark woman to appear from her corner. "Maria, pack my bags. We will leave this disgusting hovel and find a place where they appreciate me."

"Must be some mistake." the VP said, searching frantically for a way out. "Yes...yes! I shall get you the drinks personally, I shall tell the council that they were ludicrous to even think about taking you for granted. Oh Imeras, beautiful beautiful Imeras, please take my apologies, I did not mean anything I said."

"No?” She paused. It was a magnificent pause, standing there with her hair cascading down her shoulders and one leg bent to revealing a silken thigh.

"All my fault...please, wait a moment and the council will arrive themselves to apologize for their demeaning behavior... no one takes Imeras for granted... mistake... big mistake." the words rushed out of his mouth as he almost groveled, leaving the room.

As the door shut itself quietly behind him, the agent -Paolos- a dark and rather dashing man laughed, clapping his hands. "Oh, Imeras, that was a delightful show."

For a moment the fearsome brown eye was still fierce as it spun towards him, and yet it softened as she tilted her head back to laugh. It was casual laughter as she smirked, watching the closed door and ran her fingers through her hair. There was nothing nice about her, it was merely that she was less…exaggerated now. “Don’t you think?” she drawled, her American accent particularly thick as she walked over to get herself a pitcher of something cold to soothe her throat. “I am Imeras, I do what I want.” She mused. “I should create a song…”

Paolos grinned as he watched her. “Beautiful beautiful Imeras.” He crooned, sending her off in a pitch of soft giggles. She was different from the woman before, not so much arrogant, more smooth, more sophisticated, and yet as she lit a cigerette, she still had that hard edge to her. From the corner of his eyes, he turned to see Maramia quivering in the corner. She was the new maid, taking over after Bastante had been forced to leave due to her mother’s illness. “Maria.” He said gently. “Don’t look so frightened.”

“Are you scared of me, Maria?” she asked, her voice lilting and slightly mocking as she watched her with hard eyes. “Of this double sided woman you work for?”

“No ma’am.” She quickly bit out, watching her employer and staring her in the eyes. She was Bastante’s niece, the same age which made things rather puzzling. With a quick bob of a curtsy she hesitated. “Do you…do you still wish for me to pack?”

Imeras stared at her for a full minute before she laughed. It was a sweetly delightful laugh as she chuckled. “Maria, you still have a lot to learn…where did Bastante manage to hide such an innocent foundling?” she asked no one in particular. “No, it was just a joke… theatrics, something these people don’t understand… media perpetuates stardom to be glamorous. It perpetuates the stars to be magnificent, greater then a mere mortal. Except we are mere mortals.” She paused. Significantly, relishing the spotlight. “So? What do we do? We give the media what they want. Spoilt little diva queens, too perfect young girls, sluts. They go beserk.” She smiled, and yet even at her age it was an old smile, speaking of experience, wisdom. “If only they knew how deeply imbedded they were in our lies…”

There was a knock on the door, and Imeras shot Maria a smile, a sad almost lonely smile that seemed so out of place with her looks. It was something that seemed to peer into her soul for her face shuttered down afterwards, leaving Maria blinking, and wondering if she’d just seen that real Imeras.

“The media is waiting.” She whispered softly.

The bartender got up, moved over and appraised the young woman in front of him. Long straight pale almost platinum blonde hair, dusky skin and large brown eyes seemed to glare into the empty bar in front of her. “What’s your…” he paused for a moment, and frowned. There was something familiar about her. “Hey, aren’t you the girl who’s in the news these days? The one who was ditched by…”

“No.” she scowled as she looked up. “I want your strongest poison.” She snapped out bitterly. Nah, she couldn’t be the little diva, for one thing… dressed in a pair of faded gray blue jeans that revealed a bright pink thong, and a small shirt or something did not seem to be the dress attire of a star. “Imeras was not ditched, she left her agent.”

“That’s not what I heard.” Keeping his eye on his costumers and noting that the bar was starting to fill up, he turned to the two students who had offered to help him during the summer, and gave them his nod. He would be occupied with this lady for the next few minutes. “I heard he left her high and dry, stole her money, her material possessions…” his voice pitched into a low whisper. “…even her maid, Maria.”

“When I catch up with that son of a…” she glared at him. “I cannot believe the things…”

“…and, its said that he’s even going to publish a book, the Secret of Imera’s and reveal everything about her, and claims that her diva acts are all really fake.”

“Hijo de putana.” She muttered darkly. “Hijo de…” her cursing becoming more foul as she started to expand on her Spanish vocabulary. The bartender raised his brows.

“Now Imeras, it’s not nice for a young lady to swear thus.” He chided gently. “Besides, I don’t think any of that is possible by ones self.” At her dark look he chuckled. “My niece is a great fan of yours, so I’ll keep this a little secret between us.” His bar was popular already, it wasn’t as if he needed the media attention… besides, maybe now she’ll give him something special to hand over to his little niece.

“Keep the drinks coming.” It was an absentminded order as she scowled. “I’ll tell you the truth behind that no good foul…”

R’lan hated coming to this places on Earth. Why couldn’t they stay in the dragon riding nations, where the candidates all but dropped into his lap? Maybe that was an overstatement, but still… he couldn’t even have Ancith for company. No. Himself stuck him on earth, in some little shady bar with no company, while Ancith was back at Ryslen cozying up to Tylar and her dragon. Life just wasn’t fair at times.

I can still hear you rider, and believe me… you never told me Tylar was in one of those moods again…women. he almost smirked at this when he noted one woman at the bar. Not like that. he sent back hastily to Ancith, and felt the blue smirking in his own mind. What made him notice her was the passion with which she kept slamming down her small cup, the long lean legs as they kicked against the bar… violence. He was used to that by now.

Should I rely that little message to…

Don’t. You. Dare.

She was in trouble. Not the obvious type, but he sensed it as much as he sensed that the last drink was not going to stay down for long. There was something about the long, lanky frame that reminded him of one of his younger sisters back at home, and feeling rather brotherly. Note, I am feeling brotherly you nosy brat he got up, taking a seat next to her to keep his eyes peeled.

“I mean, who does Paolos think he is? He is going to spend all of my money, drink all of my wine and eat al of my food… but it’s going to run out sooner or later. I mean, if he had just stayed loyal, he could have had me, and my money, and my allegiance.” She hiccupped, and her eyes blinked for a moment, startled. “MY ALLEGIENCE.”

“Honey child.” The bartender replied almost sympathetically. “The rat deserves every beating he’s going to get. But I suggest you put down that bottle now, a drunk woman is very dangerous.” And from what he had seen in the past hour, the diva lies were not complete lies. There was some truth to their violence.

“Me. I am the greatest singer on earth. He thinks he can use me and discard me? I shall make twice that amount of money and then show him” she tipped backwards dangerously on the stool. “that leaving me was the biggest mistake of his life.”

“Prove it.”

This caused Imeras to shut up.
She turned her head to see a thirty-ish man sitting at the stool, dressed in rather old-fashioned natural clothing. He paused, and turned to watch her with very sharp eyes. There was something commanding about him, slightly rough but she couldn’t get completely angry.

“Excuse me?” the drunk haze from her eyes started to disappear at this challenge, a challenge no real vocalist backed down from. (Singer. Hah! She was a vocalist, not some wannabe singer)

“I’ve heard you moan on and on about your talent, but so far I’m seeing a spoilt little girl whose doing nothing but drinking her way to her grave. Now I’m telling you, prove it.”
He turned to face her , the challenge on his lips. Now, he hadn’t meant to do this, but from past experience with girls just like this one, (Where did they come from?!) he knew often that they were either out to massage their egos and needed a good talking to, or had enough anger and energy that it was safer to give them a cause to belt it out. It usually worked. Usually. He didn’t even know why he was trying to aid this woman except…there was fire in her that he had seen in Jeyann before it had been tamed, before the fire had been given a cause to burn. This one, this one was the wild Jeyann before she became Prima. It wasn’t that his Prima did not have this fire, but it was more controlled, more powerful but more controlled.

Imeras could not believe the gall of this man. “You do not think I can sing?” she demanded, insulted. “I laugh at you.” Turned to the bartender, he grinned and pointed to the stage which was empty, with a single microphone, an empty set of drums and in the corner, a CD system. She got up and with a stagger rolled over to the CD system, punched in a couple of keys and took up the microphone. She aimed a haughty glance at the man, and while there was something tipsy about her, her next words were calm, controlled and deadly.

“I shall show you what real singing is.”
Then she opened her mouth.

He cannot say what left her mouth, except it wasn’t singing. It wasn’t really a voice. The song was something so, jazzy and quick-tempered, rather like the woman who was singing it. She was dressed in a pair of low steel gray trousers that seemed to balance out a very loud top of a mix of hot pink and black with a splash of vibrant yellow. When she sang her body seemed to rock to the tempo of the music, her eyes seemed to spark with anger and he realized that it wasn’t necessarily her voice that was awe inspiring, but the emotions they seemed to raise. Normally a very easygoing man, R’lan found he feeling the crushing wave of pure passionate anger at her words, not really at her, but at the person who had caused her to feel so much pain. Ancith seemed to notice this with surprise, and yet once he realized that this emotion was false, that this was some empath’s trick, the blue dragon calmed down.

She’s playing with you…potent. Something along the lines of an empathy. at Ancith’s cool, calm words he found himself breaking apart from this emotion, breaking away the silken web… and yet still, even without the spell woven around him he felt the potency of her voice. It was warm, not quite seductive but like butter, melting and heating your skin, something that you knew was so delightfully bad, and yet something you couldn’t quite live without.

“Well, senor?” she asked, a haughty note in her voice, and he noticed with surprise that her once drunk eyes were calm, clear and a warm shade of brown that seemed almost like whisky under the light. The remaining people clapped, a smattering amount of applause that the bartender noted with some pride. “Do you dare call me, Im…” she stopped then, casting a glance around the bar. “me, a liar?”

“I do not, young lady.” He replied, amused at her temper and at the same time, thinking of Tylar. Maybe this was the reason he was here… “I apologize, and yet I would like to ask for one thing?” “Yes?” she asked archly, raising a brow and walking steadily over to the bar, passed the bartender a clumped amount of notes.

“Your story.” He said softly. “I am…” he stopped. Searchrider. No… the word didn’t exist here, yet. “Someone who collects stories…. Tell me yours.”

“So, like an old fashioned bard, eh?” she grinned then, a smile that seemed soft, too soft compared to the rather sharp young woman from before. With a start she seemed to notice the time. “Three…” she paused, frowned and stifled a yawn. She turned to the bartender, and smiled, a quick smile of thanks that conveyed more then any words. “Yes, lets. I’ll meet you tomorrow, bard at the top floor of the Equinox. Don’t bring your cruiser.” She said, using a quaint term for the almost sky riding vehicles. “It gets crowded unless your VIP.” She quirked a smile, and again it was innocent, almost…good. Hmm… “Ask for…” her voice stopped, and she turned to the bar tender. She smiled, sharing a secretive smile. “Jorge.” She said, calling the bartender by his first name and causing R’lan to jump slightly with surprise. “Tell him who he needs to look for. I will be there at noon, ready and waiting to tell you my story.” She grinned. “Bard.”

R’lan waited until she had slinked out of the bar to turn to Jorge, who was watching him with amusement, eyes sparkling with laughter and barely contained glee. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “The last time I heard, you were on one of those dragon planets…”

“Well, you know how a man can get bored of the same scenery.” His voice was heavily accented with Pern and he grinned, shrugging. “’sides, I actually do have family in this earth… which is pretty nice.”

“You have family in every bloody world…” R’lan muttered.

“Did you say something?”

“No… not at all. But why here?” Jorge was one of those infamous planet hoppers. His eyes widened. “Her?” he was especially known for his nack of hunting down candidates and hanging around long enough to see them searched. “Me?” his eyes narrowed. “Was it you who…”

“Now lad, I don’t put ideas into peoples heads. It was your mates idea for you to come here, not mine. In fact, how is the beautiful Tylar?” at his exasperated scowl Jorge chuckled. “Yes, I received an invitation to your flurry…” his eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’ve actually seen it. Marvelous, much better then the first two, I say.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“So I was saying.” He pretended not to have heard the other man. “Lovely dragons, love to have one myself but I’ve always been the planet hopper, never the one to bond. She was there, this girl. She was at the hatching and…” he shook his head, a baffled laugh escaping. “She knew me… she recognized me and thanked me for…listening to her.” For the first time R’lan saw something insecure in this man’s eyes. “Does that make sense? This chit recognized me from the past… and thus got me working to find her again… it’s one of those circles that have never bothered me before…” he scowled. “It’s that Nefeti, interfering with my life…”

“Nefeti?” he asked blankly. Jorge blinked back, and for a moment he laughed.

“Oh, so you’re the past version…” Jorge grinned sheepishly. “It still takes me a while to keep track of your versions, okay? I jump time, and the rest of you… don’t like doing it as much as I do.” He shrugged. “Lady fate, beautiful woman who has the biggest temper…” he shook his head. “Women, eh? Who can understand their little quirks?”

He thought back of Tylar, and what she had said to him just this woman. “Amen to that.”

R’lan entered the reception, a large area made up of glass and felt unsure of himself. Jorge had lent him clothing, a pair of dark trousers and a pale blue shirt, had dragged him down to the hair dressers and everything, saying that ‘this chit is rich, her friends are rich, I dinna wan you to embarrass yourself’. Standing there and looking around, a tall slender woman… and then he noted the necklace, a slim band with a silver star. Not a woman, an android. A French android approached him.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, noting his attire and considering him well dressed enough to deserve the ending.

“I’m.” he cleared his throat with discomfort. He could literally smell the wealth emitting from the building. He was not rich man, he was well off but… what did a rider need with these goods? “Looking for Imeras.”

If a android’s eyes could brighten, this one did. It was perhaps a program that made them warm to those who knew the VIP, or something like that. “She is expecting you on the seventeenth table.” She said brightly, and floated off to lead him to a table near the window. He almost choked as he looked down… what, two hundred floors? He was comfortable with heights when he was with Ancith but this… this frail building was… scary. He turned to a table, a fine one where a man played a violin and three men, one being live fluttered around a woman with the anxiousness to please. His lips almost quirked into a smile. So this was how the rich were treated… he coughed delicately to see them spring away, and then their eyes warmed, presuming him to be just as important as this woman. He almost laughed. He was important alright, but not in the way they would imagine.
As they pulled out his chair he waited a moment to appraise Imeras, who was chatting to someone in Spanish. She was tall and tanned today, her hair surprisingly curly and full, kept away from her face by something and yet tumbling down her shoulders. It was a pale blonde with black roots and streaks of blue, a rather fetching shade he thought. She was dressed in a long pale dress that seemed white with a splattering of shades rather like an artist who had gone crazy with paint. She paused then, and looked up at him to grin. Saying something that sounded like an order, she shut her phone with a quick clap and motioned for him to sit.

“They have the most amazing pasta here.” she said as a conversation opener. She was not one to waste time, it seemed. Leaning back and turning away from him, she looked out the window. “Isn’t the view wonderful?”

He was confused. She was not the innocent smile he had seen, nor the hard-edged drunk. She was not the powerful singer, but she seemed like a professional, a businesswoman of sorts. Elegant. Refined. Her personality kept quirking here and there and he was having trouble keeping up with her. He turned to see her staring into the view, where one could see almost the hint of an ocean in the horizon. “It is.” He said softly. “At home…” he smiled, thinking of the rugged landscape, the powerful dragons and now, the soft snow that seemed to cover everything. No… it would be best to keep this secret until he saw more of her. He trusted Jorge, but he didn’t. He had heard of him, but this was perhaps the first time he had truly dealt with the planet hopper.

“Well bard.” She said softly, leaning forewords and smiling. “What were you doing at the bar yesterday? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Am I not supposed to be the one to ask questions?” he merely replied, noting that again she seemed to have shifted, into a welcoming… not precisely a woman, although she was that. There was something about her that seemed more like a friend, then anything else. “Why do you hide?” he asked before he had a chance to stop himself.

She stilled, withdrew not only physically, but something deeper. She seemed to draw away from his touch as she watched him coolly, not quite the hard edged drunk but almost, colder and more in control. “Hide?” she asked coldly.

“Imeras.” He said softly, and again felt like an older brother, like a… protector of sorts. “I have met a lot of people… and you, you are hiding from something, from someone. You wear so many masks that they slip now and again, revealing only another. I have seen so many aspects of you, I am sure that they are all you but you have turned yourself into a mask. Why do you hide yourself?” the words tumbled from his lips, and he found himself wondering of Jorge… but no anyone had told him if the man had any powers.

“I…” and then she laughed. It was a soft, delighted laugh, a childish laugh that had heads turning as she returned. “You can see.” She noted. “I hide because…” and then she stopped, frowning as if she was unsure of what to say. “I don’t know. Come.” She got up suddenly. “This place is claustrophobic” waiters appeared almost immediately to aid her. She pulled around her a long crimson scarf that seemed to act as a cloak. “Let us go somewhere else, somewhere more privately.”

He got up, merely following her motions and allowing her to think. As they left the building and a cruiser appeared before the streets, she turned and grinned at him.

“People are going to think naughty thoughts.” She called out archly as they got into the cruiser. It was plush, black and he felt uncomfortable. “Very naughty thoughts.” Yet she was already sinking into a sense of thought. “Take us back home.” She called out before silencing. “Are you one of those men, Bard? One that I cannot trust, like Paolos? Are you someone who will use me like him? Take from me? Are you merely a listener, like Jorge? Are you thinking naughty thoughts.” He did not answer, because he knew she did not want an answer. “Are you truly someone who will listen, or are you like her?” she stilled. “Are you? Are you like her?” she demanded, going into a slight frenzy as she did so. “Do you know her? Do you know how she is? Do you know what she’s causing me to feel? Are you going to be like her? Are you going to make me love you, and then are you going to disappear? She was worse then Paolos… because she took my heart.”

“Your…lover?” he felt foolish asking.

She looked up, startled. “Gods, no.” she laughed, a bitter laugh. “No… but we were closer we were…” she shook her head. “You would not understand unless I told you from the beginning.”

“Then tell me from the beginning. I have the time.”

She looked at him strangely. “She said that once…” she said softly. “From the beginning…you may have the time, but the thing is…I’m not sure I trust myself to…” she smiled then, a sad little smile and shrugged. “I will then.” She said softly. “I will tell you…from the beginning.”