Jenna had visited the building several times, but security had never allowed her to follow through with her appointment. At first all she\'d known of the place were rumours, and it was difficult to make an appointment when she didn\'t want to divulge what the appointment was about. She\'d been questioned, smirked at, and then to her extreme embarrassment, escorted out.
Another flurry of research, more rumours, a very strange nightclub where she\'d also not been allowed in (even though she\'d clothed herself to look like the other nightclub goers) she\'d always be stopped at the door and told she \'wasn\'t the type\' and \'sorry we\'re full\') even though others were walking straight in. Arguing with six foot six bouncers wasn\'t going to get her inside, she knew, but she was at a loss as to why she wasn\'t the type and others were. Something was going on at this Risk place, that was for sure, because different bouncers on different nights also refused her.
It had taken months of visiting strange places and talking to even stranger people about where the best place to go for answers was. Nobody who seemed to know anything were willing to share. She\'d been rejected and refused more times in the past few months than she\'d ever been in her life, and even though it seemed like she was free-wheeling in mud and getting nowhere, she was determined not to let go. She had a question, she wanted an answer, and she needed to talk to the right person first.
There was a word softly spoken, whispered, breathed, that she hadn\'t forgotten. Oligarchy. She\'d thought the term was more political than either science or magic, and when she looked it up she found a few definitions that confirmed her understanding. It was a type of government led by a few heads. There was a definition further down on the google search page, however, that had her staring at it while her mind turned and turned. The Oligarchy had been taken from an Ancient Greek word, and it\'s meaning was thus:
\'An Oligarchy is a form of government in which power effectively rests with a small elite segment of society.\'
Elite segment of society.
Elite.
She pinned her hopes on that hush-hush word, spoken in an alley of a shop that had been hard to find, filled with wonders that were hard to identify, and shopped by customers that were hard to miss. Oligarchy. It had to mean something.
After several attempts at getting nowhere, and facing yet another guard that was prepared to escort her across the marble foyer and out the door, she shoved against him and earned herself a raised eyebrow for her trouble. He waited though, for her to have her say, and for that she was grateful. Instead of saying anything however, she showed him why she needed the appointment. He was expressionless, and she wondered if maybe she was imagining everything and he hadn\'t seen what she\'d just seen, before he told her in his deep and raspy voice that there was an open slot in a couple of hours and would she like to wait? She hugged him, which earned her a grumble and a moving away with his hands on her shoulders, but despite this she couldn\'t wipe the smile off her face.
It was gone now though, for after two hours in a waiting room that smelled a little funny and sitting in a sofa that was somehow too soft and wouldn\'t let her shift position easily, she was getting anxious. She saw a few odd things also, which told her she was in the right place, but it was still a shock to her to see it. Her reactions to everyone else mostly went unnoticed, but a pale red-headed gentleman frowned at her a lot before he went into his appointment behind the wooden double doors ahead of her. What his problem was she couldn\'t know, but for some reason she got the feeling that he didn\'t seem to approve of her.
She\'d read the whiteboard beside the door announcing who was presiding within. Mr Kerr Galvin. The name was traditionally Irish, though he was probably many generations American. Her gaze swept over the room again and again, until finally, her name was called. Standing and straightening her jacket - a grey serious pinstriped number that looked smart with her matching skirt, her pink shirt beneath revealed by its collar and few top buttons only - she entered through the left hand door, ignoring the one on the right, and let it close pneumatically behind her.
Approaching the horseshoe shaped table, where three large chairs were at the head - and a large throne-like one standing empty in the centre - her gaze was pulled to the well dressed pale man seated to one side of the very large chair. There were others seated at the wings of the horseshoe table, but they were focussed mostly on their papers. She walked to the centre of the table before stopping, perhaps five metres from the man gazing rather intensely at her, and wondered if this was the Mr Kerr Galvin whose name was written neatly on the whiteboard outside.
She cleared her throat, and instead of waiting to be addressed, she bid him good evening, nodding a little and turning to look at those on her left and right, softly saying good evening to them as well, feeling like her voice was too loud in the very echoey chambers. Turning back to the man before her, she waited, a little wide-eyed, for him to speak.
