bakerstreet | The Masquerade Meme

The Masquerade Meme

The { MASQUERADE } Meme

Masquerade
Paper faces on parade
Masquerade

It's a splendid night for a party!

You received an invitation to a masquerade party and after wondering who exactly throws these things anymore outside of people in Italy and the strange people in that Vanilla Sky movie, you've decided to attend! Decked out in your best (or maybe not so best - it may have been last minute, after all), you descend on the party and prepare to make it a night to remember.

Is it your friend's annual Halloween party with a twist? Perhaps you're an international spy, trying to find out the best way to steal the Crown Jewels. Maybe this is part of Spirit Week at your high school and you really wish that your classmates would be more creative next time.

Elaborate Venetian, playful animals, dazzling supernatural creatures - the night is young. Have fun.

:::

This is not a RNG meme. Your characters' role and situation is entirely up to you. "But how do you play?" you might ask. It's as simple as 1, 2, 3!

1.) Post with your character. In the subject line, type of your character's name and canon. If you'd like, in the comment section, you can describe what mask/costume your character is wearing.
2.) Tag around! This is a party after all, and your character can't find any of their usual crew behind their masks (or maybe they can and need to tease them mercilessly for their choice of costume).
3.) Profit!

First person to drop the chandelier buys drinks for everyone!

stolen from

dammithardison here

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Once inside the room, the door locked behind them, Natasha tried to avoid the roaming hands and lips of her mark. “I’m not that, easy,” she said, slipping out of his hold and giving him a pointed yet seductive look. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a woman who likes to be in control. The question is, can you submit to being controlled?”

Polanski, for his part, seemed rather excited by the idea, so when she ordered him to lay on the bed, hands gripping the headboard, he did as he was told. Removing the sash from her dress and unhooking the few hooked that held it together, she let the long, cumbersome skirt fall to the floor. Joining him on the bed she straddled his hips and used the long sash to tie his hands to the headboard above him. She noted the glassy look in his eyes; the drugs were starting to take effect. Grinning wickedly at him, she slid her hands back behind her, gripping his legs as she leaned back, effectively pinning him down.

“Now, why don’t we start with you telling me everything you know about Michelson?”

It took Polanski a moment to process what she said, and when he did his eyes went wide and he tried to buck her off, but she dug the nails of one hand into his leg, her other shooting up to clap over his mouth.

“In case you haven’t noticed yet, you’ve been drugged. In about three minutes you’ll start to feel your toes go numb, then your legs, and it will continue to creep up your body, slowly, until you’re completely paralysed,” she leaned in close, her voice deadly cold. “I have the antidote, and if you tell me everything I ask I will give it to you and you can walk away with just a little muscle stiffness. If you don’t...”

She didn’t finish the threat, she didn’t need to. Pulling a small device out of the bodice of her dress, she hit a button that would record their conversation while simultaneously transmitting it to an identical device that Clint held. It was good to have a back-up, just in case. Now as long as her partner could buy her a good ten minutes they should be in the clear.

Clint had been hoping for a nice, quiet ten minutes, but of course it wasn't going to be that easy no matter how meticulously they'd planned it, because of course, of course Polanski's bodyguard was more attentive than the usual kind, and he'd not only noticed that Polanski was missing, but was making a bee-line for the room.

Clint cursed under his breath, shifting his weight and preparing for a good old-fashioned death from above, but what he said, easily and quietly into his earpiece was: "Nat, I know you're kind of busy right now, but I think our guy might be bugged. Personal security's already on the way, and he knows where he's going."

That was all he had time for before he had to deal with the bodyguard. Fighting in a corridor like this was never a good idea, too easy to draw attention, which was why Clint locked the bodyguard into a sleeper hold as quickly as possible, taking him down and just dragging him off out of easy line of sight, "Took care of him, but there might be more."

When Clint’s voice sounded over the comm link Natasha cursed under her breath in Russian. Why could these things never be easy?

“Will we still be able to blend back into the crowd and leave normally, or are we going to need an alternate escape route?” she asked Clint, giving Polanski an annoyed look when he clearly thought she was talking to him and started crying that he didn’t know and that he wouldn’t say anything and that his feet had already started going numb.

The drug she had given him wasn’t actually a paralytic. It was designed to make him disoriented, groggy, unable to think clear enough to fabricate a believable lie. Clamping his legs between her thighs, though, along with the grogginess was enough to give the illusion of paralysis.

“It’s working quicker than I thought,” she said, affecting concern. “You better talk quick.” Holding the recorder close to his lips to catch every utterance, she smiled slightly, a dangerous smile, when he started blabbering about everything she could possibly want to know.

"Unless he's got a cadre that knows what we look like, we should be fine." He replied, though he was already preparing himself to bolt if they had to, "Let me know when we're clear, I'll bring this one in, let them figure it out for themselves when they wake up."

He'd swung himself up easily to his chosen perch once more, keeping an eye on the corridor and the edge of the crowd beyond, where he could see them here and there, "Don't have to say anything until you're done." Since he knew that her talking to him would confuse their mark further, which was counterproductive.

Natasha heard Clint speaking in her ear, and while she silently acknowledged his words, her attention was focused on the information that was pouring from the mark’s lips. Some of it was confused and useless, but there was enough truth and importance to the rest of it that she felt confident they would have everything they needed. Client names, shipment schedules, he was giving it all up and only when he was reduced to a sobbing mess, pleading and claiming to have told her everything, did she sit back and nod.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said, pulling a small needle from her bodice. ‘The antidote’, Polanski though, looking at it in desperation, but as he wasn’t actually infected with anything an antidote wasn’t required. It was a sedative, and only a few seconds after she stabbed the needle into his neck he was out cold.

“We’re clear,” she said to Clint, checking Polanski’s pulse and satisfying herself that there had been no ill effects of either drug. Leaping up from the bed, she flipped the lock on the door and waited for Clint’s acknowledgement before pulling it open.

"Knock knock." Typical Clint, really, he would have said 'knock knock' even if his hands hadn't been full of bodyguard, just dragging the man into the room and bumping the door shut behind himself with a shoulder when he'd done so, leaving the hired muscle in a heap on the floor. He flashed Natasha a crooked smile, "Help me hoist him onto the bed? Just to give them something else to deal with first before trying to find us when they come to."

He kept talking while moving the unconscious bodyguard, "Our guy's got at least two other people on security detail, I got it narrowed down to five potentials, but didn't have a chance to pin who it is exactly, so we'll have to be careful getting out of here." A shrug as he pulled the screen that was wirelessly connected to the camera in his mask so that he could show her the snapshots, "These five. Three, maybe four of them are just civilians, at least one and probably two of them could be trouble."

Flipping the lock again once Clint was inside, Natasha grinned at his suggestion and helped him haul the other man up onto the bed, leaving the two in a rather compromising position. Once he was safely deposited, she turned her attention to the photographs. Four men, one woman, none of them dressed very showy. The men all wore black suits and masks as many of the male guests did, and the woman looked as if she had definitely dressed to blend in herself. Committing their masked faces to memory, Natasha nodded.

“So we blend back into the crowd, keeping a special eye out for these five,” she spoke as she retrieved her skirt from the floor and wrapped it back around her waist again. Dropping her eyes she worked the buttons to reattach it. “And try to leave as quickly as we can without looking suspicious. The sedative should last at least thirty minutes. Not sure about the brand you gave your guy.”

Fixing her mask back in place, Natasha smirked at Clint.

"That's the plan." He replied with a nod, scooping up his own mask and jacket from where they'd been left on the floor with moving the bodyguard, "And it probably won't last much longer than that, actually." He made sure his mask was snug before shrugging back into his jacket, buttoning it easily and tugging it straight before he offered her an arm, brow arching behind his mask, "You think we can get out of here without trouble?"

It was an honest question, really, and while there was a good chance that they could it was more a question of whether or not she wanted to. Sometimes a good brawl did them both some good and he knew it. Technically he was her handler, but only in official title, they were partners in crime as often as not, and that was how they liked it.

Tugging her elbow length gloves back from where they had slouched slightly down her arms, Natasha then reached up and straightened Clint’s bowtie before taking his arm.

“It is possible," she replied, but when she looked over at him her eyes told a different story. “But I wouldn’t bet money on it.”

She hadn’t had a good fight in a few weeks and all the pent up energy and aggression with no physical outlet was starting to get to her. The two of them could probably easily make it out of this place without incident and while that was their better option, the option that Fury would prefer and the one that would avoid any reprimands, Natasha wasn’t sure it was the one she wanted. She also had the feeling that Clint’s line of thinking was similar to her own; it usually was. Part of the reason they worked so well together.

Edited 2012-09-18 15:03 (UTC)

"Always a shame when things don't work out like they should." He replied, sighing a melodramatic sigh and shaking his head, "Job got done, sure, but we couldn't get out clean, we tried, but nobody warned us about the backup bodyguards." It wasn't exactly the same tone he'd use on the Director if they were questioned, but it was the wording that was going to go into the report at any rate.

He was smiling crookedly, leading her back down the stairs, "So how do you want to do this? Have another dance and wait to get noticed? Or just shake them all up and see who bites?" Waiting ran the risk of the two upstairs waking up, but was a higher chance that their backup bodyguards would make themselves known, while a few vague words or statements near enough to be overheard by their potentials ran the risk of the wrong people overhearing, but was faster.

Natasha’s own smile widened at Clint’s cover story and her eyes were practically dancing with mischief. They were definitely on the same page, and by the time they made it back to base they would have all the details of how their escape had gone bad down to a tee. “Such a shame,” she agreed solemnly.

Turning her attention back to the crowd as they descended the stairs, she picked the closest suspect to them from the crowd and tried to get a read on his body language. Their boss had been gone a while now so they should be looking a bit antsy, trying to find him among all the party guests.

“You know me, Barton,” Natasha replied to his question, looking up at him with a mostly concealed, secret smile. “I don’t have nearly the patience you do.” The anticipation of action was practically thrumming through her veins at this point, so the sooner the better as far as she was concerned. 

Clint, likewise, had already picked their five out in the crowd, looking for the same sort of behavior she was looking for, antsiness, concern, and it didn't take him long at all to pinpoint both of those, as well as a couple of glances their way, one with puzzlement and one with recognition.

He grinned, "Think we've got our guys." He said, just loud enough for her to pick up on the earpiece, even though they were still standing side by side, "Beefy arms, little black mask like he thinks he's Zorro, about ten o'clock, by the ice swans. Then there's the one who's about six-four, looks like a runner, on our two o'clock, headed this way. I'm not ruling out the woman either, she's got an eye on us, can't tell if it's professional curiosity or personal jealousy."

He did turn to her then, smiling again, brow arching behind his mask, "We going to take this outside?" Less chance of people getting caught in the crossfire, that way, but as far as he could tell, these guys would actually be worried about the collateral damage, unlike their usual foes.

Natasha followed Clint’s directions, noting ‘Zorro’ first who was looking their way and touching his ear suspiciously, as if activating a comm device of his own, then the runner who was weaving through the crowd toward them. Lastly she looked at the woman who was definitely giving them a look that was none to pleasant.

“Jealous of you or me?” the redhead asked, finally bringing her eyes back to Clint and returning his smile. “That would probably be for the best, but not out front. This party has their own security that we don’t need to get mixed up in this.”

The back terrace would be less public but there was sure to still be some guests milling about to take advantage of the quiet and the good weather. Sliding her hand down his arm to take Clint’s hand instead, not wanting to get separated in the crowd, she led him toward the kitchens, intending to use the service entrance.

Protests were made as they weaved their way through the kitchen staff but she paid them no mind, offering only a few curt words of explanation. They’d just made it to the outside door when the runner entered the kitchen.

"Jealous of me, obviously." Was his reply to the question, nodding at her assessment of the situation at hand, it amused him, usually, how often their opinions on things aligned.

He'd been about to suggest the terrace himself, or at least one of the 'backstage' areas when she was already leading him off towards the kitchen and he grinned. He would have kept up with her easily even without her hold of his hand, but he wasn't going to object to it either.

It didn't happen often, but sometimes during these chases real life did turn out just like the movies, and it seemed that today was their one in a million, because there was a bus cart of dirty dishes that he sent skidding towards their pursuer with a kick. He slammed the kitchen door closed behind them again, grinning at the few people on the terrace who'd turned their way, "Sorry to do this folks, but going to have to ask you to head back out front, or back into the ballroom, got a minor gas leak in the kitchen, won't be any problem for the rest of the party, just need to clear out the area here until we get it patched."

Natasha grinned at his reply but said nothing in return; they had more important matters to attend to at the moment.

The bus cart was a nice touch, and it would slow down their pursuer just long enough for them to hopefully clear the the terrace of innocent bystanders. Clint had that part covered too, a smooth story rolling off his lips only seconds after the door had closed behind them. Of course the partygoers groaned and complained, but they listened well enough, none of them wanting to put themselves in harm’s way of any kind. One particular guest was very quick to toss his cigarette away with a very unmanly squeal, so clearly the lie was believed.

Even as they were still disappearing around the corner Natasha was already removing her shoes and unfastening the heavy skirt again. The runner should have already been through the door by now, so she could only assume that he had waited for Zorro to catch up. Two against two should have seemed like fair odds, but she almost felt sorry for the men. She could take out twice as many just on her own. “I think he’s waiting for company. Which one do you want?”

Clint had stuffed his mask back into his jacket pocket, because it wasn't as if they really needed it any more, and video or photographic evidence of what was about to transpire wouldn't help their case any. Besides that: it was just damn annoying in the first place, "Whoever comes through second." He replied with a crooked smile, "Lady gets first dibs."

The first one through the door was Zorro McBeefyarms, followed by The Runner™ and one of the bartenders who was apparently the actual backup. Something that Clint would kick himself for later for not realizing it earlier.

Tossing her own mask on top of the rest of her discarded costume, Natasha took a fighting stance just as the trio of men burst through the door. Two of them had been expected, but the bartender was a surprise.

“Are you here for a dance?” she asked the big guy who took little time in launching himself at her. He had intended to grab her, she assumed he thought she was some helpless woman he could manhandle into submission.

He assumed wrong.

Easily sidestepping the advance, she used his own momentum to send him sprawling onto the lawn. She took the brief moment to check on Clint’s progress.

He was doing fine. Hand to hand wasn't his specialty, but that didn't mean he was hopeless at it. In fact, he was better at it than most field agents, because he was a brawler -he had to be, since he was on the smaller side- and he was half-fearless -which was kind of a prerequisite to being a SHIELD agent- and the bartender was already down for the count.

of course, by the time she was finished with McBeefyarms, was just finishing taking The Runner™ down, which hadn't been as easy as he'd hoped, but not as hard as he'd expected, either, and he was nursing a split lip and split knuckles, but nothing visibly worse. He dabbed at his lip with the back of his hand, arching a brow at her, "Ready to go?"

Seeing that Clint had both of the other man covered and she wasn’t going to get ambushed from behind, Natasha turned all her attention on her own fight. It was very one sided with the man barely managing to touch her while she laid a good pounding on him before finally taking him down. He had been a horrible fighter, but resilient; still, she hardly even broke a sweat.

Clint’s opponent had apparently been a little faster, and Clint himself not quite as skilled as Natasha when it came to hand to hand combat, so a little of his own blood had gotten spilled. Nothing serious, though, as far as she could see.

It was a little disappointing the fight had been so easy and quick but it had at least taken the edge off. Reattaching her skirt, she decided to just carry the shoes and mask this time. “I will be glad to get out of this for good,” she said, nodding her head at his question, errant strands of her red hair falling across her face, having come loose from the elaborate updo. "Do you think we're still safe to just walk out?" Polanski and his first goon should still be asleep, and these three weren't talking, so nobody else should be aware of them enough to stop them.

He was wholly unsurprised that she'd gotten out of her own match unscathed, she was faster than he was, lighter on her feet, she always had been. Besides that, she'd had better ground training than he had, or at least more intensive, he didn't hold it against her that she was only prettily disheveled and he was bleeding.

He nodded at her question, dabbing at his lip again, just to make sure it wasn't bleeding freely, "Should be fine as long as we go around instead of through, it'll take a little longer since we'll have to cut through the garden, but there's less chance of being spotted." He shrugged, "And less chance of people getting the wrong idea."

What idea that might be he was going to leave up to her, because really it could be anything. He gave her a crooked smile all the same, however, offering an arm, "Shall we?"

Natasha gave him a look for his comment, somehow managing to keep a straight face despite his infectious grin. With her cheeks flushed and her hair disheveled she knew exactly what ‘wrong idea’ people would be getting. In all honesty it would probably aid their escape as it made for a good reason they would be leaving the party so early, to continue their presumed amorous activities elsewhere.

Taking Clint’s arm once more, they moved swiftly yet inconspicuously through the gardens, the grass cold under her bare feet. “What are the chances we’ll be put up somewhere nice this time?” While playing her role Natasha had been living very comfortably, but she couldn’t return there after this. Someone will have gone in while she was at the party and cleaned house, removing all traces of her as if she had never been there at all. S.H.I.E.L.D. were nothing if not efficient.

"Guess we'll find out once we get a taxi." He replied, they both knew the address of their joint safehouse, just in case something had happened at the gala and they'd had to split up. Luckily they seemed to be doing alright, and barring another emergency cropping up, they had until morning before they were extracted and sent home.

It was easier than he'd expected for a woman carrying her shoes and a guy with a busted lip to get a taxi, and it didn't surprise him in the slightest just how close their dropoff was to the museum, local law enforcement, and probably whatever private security their mark had hired wouldn't be looking that close to the site for them, and by the time they started, the pair would be long gone.

The hotel wasn’t a five star, but because of the location it was rather nice, especially compared to some of the rundown motels they’d spent some time in over the years.

Slipping on her shoes, Natasha waited for Clint to pay the cab driver and help her from the car, as should be expected, no matter how capable she was to use a door on her own.

Once the taxi had driven off she took Clint’s hands and leaned in close, in case anyone inside the hotel lobby was paying them any mind. “Do you have the rings?” she asked quietly. She was wearing gloves so it wasn’t so important for her, but they couldn’t risk even the minor details. “Nicole Ross” was no more and they were checked in as “Mr. and Mrs. Donavan”, and something as small as a missing wedding band on his finger could be noticed by anyone curious enough, and recalled if questioned.

"Yes ma'am." He replied, and it was the work of a moment to get his own on, as they were both in a pouch that he'd moved from jacket pocket to pants pocket while paying the cab driver. Slight of hand was one of the things he was scarily good at, and the pouch with her ring in it was easily tucked back into his jacket pocket along with his wallet.

He smiled, arching a brow at her again, "You ready to see how bad off we are?"

“Ready when you are,” Natasha replied, stepping back and following him into the building. She stood just off to the side while Clint took care of business, looking around the lobby with a casual air of indifference; she was really secretly ‘casing the joint’, just in case.

Their cover story was that their luggage had been dropped off earlier in the day before check-in time so they bags were tagged and waiting for them behind the counter. While Clint checked in, Natasha collected them, glad to see they were still locked and undisturbed, before returning to his side.

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