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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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.

He was sure that the split lip and the split knuckles were noticed as he checked them in, but they weren't mentioned, and he wasn't going to make excuses that weren't strictly necessary.

He tipped the concierge, said that they wouldn't need a bellhop, as it was just the two bags, and accepted the key, giving Natasha a smile and a quick kiss to the temple, "Shall we?"

Natasha gave Clint her most adoring smile and handed him one of the bags. “Definitely,” she replied. “I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.”

Secretly enjoying the man gave her who had retrieved the luggage, she pulled the handle on the suitcase and rolled it toward the elevators. Once inside the lift she hit the button for their floor and let out a breath. Reaching up to undo the pins, she massaged her scalp slightly as her hair fell loose about her shoulders. “I don’t care how terrible the room is, if the shower has hot water I’ll put up with anything else at this point.” It was always the first thing she did after a mission like this, just wanting to feel clean again after having the mark’s grubby paws all over her. Luckily this one had been easier than some.

He grinned outright, now that they were out of danger and hopefully would be for the rest of the night until their extraction in the morning, "Which means you get first dibs. Whoever dropped off our luggage also ordered us dinner, we just have to call down to let them know we're ready."

Because it would likely be dinner and a coded message, if there was any follow-up that needed doing, or if there had been any changes to their pickup time and place the next morning.

“How thoughtful of them,” Natasha deadpanned, tilting her head to one side and then the other to stretch her neck. She sincerely hoped it was just dinner but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.

When the elevator stopped on their floor she plastered a smile on her face again before the doors opened. The hallway was empty but they could never be too sure. Slipping one hand inside Clint’s jacket as they made their way down the hall, she let it rest on his lower back, just for good measure. “After you, darling,” she all but purred as they reached their room, waiting for him to open the door since he had the key.

He turned to kiss her temple again as he unlocked the door, pushing it open and waving her through, "Ladies first." As far as boltholes went, it was a good one, better than their usual digs, that was for sure, not exactly 5-star, but definitely classy.

He locked the door behind them, dragging his own suitcase over to the bed, swinging it up and popping it open, "Yay, real clothes." There was also a hard case containing one of his bows that he arched a brow at, "Apparently they're expecting us to run into trouble on the way out. I mean, I would just say they're being cautious, but when is SHIELD ever just being cautious?"

Despite herself, a ghost of a smile curved her lips at the brief kiss, but when he opened the door she disentangled herself and walked in ahead of him. “I don’t know, I kind of like the suit,” she said. Her own outfit, though, deserved a good burning. Kicking off the shoes and dropping the skirt immediately, and thankfully for the last time, Natasha frowned at Clint’s comment about SHIELD. Hefting her own suitcase onto a chair, she opened it to find a similar case containing her Widows Bite, glocks and holsters inside. “I guess we have a special dinner coming our way,” she replied. Part of her was ready for this mission to be over while another part was already anticipating the action to come.

In a hidden pocket of her suitcase, she secured the recorder, transmitter, and all other communications devices as well as the spent cartridges that had contained the drugs she had used on the mark before zipping it back up. She would worry about clothes later after they had their orders. “Why don’t you call and get it sent up?” she asked as she headed for the washroom.

He'd already tucked away his copy of the confession, as well as the drive containing the pictures of the rest of their mark's team, just in case. He nodded, "Will do." A crooked little smile followed, arching a brow at her, "And you like the suit? Might have to keep it around in that case."

Not that he'd actually wear it more often than he already wore suits, which was once in a blue moon, when he absolutely had to for a mission or a press junket that they couldn't wear their uniforms too, though those sort were becoming increasingly less common, which he at least appreciated.

Entering the bathroom, Natasha left the door partially open. It was tempting to take a hot bath and relax, but until they had their final orders then relaxing wasn’t on the shortlist of things to do right now. “You should,” she replied, “Maybe I can get you on more of these type of missions so you have ample opportunity to wear it.” Even though she couldn’t see him from the other room, she could easily picture the smile he wore and smiled herself in return.

Stripping off the rest of her clothing and letting it pile on the bathroom floor, she took a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly. “I am disposing of this dress, though.” Wearing a corset was one thing, but having to fight in one was something else entirely.

Adjusting the temperature on the shower, she let it run a few seconds to warm up before stepping in.

"I'll even help you set it on fire, if you like." He knew for as often as she threatened to set work clothes on fire, she only had once, twice if the time that it was an accident counted, and he didn't think it did. As she'd predicted, he was smiling, the usual wry little quirk that it was when he knew trouble was on the way.

He waited until the water was running to call down to have their dinner delivered. Mostly he was hoping that they'd have time to actually eat and maybe get a couple hours of sleep before it was time to move on to the next thing, but he wasn't going to count on it.

Of course, dinner had arrived by the time Natasha had finished in the shower, along with a miniature flash drive that Clint hadn't yet popped into his handheld, figuring it would save time if they both got the message at once. And besides that: there was a perfectly good dinner just sitting there, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

“You just want an opportunity to play Robin Hood with the flaming arrow again,” she teased before the water drowned out most of the sounds from the other room. She had specifically left the door open so she would still be able to hear any signs of commotion should anything go horribly wrong. Even so, Natasha didn’t take as quick of a shower as she could, instead standing under the hot water and letting the pressure of the stream massage her scalp and shoulders. It was only when she heard the muffled sound of the door signaling that their dinner had arrived that she finally shut off the water and stepped out. Toweling off quickly, she wrapped the towel around her hair and slipped on one of the fuzzy white robes the hotel had provided.

“What do they have for us?” Natasha asked as she walked out of the bathroom, in regards to both the message and the food.

He hadn't bothered answering the first statement, mostly because they both knew it was true, and if he argued he'd just come off as protesting too much, as it were.

He was halfway through his own dinner when she emerged, and he slid the other plate closer, "Chicken and rice." It was, in fact, some kind of fancy chicken risotto, and Clint probably knew it, "And we got a message, haven't looked at it yet, figured it'd save time if we both got it at once." And there was that smile again, "And between you and me? I'm going to eat first. Rather not ruin my appetite."

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