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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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."

Looking at the fancy meal, Natasha rolled her eyes at his most basic assessment of it. Taking a seat, she tucked one foot under herself and grabbed a fork, wasting no time in taking her first bite. A little champagne and a few hors d’oeuvres didn’t go very far, and her dress had been too tight to eat too much, so she was more than a little hungry right now.

“I suppose they wouldn’t have ordered us food if they didn’t expect us to eat it first,” Natasha reasoned, even though the food was more a vessel for the information than anything. “Do you think that we will actually get to use this room before jumping into phase two?” The bed did look rather inviting, she had to admit.

He made a low sound in his throat, shaking his head, "Hope so. I could use a nap." Clint was one of those people who never actually slept, and when he had the chance to sleep for a 'regular' amount of time straight through, he rarely managed it. He survived on naps, a couple hours at a time and he was good to go.

Once he'd finished eating he went to retrieve his handheld, popping the chip with their message into it and setting it down on the table where they could both see. It was Coulson, because he was, for all intents and purposes, their handler. He explained that phase two was still as planned, though the timeline had been bumped up. At o-six hundred the hotel was going to have a fire drill and would be evacuated from the top down, which would give them approximately fifteen minutes to make their own getaway without being noticed. The timeline was the only thing that had changed, their rendezvous point, contact, and target were all still the same.

“You could always use a nap,” Natasha replied with a slight smile. She knew all about his sleeping habits and, really, in their line of business it wasn’t a bad way to go. During their downtime, though, she had to think that it must be frustrating not being able to sleep through the night, not that she got much in the sleep department either.

Turning her attention to the small screen, she continued to eat as their instructions were relayed back. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that the plan hadn’t changed or disappointed that the action was over for the night. “I guess the weapons were just a precaution,” she stated, finishing off her dinner. Pushing her plate aside, she held her left hand out to Clint. “If we are going to be escaping with the crowd I suppose I better complete the cover.” She tapped the simple gold band on his finger.

"I don't know." He replied, sitting back in his chair, just eying the now-blank screen, "Just makes it seem like they're expecting something to go wrong." He shook his head, brow creasing slightly, "I don't like it." He'd always trusted his instincts, he often said it was the only reason he was still alive after most of the missions he'd been on.

He was already tugging the pouch with the other ring out of his jacket pocket though, even though his jacket was hung over the back of his chair, "Yeah. You want first watch or second?"

It was an old habit, sleeping in shifts, and one that they stuck with even at times like this when they didn't strictly have to.

“Forever the optimist,” Natasha replied. In all honestly she didn’t like it either. It felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, like they weren’t being given the whole story, and even if she hadn’t been wary before, Clint’s proclamation would be enough to set her on edge. His instincts were rarely wrong.

“I’ll take it,” she said, removing the wedding band from the pouch and placing it onto her finger. She hated jobs that required it; it only reminded her of a time she had worn one for real. “Get some sleep.”

Rising from her chair, she found a pair of satin pajama bottoms and a matching camisole in her luggage. Slipping underwear and the pants on until the robe, she dropped it to the floor and pulled the top on over her head. Pulling out her guns, she set about loading them, just in case.

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