bakerstreet | But I want to go to the ball!

But I want to go to the ball!

A MASQUERADE BALL MEME

MASQUERADE! Hide your face so the world will never find you!
Time to go to the ball! Early or late, the food is exquisite, the music is an endless dream and the tide of taffeta creates the most wonderful masks on all your fellow ball-goers. Are you here to find true love, to dance, or just for the incredible food? Perhaps you'll meet "the One"!

RULES
• Leave a comment with your character's name and fandom.
• RNG for a number between 1-10 to get your options. Mix and match!
• Have fun!

SCENARIOS

001 DANCING | One person asks another to dance.
002 MINGLING | Chatting in one of the lavish rooms or in the gardens.
003 NIBBLES | Ah, the fated moment your eyes first meet ... over the creampuff puddings.
004 LOST | The castle is huge! One person is lost, the other knows where the ball is.
005 MIDNIGHT | The clock has struck, your clothes have turned to rags!
006 KEEPSAKE | It might not be a glass slipper but someone has lost something and you're here to return it.
007 PUNCHLINE | Spilling punch all over the other person, whether by accident or out of nerves.
008 LIVERIED | Ball? You're here to work! Who else is going to clean up the sick on those rose bushes? Tsk.
009 UNDRESSED | Take off the mask.
010 WILD CARD | Choose your own type of encounter!

(by

sockle)

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[Likely in disguise at an Orlesean ball]

Mihai is good at disappearing into these things. There are always nosferatu and gangrel willingot take on the role of spectacle, boor, and scene. He can flit like a bit of living shadow into a corner and lurk untroubled there. And because he must always be doing something a little bit weird, he settles down in a crouch to examine the fancy tiled floor and identify every irregularity in the pattern, eyes flickering disconcertingly as he searches out his own meaning in the chips and crooked spots, too fine for anyone else to notice.

Etienne is in his element, of course. His suit is exquisite, black and silver embroidery snaking along his limbs, the stardust-colored fabric tailored to fit him like a second skin. He's dancing, because what else would he be doing? His easy smile careless as he waltzes across the ballroom. A mask of diamonds and black lace sparkles under the warm light from the candelabras, but there's certainly no mistaking this Toreador.

When the song ends, Etienne bows to his partner with a flourish, graceful as a cat. He has no idea who he was dancing with, but he doesn't care. They only exist in the moment, and he'll forget all about them once he turns his back to stroll along the edge of the dance floor.

What exactly prompts Mihai to look up is anybody's guess. Even he has very little idea of the exact degrees to which he pretends to be crazy, simply is crazy, and is actually in contact with mysterious forces imperceptible to others. He might well have just subconsciously recognized Etienne's taste in shoes. The floor might have told him. Either way, he hmms to himself and smiles a little, hidden as always.

Mihai has on a plain, black domino mask that someone absolutely forced on him at the door. It's no match for the size of his nose and makes the thousand-year gaze of his liquid ebony eyes not one degree less spooky. Otherwise he is... wearing clothes. Not the hooded jacket and old scarf he usually favors, so that's something. It looks a lot like he borrowed from the priests he hovers around, heavy and featureless black that at least isn't very mudstained the order of the day.

He doesn't straighten. Just waits, and announces, "There are fish in a pond over there. You should tell everyone they talked to me and said something terrible." Alright, sometimes he knows when he's playing up the crazy.

It would be a lie to say that Etienne almost misses him there in the shadows. Oh no, he's known all along exactly where Mihai was lurking, but he certainly makes it look as though he just happens upon him. Always with the performance.

His head cocks to peer down at Mihai, causing hair as pale as moonlight to fall away from his mask in a shimmering cascade as he arches an elegant brow. "Why, whatever did they say to you, kitten? Portents and ill omens of dark times to come?"

His lips quirk up at the corners, smirk falling just this shy of condescending. There's a cruel look in his eyes tonight, though that isn't particularly unusual for Etienne. "Or did they merely take issue with that musty old smock you're wearing?"

"You can pick something. If I try to be spooky on purpose it never works." Finally he straightens. Well. It's a multi-step process. Being a vampire means no pain and no permanent damage, but navigating in a body with fucked up joints still has a few requirements. He uses the side of an impressive stone abstraction to haul himself up. "They're pretty. And old as old. It must take a while for a goldfish to get that big. They might actually know, if you knew how to ask." And we're back to regular, un-self-aware irrationality.

Etienne's brows draw together ever so slightly as Mihai rattles out words that don't quite seem to fit together. He delivers the ostensible nonsense so matter-of-factly that Etienne thinks he's almost able to follow what Mihai is saying, disjointed as the seemingly random string of thoughts sounds. He's getting better at deciphering Mihai's strange mode of speech, though it's a talent he has yet to master; sometimes, he's decided, Mihai simply doesn't make any sense.

A huff catches silken hair in what might be a laugh -- or perhaps he's simply grown impatient and decided to move things along in that insistent way he always does.

"Shall we ask them?" Somehow, he makes it sound like a challenge. He's either playing along or honestly interested in seeing the fish, though even he couldn't tell you which at this point. "I'm certain they won't deprive us of their secrets once I have a go at them."

Mihai draws up beside him, happy enough to have something to do. He doesn't often actually stand next to Etienne. There's a lot of looming and sprawling on one side or the other. He's not outlandishly tall, and his twisted back keeps him from quite drawing to his full height, but he has a way of looming. "They're over here," says the chipper immortal with the strength of many human souls, because what is eternal life for if not looking at possibly potentious koi?

Etienne's hand comes to rest at the small of Mihai's back, urging him forward so that he can lead the way to the loquacious fish. The fabric of Mihai's shapeless black garment is rough against Etienne's fingers, causing him to wrinkle his nose in distaste. Honestly. Was it so terribly difficult to hire a tailor? Etienne has offered his own on more than one occasion. Mihai would have him think that a losing battle, but Etienne never gives up when it comes to fashion. He'll see Mihai well-dressed one of these days.

"You never did say what terrible thing the fish told you."

"That's because I made it up," Mihai says with shameless calm. He knows what's expected of him, and he really did like looking at the fish, giving him an out for the rest of the night. Bonkers malkavian muttering is how he gets away with more or less whatever he wants. "They're here, there's a big white one that--"

It's a very nice koi pond, as any object d'arte in a vampire's ballroom must be, and Mihai would have had a lovely time pointing at its various subtle beauties until Etienne got bored. Alas, it is not to be, as the artificial pop and white noise of a sound system coming to life cuts him off with a wince--he doesn't care for unexpected noises--and then the stage goes to a stately vampire in an evening gown whose name he doesn't care to remember, and might not have bothered to learn. The stage is barely there, neatly arranged to avoid any vulgarity, because that's the ventrue for you. It doesn't suit Mihai's turn of the century soul. Or whatever vampires have left instead of a soul.

"Our guest for the evening has just arrived," she says in a voice like incense and the smell of minimalist succulent gardens.

Well, he can't exactly pretend he's surprised. It's become increasingly clear that Mihai takes full advantage of the fact that most everyone believes him to be completely batshit crazy, even for a vampire. Etienne wouldn't go so far as to claim Mihai's playing with a full deck of cards, but he's learned to take every meandering pronouncement with a grain of salt.

Still, prophetic fish might have kept them both sufficiently entertained for the duration of the night, so he can't help feeling a bit disappointed.

Etienne doesn't bat an eyelash when the shrill whine slices through the tranquil calm of the night -- he wouldn't be much of a rockstar if he lost his poise over a bit of feedback. He does lift his hand to grip Mihai's shoulder, however -- steadying, grounding perhaps. Mihai's reaction is effusive enough for the both of them.

"Doubtless you've all heard the rumors of tensions building along the outskirts of the coastal regions." Morwenna is the name of the vampire who addresses them, and she's second only to the prince himself in the hierarchy. Though she's always somewhat severe in manner, tonight there's an edge to her tone that causes a preternatural hush to fall over the mingling guests, all eyes turning toward the stage. "Our guest tonight brings word from the outer boroughs and the borderlands beyond. It is my hope -- and that of your prince -- that there will remain no doubt as to the reality of the situation by the time he has concluded his address."

Mihai does not know a single benighted thing about tensions on the outskirts of the coastal reasons, because he spends his time contemplating unusual lichens growing in sewers. He's willing to bet Etienne doesn't either, if only because politics would very quickly bore him. He watches entirely out of step with the crowd, as is his wont, more bored than guarded. Nobody ever bothers asking him to do anything.

The vampire bundled onstage is less striking than the one he replaces. In a world where every other magic creature can crush you, where contention between factions is settled by superhuman combat and the full force of centuries of wealth and power and ancient and sinister magics, it takes a certain amount of confidence to look like an accountant and expect people to pay attention to you.

He even pushes glasses up his nose before he begins. "I'm going to start by saying that once I've explained it all, the unavoidable conclusion will be that we don't actually know the cause. And that should terrify you, because a consortium of ageless scholars of magic looked at a phenomenon that eats shadows and devours its targets to the level of atoms and energies and were forced to shrug."

Etienne has heard enough about the situation to know he doesn't need to concern himself. He's so far removed from the humdrum of established politics that he rarely takes the time to 'stay informed,' as so many would have him do. He knows the major players relevant to his circle and that's more than enough, so far as he's concerned.

The speaker takes his place at the microphone and Etinne's mind is already wandering. Another day, another problem that has nothing to do with him. The hand on Mihai's shoulder somehow finds it's way into long hair, tangling even more as his fingers attempt to card through it. He'll try anyway, his gaze flitting towards the fish pond even as he half-listens to the speech everyone else seems to find so fascinating.

"Eating shadows? Perhaps you ought to be worried, kitten."

Mihai nods, because Etienne's right, he doesn't care for the idea. Shadows should go uneaten. He struggles a little to pay attention, but his attention is split between glittery things and fish and Etienne's fingers, so no surprise there.

"The term we've been using, and I need to be clear this is absolutely a placeholder, is unreality gap. It applies more or less the same way to affected areas and affected mortals. Nearby areas experience disruptions to the normal behavior of light, heat, and other detectable energies..."

The presenter's almost deliberately dull, ponderous manner is causing all sorts of shifts in the crowd. Those vampires who believe themselves bastions of culture and those who make it a point to reject the very concept alike don't really care to be lectured like attendees of a library's special event.

Etienne remains firm in his belief that his fingers should always divide Mihai's attention. Upon first encountering 'his' Malkavian, Etienne had been delighted by the way the other vampire responded to even the most casual touch. He'd found an endless source of amusement in every bewildered look he received, and so made it a point to touch Mihai as often as he could. He'd lavished Mihai with near-constant unsolicited attention in an effort to be as distracting as possible, which ultimately led to Etienne's developing a strange sort of obsession with the reclusive vampire.

In the time since then, his aggressive use of tactile affection has diminished to an extent. Somewhere along the line, he'd stopped touching Mihai with the active intent to distract, although his odd fixation never wavered. These days, more often than not, his touches are idle things that happen without any conscious thought on his part, serving no goal or purpose as they had before. Now, he touches Mihai because doing so feels as natural to him as breathing once had.

So, certainly, he's of the opinion that his fingers in Mihai's hair ought to divert at least some portion of his attention, considering the sheer amount of time and energy he'd once dedicated to achieving such an end... but it's also fine if they don't.

Currently, the only things distracting Etienne's attention from the speech (other than how boring and completely nonsensical it is) are the speaker's glasses. Why the hell would a vampire wear glasses? Are those just pieces of clear glass masquerading as lenses? Why the hell fake the glasses look in the first place if you can't even be bothered to pick a pair of frames from this century?

He's still pondering these important questions when the music starts up again, snapping him back to the present and the realization that the speaker has apparently left the stage. As the crowd returns to their revelry, Etienne tugs his hand free from Mihai's hair so that he can link their arms and pull Mihai toward the pond.

"Well, I hope we weren't expected to take away anything important from all that nonsense. He lost me at 'eating shadows.' Maybe the fish can explain?"

Mihai did sort of try, but without much to hook his attention on, it flapped in the wind until it tore away entirely and blew down an alley. He's been thinking about spiders for several minutes by the time Etienne redirects him and he absorbs the fact that the talk is over. Oops. Oh, well.

He hooks the toes of his boots in the decorative bit of antique iron railing that sections off the pond, quite content to sink into regaling Etienne with fish tales. The koi are impressive things, big and rare and colorful, their pond not just a mess of painted concrete but filled with imported stone abstractions and particularly fancy water plants. He bends himself almost double to look out over them, the bend in his back creating a particularly heron-like effect. "If they can jump over the right waterfall they turn into dragons," he says, happy to go on a tear.

And interrupted by a dry cough. "If I could borrow the emissary of the shattered mirror for a moment."

Mihai doesn't almost fall in, but he thinks about making a show of it. Deciding that's too much performance right now, he half rights himself. "Es tut mir leid, ich--"

"And before you try to avoid speaking English." The speaker is the faintly nebbishy vampire with the glasses. "I was warned. And informed you once went on a tear for fifteen straight minutes about Tom Bombadil's place in the Lord of the Rings trilogy."

Well. Oops. Admittedly, that was an attempt at getting out of another important person trying to talk to him. It never occurred to him that they'd compare notes. He looks to Etienne with a faintly lost expression.

Etienne's hand shoots out to grasp hold of Mihai's collar the moment he bends over the pool. Though the curve of Mihai's back makes the position appear far more precarious than it probably is in actuality, Etienne's suit is expensive and he has no interest in risking the possibility he could be splashed with filthy pond water should Mihai -- accidentally or otherwise -- wind up toppling over the edge.

He reconsiders his stance on the matter when he sees who has interrupted them. As he has even less interest in hearing more drivel from fake-glasses vampire than he has in chancing potential collateral damage to his suit, his fingers uncurl to release their hold on Mihai's collar. Should Mihai decide to take the tumble as means of escaping whatever nuisance this interloper promises to bring, Etienne won't hold him it against him. After all, the distress of having one's suit ruined would provide the perfect excuse for him to flee the premises entirely.

"It's not so much an avoidance tactic," Etienne replies seamlessly upon seeing the helpless look Mihai throws in his direction. "More that he often simply forgets he speaks English at all. Can't blame him really, what with so many other languages tossing around in that scatterbrained head of his. I'm sure you'll agree, Mr... Sorry, what was your name again?"

The man's eyes flicker to Etienne, and they have an unpleasantly noticing quality about them, refusing to pass over the brand of elegance that consists of conspicuous glitter and tends to be easily dismissed by certain segments of the community. But all he says is, "Zefer Andaloussi." A name that suits its owner about as poorly as Mihai suits this room.

"Our problem has, as you've heard--" and he speaks with both the quiet condescension people generally aim in Mihai's direction, but he does it with a certain show to it. A performance, possibly not for them. He also speaks as one who at least suspects he wasn't listened to. "More systematic methods of investigation--even reaching out to the mages who will work with us--have proven unusually ineffective. The source of the issue doesn't wish to be perceived. And as you represent perhaps the least systematic method available, your prince has offered your services."

Mihai is extremely easy to push around, if you're direct. It adds a lot of value to Etienne's life, but sometimes works against him. Acting dense and skittering away from vampire manipulation is easy for him, but actual directions? "Oh," is all he says, fussing with the collar of his faintly eclesiastical robe as if he's forgotten it is not a raggedy pashmina and cannot be pulled over his head.

( it starts off as a rumor they overhear some days back. something about a gathering and how that leaves certain high houses empty for the duration of it. it's funny, really, the things people will say when they don't think of the traveling pair as much to pay attention to. caleb purposefully doesn't like drawing attention to himself, and fearne never quite looks like she's ever really paying attention, her head somewhere drifting with the clouds.

but they're sharp in their own way, with claws hidden beneath sheep's clothing. its helpful to be able to watch when people aren't paying attention, she's learned.

a subtle glance is shared, and a plan is hatched. far more grandiose and ambitious than empty houses they'd likely unwittingly share with another opportunist. she's always favored the flair anyway. part of the thrill is looking someone in the eye as she spirits something off of them, smiling sweet and guileless. not that she's particularly picky about whether or not the (soon to be former) owner is around, so long as what caught her eye ends up in her possession.

to get ready separately had been at her insistence, to preserve the magic in the awe of a full reveal. 'it'd be fun,' she'd said, giddy and carefree, leaving him with the implication that she doesn't need the distraction of watching him get cleaned up and dressed anyway as she meanders on out to set about getting ready herself.

after being talked out of weaving a charm to borrow someone's home for the time being, it's at an inn a little more than their usual fare do they set about their own preparations. appearances were important, they'd agree, at least then they can claim to be visiting from some far off town and if the carriage they'd procured for the evening was seen coming from some derelict space their scheme could fall apart by the loose lips of some bored carriage driver. (maybe that's a paranoia thing, or maybe she just doesn't think enough about this stuff? she's not sure, but caleb's smart and she trusts his judgement implicitly.)

six past noon on the dot is when she'd told him to come knock at her door. but only because she finds it fascinating that he seems to know what time it is without even thinking about it. her, on the other hand, is definitely glancing at some timekeeping device she'd nicked a few towns back to await the last few minutes of their impending rendezvous, toying with a bit of ribbon between slender fingers to keep herself occupied. )

[ At six past noon on the dot, Caleb knocks. His timekeeping seems to amuse Fearne, since she's always asking him to meet her at extremely specific times, or she'll ask him four or fives times in an hour what time it is, like she just can't get enough of how easily and precisely he answers. If he can make her happy with something so simple, he's glad to.

The door he knocks on is the inside one, linking his room to hers. They'd sprung for the suite with adjoining rooms, thinking it looked more legitimate for a married couple and anticipating a decent haul of coin from their activities tonight. New clothes were also part of preparations for this particular scheme. While illusion would work, it is risky at an event where they will quite literally be rubbing shoulders with their targets. If anything felt off to anyone, they would be in trouble. Ultimately, the clothing is an investment; they can use it again in similar situations, and Caleb can use illusion to embellish it, changes up colors and details so that they aren't so recognizable. It helps ease the financial burden a little that Fearne had stolen at least half of what they needed while Caleb distracted various shopkeepers by counting out each coin individually for payment. That is one of his oldest tricks, both as a distraction and a way to skim a few coins off the total.

He has no idea what Fearne has gotten for herself, and her insistence on it being a surprise has him curious. As is typical for him, he isn't wearing anything flashy; tall boots, nicely polished, trousers with a high waist, a shirt with a tall buttoned collar and wide sleeves that cinch tight at the wrist, a thick belt, a double-breasted vest with understated floral embroidery, and a floor-length sleeveless duster, loose enough that the bulk of his spellbook attached to his harness isn't overly conspicuous. Formal, appropriate for a gathering of the social elite in Emon, but nothing that will stand out. Caleb is clean-shaven for the first time in years, and he's pulled his hair half back with a nice leather cord Fearne had pulled from somewhere in her cleavage. At this point, he doesn't ask.

In his head, he goes over their story again. They are married, here in Emon on business from their home in Zadash in the Dwendalian Empire, where they are merchants of arcane wares--a good explanation for Caleb's spellbook. No one will blink twice at a wizard from the Empire, especially one with Caleb's accent. He is meant to be forgettable. Fearne very much is not, but that can work in their favor as long as they play their cards right. ]

( her hooves all but practically scrape along the floors when she skids on over in her excitement, throwing the door between their shared rooms wide open. a brilliant smile tugging at her lips now that she can finally see how he's put himself together for the affair.

of course, the onceover itself is shameless, a sparkle of appreciation in evergreen eyes as she basks in the view of just how nicely he'd clean himself up. she'll miss the scruff a little, but she'll live. for his sake, since she fears he might burn up in his very nice suit, she swallows a jest about looking forward to consummating their fake marriage. what she says instead probably isn't much better though. )

Oh, look how pretty you are! I could just eat you right up.

( not that she does much to act on it, still smiling the same serene way she always does even as she reaches for his collar to slip a finger beneath it. to readjust, needlessly so, smoothing her palms over his vest to admire the make of the fabric - and to take stock, it seems. he'd kept his book, unsurprisingly. which means his components are not too far away either. which is for the best, she can't walk in there with some of her favored weaponry. a serpentine staff would likely get taken at the door anyway, not to mention her sickle, no matter how they claim to be purveyors of magic.

and while unnoticed and forgettable was the ideal, the nature of her stature already denies her such. so she figured she might as well fully lean into being a source of distraction. surely he could make use of it in some way, right? if not, well, they're creative.

her dress, lavender, long and flowing, is cinched in around her waist by a corded rope, the cut of her dress draws up so high on her hip that there's a peek of where her fur ends over the swell of it. her hair, twisted and held up by entwined monkshood and wisteria, is kept off her bared shoulders and back save for a few locks of it here and there to frame her face and accentuate some of the flowers like hanging vines over her horns. the dip of her dress is generous as always, dainty and shimmering flowers speckled over the sheer fabric that hugs her frame in some vague attempt to leave more to the imagination. it reminds her of dryads back at home, and the strange modesty provided to them by the flora they command. and if she carries anything else, well, they'll simply have to check her themselves.

when she spins for him for the full view, there's a glint of gold down the middle of her back. a serpent with rubied eyes lay between her shoulder blades, one that reminded her of her staff, whose head rests at the small of her back, the length of it sitting daintily atop her spine and held up by thin chains running along her ribs. her tail, it seems, is accommodated by just how far the back dips, curving just under it snuggly.

she even holds her dress in a curtsy after, practiced and polite. like she's done this before. though she does little in the way of hiding her playful grin. )

Well, my lord?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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