Welcome to the masquerade ball, my dears. Tonight, we shall all put on our finest tailored suits and gowns and hide our identities behind a mask. Let the orchestra play its elegant music, and let us dance the night away in this sophisticated atmosphere. For tonight, we are all equals that mystery protects, and we can let loose and enjoy ourselves without fear of judgment.
♢ ROLE HOST
Are you the reason everyone gathers at the ball? Why everyone wear beautiful clothes and masks to keep themselves a mystery? Don't forget to entertain and dance for yourself.
GUEST
Congratulations, you have been invited to the season's most anticipated ball! Your peers are now all around you, each wearing a different disguise and luxurious attire. The possibilities are endless, so go forth and have some fun.
WILDCARD
Do you have to serve the visitors like a servant? Are you a member of the ensemble performing tasteful classical music? A fun-loving intruder who sneaks in without permission? Or even a guard performing their duty as required. Whatever option you choose, you are already part of the mystery.
♢ LOCATION CASTLE
Every piece of stone and wood is beautifully sculpted and fit for royalty.
TOWER
The climb is long, but the destination gives the most beautiful view in the world.
LAKESIDE MANSION AND GARDEN
If one needs to sneak out of the ball for whatever reason then here is your chance for something different.
WILDCARD
Wherever you decide to go, there will be a beautiful ball.
♦ HOW THIS WORKS
1: Tag in with your character/canon/preferences and, optionally, a situation. 2: Tag around. 3: Have fun.
[Lin knows she shouldn’t be here, but she couldn’t help herself. It’s easy to sneak into these events when your brain is essentially a database for all the ins-and-outs. Besides - everyone is dressed up, wearing masks (or they should be). There’s plenty of booze and drunken revelry. Should be a piece of cake to slip past and blend in.
Which is what she does.
Her gown isn’t flashy in color (the better to deter unwanted attention), but the details are exquisite enough. A bodice adorned with faux flower petals. Light, airy tulle from waist to foot. A dream, essentially. Breezy.
Her hair is down for once - she’s beginning to quite like it that way, actually - loose curls framing her face and cascading down her shoulders and back. The upper portion of her face is hidden by a silver mask that gives the appearance of lace. It’s fastened around her head with a long cord, braided black and silver. On her lip is a deep red stain.
Catch her on the outskirts of the ballroom dance floor or even outside by the garden benches. The weather is fine and there’s the slightest spring breeze in the air.]
[ How familiar are the two words that come to mind the moment he spots her. the form, the walk, the way her hands move as though keeping to herself. could it be...? if it is, there's no surprise from the man at how she's able to arrive at the party in the first place when she's able to find him anywhere and anytime. the only question is why — work? pleasure?
certainly not the same way he's been brought into the party: out of thin air. still armed, though the autoreloader gone. troubling should he be unable to find it or if it isn't returned after the event. fisticuffs is inevitable should anything happen to his weapons he supposes.
once he spots an opportunity, august plucks one of the many gold-painted flowers from its vases before moving in. from behind: ]
Pardon me, but I don't suppose you've seen a woman about this tall? [ he raises a hand just a few inches shorter than wendy with heels. ] She also has a certain elegance with her presence, much like you. Haven't a clue where she went... to think I was hoping for a dance.
[ an amused look resides on his lips as he stretches out the flower. not exactly to give it yet, but to show. ]
( currently rusty! zarina is a guest. two options: in canon she is given a mask and will be made to wear a dress for the evening. outside of dbd where she's able to pick her outfit, zarina would wear this one. )
[ for Caleb, this masquerade is no less a fever dream as the one he was "invited" to back then. The invitation was the same: an unsigned scroll that summoned a dark fog to surround him as soon as he unfurled it. So was the gold-and-blue getup he found himself wearing once he could see again, horned mask and all. The sense of unreality that settled over him was the same too—and now, as he watches Zarina moving through the room, he feels it more strongly than ever. Not even talking to some of the other killers and dancing with Miss Smithson in an attempt to act like a "guest" had done anything to soothe his unease.
Because why would that thing ever allow both of them this opportunity?
Oh, the Entity might not be the host ( though he wouldn't consider it above making a fuss for itself and forcing its prisoners to celebrate its "birthday" ) but the fact remains he and Zarina haven't ever been able to spend time together in complete peace. In trials, every encounter is stained by her blood or that of the other survivors. In Glenvale, every moment in each other's arms is haunted by the inevitable return to that carnage. But here during the masquerade, where something mysteriously keeps all the attendees from harming one another, there's none of that. They can enjoy each other's company with no worries except keeping the true nature of their relationship hidden.
It's... too good to be true. The center of his chest aches with the remembered agony of the last time both of them were whisked away to some place part and yet apart of the fog. Afterwards, he'd sworn it would never happen again, but—
The sight of Zarina drawing back one of the thick velvet curtains lining the walls interrupts his darkening thoughts. Caleb raises his eyebrows as she reveals a pair of glass doors. The exact details of where the last masquerade was held have since faded in his memories, but he's fairly certain there wasn't anything resembling an exit or entrance then.
It doesn't take long for her to decide to slip through—which is just enough for him to make his decision too. Damned if he'd let his own misgivings keep him away from her for the whole time they're here.
After a glance around to make sure no one's watching, he walks over and follows her out. The curtains whisper shut behind him as he emerges onto a large balcony beneath an endless, starless night. The only light's from the ever-present moon. Muffled music from within the tower seeps into the cool air. Before him, fog fills the horizon as far as he can see, and he doesn't have to go to the railing to know nothing else's below, either.
Zarina's standing there, beautiful in black and gold. The tinkling of his spurs announces his approach, and he follows it with a light touch on her shoulder as he takes a place by her side. ]
Tired out, darlin'?
[ he keeps his tone warm, allowing no hint of his earlier brooding through. She had been dancing up a storm a while ago. He might have asked her for a turn too, yet... it would've taken everything he had not to pull her closer than what's polite. ]
[Mia is a party girl - or she used to be one what seems like a million years ago. This - this isn’t her kind of a party. Seems way too stuffy for her sensibilities. She feels awkward and overdressed (yet vulnerable all at once) and way too made up. Can barely even walk in her shoes. Heels should be illegal. It’s all so uncomfortable.
But she’s here and she’s going to make the best of it. At least there’s free booze. And plenty of places to sit down. She can even take her shoes and chuck them into the bushes out in the garden if she becomes desperate enough. Shouldn’t be too bad, right?
At least she can feel like a princess for a few hours in a gown of the deepest green. She never went to prom, never attended any sort of event that warranted such a poofy, over-the-top dress. That alone is worth (some) of the trouble.
The invitation said it was a masquerade. She nearly didn’t bother with a mask (because fuck the establishment) until one in particular grabbed hold of her attention. It’s gnarly, intricate, bound to raise questions. Kinda metal? Something about the flower details, the leaves. Can’t miss the horns. It suits her in a way, and she’s pleased to wear it. Her dark hair is tamed into more manageable waves. Her lips stained a pale pink. Understated and classy despite her grumbles.]
[There for a job, probably, either as a guest or as staff. But historical gatecrashing is always a possibility, you know they tore it up in the 20s and beyond.]
[If it's a Halloween thing, she definitely snuck out of the house to attend, if it's a historical society thing (because her parents are definitely founding members of the Hawkins Historical Society) she's probably there under some kind of duress.]
Anne Bonney | Pirate of Legend & Lore (sort of) | OTA
[Zepar loves parties, and parties with an excuse to dress up are even better. Might also be a costume shindig at Dante's, which means he's probably bartending.]
[This is a lady who knows A: how to throw a party and B: how to make an entrance at someone else's. She learned from the best after all, and chances are good she will be wearing a cape.]
( So what if she gets to attend one of these as a guest rather than a performer? Also, what are we looking at in terms of location? Happy to write a starter, either gen or shippy [since I don't remember if we established which they fell under]. )
Immortal as they were, vampires often celebrated the passing of years differently than humans. No birthdays, no anniversaries, no trite human holidays--vampires liked to think on a cosmic scale, believing themselves above such petty human considerations. Blood moons, eclipses, and the movements of the planets were what marked their calendars, and Halley's Comet was almost universally the vampires' favorite reason to celebrate. Any comet was a wonder of course, but the predictable recurrence of Halley's Comet was especially delightful. Some older vampires marked their age in both years and number of comets they'd witnessed, with the comet being presumed to be far more impressive a number.
It was no wonder then that the Blackrock Coven, the oldest vampire clan in North America and one of the most powerful, threw an overly extravagant party in celebration of the comet's passing in 1910. The coven was primarily located in New York City, but had property all over the state, and so the 1910 fete was being held at their estate just outside of Saratoga Springs, where the comet could be well viewed and their more unsavory choices of entertainment would go unwitnessed by unknowing mortals who wouldn't understand what they were seeing.
The Saratoga Estate was also the home to the Blackrock Werewolf Kennels, where the Blackrock Pack was based. The pack had been in captivity to the coven for over a hundred years by that point, established not long after the coven had settled in New York. Werewolf packs in bondage to vampire covens was not a new idea, but only the most powerful covens could maintain a pack as large as Blackrock's without risk of an uprising. It was a careful combination of magical directives, brainwashing, and conditioning that kept the pack in line--the pups were separated from their pack at a very young age and brought up in a strict training program that taught them to be good loyal little servants for their vampire masters, and for the most part, it worked beautifully.
But every now and then there was a bad apple.
Franklin was barely 22 years old and had already been sent for reconditioning twice. He was on thin ice, but the most recent reconditioning program seemed to have done the trick, so he was permitted to serve at the Comet Masquerade Gala along with select other members of the pack, hand picked for their beauty and obedience. The job was relatively simple: look pretty and follow orders. Be available. Don't say no.
Because while the vampires could eat and drink, and there was plenty of choice options for both, the real delicacy being served were the werewolves themselves. Their blood was just the right balance of rich, delicious, and intoxicating that having pretty young werewolves to wander a party at the command of the hosting coven was a high mark of indulgence, power, and wealth.
So there Frankie was, dressed in a svelte tuxedo and a simple domino mask, his shoulder-length hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. He'd already been drunk from three times, and he was starting to feel a little lightheaded, as the intoxication of a vampire feeding went both ways, especially when it came to werewolves. He was sick of the privileged, powerful assholes feeling him up and nipping at his skin. He wanted to rip off his clothes and tear out the throats of anyone who so much as glanced his way.
But the directives for the night had been well laid, and no matter what he did, Frankie hadn't been able to find a loophole or weak point for any of the orders he'd been given. So he was locked into his role for the evening, unable to crawl his way out of following the orders of his masters. And tonight, any bastared with a pair of fangs was his master.
His blood boiling beneath his skin, a polite smile plastered on his face, Frankie was forced to meander among the guests--a plaything for the rich and powerful children of the night.
[It doesn't really matter what the occasion is, Klaus is a vaguely steampunk faun-slash-circus-ringmaster. With a pair of hooved boots, a small pair of horns hidden in his hair, a tailcoat -sans shirt- and a tidily-tied ascot, and a brown velveteen skirt, all topped off with a genuine top hat, too large to be a fascinator and too small to have been made for an adult human's head.]
[Y'all know Allison's family in the OG Hocus Pocus? Yeah, if his folks are in town it's like that, and he hates it. If they're out of town, anything goes.]
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