Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you!

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

Saturday, October 31st
Evening
The Home of Alessandra Ferdis


The last few days have been, at best, a blur of activity and I can't say that it's left me in the best of spirits.  Party planning is always a chore, even a gathering as small as this, and I suppose it's the price to be paid - blood, sweat, and countless hours spent hunched over fabric - for an evening of excitement.  Alessandra has been more than accommodating, as I've measured, decorated, and almost completely reordered most of her house.  It will take some time, tomorrow once the festivities are well over, to put things back to sorts, but I've already hired hands to assist in that.

That is one benefit of living in Excolo, there is never a shortage of strong backs willing to do a bit of labor for good pay, and in a matter of days the entire place has been transformed into something resembling a fitting locale.  The walls have been covered with lush fabrics, the garden littered with a multitude of hanging lights, and the main room leading to the back cleared for the guests.  After that, it's only been a matter of setting up the refreshments, finding a suitable place for the music, and dimming the lights.

I could kill myself over the details of course, it's in my nature, and so as soon as things are well in hand, I retire to the upstairs guest suite to dress.  It's a simple design, more a personal amusement than anything else, and I doubt anyone will get the joke.  Those always are the best sorts of fun, though, the personal chuckles that are mine alone.  I finish strapping my sword to my side, mask still sitting on a nearby table, and cross to the balcony doors to peek outside.  The sun has faded into the horizon and guests have started to arrive.  That leaves me with a bit of time - I have no intention on making anything less than a memorable entrance - and so I lean against the door frame, careful to keep out of sight of those out front, and light a cigarette.

There's movement from the adjacent dressing room.  Glass.  I'd nearly forgotten, in the insanity of preparations, that she was dressing here as well.  It certainly wouldn't do to have Iago see her before the game has begun, after all.  I smile at that and call out, "You can't hide in there all evening, pet.  Might as well come out and let me have a look."

[Open]

[It's midnight!  Wrapping up!]

Comments

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"That sounds - where did you hear that story, Miss?"

"Oh, as they say - from someone's father's uncle, in the long ago," I say in a sing-song voice, like the end of a fairytale, tilting up my ceramic face to him. Then I look at Glass. I can feel the blood rising up in her from here, and her smile is like something cut out of a grave, a melon split open and spitting seeds, overripe and rank. Well, well, little sin-eater, this brew has drawn something most interesting out of you. I shall have to tell your father.

"Is that Welsh, miss?" I say, tilting my head. "I know a story of a Welsh princess called Branwen. She had a cauldron, I think, that could bring the dead to life. Imagine that, just popping the corpses into the cauldron as if they were dinner, and bringing them out full of life." I look over at Benedict for a moment, and then back at Glass. "It brought her no good, though, and she died of grief." I tilt my head. "I'm going to get another drink," I say brightly. "I shall be back later. Real nice to meet you, Scarecrow and Birdie both." I walk off with a skipping gait. Tonight is really quite fun.

[benedict-donner.livejournal.com]

"'s a fair tale," the bird says, and then her voice changes. It's rougher and darker and "tywyllwch beddau," she says with hunger in her mouth. I can hear her breath in deep and oh, where have you been with those strange dark eyes. I hardly hear the rabbit speak, though I catch her tale of a cauldron. I wish it were true. "I shall be back later. Real nice to meet you, Scarecrow and Birdie both," she says, pale innocence, and she skips off.

I slip around to face to the bird, more raven now than peacock, and I think carrion-bird would suit her. We're close now, and I can smell sweat and alcohol on her. "When did you last see a corpse, carrion bird?" I can hardly see her costume anymore - the feathers are black and her lips smell of meat ripped off in strips. "Tell me of it, and I'll tell you something about a scarecrow."

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Scrimshaw bone mask and I know that story, Efnisien in a mockery of death made true with iron split asunder and seven left and Branwen over the salt sea-- "Imagine," I echo the girl, my voice dropping to a low growl as she flits away.

"When did you last see a corpse, carrion bird? Tell me of it, and I'll tell you something about a scarecrow."

"Last seen wrong question," I say low, still grinning as I consider the room and then him, dead man in gallows mask with the rope hanging pulled-tendon 'round and down his back. Put one hand on him and he's not dead at all, too warm. "I've told tale already, it's your turn," I say, stepping 'round him quick again, and standing behind him as I was before, save this time my chin's on his left shoulder. Lift my hand towards the table and point, and oh, the jaws of him, the crushing shine of bone.

"Care to know what eats the quick in Excolo? It's come padding in, bwbach," I say, and I laugh a little, low and quick, and push him towards the Shuck. "Go on. Look at him. Talk to him, should you like."

[benedict-donner.livejournal.com]

"Last seen wrong question," the carrion bird says, grinning, and she turns about me again, laying her chin on my shoulder and pointing. "I've told tale already, it's your turn." I follow her arm, and there he is, a small girl and a big black dog chatting with the rabbit.

"Care to know what eats the quick in Excolo? It's come padding in, bwbach." She gives me a laugh and a push. "Go on. Look at him. Talk to him, should you like."

I agonize for a moment over the choice, for I have tales I could tell this carrion bird, and I hear the teeth in her mouth. I feel myself turning strange tonight, but I won't fight it for it is like this sometimes, when the hunger is on me and I am close to eating. I turn my head and brush coarse twine lips over hers, aching to bite until they bleed. "I will tell you a story, carrion bird, about a scarecrow. Next time I see you, and wouldn't it be interesting to see if we can recognize each other?" My gaze drifts back to the dog, huge and dark with the prey girls. "Another night, then." And I leave her laughing, for my hunger pulls me there (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/278861.html?thread=7294029#t7294029).