tragic_mask | Le Masquerade

[ooc: please go first to the Through the Door thread. Thanks.]

ETA: As of this thread, all new threads in the masquerade are now after midnight [the links below are now re-linked to after-midnight sub-threads]. React at your leisure.

The ballroom itself is a burst of dazzling light. Hanging from the vaulted ceiling are two gold-wrought chandeliers, both of which glow brightly over the occasion, and tall lanterns shine throughout the room.

The grand staircase descends with a flourish and opens onto the main ballroom. A balcony, which providing a clear view of the goings-on below, runs all the way around the edge of the room. It can be reached via any of the four spiral staircases in each corner of the ballroom.

Below, the wooden dance floor flickers gently in the light from above, and musicians in the side room play soft, classical music. Meg Giry, the dance mistress for tonight, is on the floor with a microphone in hand.

A low, wooden bar in the corner provides hors d’oeuvres and drinks to revelers; small tables for two sprinkle the area.

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The mask tilted again as he nodded.

"Need new wings as I said. Or someone else with wings."

"He's gone." For a moment it seems like she may cry. Then her legs skip, jingling furiously and she's laughing again.

Hide the pain, win the day.

Draco almost stepped towards her with concern, but stopped himself.

"Not good to dwell on depressing topics. Too nice a night," he said instead.

"What shall we dwell on then, Sir?" Takes a step forward, fingers grip the balustrade with careless abandon.

There was no way to see eyebrows raising with the mask in place. But there was.

Step towards her, and carelessly suggested, "Having fun? It's a dance and a party after all."

"A dance then." Above the dancefloor. Seems somewhat poetic given their earlier conversation.

Kaye could smell the polish, thick in the air and the shine of new things. Regardless of her glamour her pixie senses picked them out of the room to be examined.

There's something familiar about him too, but she lets it lie. Sometimes a falsehood is better.

Draco briefly thought of Wednesday. One dance shouldn't hurt though. Not like they knew each other. Better not to just focus one person anyway. Something familiar with the other, but he wasn't going to pry.

"Very well," he stepped, offering his hands up to take hers for a proper ballroom dance.

A dance is merely a dance. Kaye thinks then, is it alright to use a dance to forget.

She wishes she could forget everything. But Lethe had forsaken her and betrayed her. She couldn't even blame the Nymph. Who could help being lost, in silver eyes and faerie magic.

"You are not him." It is not really a question, she follows the steps anyway. To her own dance. Just like fighting, just like love; all her steps are wrong and yet right.

It's a distraction. And easy to distance one's self with it.

He sniffed as they spun around, him leading her carefully, "Never claimed I was. Isn't that the point? To forget one's troubles?" Echoing her thoughts out loud perhaps?

Kaye lets him, no delusions of the rebel girl now; no arguments, just a quiet agreement.

The spot where Roiben kissed her had never faded; no matter how much she scratched at it. A phantom to rival Lady Macbeth's blood.

"Forgetting is harder than it sounds."

Thinking of some things he wanted to forget, he simply remarked reflectively, "Yes it is."

And he continued dancing.

Le Masquerade

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