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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Every woman knows that when you have an opportunity to take your mind off things there's nothing to do but take it.

Faye had kind of scoffed to herself when the invitation had appeared with her scotch one night, but the idea grew on her. It's not like she was going to do anything else interesting tonight.

The elaborate dress -- all in hues of purple -- is courtesy of the bar, and she's not likely to tell anyone how much it put her back. It's low-cut enough to seem impossible to wear, but nothing about Faye suggests she's uncomfortable in it. The mask she holds up to frame her dark green eyes is a black that glints purple under light with short fringes of lighter purple feathers on each side.

She takes the stairs at a leisurely pace, her left hand gliding down the bannister.

Now it's just a matter of finding something to drink.

"Look, it's a fairy." Despite the mask, it's not difficult at all for him to recognize Faye. "On Titan there's a legend that says when fairies wear masks, all men should give up hope. They know their hearts will be stolen right out of their chests." Smoothing down the front of his tux with one hand, he holds his chosen mask in another.

Everyone wears masks of one kind or another. These are just less obscure than most.

Even if she didn't recognize the voice, the mask would have given Gren away. It's a lot more appropriate than most other people know.

(The hair, which is enough to make most girls jealous, gives him away, too.)

"Well," she tells him, a playful curve to her mouth, "that's too bad for you, isn't it? Personally, I prefer to think of it as borrowing. People get less defensive that way."

Behind the mask, he smiles and for the first time ever he understands the point to masked balls. Hidden but yet not hidden, people can be whatever they want, flirt with whomever they want, lie like thieving bastards, be coy, gallant, cool, serious.
"Mind if I borrow you for a few minutes? There's no one else I'd rather make a grand entrance with." Crooking his arm, he hopes she'll slide her arm through his.

He won't even ask where she got that dress. All he knows about his own tuxedo -- the white one with the rose in the lapel -- is that it was waiting for him in his closet.

"You look really beautiful."

Her face grows serious behind her mask but the smile's back as quickly as it disappeared, and she looks rather pleased with herself as she hooks her arm with his.

"I do know a thing or two about grand entrances, Mister Saxophone. And I'd bet you do, too."

After all, she's never known anybody else who could swoop in and pull off the knight in shining armor routine with a big saxophone case in their hands.

"Ha." It's a very soft word of appreciation for her: for her beauty, for her wit, for her strength, for the friendship she's given him. And if it matters -- well, of course it matters, because this is all about appearances, at least to some people -- she looks very nice on his arm. He's tall; she's petite. He's long-haired; she's short-haired. He's easy; she's... not.

Nodding to her from behind the relative obscure safety of the mask, he leads her down the stairs and it makes him oddly happy to do so. It's almost as if the universe, for just a moment, makes sense.

"Mademoiselle. Thank you for the pleasure of your arm through mine. Can I get you something to drink?" He figures he might as well milk the evening for all it's worth. He hasn't had any kind of a date in a long time and while this doesn't exactly qualify, it comes close. They're both dressed up, they're both ready for a pretty fun time, he thinks. After all, it's a masquerade ball at the end of the universe. It's not just anyone who gets to go to one of those.

He's as formal as the occasion calls for, and it almost feels strange to Faye.

She did go to a masquerade like this, though not so extravagantly decorated, with Spike and Jet when they were after the Teddy Bomber, and those guys weren't capable of showing an ounce of class there.

(Neither was Andy.)

She glances around, then nods. "I think a night like this calls for Atlantean, don't you?"

Certainly not the usual scotch. And besides, a glass of Atlantean couldn't hurt her tab much after the damage the dress dealt.

It seems to her that there should be waiters -- or waitrats, at least -- walking around with trays of drinks to be snatched, but if they're around, she isn't finding them.

"I like Atlantean." And yes, she's right: the evening does call for something like that. "Should we see what refreshments they offer here?"

Years of playing music in a bar means he knows exactly where to find drink at least, and often food, and so he nods in that general direction. "I have to say, I was surprised that something like this was going on. Do you know the hostess?" He doesn't, but at some point he'd like to meet her, if only to offer up his thanks for setting up something so elaborate.

He's not sure how long he'll be able to keep up the formality, or how long he'll want to. Usually with Faye, their conversations tend to stray to places he never expects, and that's just fine with him. In a way, he feels like the luckiest man in the place or he would... if women were his style. Still, though, Faye's his friend and he's honored to be here with her. He doesn't intend to monopolize her all night long; that would hardly be fair. But he'll stay with her until her interest wavers or her attention starts to focus elsewhere.

She won't say it aloud, but the attention's flattering.

Oh, she's dolled up and she knows it, and there's never been any doubt for either of them about the identity of the other. Neither one of them could be so easily disguised as they are.

But this is a masquerade, and he could be off talking to as many complete strangers as he'd like. Women aren't his thing, as the man says, and he still came to her.

Well, what can she say? Sometimes you've just got it.

(Even if the only people who seem to appreciate it are men who are more interested in other men and weird, pushy guys.)

"Let's go find some Atlantean." Walking with him over to the bar, she raises an eyebrow. "Know the hostess? Are you kidding? I barely know anybody here."

"I finished your song." He blurts it out almost unintentionally, but now that he's said it, he continues. "You should let me play it for you sometime soon."

Linking arms with her is somehow comforting: it's about the most human contact he's had at this place since Julia and he almost finds himself craving more as they make their way over to the bar area (http://tragic-mask.livejournal.com/5352.html?thread=94184#t94184), which isn't so very far at all, even when one is negotiating a strange space wearing a mask.

Le Masquerade

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