tragic_mask: (Default)
[personal profile] tragic_mask

[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.

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 05:26 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
His voice was low and dark, warmth of his breath on her shoulder as he swept her in a turn (--two-three) the grasp on her hand tighter.

"How beautiful you are. Especially in that color."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 05:31 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (masquerade)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
She smiles.

"A friend of mine told me I should wear it more often. Thought I'd heed his advice."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 05:41 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
"Bright woman. Tell me more about your friend," The merest touch of a smile. The brush of his hand on her waist. "Or anything that might be trapped between those ears in that brain of yours. I am interested. And,"

he mocks, "we need to disprove that graffiti."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 05:48 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (not the finger)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
"Well," she muses,

"he's Italian and I'm reasonably sure he's a vampire."

Step-two-three, turn-two-three

"Really, dear. You can't expect me to pay attention to such gossip. Although disproving it should be fun."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 06:09 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: liasions)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
"That gown was made to deceive. It makes you seem so coy."

(Tempting, conniving little bitch)

The genteel way his hand rests on his waist grows firmer, crueler.

(--one, two)

Vicious eyes, behind the mask. "It's such a lie, isn't it?"

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 06:15 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (masquerade)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
From the waist up, she's wearing something akin to a corset. The skirt is multiple layers of fabric.

That doesn't mean she can't feel.

She hisses a soft intake of breath before answering.

"Aren't most things?"

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 06:23 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
Lips twist, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. A grimace. A leer. He started to sound strange--tinged with hunger--and cold, from waiting. "Almost everything."

(slice through the laces of the corset, and so many possibilities with all that seemingly useless cord.)

He chuckled.

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 06:29 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (golden)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
She tilts her head, expression somewhere between contentment and blithe curiosity.

a killer but not really a killer because he's never looked death in the face look me in the face bound and bleeding on white sheets y-incision I bet he likes that one what bright eyes you have and should I let you keep them?

"Something funny, sweet thing?"

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 06:41 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
A pause, licking his lips.

(Unlock and divide the body into sections like a puzzle box, laces into knots that cause lewd bruises on delicate wrists with a delicious shock to the nervous system that makes her bite her red lips and shudder and there are bells--)

"The song has changed."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 06:46 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (not yours)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
She laughs (like bells).

bruises on her throat and collarbone either healed or hidden her scar his name carved above her breast and hidden by a delicate ruffle of red red red best to work with it quickly before it dries the trick is to start at the joints

"They do that, you know."

She leans forward and drags her tongue across his lower lip.

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 06:55 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: liasions)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
The heat of his strained expression reaches his eyes, ferverent.

He bites on her tongue before she draw away yet, cupping a gloved hand behind her head. Fingers through her hair, pulling.

(Catch her and pin her, a beautiful specimen pinned to a velvet board behind clean glass and varnished wood, preserved perfectly because he should collect and she could be a butterfly.)

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-12 07:00 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (blur!kiss)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
She gasps, but fights against the pull of his hand, crushing their lips together with her tongue bloody in between.

(is it right, butterfly? they like you better framed and dried)

Long fingered (clever knife wielding) hands clutch at his hips, nails digging in through well-tailored fabric.

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 03:34 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
Pressing the length of his body against hers, sucking in her breath while he (devours) kisses, his tongue slick against hers and he tastes metal (blood).

(the thin sting of the first cut, the pressure of a knife)

His hand slides from her waist, fingers splaying over her side, counting her ribs.

(Right here. But--he thinks-- she'll give as good as she gets./i>)

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 03:52 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (blur!kiss)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
Her hands slide up beneath the jacket to trace out the waistcoat.

beautiful killer

One hand in the small of his back to (find the sweet spot fourth lumbar down abdomnial aorta) pull him closer.

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 04:13 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
(tool shopping doesn't stop at the restaurant supply house. may also visit a hardware store for supplies.)

Patrick twists her lower lip between his teeth, breaking their kiss, whispering sweet nothings, his escaping internal monologue. "... a pair of pruning shears, four forks, and fifty sewing needles. Sweetheart, foreplay shouldn't involve a trip to the infirmary, but I don't see it any other way."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 04:22 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (not yours)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
The lady bites back, teeth tearing a gash in his lower lip.

"Honey, you're sick," she murmurs, tone almost affectionate.

"Has nobody ever showed you what your own blood looks like?"

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 04:39 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (psycho:  black eyes)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
He licks away the blood beading on his lip, and the skull tilts to the side. A wide smile. It pulls at the tear on his lip, stings. "Narcissistic," he whispers, "psychopathic, sadistic. Do you know what that means, darling?"

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 04:53 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (cruellest and fairest)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
"It means," she replies softly,

"we may well tear each other apart before we get to anything fun."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 05:03 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
"Exactly." he hisses, lips brushing her cheek. "Sweetheart, I will not let anyone bring so much as a paperclip within a half-inch of my skin because I want to be the highest authority with whomever I might fuck."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 05:11 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (just pucker up your lips and...)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
She pouts.

"Then I'm afriad we might not get along as well as I had hoped. I don't do submissive well (with you), darling."

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 05:17 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
An observation, a compliment, "A royal bitch. It is a lost (lucky girl) cause." His hands withdraw.

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 05:23 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (cruellest and fairest)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
As do hers, slowly.

"Just another pair of bar-crossed lovers, I guess."

pity

bet I could have made him scream

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 05:27 am (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (masque: skull)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
(I need a cold cold shower, he thinks)

The skull smiles, "Thank you for the dance." and offers the most subtle suggestion of a bow. Straightens up, turns elegantly, and departs the dance floor.

Re: Dance Floor

Date: 2006-08-13 05:34 am (UTC)
song_tra_bong: (masquerade)
From: [personal profile] song_tra_bong
"Thank you."

She curtseys before joining the others mingling around the room.

Profile

tragic_mask: (Default)
tragic_mask

November 2009

S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
2930     

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 26th, 2025 02:57 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios