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World of Darkness: Balance of Power - [Changeling] Winter's Night


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Evening

December 31st 2009

Mission Hills Country Club

Old Man Death watched the Masque from his comfortable divan at one end of the grand hall, his withered hands worrying absently at the fringe of his smoky-colored robes. Dmitri had made the outfit especially for the Winter Mask; Old Man Death was too blind at this point to see what a work of art it was, blending the dark swirls of coal black in with the frosted blue-white of Monarch's season into the semblance of a deadly blizzard. It was fitting for the changeling that had lived long enough to have 'Old Man' added to his moniker. His mask was a simple half-masque, dipped in silver and painted with the ornate snowflakes. The hall itself, sparsely decorated in a subdued white with accents of blue, seemed almost plain in comparison with the host himself.

He liked the Winter Masque. The magic of it meant that even sitting where he was, dressed as he was, being who he was, he'd only be recognized and bothered if he took the masque off. He'd had it on most of the night. Laid out before him was the gathered population of the changeling world of Kansas City, the Penny Royal Freehold. It wasn't just them, though. He knew that. There were at least three dozen beings here, mostly hiding behind their masques as well, and there were only two dozen or so changelings in the city. Probably hobgoblins, trying to sniff out anything they could use to their advantage after the Peace of Midwinter passed. Sunset tomorrow. Not a lot of time.

It could really be anyone, though. Some kids that had gotten wind of the party from whatever the modern grapevine was. Old Man Death was never surprised where kids showed up these days. He was surprised how many kids there were, but then anyone younger than him was a kid now. He knew he was old....he just refused to admit it yet. Maybe an exiled Fae. That'd happened once, when Rose still ruled. She'd seduced him, wench that she was. Sweet child, though. He was sad she was gone.

"Do you imagine he even remembers where he is?" The voice that spoke was a chill as the weather outside. It always marveled Goldscale that the Summer Queen might well have been a statue of ice for all her passion and anger; the pale while of the feathers that famed her face and made up her 'hair' did little to dissuade the impression of cold callousness. Goldscale considered it a fair warning for any that would tangle with the Summer Monarch. They'd been dancing, their masques pulled aside long enough to enjoy each other's company for a set.

"Does it matter? The children of Winter here love and respect him." Goldscale's voice was a warm baritone in contrast, carrying with it the tones of affection and amusement. Of all the Court Monarchs, Goldscale was the youngest and the most powerful; not only from inheriting Wild Rose's crown but for the charisma a personal strength that marked a Draconic Fairest as much as the pointed ears and scales that had given him his new name on his escape from the Hedge. The music ended and he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, "Do try to enjoy yourself, Swan. You'll get your fight again after tomorrow."

With that he replaced his masque and faded back into the crowd. From not far away, Jekyll watched it all behind a mask of bone and ivory. He hated Midwinter, but then he hated most things, so the season didn't feel particularly singled out by the scrawny Autumn King and his ill humor. He'd shown up with the masque on and certainly wouldn't take it off before leaving, but his mischief was mostly kept to a minimum anyways. Someone might have found a way around the Masque's magic. Magic always had a loophole. Flipping a coin idly in his hand, he scanned the room and wondered if he could trust the magic enough to pull some sweet thing onto the floor for 'dancing'. Even if he didn't get to touch anything interesting before getting slapped, a free wallet or ring could be worth the effort. Pushing himself away from the wall, he grabbed a champaign flute from a nearby buffet table and began circulating.

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KJ smiled mirthlessly behind his mask. The skin surrounding the mask was very much shiny and black as the leather of the mask, effectively making it difficult to guess where the mask ended and his skin began. His mask appeared to have a 1 1/2 foot long horn coming out of the forehead, bending slightly downward at the end. His skin, where it wasn't covered was almost chitin-like in luster and texture. His clothes were a rumpled-looking tuxedo that fell strangely upon his shoulders. His eyes were constantly darting about, and fell upon each person in a dispassionate, analytical manner. He nodded to those that noticed his gaze, and moved around the room, almost circling like a shark. His circling took him near the bar, where he got a cola, and he started sipping it as he walked.

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She'd refused to wear a dress. The knobby-fingered, hobbity little costume dealer was incensed, but a "no" was a "no" with Jack. Too many skirts, and ruffles, and floofy, poofy, or dangly things would just get in the way, but she did have to go to the damned ball, and they did apparently expect her to dress up for the occasion. (Not that she was happy about it, what with being stuck in a crowd of other freaks.) Her one consolation was that she'd be mostly indistinguishable from any other loon at the party, courtesy of some convenient hocus-pocus.

Whatever. I might as well get this over with.

Into the grand hall strolled a trim, well-dressed figure who would not have looked out of place riding across a moor, or sitting down with Miss Austen for a lively afternoon of Regency-era picnicking. Miraculously, in the swirl of costumed courtiers her ensemble seemed perfectly plausible: skin-tight buckskin breeches, a cream-colored waistcoat, a chocolate brown coat cut to the waist in front and sweeping into long tails in the back, polished brown boots up to the knee, buff leather gloves, a linen cravat and a coffee-colored top hat. A slightly tarnished pocketwatch dangled from watch fob on the waistcoat, gleaming softly as Jack strode into the crowd of Changelings and others, walking stick tucked neatly under one arm. Her masque was a simple thing that tied above a neat ponytail, a Venetian Colombine decorated in an elegant iridescent bronze and segmented by dark bronze ribbon to create a harlequin pattern.

The outfit was tighter across the chest, and through the thighs than she'd wanted, but there hadn't been a whole lot of time to worry about getting it altered. Grumbling under her breath, she caught sight of the bar and uttered a quiet prayer of thanks to whatever merciful gods were listening. All this formality made her skin itch, and beneath the masque, her eyes darted warily about as she moved through the crowd.

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'Adam' and his 'ward' entered the grand ball room and took a moment to analyze their fellows. The outfits were extravagant and the masks, as always, were simply beautiful. His own mask very much matched his personality, a spiraling head dress of plates and horns in the colors of black and red.

He towered over the room, as always, but took a moment to look down at his side, smiling softly and admiring the beauty of his companion. She certainly had changed and looked positively radiant now that she had found herself a proper home.

He was not dressed in a costume. He hoped Goldscale would understand that a man like 'Adam' was not the costume type. He did however dress in a heavy, black, broad shouldered business suit that was made from leather. It was a heavy, rugged material and he favored it over most flimsy fabrics that his bulk often caused him to rip on accident.

"Come, my fairest Stephanie," He said softly, his deep voice still a rumble at such a low volume. "Let us enjoy the eve and pray that the New Year brings to us a bounty of joy and good fortune."

Click to reveal.. (Adam's Mask)
1GateKeeper000.jpg
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"Yeah," Stephanie agreed easily, "it'd suck for something bad to happen here." In truth, she wasn't really listening to what he'd said; after 'my fairest Stephanie' her brain had lost interest in anything else he'd said. That was sadly happening more and more often. Damn it, she wasn't some addle-brained teenager to get all glassy-eyed because a cute boy had spoken to her!

Ok, she wasn't a teenager where it counted.

With effort, she pulled herself back to the moment. For the first time, she was looking forward to a Changeling party; with Adam at her side and her identity hidden, she doubted she'd face the ridicule that she normally suffered when large numbers of her kind got bored. Besides, she looked nice; she wondered if Adam was being polite or if he really liked the dress-

Damn it! Stop that!

Steph glanced down and smiled anyway; she really liked this dress. Adam was true to his word - he was taking better care of her than anyone had since her return. She'd tried to settle on a cheaper dress and mask, but Adam had insisted on getting what she wanted. She wasn't sure he'd felt that way after he'd seen the bill, but he still wouldn't hear of returning it. The dress was done in layers of tattered yellow, gold and red, all designed too resemble flame, just as the mask did. She'd chosen simple red slippers to wear, not wanting to mess with finding flats or heels without a fucking bow or Disney characters on them.

Looking up, she counted heads, then swallowed as she realized there were more in attendance here than the members of the Freehold. "Shit," she whispered, edging closer still to Adam - not that she had been far away anyway.

Click to reveal..
Stephanie's mask:
1mitemper.jpg
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In the short lull after the two Summer courtiers stepped into the ballroom, a slender figure of entirely different hue moved into the doorway, pausing but for a moment before drifting into the hall.

Masked in a pale, crystalline confection that by itself would have seemed better suited to a woman, the stranger's beauty was as delicate-seeming, pale green eyes glancing around the grand hall and studying those present. He was garbed in white: shoes, stockings, breeches and ruffled lace of his shirt were all a pale, near-translucent white colour that matched his frost-rimed skin perfectly. A heavy fur-lined velvet mantle, shot through with silvery threads that caught the light, glittered likewise as it brushed the floor. A faint chill followed the stranger as he entered, a chill born of of loss and the sorrow of loss.

John Wintersmith looked aound once more and stifled a sigh. He was stuck here now, unable to move on, and so he had to make the best of his situation. Drifting over to the bar, he signalled wordlessly at the red-nosed bartender, indicating the white wine with a single, frost-sparkling finger. Taking his glass, the Elemental turned to take in the festivities.

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Garrett entered, wearing a mask that very much appeared like the actual skin and fur of a cheetah, with dark dots. His costume appeared to be an outfit of a dark tan-gold cashmere shirt, plus similarly colored dress pants.

Taking in the scene, and the sense reactions, he slipped through the crowd with a cat's agility, deciding to start with a pleasing drink.

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Mask_by_Namwons11.jpgJohn garnered looks wherever he passed, something that he was slowly becoming used to. It wasn't more than a few minutes before he was approached by a masked person, most likely male, with skin nearly as bone-white as John's was marble-white, who was dressed decadently in gold and blue. (S?)he bowed and spoke with a light, pleasant voice. "Might I have this dance?"

As if on cue, the music in the hall turned to from the more lively fair it had been providing to a slower and eerier set, setting a tone of winter mystery of the assemblage. The masked figure smiled and held out a courtly hand to the Winterskin changeling. Several other dancers were watching the two now, most of them likely female, and waiting to see what he would do.

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"But of course." John replied in his soft, melancholy tones as his cold green gaze locked with that of the masked stranger. He took a cursory sip from his wineglass then set it aside before taking the mysteriously androgynous Changeling's hand in his. The other smiled and led John out onto the floor.

It had been a year and a lifetime and a world ago since he had last danced, danced at the behest of the Lady of Rime. Then, he had been made to dance naked across the delicate icy sculptures of her garden, to trail intricate fern patterns of frost along their surfaces as blue-skinned hobs played dolorous tunes on pipes made from the frozen tears of children. It had been many, many years and two lifetimes and two worlds ago since he had last danced with a partner. That had been the Lady Herself, come to claim him and whisk him away to her frozen kingdom. Though he had not known it then, and would not for a few hours. His bride-to-be, his life of warmth and love in the sun's glory all gone, long gone.

He danced now as he had then, in a style that was at once antiquated and timeless where neither partner led the measure and each orbited around the other. And he blended with it the dances he had danced alone since that long-ago night, his steps drawing patterns of snowflakes and frost-ferns on the floor behind him. The music suited John's mood: eerily bittersweet, the music of long purple dusks and slow grey dawns. His attention was solely on his partner and the dance and the memories of dances past, and so he did not notice a single tear trailing down his frosted cheeks from each glacial, sorrow-filled eye as the music played on.

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It was (one of) the most surreal thing(s) Jack had ever seen, this party. At least, that's what she figured. It was hard to remember things like that, sometimes, and she bit back a (mostly) unconscious snarl as the whiskey scorched a path down into her belly.

This whole thing was stupid. Everyone was so pretty and refined, and even in her dashing, "Oh, Mr. Darcy!" costume, she could practically feel the separation between herself and the countless belles in lace and frippery as a physical rift. As the kids would've put it, the whole thing sucked out loud, mostly because she didn't have any illusions about the ball being over quickly.

Once, she caught herself watching someone who seemed vaguely familiar. Brief, bloody images flashed into her mind and before she realized it, she'd closed half the distance between them in a few swift strides. She stopped short, gritting her teeth in frustration, and stiffly walked back to her barstool with her borrowed walking stick clenched tightly in one gloved hand; the aura of restrained violence that wreathed her ensured the trip was an uninterrupted one.

By the time she dared look out at the floor again, (he? she?) whoever it was had disappeared into the crowd. Scowling beneath her masque, Jack swiped her glass from the bar top and downed another throat-searing swallow of the amber liquid.

If she was going to survive the night, she was going to have to try to relax, and she knew it. If she could forget for two seconds what kind of monsters were all piled so cozily into the building, she might even have a chance to enjoy herself. Glaring at the half-empty glass, she scowled again.

Monsters. Yeah. And I'm not even one of the worst.

At least she wasn't in a dress.

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Wearing a lovely dress that appeared to be made out of clinging ivy, one that suited her spring affiliation quite well, in fact a few flowers were blooming from it, and a carefully considered venetian mask, the black and white chosen for the winter mask, split down the middle for the change from one year to next, the swirls to mix with the ivy and some of the white flowers bloom on her dress, and her pure glass skin was touched with a bit of glitter, where the ivy tantalizingly allowed her glass skin to show.

She had arrived at the party just a little bit later then some of the other arrivals. Of course, arriving late could always be presented as fashionable late, if one had the proper social graces. And while she hadn't quite had the full necessary social graces when she first made her way from Arcadia, she had improved sense joining the Spring Court.

Walking though the room as gracefully as possible, she let her eyes drift over the gathered crowd, thinking over where she wanted to start. She was looking to enjoy herself, and noted the dance that seemed to have begun, and looked around a moment, considering who she might persuade to join her for a dance.

venicianmasks2bynerzi.jpg

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As the dance came to an end, John's partner gently caressed the tears off the Elemental's cheeks but said nothing. (S)he smiled and bowed politely, murmuring, "My gratitude for the dance." With that, (s)he glided into the small crowd of the room and pulled another person onto the dance floor. The music this time was far more tinny and artificial, but who would want to try to follow up haunting beauty of that dance with anything serious? A moment of farce was all that would suffice.

Elsewhere in the room, Goldscale counted up the numbers of mingling 'changelings' himself and sighed in annoyance. One celebration. Just one without the drama or the danger or the stupidity. Why is that so much to ask for? Damn you, Wild Rose. He pulled his masque up onto his forehead, letting it settle between the ridges of scales that ran down either side of his head and breaking the enchantment of anonymity that the Winter Masque enforced. If there was going to be a target for the evening, better it be him than one of the other Monarchs, or even more disastrously, one of the younger and weaker changelings in the Freehold.

Not far from the Spring King, the Autumn King contemplated his own particular brand of bravery. The Masque so far was boring: everyone on their best behavior despite the freedom that being completely unknown should provide. No one so far had had the bravery to act, and while he enjoyed fear as much as any other Autumn, Jekyll’s preference was for a far more visceral passion. He passed by the buffet table, his hand hovering over the food and drinks as he sauntered by, as if in contemplation of what to sample. He settled for a small piece of blue and white-iced cake once the deed was done, and grinned behind his masque.

Click to reveal..
Anyone that comes within about a foot of the refreshment table or eats or drinks anything that has been served for the evening will slowly begin to suffer from paranoia and eventually from brief hallucinations. The hallucinations won’t set in for a bit, save for those that partake heavily of the food/drink. The hallucinations will follow one of two themes: for those of the Winter Court, the hallucinations will involve the loss of sound eventually to the point of total silence, a drop in temperature to bone-aching cold, and the slowing of the perception of time. For everyone else, the effect will start with feelings of paranoia and being watched, followed by brief auditory and visual hallucinations of whatever the character fears deeply.

Feel free to tailor reactions/experience to your character, all I ask is that there be a time of build-up for those that want their PC’s to be effected. No immediate running and screaming or falling down and talking in tongues, if you please.

Characters can resist the effect with a Willpower - Wyrd roll at a difficulty of two successes. If the character succeeds the roll, they are immune to the effects until I ask for another roll.

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Garrett sipped the wine briefly, watching the crowd and thinking on whether or not he should dance with someone. Though at the moment he did not notice it, the first prickles of nervousness began to rise...

Click to reveal..

(18:04:17) ChatBot: (Garrett) rolls 2d10 and gets 1,6.

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Jack drummed gloved fingers on the bar, watching the crowd warily. She didn't like not knowing who anyone was- no way of holding them accountable, or knowing which ones to watch. Seemed like a bad idea all around, since it just encouraged all kinds of shady shit with no hope of pinning it on anyone. On the other talon, it meant she didn't have to worry about anybody screwing with her.

That thought coiled around in her thoughts all through the next song, and when it was over, she slid easily from the barstool and left both cane and hat behind. No consequences, a hot, red voice whispered in the back of her brain, and distinctively feminine lips pulled back from her teeth in a wicked grin as she strolled through the crowd. There was no pre-defined path, and no apparent method to her meandering. She just strode with deceptive nonchalance through the dancers, the courtiers, the miscreants and the party-crashers, waiting for an opening.

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A form materialized behind her, a warm and heady presence that demanded to be acknowledge without ever making a sound. A beat passed and once the blue-and-gold masqued figure knew it had acquired her attention, (s)he leaned down and asked in a light, pleasant voice, "Might I have the pleasure of this dance?"

There was something compelling in thier voice, as if (s)he'd said hunt instead of dance and had meant both. She could feel the sleek predator in them, the game of cat and mouse that was the rush of life. The small challenging grin that played across their lips held a cheshire's charm - and danger. The stranger bowed with flawless grace and held out a hand for hers.

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Jack had no experience with courtly dances or ballroom performances. She wasn't even the sort who danced alone in the privacy of her apartment, and she was reasonably sure she'd never done it in high school. It was hard to confirm or deny things like that, though. Not that it mattered. Whoever, or whatever she'd been, it was all gone, and not coming back. This was all she had left, these pathetic shreds of a life, and no god-damned Gentry bastard was going to take it from her.

Not again.

Jack stripped off her gloves, tucking them into her belt.

She took the stranger's hand suddenly, fiercely, the familiar commingling of anxiety and anticipation churning in her belly as she followed him/her through the throngs of people. Masked revelers all but darted away from the pair as they passed, and a satisfied part of her envisioned rabbits leaping away into the relative safety of the underbrush, watching with liquid brown eyes.

As if by some unspoken accord, much of the floor cleared while the last notes of the previous song faded into memory. Jack swallowed her nerves, fixed her eyes on her partner as he/she released her hand and moved gracefully to the opposite side of the rough circle of open floor. With the slightest gesture from the stranger, one that seemed to Jack both an invitation and a non-verbal dare, the music began anew.

Their first, wary steps as they marked the perimeter of the circle were accompanied by sharp, intrusive drumbeats that broke the pleasant, murmuring drone of conversation around them; whether their encounter ended in seduction or murder, it would not be without an audience.

Click to reveal.. (Musical Inspiration)

The first portion of this song should give you an idea what I was thinking of. wink

Even without formal training, this dance Jack knew well. It all began with the rhythm, started with percussion that echoed in breath, blood, and bone and pounded in the hindbrain with every living thing's ancestral memory. It was the music of the tribes who wandered the deserts, the grasslands- the music of the earth itself and all she birthed. It was instinct and action, movement without thought. Elegant and primal, terrifying and seductive, the two strangers gave themselves over to the endless dance of Hunter and Hunted.

They stalked their prey across the floor, masked eyes lost in shadow-

lunging suddenly across the intervening space and seizing each other by the arm, the back of the head-

countering, spinning away-

darting forward again, teeth bared in sharp white lines-

hands locked at arms' length, orbiting each other-

They might have killed each other right there on the floor, in their elegant clothes, and it would have seemed a perfectly appropriate end. All Jack knew was the thrill of pursuit, the perpetual role-reversal that left the boundaries of predator and prey hopelessly intertwined, and the part of her that lived in these brief moments of freedom exulted in the pure, untainted glory of The Hunt.

Their movements were perfectly, flawlessly in sync, as if choreographed beforehand, and if either were serious in their intent, it wasn't entirely clear to those watching. They spun, lunged, parried, struck, and spun again, faster and faster as the music rushed frantically toward its inevitable crescendo. One last time, the pair surged forward in what must have seemed utter desperation, clasping each other with fluid savagery; the drumbeats dropped suddenly into silence. Jack's right hand was frozen inches from the stranger's face, her fingers unmistakably curved into lethal claws. The stranger, too, was caught in the final heartbeat before his/her own strike would have been completed, with Jack's exposed throat left vulnerable and bare where her collar had loosened.

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and she could feel her lips quirk faintly as her chest heaved, mirroring the subtle twist of her partner's grin below the masque. Slowly, even cautiously, they straightened and withdrew, each granting the other a polite nod.

Sated for the moment, the red heat that thrummed in her veins left her feeling slightly euphoric. Hell, she might not even need the booze if things were going to be this much fun.

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John watched, wineglass back in hand, as spellbound as the other spectators as the two lean predatory shapes whirled and swayed and came together before springing apart with untrammeled violent red-tinted passion. He sipped his drink almost reflexively to wet his dry mouth.

When the dance ended and the two predators stepped warily from each other, his applause was among the earliest and most unreserved. His eyes followed one, then the other dancer as they disappeared into the swirling throng.

For a moment, his melancholy had deserted him in that predatory dance. For a moment, his heart had beat a little faster watching them.

But only for a moment.

The passion stilled once more, frozen inside him as a perfect crystalline memory of what an emotion should be. In the icy cavern of his heart he set it, alongside other frozen emotional moments: curios of his existence that he could look upon, but never quite recall how they had felt at the time. It was a cheapening of feeling, a reduction of fine sentiment into analogues of color and sight. It was also all that was left to him now.

He started to move through the crowd, uneasy at how easily he had been spellbound by the dance. Two dances now this night, and both had elicited an outward reaction from him. Was there perhaps some other force at work, tugging at the frost-covered strings of his heart? He resolved to be more on his guard: unrestrained passion and emotion were weaknesses that the Keepers used to snare and entrap. There was no absolute safety, even here, from such things.

Click to reveal..

1d10=7, 1d10=9, 1d10=10, 1d10=6, 1d10=1

Yes, he succeeded. But he's still a little paranoid. laugh 'Tis the nature of this beast.

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'Adam' had indulged a few others with a dance. These affairs were, to him, a 'necessary evil'. He didn't mind them so much, but he did always feel a bit out of place among his peers, even at the Feast of Strength. Never the less,despite his apprehension about attending, he always managed to eventually enjoy himself.

He smiled and greeted those who introduced themselves and for the most part, since no one could tell who anyone else was he was left to stand and wait for people to show interest in him as he sipped his milk... from a wine glass. One thing was sure however and that was 'Adam' loved to eat, within several minutes he'd picked nearly an entire hors d'oeuvres tray empty.

A bit of worry crept over him as he chewed. Now under the effects of the party's enchantment he could not recognize where his ward wandered off to.

Pathetic! came a sharp whisper on the edge of his senses...

His eyes darted about as he turned slowly about to look around only to see that there was still a party going on around him. Casually he shrugged under the assumption he's heard the tail end of someone conversation.

Click to reveal..
(14:15:11) ChatBot: ('Adam') rolls 5d10 and gets 1,10,1,10,5.

(14:15:18) ChatBot: ('Adam') rolls 2d10 and gets 9,6.

3 Successes

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Stephanie watched Adam dance with some of the others here. He was tall, and so graceful, and tall and handsome and tall...

Stephanie was keenly aware of her personal shortcomings. Adam tended to be blessed where she was denied, but she didn't envy him for it as much as admire. She envied the bitches on the floor who could keep up with him on long, sleek legs.

Suddenly, being here, bothering to get the dress - it all seemed so dumb. Why was she even trying? It didn't matter, regardless of how nice she looked.

Turning, she went to the food table and got some fruit. The cake looked good, but she'd be damned if she'd stuff her face with sweets like a little kid. Angrily, she huffed off to a dark corner and found a seat. She pulled her legs up and crossed them on the chair so that they didn't swing. Plucking a grape off the stem, she bit into it with delight. The sweet juice of the poisoned fruit spread across her tongue, carrying cruel magic.

Stephanie paused in her eating, looking around the room. She had the oddest feeling, like she was being watched. It was a little unnerving, and she got off her chair and pulled herself into a darker shadow, hiding. Nervously, she plucked and ate another grape, unaware that it was the cause of her fears.

Click to reveal..
Stephanie's check: 2 sux

3,8,10

7

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She had wanted to dance, but wasn't quite ready to simply march out onto the dancing floor and dance, so instead she moved to the refreshment table, and picked out a drink, unaware of how her fears might be manipulated by another due to partaking of the refreshments.

She picked up her glass, pausing a moment to look over the glass, it was so close to her own nature, to what she had been herself, when she was in Arcadia. She paused a moment, to consider the unusual dichotomy, before she took a sip from the glass.

She began to be a bit nervous a few minutes after that but she shrugged it off, most likely just a momentary bit of nerves due to the public situation.

Click to reveal..

(10:58:55) ChatBot: (Jewel) rolls 4d10 and gets 5,5,9,5.

1 success

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"You seem far too thoughtful for a Masque...might I enquirer what keeps you from the floor?" The questioner had sidled up to the glass maiden without a whisp of sound, the light and pleasant voice from the gold and blue masque pitched just so to keep from startling her. They held a glass with amber liquid at the halfway mark careful between their fingers and tipped it in a courtly phantom-toast to her, waiting for the divulgence of her thoughts with seemingly endless patience and interest.

Elsewhere, little Stephanie had been left to her own devices for the time being. Small enough to be overlooked or just ignored, she spotted a group of others her size that had clustered in to the party. They were in a small alcove off the main room, arguing heatedly in front of double doors that most likely lead to kitchens.

Click to reveal..
Stephanie, if you wish to hear what is being said or get closer to the group, give me a perception roll and/or a stealth roll.
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KJ smiled and slowly made his way from the corner near the refreshment table and walked over to the dance floor, looking for a partner, so he could indulge in the fun for the evening, at least the fun for this part of the evening. He spotted an available, and likely-looking target for his attentions this evening. The mask worn by this changeling was a feathered and fancy affair, and she wore a dress that fitted some Victorian-era standard of beauty. Her skin was the color of alabaster, and there were gaps where the joints were, exposing some gears. He bowed to her, "Your pardon, mi'lady, but may I have this dance?"

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Stephanie crept forward until she heard them talking. "I'm not sure it was ok to put it in the oven!" the first insisted. The other four stood around looking conspicuous covered in cake crumbs and icing as the first asking, "And where is the rest of the cake?"

They could have been the ones watching me! Stephanie thought, even though she still felt like she was being watched. But these guys were very suspicious, and there weren't that many Changelings as short as she was.

Stealing away, she found a chair, stood on it and removed her mask. Her pink hair and eyes were suddenly quite clear to all the onlookers as she stood on her tiptoes and scanned the room for Adam. He shouldn't be this hard to find - damn these masks!

Click to reveal..
Stephanie's Sneaky-sneaky check: 2 sux 10,10,2,4

1d10=4, 1d10=7

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Whatever the food was laced with, the oblivious Troll didn't seem affected by it, yet. Bit by bit he nibbled away at the party trays while stopping from time to time to have brief conversations with people he didn't even know. They were polite enough and he returned their kindness in kind, shaking hands and trading conversations that went any where from pop culture to politics.

No more ladies, at least he hoped they were ladies, had asked him to dance since the few he took to the floor awhile ago, and his place among the buffet tables seemed well reserved. Slowly his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed as Stephanie appeared lost amidst of a sea of confusion.

His duty clear and his ward seeming to need him, he set down his small plate and moved with determined strides. He did not push, he excused himself politely as he interrupted people as he passed by them, but his course was clear and nothing short of Hell's Army could keep him from the young woman who so obviously need him.

He approached and knealt before her, lifting his mask so that she might see his mein and know she was safe. "Fairest Stephanie," the concern in his tone told her he genuinely cared whether or not she was okay. "What ails thee?"

Click to reveal..
Adam has currently 'unequipped' his mask (can you tell I play too many RPGs?) until I post a spoiler box that states he's put it back on. smile
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Originally Posted By: Malachite_OOC
"You seem far too thoughtful for a Masque...might I enquirer what keeps you from the floor?" The questioner had sidled up to the glass maiden without a whisp of sound, the light and pleasant voice from the gold and blue masque pitched just so to keep from startling her. They held a glass with amber liquid at the halfway mark careful between their fingers and tipped it in a courtly phantom-toast to her, waiting for the divulgence of her thoughts with seemingly endless patience and interest.


She was still a bit nervous more so then she should be, and she paused to look at her glass a moment. Then she gestured to the dancing floor in response to the question being asked. "I didn't want to follow those last two exquisite performances, they were entirely too marvelous to add anything too, and I didn't wish to simply be part of them, preferring to dance at a moment when my partner and I can make a mark all our own. Also, I don't wish to dance alone."
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"I..." Her voice was high-pitched and shaking and she sounded like a fucking kid. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "There are a group of... masked people over there. Adam, they're all as short as me! None of the other Changelings in the city are that short! And they were talking oddly, about an oven. I'm not sure... but I think they're up to something." She put her hands on his broad shoulders and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. That didn't help her concentrate; he smelled enticing, in a way that made her curse her fate soundly. "And someone's watching me. I can feel them."

Drawing back, she looked into his brilliant red eyes and smiled. Part of it was being a little twitter-patted; part of it was just the depth of trust she had developed for him. He'd help her solve all of the problems of the evening.

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"You as well?" The Troll asked in reference to her comment about feeling someone watching her. "There is a pang in the back of my mind that seems to be clawing away it my paranoia as well. Perhaps tis' simply the enchantment of the evening, but let us take no chances. There are tricksters among our kind a plenty. Keep your wits about you hmm?

"Indeed?" 'Adam' said inquired with a raised eyebrow as she spoke about the group unlike the others. "If some villainy be afoot here this evening Fairest Stephanie I shall root it out." His grin was charming and reassuring. "Show me where you saw them and I will deal with the dwarves in question personally."

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The creeping erosion of the crowd's sanity didn't seem to affect Jack at all. Maybe there just wasn't anything left in her to erode. Whatever the dance with the masked stranger had sparked in her, she felt fantastic. What she'd viewed as a hindrance now seemed a blessing, and she reveled in the anonymity the gala provided her.

Initially limiting her prowling to the area around the bar, she eventually tired of the giggling things with their fluttering hands and masques like exotic birds. They made her unaccountably hungry; she walked away with a pleasant, masculine voice in her head murmuring something about a full mongoose being a slow mongoose. She couldn't remember where she'd heard it, and shrugged. It wasn't important, even if she did appreciate the sentiment.

So, in a way she couldn't have in a normal gathering, Jack socialized. She argued about the homeless situation with two men(?) in oddly similar plague doctor costumes, snatched canapes from passing waiters who seemed to materialize from thin air, and swapped dirty jokes with a steampunk grasshopper. On the whole, the night was sucking much less than she'd thought it would.

Once in a while, something would start prodding at the back of her brain. Something that felt like remembering. With a viciousness usually reserved for someone trying to steal her wallet, Jack clamped down on those sensations and savagely stomped them back into silence. This was a singular, shining opportunity to get away from herself, to get closer to herself, and she wasn't going to waste it with any more stupid sentimental musings about what she'd lost. At least, not tonight. It was gone, and not coming back, and this was what she had left, so she might as well make the most of it, right?

She did just fine with that, too, having a grand old time right up until she caught sight of someone in a gorgeous leonine half-masque with a curly mane of golden wire. He/she was dancing with the quintessential Disney princess, like some Changeling equivalent of "Beauty and the Beast," and something about the sight of them drop-kicked her heart straight into her throat. The unfamiliar sting of tears burned her eyes and she could practically feel those lost and rabidly-suppressed memories mocking her.

Yeah, well... Fuck you, too. Jack growled to herself, stalking back to the bar and ordering another drink. I don't fucking need you anyway. The fiery-sweet cinnamon liqueur razed its way down her throat as she winced, shaking her head. Silently, she amended her previous assessment about alcohol not being necessary, and ordered one more for the road. Or, at least, for the dance floor.

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Originally Posted By: Jewel Starglass
She was still a bit nervous more so then she should be, and she paused to look at her glass a moment. Then she gestured to the dancing floor in response to the question being asked. "I didn't want to follow those last two exquisite performances, they were entirely too marvelous to add anything too, and I didn't wish to simply be part of them, preferring to dance at a moment when my partner and I can make a mark all our own. Also, I don't wish to dance alone."


The masqued figure bowed fluidly and held a hand out to, the glass of wine having somehow disappeared in the motion. "Then allow me to be your providence and rescue you from this unsightly wall. Those dances have faded already, as such things do in a place and time like this." The tone of the voice was enticing and the masquer's expression, what little she could see of, seemed sincere.


*****************


"...want cake! Bossa said we could haf' the part 'f the cake that-"

The voice was high-pitched and petulant, and cut off with the sound of thudding flesh. The small knot of masqued beings that Stephanie had spotted pulled closer in on each other, closing off the speaker from the outside world. Whatever was going on over there wasn't in a holiday spirit.
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Garrett froze suddenly, startling his dancing partner, a female in a glittering silver dress. Making an excuse, he left and pacing toward a corner. It had grown on him, the feeling that he was watched.

It was intense, raising his hackles to high levels. Then, he saw a short and stubby figure, advancing maliciously on a short girl from behind what appeared to be Adam.

He knew what it was. One of the Hobs that had come after Rose's death. He'd be cursed to let it come for its presumption here!

Moving slowly across the floor, he closed in on the Hob, giving a short growl as his arm shot out to grab the goblin. Then it disappeared, and his hand was clenched around the Troll Adam's arm.

Flushed with shock, Garrett loosed his grip and removed his mask to show he was no foe. "Sorry Adam. Where... where did the Hob go?" he demanded, unsure of whether illusion or a mystical escape had occurred.

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John watched the throng for a little while, quietly enjoying the dancing and the chatter from his self-imposed orbit of the various knots and clusters of other Lost. He loved the Winter's Ball, loved the anonymity of the masks and the courtly finery. It brought memories... dim, translucent memories, hazy wisps of a past that he was not sure was even real. There was a faint sorrow to this, but it was a sweet sorrow, bringing with it an aftertaste of happiness.

Then he saw him/her. He was fairly sure it was a her despite the manner of dress, which caused another wisp of memory: a woman in man's clothes, ruddy-cheeked and laughing. The wisp faded as fast as it came. John blinked once, then moved forward.

"Excuse me." the light, soft voice from behind the mask interrupted Jack's reverie. Ice-green eyes gazed at her as the tall, slender man dressed in shades of white gave her a slight bow. "I could not help but notice your dance earlier. My compliments to you: it was breathtaking."

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"Mhhhm?" came the oh-so eloquent reply as her head swiveled quickly in John's direction. The truth was, Jack hadn't honestly expected to be approached by anyone, and was in the midst of swallowing a mouthful of fiery, scarlet-tinted alcohol when the pale Changeling approached. Droplets of crimson pooled precariously on her lower lip until the pink tip of her tongue darted out to swipe them away.

What the- Hey, pretty.

It took her brain a moment to catch up with what the wintry stranger had said, but when it did, a lazy grin snuck across her reddened lips. It was hard to be completely sure, but she thought this might've been the first person the Masked Man(?) danced with, the one that'd had all the women sniffling and sighing.

Hazel, autumn-colored eyes met icy green ones and she turned, appraising the finely-dressed figure more closely. Probably male, she guessed, but between the enchantments and the other reveler's soft voice, it was only a guess.

"Thanks. I've gotta admit, I enjoyed it. I didn't think that was possible." Her grin became a touch more rueful, and she shrugged. "I didn't even mind losing. You too, by the way. Nice dance, I mean. You had about half the people here crying in their drinks." Something else occurred to her, then. "I don't suppose you have any idea who that was, do you?"

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"None at all." John replied after a moment's thought. "Though they were an excellent dance partner." The masked features turned away from Jack for a second as he searched the crowd, faint sparkles of rime visible to her eyes on the pale skin of his throat.

"I am not familiar with the local courts, I fear. I was travelling when I became unfortunately stuck, whether through fate or design, in Kansas City." The glittering prisms of his green eyes studied her curiously. "And you? Be you resident, or visitor like myself?"

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He almost sounds like that big guy... what'shisname... Adam? Yeah.

It was an oddly formal pattern of speech, but Jack figured she didn't have room to talk. When she did talk. ...Which was admittedly less often than it could be. Huh. Then again, people had all sorts of weird quirks when they came out of That Place, and a funny way of talking or dressing was pretty fucking tame compared to some of the freakshows she'd seen. Whoever this guy was (and she'd pretty much decided to go with that designation, for simplicity's sake), he was obviously one of the courtly types. Easy on the eyes, though. At least, what she could see was.

"Me? Nah, I live here. Made my grand entrance a few months ago, and I've been hanging around backstage ever since," she drawled with the lassitude of the pleasantly inebriated, the corner of her mouth still twitching upward as she looked out at the crowd. "There are worse places to be. Better too, I guess, but I haven't found one yet. You, ah, planning on staying?"

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"It may be that I am." John said with an unseen smile. "My travels since my... Return... have been more from a sensation of seeking a place to call mine rather than of any innate wanderlust." He relaxed a little more, enjoying the conversation with another as he had not in too long. There was still a reserve about his manner, but it was a reserve born of courtesy and respect rather than aloofness.

"I am greatly enjoying this Ball, more than I thought I would upon my arrival." he gestured with one pale, faintly sparkling hand at the gathering. "A little foolishness, a little merriment, and the tradition of anonymity all combine into a pattern most fair." He raised the glass of pale, nearly colorless wine to his the lips of his mask, which parted as though living themselves, allowing the wearer to take a drink.

"But my manners have suffered through my solitary travels." he stated, setting the empty glass down and extending a hand to Jack. "This is a Ball, and thus it behooves me to invite you to a dance, if that would please you."

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To her great surprise, Jack found herself laughing and bobbing a curt little bow in response, the hand with her drink hovering over her heart and the other behind her back. She swallowed the firewater in one bracing gulp and took the hand extended to her, abandoning the empty glass on a nearby table. His palm was surprisingly cool, and very smooth, though not at all clammy or unpleasant. In fact, it was something of a relief amid the press of people.

It might have been the alcohol, or maybe her confidence was still bolstered by her previous trip to the dance floor, but she didn't mind in the least that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Her feet seemed inclined to agree, happily enough. Apart from a slightly awkward moment in the beginning, when neither of them seemed sure who would lead, Jack decided this whole dancing business wasn't all that bad.

He smells like frost, she realized after a few measures, finally identifying the crisp, sharp scent that had been making her nose tingle since he approached.

Her partner was more skilled, more refined, and his feet (she noticed, when glancing down at her own to make sure they were doing what she wanted) left delicate patterns of frost in their wake, but where Jack was short on experience, she had an excess of enthusiasm and a certain predatory intensity that was equally compelling. They made a curious pair, circling about the floor, but this was the eve of the Midwinter Masque, and stranger things had happened than a simple dance...

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John took the lead after the moment's confusion. That awkward moment had actually served to further break the ice (so to speak), prompting the Elemental to chuckle, the lips of his mask parting as he did so. The music was a variation on the waltz, he noted in passing, and so it was in the manner of waltzes of his mortal span that they danced, one cool hand on Jack's waist, the other clasping hers. She was very warm this close: he could feel the heat of her body travel up his arms from the simple contact and radiate against his body across the space between them. There was a faint cinnamon trace to the air as she whirled about him, probably from the drink she'd been imbibing, he reflected.

She was also strong, her hand now and then tensing around his pale fingers as she gained familiarity with the steps of their dance. In a dance, as in many aspects of life, it is force of personality and zest for the experience that make a good partner, and the strange woman(?) he was dancing with had both in scarce-checked abundance. Despite his personal preference for restraint and caution, it was... interesting to meet an individual who made such an unconscious art out of the exact opposite qualities.

John moved with a dancer's grace, yet there was also an air of cautious guardedness about his posture, as though they both held blades in their hands and the dance was in fact a different manner of measure for two. Whether it was a reaction to Jack's predatory intensity or not, it was unmistakeable that his snowflake-light, deft movements had been honed in places other than ballrooms.

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Originally Posted By: Malachite_OOC

The masqued figure bowed fluidly and held a hand out to, the glass of wine having somehow disappeared in the motion. "Then allow me to be your providence and rescue you from this unsightly wall. Those dances have faded already, as such things do in a place and time like this." The tone of the voice was enticing and the masquer's expression, what little she could see of, seemed sincere.


Jewel was a bit nervous, but not because she was asked to dance, no her nervousness was more a sense of something slightly off, she wasn’t sure exactly what it was. However, she chose this moment to put it behind her, and she bowed in response to the bow she was given. “Such a lovely offer, it would be my delight to accept.” She allowed the other individual to take her hand, which was as smooth as glass, and then walked with him(her?) onto the dance floor. At the moment, though her movements were smooth and easy, Jewel was still a bit too uncertain, and she gave her partner a bit of a uncertain smile. “Your lead, or mine?”
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Stephanie looked at annoyance with the interruption, but that annoyance faded when she realized what was happening. Garrett wasn't prone to having those kind of mistakes, but obviously something was up. Sighing at having yet another issue to deal with, she said, "Garrett, the hobs are by the kitchen. Adam and I were about to go deal with them." I hope. She hoped the Beast Changeling would be able to keep his cool.

She glanced down at Adam, enjoying being just a little taller than he was right now. Even in the midst of this mini-crisis, she couldn't help but notice the rugged attractiveness of his face. She restrained the urge to smooth back hair knocked awry by his mask coming off. Pushing those thoughts away, she said, "They're the short ones by the kitchen. What's the plan?"

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The smile from her masqued partner sent pleasant chills through her as they simply began dancing, answering her question by leading her movements across the floor. The music changed to something exquisitely classical but just spiced enough to keep their movements quick and lively. No single step or movement of the dance was indecent, but as the dance continued Jewel felt the same flush of heat and desire around her that she did when she danced at her club. Her partner was perfect, always holding and moving through each part of dance with elegant timing; hold her just so to display either the clear perfection of her form or to insinuate a far more intimate dance than a ballroom usually held.

Near the kitchens, Adam nodded to Garret, showing his understanding. “Methinks we should flank them. My lady and you sir, stay here and keep watch upon the miscreants. I shall circle to the back of the building and the kitchens and see if I may divine the nature of their mischief. I will return or give some warning if there is danger. If they seek to leave, hold them and take them to a Monarch.” He motioned across the room to where Goldscale was sitting at a table, his masque settled on his horns.

He laid a hand on Stephanie’s shoulder, “And pray be careful, my Lady. We need no tragedy on Winter’s Night.” With that, the blue-skinned giant made his way from the ballroom.

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