Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Three: The Sable Masque
05-06-2012, 02:33 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.
In the midst of the tossing sea of bodies in the main hall of the Resplendent Palace, the addition of one extra went largely unnoticed. At most, there were some eyerolls and mutters about how gauche some people could be as Melissa Harmon popped into her newest battlefield. Unlike the previous locations, here she had not even had the courtesy of a cursory introduction. One moment she had been rock-and-roll battling the smoke monster from an off-Broadway version of Lost, and the next she was being yanked through the void by her eyeballs and deposited in an endless cocktail party. She stood stock-still like a deer in the headlights and tried to take in her surroundings.
A sea of silk and chiffon and lace in a riot of colors surrounded her. Men and women alike were fabulously adorned, and all in fantastical masks which left their identities concealed. That explained the light, form-hugging fabric that swathed her and the object over her own face reducing her visual range more or less to what was straight ahead. The masquerade stretched in all directions, and she was completely exposed. When after thirty seconds or so there had been no attempts to murder her, Melissa began to relax and try to think out her next steps.
Along with the other changes to her attire, she found herself holding on to a sparkling green clutch. Snapping it open she saw that it contained the vital components of her harmonometer, thank god. Now if she was lucky enough to find the parts that it needed, she might be able to put it back together. She frowned, considering that while they were common enough on Earth, there was no telling what would be available here, or the next insane locale. If something was available she would have to take full advantage of it. A footman passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and she snagged one and quaffed the fizzing contents in preparation for diving into the social crush.
Melissa sidled up to tall, thin man in a dark robe trimmed with white, yellow and red feathers. “Excuse me,” she began, edging her voice higher and laying her hand on his back, “I’ve gotten a little bit lost.”
The man turned smoothly, pointing the beak of his avian mask in her direction. “Honey, we all know that.” The masqueraders immediately around him tittered into their hands. “Porting into the middle of a party is so low-class.”
Melissa’s cheeks burned underneath her mask and her non-threatening smile faltered for a moment as she fought down the instinct to respond in anger.
“I’m so sorry, it’s clear I’m not prepared for such a grand occasion, but if you could take me under your wing,” she put a bit of emphasis on this, but not a single smile was cracked, “it would mean the world to... um...”
Everything started to go a bit liquid. Melissa took a step back, staggering on her heels, and blinked hard. She rasped her tongue against the bone-dry roof of her mouth and tried to drink from the champagne flute she still held, but it too was dry.
“Not five seconds in and she’s already getting luce. At least she’s in the spirit of things!”
The birdman was talking at-about her. She tried to focus on him, whites showing all the way around her irises through the eye-holes of her mask. His own mask was running, fusing into his face, and she saw now that the feathers were not coming from his robe but through it, out of his flesh. Melissa gasped and her glass fell from limp fingers. She watched it fall and form an undulating tube of glass along its path, and she heard it shatter again and again before it had even hit the ground.
Bezio Foscari watched, with initial amusement that shaded into exasperation, as the woman in green stumbled about making wounded animal noises. Her black demon’s head mask, glimmering with emerald iridescence, should have marked her as a power player, and her dress was exquisite, angular enough to make a statement but curved in all the right places. How this particular woman ended up inside of them was a mystery. She couldn’t even handle her ‘gens. She’d probably start screaming soon enough, ruining the high he’d been carefully maintaining for the last three days.
A flattened Moppet drifted down gently from the ceiling, foomphing into fullness a few feet from the ground. Bezio inquired politely if it could possibly take this distraught guest to a fainting couch somewhere, but it diligently kept gathering up the broken shards of the dropped flute.
“Oh, for the love of... woman, let’s get you somewhere that’s not here.”
Luckily he had not been in the middle of anything important, having taken a short break from power and/or information brokering to just enjoy himself. He cooed his apologies to his conversation partners, took the pitiful thing by the upper arm and followed after the retreating Moppet as it cut a swath through the attendants in its single-minded way. Hopefully he could find a rank-2 or a rank-1 to pass her off to before long.
From the balcony above, an otherwise motionless figure turned its head to track the pair, the whir of autofocus lenses sounding from behind its smiling mask. An internal list of potential threats expanded to include one more guest.
In the midst of the tossing sea of bodies in the main hall of the Resplendent Palace, the addition of one extra went largely unnoticed. At most, there were some eyerolls and mutters about how gauche some people could be as Melissa Harmon popped into her newest battlefield. Unlike the previous locations, here she had not even had the courtesy of a cursory introduction. One moment she had been rock-and-roll battling the smoke monster from an off-Broadway version of Lost, and the next she was being yanked through the void by her eyeballs and deposited in an endless cocktail party. She stood stock-still like a deer in the headlights and tried to take in her surroundings.
A sea of silk and chiffon and lace in a riot of colors surrounded her. Men and women alike were fabulously adorned, and all in fantastical masks which left their identities concealed. That explained the light, form-hugging fabric that swathed her and the object over her own face reducing her visual range more or less to what was straight ahead. The masquerade stretched in all directions, and she was completely exposed. When after thirty seconds or so there had been no attempts to murder her, Melissa began to relax and try to think out her next steps.
Along with the other changes to her attire, she found herself holding on to a sparkling green clutch. Snapping it open she saw that it contained the vital components of her harmonometer, thank god. Now if she was lucky enough to find the parts that it needed, she might be able to put it back together. She frowned, considering that while they were common enough on Earth, there was no telling what would be available here, or the next insane locale. If something was available she would have to take full advantage of it. A footman passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and she snagged one and quaffed the fizzing contents in preparation for diving into the social crush.
Melissa sidled up to tall, thin man in a dark robe trimmed with white, yellow and red feathers. “Excuse me,” she began, edging her voice higher and laying her hand on his back, “I’ve gotten a little bit lost.”
The man turned smoothly, pointing the beak of his avian mask in her direction. “Honey, we all know that.” The masqueraders immediately around him tittered into their hands. “Porting into the middle of a party is so low-class.”
Melissa’s cheeks burned underneath her mask and her non-threatening smile faltered for a moment as she fought down the instinct to respond in anger.
“I’m so sorry, it’s clear I’m not prepared for such a grand occasion, but if you could take me under your wing,” she put a bit of emphasis on this, but not a single smile was cracked, “it would mean the world to... um...”
Everything started to go a bit liquid. Melissa took a step back, staggering on her heels, and blinked hard. She rasped her tongue against the bone-dry roof of her mouth and tried to drink from the champagne flute she still held, but it too was dry.
“Not five seconds in and she’s already getting luce. At least she’s in the spirit of things!”
The birdman was talking at-about her. She tried to focus on him, whites showing all the way around her irises through the eye-holes of her mask. His own mask was running, fusing into his face, and she saw now that the feathers were not coming from his robe but through it, out of his flesh. Melissa gasped and her glass fell from limp fingers. She watched it fall and form an undulating tube of glass along its path, and she heard it shatter again and again before it had even hit the ground.
Bezio Foscari watched, with initial amusement that shaded into exasperation, as the woman in green stumbled about making wounded animal noises. Her black demon’s head mask, glimmering with emerald iridescence, should have marked her as a power player, and her dress was exquisite, angular enough to make a statement but curved in all the right places. How this particular woman ended up inside of them was a mystery. She couldn’t even handle her ‘gens. She’d probably start screaming soon enough, ruining the high he’d been carefully maintaining for the last three days.
A flattened Moppet drifted down gently from the ceiling, foomphing into fullness a few feet from the ground. Bezio inquired politely if it could possibly take this distraught guest to a fainting couch somewhere, but it diligently kept gathering up the broken shards of the dropped flute.
“Oh, for the love of... woman, let’s get you somewhere that’s not here.”
Luckily he had not been in the middle of anything important, having taken a short break from power and/or information brokering to just enjoy himself. He cooed his apologies to his conversation partners, took the pitiful thing by the upper arm and followed after the retreating Moppet as it cut a swath through the attendants in its single-minded way. Hopefully he could find a rank-2 or a rank-1 to pass her off to before long.
From the balcony above, an otherwise motionless figure turned its head to track the pair, the whir of autofocus lenses sounding from behind its smiling mask. An internal list of potential threats expanded to include one more guest.