the Malfoy Masque, part deux

[mirror_darkly]

Date: Twelfth Night! (January 6)
Location: Malfoy Manor, the 'Ballroom'
Characters Involved: those ready to dance!

Comments

7:35

[good_as_goldy]

Why was he there? He promised himself he wouldn't go. He'd sworn it. A two-time Death Eater was a Death Eater for life, as far as he was concerned. He didn't trust the man. But, around his periphery orbited the woman who in her wake, pulled along the object of his affections. If, into the Lion's Den (a-haha) he must venture, shrouded in darkness and venom then that is what he would do.

He had stopped in the driveway, watching What could only be Daphne fuss over her torn and muddied dress while her irate and shrill-voiced mother repaired the damages the outfit had received who knew where.

He stood there, shadowed in between two trees, a dark, figure in a ghastly mask, stone still, with eyes that betrayed the tragedy he felt watching her. He waited longer than he dared in the darkness, knowing that if she discovered he had been there he would have to confess his disproportionate attachment to her. For a long while, heart hammering, he debated whether or not he should enter, and just return home to his worries.

But the sound of a whole troupe of late arrivals approaching decided for him. He did not spend the entire afternoon tear-assing around inner-city London to simply turn away. He did not spend an hour describing and sketching for a tired and grumpy Calculus the glamour he wished placed on his wand. He did not spend close to a hundred pounds (in both currencies) on this costume to simply be turned away by butterflies. Though chaos could be spread by them, they would not stop him from peering across the veil into the world which he feared coveted her.

He clicked his heels together like the jackbooted spirit he felt boiling inside of him. Striding up the steps, gloved hands clasped together behind his back his head crested the entranceway stairs and his gaze drifted down into the Malfoy Manner Ballroom.

His mask was carefully contrived to contrast with his dress. A white elephant bone, wrangled from Calculus' stores and carved to the desired shape covered black-painted skin underneath. Tied behind his head it was also latched onto the hood of his cloak which concealed much, including the robes underneath. A follower of classic Science fiction it was a carefully contrived statement. His wand was carefully disguised by a glamour on his belt, the illusion was simply that, a cocoon of light surrounding the actual weapon though a hand may grasp at the shape it would pass through the ethereal picture until it found the substance beneath.

To the haughty, Pureblood eye, disinterested in Muggle film and literature, it may be conceived as flowing entirely from the mask, the face of a black automaton: a shell containing only power. But the mask was merely the crux around which the outfit turned. The robes of a Jedi, defender of the weak, were masked by a darkness, a threat. A threat that he was not above sinking to the level of any enemy that chose to reveal itself.

Surveying the ballroom, Anthony felt out of place for a moment, a lone futuristic figure (temporal displacement mitigated by the costume's austerity) amidst a sea of bygone characters. But spying the Stylised SchutzStaffel in one corner of the room, Anthony felt a lot less disturbed by his incongruence. Anthony made a mental note to avoid the red-masked shock trooper, lest he be overwhelmed by the urge to sink in one punch for the half-bloods and another one for the Jews.

Briskly descending the steps Anthony sought out his host and hostess for the evening. Standing before the Lord and Lady of the house Anthony bowed stiffly, allowing his anger to suffuse his posture and assume the character of his mask. The robes were the real 'he,' the self he did not hide, merely obfuscate to his potential advantage.

"Mister Malfoy Sir, It is an honour." He spoke, amazingly, without a trace of venom.

Re: 7:35

[mirror_darkly]

Lucius turned from his just-finished conversation with Mrs. and Miss Greengrass to his wife. He was curious what she thought of the pair, especially in relation to their son, Draco. But he didn't get the chance. Out of the corner of his practised eye, he saw a new figure enter the ballroom. It was not a figure whose identity he could, in any way, immediately guess. It was also a costume that, while seemingly imbued with meaning, had none to spare for him. On the whole, it left him confused--which left him nonplussed.

But Lucius was never one to let a guest in an unusual costume--so long as it followed all of the costume 'rules' set out in the flyer he'd had put about town--interfere with his social grace in any way. If that had been the case, there would have been many more ejected guests than the handful that he had had to have put out for various reasons. (One such case would have been the werewolf with its victim, as amusing that bit of poor taste was.)

He nodded politely once to the new, strangely-dressed guest in front of him. With a pleasant smile, he replied, "Good evening, sir. It is our pleasure--" he indicated his wife and himself with another inclusive nod-- "to host you this evening. I do hope you will have a pleasant time."

Re: 7:35

[good_as_goldy]

It was clear from Malfoy's appraising stare that he saw little in the costume. But that was something Anthony had expected. What surprised him however was the lackadaisical manor which overtook him. He was polite as the manors of the evening required but not a jot more. Anthony was an unknown quantity, and it seemed to him that Lucius Malfoy had little time for innocuous things which he failed to understand. Finding both a measure of dark humour and equally dark pity in that, Anthony made mental note of the moment for future reference.

Bowing once more, he allowed himself a smile while his head was lowered. Speaking from this position he exaggerated the disparity in rank even further. "I thank you and your wife once again for the invitation and hope to find Enrichment in tonight's proceedings."

'Hang him.' Anthony thought bitterly. He may not have been innocuous but he was not the fulcrum around which Anthony's worries pivoted and was, therefore, equally irrelevant to him. Straightening up, Anthony diffused into the crowd, his gaze was elsewhere, but his attention was on a Dancing Daphne Greengrass, in the arms of a prince, more than likely Malfoy's estranged son.

Re: 7:35

[mirror_darkly]

Lucius opened his mouth to reply when the strangely-clad new invitee bowed at servant-to-master level of the Old Style. But the still-unknown young man never gave him the chance. He stood up and left after the overly obsequious reply, leaving Lucius, for once in a very long while, speechless. He stared after the shock-masked male banshee, the faintest of a puzzled frown crossing his face.

But, after a second, when the man disappeared in the throng, Lucius's pleasant smile was back on his face as if it had never left. He turned back to his duties as host.