SMASHQUERADE

[headmasterhand]

Who: Halloweenies (that's you).
What: A fabulous masquerade ball.
When: Monday, October 31st (that's Halloween). The deep, dark hours of the night (that's like eight PM onward).
Where: The Stadium.
Warnings: ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN ON HALLOWEEN

Comments

Samus' new nickname~ ♫♪

[voice_of_animus]

I hate you so incredibly much at this very moment.

More because she was prodding at his inability to talk. Except she didn't know it was an inability. She thought he was doing it intentionally. And to be fair, unless Caim really had something to say, or unless he was asked a question, he probably wouldn't have said anything anyway. (Never mind that she'd just asked him one anyway.) So any considerations she might have had probably weren't too far from the truth, provided that it had been the proper circumstance.

The second reason he hated her was that dip. And the strength behind it. It meant that she was remarkably strong and Caim could not - would not - accept a woman somehow proving she was better than him. A man, perhaps he could understand that, but a woman's place was to either be resourceful or to be as demure as Furiae had been. In hindsight, Arioch seemed neither, and Caim had momentarily forgotten why a cannibalistic elf was dragged along on his never-ending journey of torment and anguish.

He pointedly turned his head aside and gestured to his mouth. How did one explain his disability? Was that even possible to do? He was beginning to think it wasn't. Not without something to write with and on, anyway. Unless of course, he'd had Riley there to translate for him. Then he shook his head as he narrowed his eyes at her.

You are nearly the most infuriating woman I have ever met.

Like his look could simply get his thoughts across to her and he was certain the stare didn't even come close. And as if to dismiss her like she were a simple insect, his right hand reached forward. But instead of attempting to remove her mask, he lightly flicked her in the nose with only a small fraction of the annoyance she was beginning to stir up in him.

[icequeen_aran]

It was quickly becoming apparent that this man wasn't unwilling to talk but simply could not for some reason, as his gesture implied. It also became apparent that he had passed up an excellent opportunity to flick her mask and instead he went for her nose.

Samus quickly became more puzzled than perturbed from the sting on her snout. The blonde took a step back and gave him another long and cold stare.

Who in this school can not speak...?

There were only a few possibilities, and one came to mind more than the others. Samus had only his eyes to go by.

"...Caim."

[voice_of_animus]

And Caim was an honourable man. Honourable enough to give the lady her prize.

A hand lifted to remove his hat and he offered a surprisingly sincere bow. And perhaps it was too elegant for him to do. Perhaps too much of the prince showed through it. He couldn't imagine what people would have thought of him if they knew of his status where he came from. They'd likely wonder why he had turned out the way he had... for royalty, anyway.

The free hand drew up to his face as he remained inclined and he removed his mask for her benefit. And there he was in all of his mute glory. That wasn't a surrender. It was simply him. Being. Honourable. At least for the next few minutes.

[icequeen_aran]

Samus associated royalty with arrogance and she didn't know what to make of his bow. It seemed she had guessed correctly either way and he was putting himself in a prone position, so she made no inclination of moving. No moving, no change in her facial expression or sound of surprise in her voice.

"That explains a lot." She was a little surprised. The pirate's identity was one mystery solved, but that still didn't explain why their eyes crossed at all to begin with, why they had actually managed to share a few steps in a dance and why they hadn't killed each other yet as a result of that.

And then strangely enough, the woman under the mask smirked. Playing with Samus Aran was almost guaranteed trouble. For all the unanswered questions mulling through her mind, she somehow, miraculously, managed to push them aside and accept what it was. Fun? Not quite, but...

It wasn't enough to earn him a favor, but a reward (however tiny and vague it was), she felt, was warranted. Call it a bounty hunter's strange sense of honour.

"I warned you to say out of trouble."

[voice_of_animus]

He rose to full stature, set his hat back upon his head, tucked his mask along the edge and as he eyed her, his gaze switched from one blue eye to the other and back again. He made no effort to nod or to protest, which could have been interpreted as him agreeing with her. After all, there was nothing to disagree with. She was right. And in hindsight, she might have been considering how obvious it was with his adamant nature against speech of the colloquial form.

Her next words caused his eyebrows to lift. Ah. Yes. He knew who she was now. She had been the only one to tell him that, too. As though she didn't trust him. But she didn't even know him, which was an excellent reason to think him more than a little suspicious. If only she knew. He had no way to tell her unless he wrote it out or had Angelus do so for him. The latter suffered a missing variable, however. There was no Angelus.

His hand extended again and very carefully, he flicked at the edge of her mask, the slightest bit amused by her words, by her reminder. Then he motioned back to himself confidently. (Perhaps a part of him was arrogant. No. A lot of him was. And he probably would have boasted about that as well.)

Me? I've been perfectly behaved. Unlike you, Lady Aran.

[icequeen_aran]

Interpreting his gesture took a moment. There was no doubt that due to her upbringing her social skills were lacking; instead etched and formed from her own individual--very often solitary--experiences. Samus spent a large portion of her life alone with only her helmet's reflection to keep her company. Said helmet left her with appreciation for non-verbal communication. She didn't have to worry about what kind of face she was (or wasn't) making or who was trying to read it, nor did she even have to speak; she could be as rigid as the cold, unfeeling metal she was often mistaken for.

A very effective mask, which Caim had deliberately not removed.

In a way she was almost disappointed, but didn't show it, or even flinch. If anything she might of flashed him a fleeting smirk. She would walk away from this game; stepping slowly backwards to turn on her heel and fade into the crowd, no favors to give for him. But, this was probably the closest equivalent to a fun evening with a stranger that she could get, and wondered if he thought the same.

They could dance again another day.