For a story can only start so many ways, but it's hard to tell where it is going...

[foryourown]

When the sun finally rises again, each guest will find him or herself back in their original room, with the door locked and a costume hanging beside it. The door will open - but only after they put on the clothes. When they leave, guests will find themselves descending a winding staircase into a dizzying room built entirely in crystal; the floor,

Comments

[isaywe_party]

The last time Buffy put on a costume from magical origins, she wound up the helpless damsel in distress and she hated it. It wasn't who she was then, and it isn't who she is now. However, what she hates more than becoming something she's not is being stuck with no way out. Her door is locked, no bit of tugging, even with her Slayer strength is getting it open, and there's a costume hanging in front of it.

The meaning is clear. More than clear.

So she takes a breath, sucks it up, and puts on the costume. It's the least she could do.

When the door opens, she makes her way downstairs, doing her best to adjust to the costume and how to walk in it. The mask is a little hard to see through, but it's enough that her spacial reasoning is still intact and she doesn't bump into anything. She just hopes that nothing plans on catching her off guard. She's not sure she'll be able to find it of in all of these layers.

[hisstupidheart]

Mysteries are Des's bread and butter- it's how he lives. Puzzles are his weakness and anything he can't solve, he'll obsess over until he does solve it. Failure isn't an option

[isaywe_party]

Buffy can't help it. She laughs. It's a genuine, mirthy kind of laugh, and she hasn't laughed like that in a long time, but that's what happens when something really takes you by surprise. She's never had someone apologize in advance for attempted human sacrifice -- and she's been apologized to for a lot.

"Does that happen to you often, or is this a special occasion?"

[hisstupidheart]

Des points at his headgear. "Go figure fae. They'll take everything so fucking literally if you let them. And I hope you're not one of 'em, because that's gonna be awkward."

In fact, it would just... Piss him off. Not that he could really tell if she was lying about being a fairy or not if it came to that. He just had to hope.

[breakmychest]

It annoys Spike that this place keeps trying to force him into new clothes. What's wrong with his duster and a t-shirt and jeans? It's worked for Spike so far.

At least this outfit is black, with sturdy boots, a sword, and a whip. The cape is a bit annoying, but it doesn't get in the way anymore than his duster does. There's a mask that ties over his head, hiding his hair, and a broad brimmed Spanish hat. Apparently, the fairies want him to be Zorro. Could be worse.

The room is beautiful. Spike can admit that. But he's still uncomfortable about this entire deal. The whole gala affair has been far to rife with magic for his tastes. He'll be glad to get back to the normal unpredictability of the woods, or even better, back to Sunnydale where the world was about to end. Too bad that doesn't seem likely to happen soon.

He gravitates over to the food and sniffs at it. He's pretty sure he doesn't trust it, but he'll probably end up eating it anyway.

[darktwistyplace]

Meredith really doesn't trust the food either... but given the choice between starving and letting it turn her into an elf - okay, fairy, whatever - again, she might just go with starving.

She's eyeing the guy in the Zorro costume from behind her flowered mask, though, a little curious to see if he's going to risk it - and if he gets turned into anything when he does. Though after a moment or two of watching that, she can't help commenting, "Tell me you didn't pick that. It's a nice hat and everything, but the whip's a little much."

[breakmychest]

Spike glances over at the girl. She doesn't really sound like Buffy, but with all the costumes and masks and strange scents, he's finding it a little hard to tell.

"I like the whip," he says, a tad defensively. "It's useful, right? As a weapon, or Indiana Jones-style. But I didn't pick it, no."

[darktwistyplace]

"...yeah," she answers slowly, obviously more than slightly dubious. "Personally, I don't see it coming in handy at a costume ball, but if I see any Nazis, I'll point you at them."

~Room of Vanille, Rachel and Zhaneel~

[bondedgryphon]

Zhaneel had gone to sleep the evening before, curled up on one of the balconies of the castle. She had not expected to wake up within the confining walls once more upon waking. With a snarl of irritation she rises from the bed .. and promptly falls to the floor.

Her eyes are wide as the reason why becomes suddenly and horrifyingly clear: she no longer walking on four taloned feet, but two very human feet. Her cry of alarm likely echoes through the halls of the castle, even through her closed door. She is naked, other than her skin, hair, neck purse and the communicator stills trapped around her wrist. Her crossbow and bolts had fallen off her much smaller frame, now sitting on the bed she had clambered out of. However, none of these things are her first concern; her first concern is that she is a two-leg at all.

She crawls to the nearest piece of furniture, clinging to it with wide eyes as her pulse races and her chest heaves in near hysterics.

"What has happened? What is this?!"

[OOC: All replies will be made with eyesofafalcon. More than

[grayintogreen]

There's a girl sitting, crosslegged and quiet, in a chair across the room from Zhaneel. She just watches her quietly for a moment or two, and then sighs a little, uncoiling her legs and sliding out of the chair with an unnatural feline grace.

Unlike Zhaneel, she's already dressed, in a sleek tawny gown, though her mask is still her hand. When she speaks, her voice is the same almost bored, slightly sarcastic drawl as the Calico Cat's.

"Relax. It's only because being four-legged and covered in feathers would give you away."

[eyesofafalcon]

Zhaneel's head whips in the direction of the voice, nostrils flaring widely as she tenses. She had not realized that anyone else was in the room until she spoke. She really hadn't been expecting an answer, but praise the Havens that she'd received one.

She still looks like she might be hyperventilating, her breaths coming swift and shallow as she takes in the figure across from her. There is something familiar about her and it takes only the time for her to finish speaking for Zhaneel to latch onto that familiarity.

"You are the Cat from before .. in the Wood." Her wide golden eyes dart around the room and back at Cat again. "Give me away? But I was not trying to be hidden .. I do no .. I do not understand .."

Still, that this had been done to her by magic in all likelihood, it could also be undone by the same. "It will not last, then?"

[grayintogreen]

She smiles a little at Zhaneel's guess. "Well done." She pauses, and then adds, "Take deep breaths. If you pass out, I am leaving you here."

Despite the general sarcastic tone, her voice is gentle. It's alarming, finding yourself in a shape that's not your own, and if anyone would know, it's the Cat. "It doesn't matter if you want to stay hidden. It's tradition, and it's the way things work... but only until dawn."

[gammapulsed]

...Yeah, Bruce hates. Just about everything right now. Okay, maybe 'hate' is too strong a term to apply to everything ever, so perhaps 'strong dislike' works better. Semantics and whatever aside, though, he's just sitting on the bed, tiredly glaring at the outfit dangling next to the door.

Which of course is locked. Because oh, Bruce has tried to get past it. Without any luck at all. And really, he shouldn't be all that surprised - it's the same amount of luck as he's ever had.

Finally, he sighs and starts to change into what was left for him: a pastel green dress shirt, a waistcoat with green stones stitched in that shimmer in the light, and a slick green suit - literally. The interior of the clothes feels normal enough, but the exterior has a glossy sheen to it, like it's secreting something (Bruce doesn't even want to know what, lord), and when he pokes it experimentally, it's smooth to the touch, almost rubber-like. Not to mention there's a faint, sweet, marshy smell to the whole ensemble - of thick loam and growing things

[eyesofafalcon]

Zhaneel wasn't at all accustomed to this whole 'walk on two legs' thing. That might be slightly obvious in that she's clinging to the railing of the stairs as she walks down them. She had, luckily, been able to forgo shoes entirely after donning her dress, the train trailing behind her. She had been thrilled at the form of the mask that had been left to partner the dress. She was, thankfully, not at all concerned about the amount of skin she was showing in the dress, completely used to wearing nothing more than her own feathers and fur on a normal day. The amount of free leg showing (namely, their entirety) allowed her to focus entirely on the walking side of things

[gammapulsed]

It takes a few moments to figure out where exactly the most out of the way corner is so Bruce can hide in it until it's all over. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have stood in the middle of the room while figuring that out - it might have precluded all of this.

But he didn't so this is happening. And this? Is him flailing and almost falling himself when she does her topple. Somehow (don't ask him how, it's not like he has the first clue about it) he manages to catch himself before he's laid out on the floor, and this woman's arm while he's at it. Once he's sure neither of them are going much of anywhere in a down direction, he realizes that she is very very close to him, and his cheeks flush under his mask - especially after getting a look at her costume and wow that's a lot of leg and oh, wait is he still holding on to her? Stepping away, he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, momentarily grateful for the mask for the hiding factor. Secret identities do come in handy at such times

[eyesofafalcon]

Zhaneel had thought for certain that her misstep would end in the both of them, she and the victim of her clumsiness, sprawled in an ungainly heap on the ground. However, he saves the both of them and holds securely onto her arm while she regains her footing.

She doesn't think anything of her free hand pressed against his chest, simply considering it the best way to balance herself as the material of her dress finally falls free from her legs. The subtle nuances of human interaction are, unfortunately, completely lost on the slim figure of a girl.

She looks up to find him looking at her from a scant few inches away and offers him a soft smile. Then he releases her and she wavers for only a second before finding her center of gravity. Her head tilts slightly as she watches him rub the back of his neck, seeming uncomfortable. Though her sense of smell is by no means her strongest sense, and being a human does dampen it a bit, he seems a bit embarrassed. Odd, as she was the one that crashed into him. Someone isn't used to the fact that

[lovethissuit]

Peter is so very grateful for the mask part of this crazy get-up that you can't even possibly begin to imagine. The wannabe vogue Ren-Faire idea someone apparently had in mind for him was bad enough, but he could have lived with that. Not happily, but you know. He could have cowboyed up and muddled through it. But nope, his life is never that easy - or at least it hasn't been ever since he landed in this stupid forest, especially these last few days (and an internal wince at the memory of those past few days).

Oh, no. This costume? Meant Peter is wearing ruby red tights leggings. In order for him to keep what little dignity and sanity he has left, it's just. Better for him to think of them as leggings. Right.

At present he's glaring suspiciously from behind a matching red domino mask at the spread laid out on the table. After the crap that's been happening? Like actual hell he's going to be touching any of that.

...Not even the platter of delicate sandwiches that appear to be stuffed with deviled ham.

Eff. Em. Ell.

[savesherself]

Emily's been looking for Reid - which, unfortunately, is not exactly easy when everyone's wearing masks, and absolutely no one is willing to give her a straight answer when she comes out and asks them. It's actually starting to piss her off, and if anything happens to Reid before she finds him, she is going to hurt people.

For now, she's just keeping an eye on the people in her general vicinity in case she spots one who looks particularly Reid-ish while she wanders over to the table to grab a crystal goblet of... some pale pink liquid. It smells vaguely alcoholic, but that's actually not what she's concerned about. She glances over to the guy in the tights nearby, smiling wryly behind her mask - a dragon mask, painted with roses and thorns to match her deep red dress.

"Any chance you could tell me how likely it is that drinking this will turn me into something weird?" God, what is wrong with her life when that question even crosses her mind?

[lovethissuit]

"Pretty damn likely," he replies grumpily. "I remember there was a time the worst thing I could get at a party was something with sun-dried tomatoes in it, not some kind of crazy fairy roofie crap." Not that he went to that many parties but... Still.

Peter spends a few more seconds grouching to himself before something clicks. Turning to look at Prentiss, he gets his hopes up - it's annoying as hell not being able to peg who's who around here in these masks. "...Agent Prentiss?"

[savesherself]

Wow, that was... really not encouraging at all. "Great," she mutters, though she doesn't put the glass back down just yet. She's still weighing whether it's worth risking it - she could really use a drink right about now.

She starts a little when he actually says her name, a momentary flicker of alarm and suspicion in her eyes... but there are only so many people around here who know her name, and only one she's aware of who fits this guy's general description.

"...Burke?"