Who: Everyone! Even the grouches :D
When: Friday Evening
Where: Park
Format: Paragraph/action/whatever you like
What: Masquerade Par-tay!
Warnings: None...yet.
The
park was lit up by lights and of course the stars that night. Tents were pitched up where refreshments and food were served. Tables and chairs were scattered throughout the space and
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In other words, he's everywhere. And he's going to make sure Mr. Bridgeford's party is a success.]
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Might I take your glass, Miss? And are you both enjoying yourselves?
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The lights lining the pathways and trees are a dream, reminding him of bonbori festival lanterns and of fireflies. And as he walks - his strides short, his pace easy to accommodate for the slip of a girl on his arm - he can't help but smile as well. The hum of conversation is pleasant to his ears, the venue is stunning, and most of all, Rukia is high spirits, her liking for her costume shining through from beneath her mask.
He matches her with a pink handkerchief tucked into the pocket of his suit, the crisp white material of the garment tailoring easily to his tall frame. Though he's a little more than unused to the styles of Western clothing, he forgets to be awkward when he glances down at her, his brown eyes vibrant beneath a mask of his own. And for a moment, he regards Rukia in the manner in which a father might eye his daughter before sending her off to the ball for the night, his grin deepening by a hair.
Even cuter than Chappy, she is. ]Aa. It's splendid, the lights especially. I'm glad you decided to join me, ( ... )
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All right. I won't be but a moment.
[ Two moments, more like. The decision takes him a little while longer than expected - champagne, sparkling and golden in a flute for Rukia, and tea for himself. Tonight, he thinks, he'll have more than enough time to indulge in fine wine and champagne, now though... ]
Hopefully, this is to your liking.
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Not one to join the festivities?
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[She's obviously American from her accent alone. Questing green eyes show someone of better-than-average intelligence. Most importantly, Snake-Eyes can see she's had martial arts training. It's in her bearing and the muscles on her slender frame. They're certainly in the right places for a fighter.]
[Does she speak his language? It's worth a try. His gloved hands come up and move, doing his talking for him.]
Sort of. [He signs in ASL[. I think this is time better spent in preventing another invasion.
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Uh - [ better spent in ... something OH! Gwen glanced up with an embarrassed laugh at her laps. Time to hit the library, Gwennie. ] Sorry, it's been a while.
I think I get the gist though. [ A thoughtful pause. ] I don't think the party is that bad an idea. People need a little downtime after something as rough as a war; There's a patrol force here, so I'm sure after the masquerade someone will put something together.
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[Still, the idea made her oddly uncomfortable and slightly... skittish. It was for that reason that she likely would have remained away if Isley hadn't offered to accompany her.]
[She'd needed his help to choose her clothing, too. Even in her humanish state, Priscilla had never been particularly fashion conscious, or concerned for appearances, but since her awakening she had taken to wearing whatever she happened to find - slip dresses, other people's shirts. But today, her gown curls around her legs and spills over the ground behind her like gold flame, mingling with the shimmer off her sheer gold-toned cloak, even as she hides her face behind an exquisite black and gold mask[The clothes hadn't made her more comfortable with ( ... )
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Staionary false-lights, not-quite-fireflies that make her both melancholy and warm. For the briefest moment she'd contemplated smashing them for all they reminded her of, but as usual lately, the compulsion gives way to heartache, which gives way to a need for distraction.
Of course she'll choose the distraction that reminds her most of what she's edging away from...
...or is that toward?
Her own dress is less ornate than she's used to, a bit closer to the attire she wore a lifetime ago.
The bones from the direwolf she slew have been arranged into another mask of sorts, clean and stark against the careful updo of that great mass of hair. Grinning balefully when she turns, revealing a second face to the crowd behind her.]
I wasn't sure I'd see you here.
[Facing Priscilla, masked only barely (a mask over a mask, perhaps?), she smiles just a little.]It's rather hard not to, in that dress. My ( ... )
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[Priscilla glances down at her dress - exquisite as it is, it's a bit strange. More beautiful than anything she'd worn as a warrior, and too light to have been worn in the North.]
[Still.]
The tailor... I'm not sure who it is. Isley helped me. I'm not very good at beautiful things.
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[Yet for a moment she doesn't look entirely unhappy. It's possible she doesn't look unhappy at all.]
I wouldn't have guessed at first glance, so between the both of you I'd say it's a success. You wear it well.
[...]
I think like the lights, now. I didn't at first. But I feel lonelier here in this crowd than I did in the ruins.
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[Today she's joining us dressed as a flapper, and she bops a little to the music as she sips a drink and does a bit of crowd watching.]
[...well, Dawn watching. Which is to say, watching for Dawn. Because really, someone has to.]
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He's circling the perimeter of the twinklylights, staying well clear of the dancing; and pauses at Buffy, likely to move past again in a little bit. But he can never just walk past Buffy.
Striking a folded-arms-shoulder-propped pose against the nearest tree, he says to her,] Dawn-watching?
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I mean, in the "has a date" sense, more than say in the "engaged in a serious relationship" sense.
But that totally qualifies as dating.
[She tugs on a bit of fringe hanging from her dress, and then finally, mouth open, lifts her head to say... something.]
[Instead, she says...]
...your masklessness defies the purpose of masquerading.
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[As much as all interests had been eclipsed by Buffy arriving, he did miss Jennifer. But it's just as well she wasn't still Dawny's only real source of girlytalk. The dating pool might not survive it.]
[He masklessly shrugs and tosses back his head.] What the fella said. Give a bloke a mask and he'll tell the truth. So, y'know. If I had one, what if I couldn't stop. Would have to start going on about how great you look and effulgent you are and declaring this and that you'd never get a chance to slay the buffet goodies.
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