The Noir
@expertSleuth
Dead by the end of Sunday.
c< sO, aNyONe Have aNy guesses? if yOu already KNOw, dONt say, but, i gOtta asK, i waNNa KNOw exactly HOw MaNy peOple Had Me figured Out >c
c< Of cOurse yOu wOuld say tHat! ....tHOugH, sadly, iM ONly abOut a quarter certaiN as 2 wHO yOu are, aNd, tHOugH id asK 4 a daNce, i believe tHe ONe Had NOw, is My last 4 tHe NigHt >c
No one guessed who I was correctly on the poll.
Who am I? https://strawpoll.com/GPgVYExzAna
Imagine you were at the #outglutmasquerade and Lord English was there in the shitiest little mask ever and everyone had to pretend they didn't recognize him.
NEW FACES. Because apparently the ballroom had not reached capacity for mysterious weirdos yet. #OutGlutMasquerade THE DONSKOY: Late arrival in a catlike mask, carrying herself like somebody who knows perfectly well how to enter a room without demanding it notice. Already found Dr. Latency, accepted a dance, and demonstrated that she knows what she is doing on the floor. Quietly competent. Dangerous archetype. THE SPRITE: Arrived attached to the Spider's arm and radiating enough excitement for both of them. Has mostly spent the evening at the bar people-watching, drinking, and discovering that being energetic does not necessarily translate into knowing how to insert yourself into a ballroom conversation. Apparently here as the Spider's date. Adorable problem to have. IRA: A veiled princess whose face seems magically impossible to see. Entered cautiously alongside the Blue Lord, visibly overwhelmed by the number of unfamiliar people, attempted to socialize anyway, and eventually fled the ballroom like she had suddenly remembered what genre her costume belonged to. Someone please check whether she left a glass slipper. THE HOURGLASS: Did not so much enter as simply begin existing where there had previously been empty space. Carries a crystal hourglass full of black sand, drifts around the edges of the party, and has already begun using whatever horrible little powers they possess to interfere with the Lightning Lord's drinking. His grog has so far become lemonade and then something peppercorn-based. Excellent use of the supernatural. PHEONIX: Fashionably late, red-eyed, human-faced beneath the mask, birdlike enough that the Angel immediately found somebody to make “birds of a feather” jokes with. Soft-spoken, stylish, apparently dyed his hair specifically for the outfit, and claims his major objective tonight is simply to have a good time. Suspiciously reasonable. THE LIGHTNING LORD: Entered with an actual thunderclap and blinding flash, left a sigil on the floor, immediately demanded grog, and has since been drinking with enough enthusiasm to become the Hourglass's personal science experiment. Subtlety was apparently struck by lightning on the way in. THE HOUSE: Black and antique gold, severe formalwear, filigree mask, and the general bearing of a man who does not gamble because from his perspective everyone else is already playing against him. No cards. No dice. No obvious gimmick. Just the deeply unpleasant sensation that you have entered his establishment rather than the other way around. The Demoiselle has already elected to investigate. ERIC MANSEN: Has made the daring masquerade choice of apparently being Eric Mansen. He walked in, announced that this is a cool party, waddled toward the bar because his cloak is fighting his legs, and climbed onto a stool. Anonymity has suffered a catastrophic defeat. THE NAIAD: A very recent arrival in a customized green chiton, gold accents, and a leafy butterfly mask. Nervous enough that it shows in her breathing, delighted enough that it does not seem likely to stop her. She entered already searching the room for somebody in particular. We will see whether she finds them. THE CORONER: Apparently new. Apparently not new. Nobody seems entirely certain. The woman in mourning clothes and an antique wicker beekeeper's mask has spent most of the evening standing against the eastern wall with a ledger full of information she has no reasonable way of possessing. She has now finally closed the book and begun walking the perimeter of the ballroom, pausing periodically to inventory dances, drinks, injuries and changes in behavior. I recommend remaining alive if only to avoid the paperwork. The second night continues to collect people who look like side quests you should absolutely not accept.
DAY TWO UPDATE. Everybody slept on their mistakes and has returned refreshed enough to make new ones. THE RAKE: Significantly less shattered than when we last saw her. She describes last night as providing clarification, catharsis and closure, admits that hope may simply be “self-delusion that occasionally becomes true,” and has decided she is going to enjoy herself anyway. She then kissed the Demoiselle on the cheek and immediately went looking for the Vulpes because she apparently had an apology to make. Character development is possible, even here, folks. THE RAKE + THE VIXEN: Speaking of recovery, apparently the Rake's chosen therapeutic exercise is the Vixen. Their dance became an increasingly close contest in mutual surrender, control and lipstick transfer, with both of them very aware of what the other was doing. The Rake eventually solved the tension by pulling the Vixen off the dance floor and toward a private room for what was described as “a dance of an entirely different kind.” This reporter respects a clear escalation of stakes. MASHEN TIANDI + RAMSHEAD: Yesterday's awkwardness appears to be evaporating at alarming speed. They arrived together again, immediately returned to dancing, and Ramshead is noticeably more comfortable with him. Mashen has now internally reached the dangerous stage of “she's cute, stop thinking that,” which famously prevents absolutely nobody from continuing to think exactly that. Ramshead also casually planted herself on his lap later. Whatever they are doing, it can't mean nothing. THE BUTTERFLY: New arrival. Tall, gothic, enormous ornate wings, fully committed to the visual concept. More importantly, she appears to have entered the ballroom and immediately located her target. THE BUTTERFLY + MISS BALAM: Oh, this one is not subtle. Compliments began immediately. “You look gorgeous.” “You look stunning.” Blushing followed. Balam kissed the Butterfly on the cheek over her mask, admired her wings, and then dragged her toward the dance floor. The Butterfly appears perfectly happy with this arrangement. THE MAGNATED + THE SCARECROW: I regret to inform everyone that this remains suspicious. The Magnated has been visibly staring him down. The Scarecrow, meanwhile, got distracted mid-conversation with the Demoiselle by the host performing onstage, removed his hat, ran his fingers through his straw-hair and managed one extremely eloquent internal response: “Golly.” He then apologized to the Demoiselle for staring at another lady while talking to her. Sir. You did not make this less obvious. Only, more scandalous. THE DEMOISELLE + THE SCARECROW: The Demoiselle has also begun spending time with him, meeting Johnny the crow and encouraging him to stop being quite so formal with her. The Scarecrow remains physically incapable of interacting with a woman without becoming a bashful agricultural emergency. THE VULPES + MERITOMB: Meritomb asked for a dance and the Vulpes accepted with enthusiasm. Meritomb immediately abandoned formal composure, grabbed both her hands, ran onto the floor, spun her around and dipped her. Apparently some people need three nights to develop chemistry. Others require approximately twelve seconds and sufficient floor space. THE RESEARCHER + THE FLARE: Still comfortably orbiting one another. The Researcher has been leaning into the Flare, wrapping an arm around her, and eventually kissed the top of her head before wandering off to deliberately make herself uncomfortable by flirting with strangers. THE NOIR + THE SPIDER: The Spider finally accepted a dance. During it, the Noir slowly realized that the Spider may have identified them first. The Spider then quietly explained exactly how it recognized the Noir based on something said about asking people to dance. The detective has apparently been out-detectived by the person whose primary activity yesterday was gleefully spinning around alone. The Noir jokingly offered over the hat. Correct response. This is definitely not a reference to recent media. SIR PEPPERMINT: Returned rested, ate a candy cane for breakfast, and has spent much of the evening being almost aggressively pleasant. He has already accumulated conversation with Raven, Mashen, Ramshead and Tempter and appears determined to have perhaps the healthiest evening occurring anywhere in the building. SIR PEPPERMINT + TEMPTER: These two have apparently seen the circulating rankings regarding who is most likely to “cause a stir.” Peppermint discovered he had been placed in C while Tempter was in B. Both agreed that at least neither of them received S. I had not anticipated my irresponsible journalism becoming in-universe reading material for the subjects, yet here we are. THE DOLL: New arrival. Nervous, uncertain who to approach, currently discovering one of the central truths of the masquerade: wearing a solid mask makes the food table considerably more aspirational. WISE OWL: New arrival. Quiet, observant, immediately evaluating the quality of the drinks. Current review: unimpressive. NEKOMATA: New arrival. Well dressed, eager, and accompanied by a tail large enough that anonymity may require divine intervention. CHRYSOTILE: Has appeared and attempted conversation with the Wise Owl, only to discover that the Owl was sufficiently distracted by the playlist to accidentally ignore them. They eventually slithered off toward the other room. Tragic. ANTHOUSA: Another fresh mask, arriving considerably later into the evening. So far she has danced, become tired, requested water with lemon, and been immediately informed by the Wise Owl that the bar is mediocre. Welcome to the party. THE NOIR: Still investigating everyone. Has now accidentally become one of the evening's more wholesome dance partners. The first night was about concealment. The second is already beginning to look like the night where everybody realizes the masks are useless. Hopefully they finally start truly having fun. #OutGlutMasquerade
Perhaps you will put together my clues then, Noir. Or at least, have the audacity to offer a dance.
Howdy everyone! How is your night so far?
THE DUDEBRO: Arrived on a skateboard wearing a floppy horse mask, announced himself at maximum volume, and immediately demanded that the Shikabane “read his shit.” The Shikabane’s reaction was simply: the horse is here. An excellent summary. DEKAI: Fedora. Uwuspeak. Aggressive confidence. Somehow capable of making Dr. Latency retreat across the ballroom by speaking near her. He arrived with the Qaud Qonnoisseur and has repeatedly referred to her as his woman, matechan, companion, et cetera. QAUD QONNOISSEUR: Would like everyone to know she is absolutely NOT with Dekai. He is nothing. Nobody. Merely some guy who walks by her hive. They arrived together. He dressed her. She is getting angrier every time anyone suggests they might know each other. QAUD QONNOISSEUR, CONTINUED: Immediately redirected her attention toward the Raven, called her “everything,” attempted to curtsy, and fell directly onto the floor. The Raven helped her back up. Dekai may have entered a rivalry he does not understand. THE MECHANICAL: Entered with the stated objective of discovering why organic existence is worth maintaining. Unfortunately, something inside its cloak appears to be conducting an entirely different research project involving terrible whiskey. THE THING INSIDE THE MECHANICAL: Produced an enormously long arm ending in a talking hand, grew smaller hands out of that hand to drink with, acquired a tiny hat and bow, complained about modern parties, and was eventually physically reeled back into the Mechanical’s cloak. No further comment. THE RAKE + THE ANGEL: Mystery mostly solved. The Angel appears to be the person at the center of the Rake’s earlier emotional collapse. The Rake held her, told her repeatedly that everything would be alright, and specifically said, “I forgive you.” They then danced while the Angel cried, and the Rake had considerable difficulty making herself let go when the song ended. SCARFACE + THE COQUETTE: Scarface finally found somebody willing to call his bluff. The Coquette put a hand directly on his ass. Scarface visibly flushed violet before trying desperately to recover his swagger. Their conversation has since moved into dreams, drives, food, pinching, squealing and things that might get them removed from the venue if attempted publicly. THE VIXEN + THE VULPES: New dance partner, noticeably concentrated attention. “Guiding star.” “Gravity.” Chest-to-chest movement. Challenge accepted. The Vixen usually behaves like she is hunting the room; with the Vulpes she seems more interested in whether her partner can keep up. THE SHADOW + BEE: The staring has become a dance. The Shadow crossed the room specifically for Bee, took their hand and led. Bee used psionics to float upward and compensate for the height difference. Somehow one of the stranger interactions tonight is also among the most functional. THE BOURREAUCRAT + MADAME VOLEUR: Whatever this interrogation was originally supposed to be, it has become a game. Madame accused him of deliberately leaving his folio close enough to tempt her into stealing it. He admitted he wanted to see whether she would try. She asked what would happen if she did. He told her she would make it two steps, perhaps three, before he caught her, then informed her that her restraint disappointed him. Entirely professional behavior. THE MAGNATED + MERITOMB: Yesterday’s sequence of punch, dragging and drink-pouring has somehow transitioned into partner dancing. Meritomb deliberately stepped on the Magnated’s toes while criticizing her habit of observing instead of participating. The Magnated responded by dancing circles around the insult and refusing to give Meritomb the argument she clearly wanted. THE MOURNER + THE SHIKABANE: The Mourner immediately tried to secure another reading after finishing the first. The Shikabane reminded him that other mortals exist. He accepted this suspiciously gracefully, promised to find them again, and returned to the ballroom still carrying the Shikabane’s red spider lilies. THE MOURNER, CONTINUED: Returned from the quiet room, surveyed the complete social disaster now occupying the ballroom, declared that things had apparently become “quieter,” and immediately began watching the Bourreaucrat. Trouble recognizes trouble. THE SCARECROW + THE RAVEN: Still painfully gentle. He offered his arm. She took it happily and told him to lead the way. They returned to the ballroom together. Unfortunately for the Scarecrow, multiple unrelated guests have now independently begun noticing that he is cute. TEMPTer: Specifically described the Scarecrow as “cute in the pitiful way,” like a stumbling grub one might simultaneously adore and crush. This counts as admiration here. THE SPIDER: Continues to interact with almost nobody and appears to be having one of the best evenings of anyone present. DR. LATENCY: Currently losing a psychological war against Dekai’s speech patterns. THE NOIR: Still taking notes. Disturbingly relatable. #OutGlutMasquerade
Some masks are dropped by physical appearance alone, others by behavior, others still by how other subjects interact with them.
It hurts
It itches. The more I pick at it the worse it gets.
It appears this masquerader has spotted things that I have not, I will have to make note of this.
The trouble with these masks is that they conceal your faces far better than your relationships. Take our matching Lords. When asked whether they were together, there was a pause before the Black one supplied "close friends," followed by the Blue one agreeing with all the confidence of someone being asked to corroborate an alibi. Perhaps that is precisely what they are. Perhaps I am the Condesce. Whetever their arrangement, they move like they are accustomed to the same foxhole. Curiously, this has not prevented the Blue Lord's attention from wandering. The Vixen noticed. Of course. She seems to notice every one of these wandering eyes and takes them as invitations. First the Flare, then our bashful Lord, each approached with the confidence of a woman choosing something from a display case. The Blue Lord insists they are poor at recognizing flirtation, which became substantially less convincing when the Vixen appeared behind them barefoot, took their hand, and simply carried them away to dance. The Black Lord, for the record, seemed more amused than threatened. Make of that what you will. The Rake is a separate issue. Trying to determine whom she favors is rather like determining which glass at a bar the tender favors. The Demoiselle received the first concentrated assault: dancing, whispered compliments, a stolen kiss, and enough blushing to threaten the anonymity. I assure you, madame, we do not know who you are. This affair aside, affection is another dance to the Rake entirely. It is performed beautifully and changes with the music. The Noir and Raven are harder to diagnose. There is an intimacy peculiar to two people who realize they are both watching the room and, eventually, begin watching one another. Whether that develops into anything warmer remains to be seen. @expertSleuth Feel free to weigh in. More interesting to this reporter is the Mourner and the Shikabane. No obvious courtship there. Something strange. The corpse speaks of his shadow as familiar. The Mourner listens closely, and accepts contact with no hestitation. He admits that certain company improves an otherwise miserable evening. Old acquaintances beneath new masks? Kindred spirits? One dead thing recognizing another? I have no evidence. Fortunately, this is a gossip column. #OutGlutMasquerade
There are a few guests tonight who have become difficult to ignore because they seem to understand what a masquerade is actually for. The Noir has spent much of the evening quietly constructing a map of everyone else, asking questions just casual enough to pass for conversation while taking mental, and occasionally literal, notes. The Raven is doing much the same with considerably more grace, preferring to watch the room breathe before deciding where to step into it. The Rake, by contrast, has made herself impossible to miss. Confident, practiced, and apparently incapable of allowing a dance partner to leave without being at least a little flustered, she seems less interested in uncovering identities than in seeing what people become when given permission to pretend. The Vixen operates similarly, though with more patience. She watches first, approaches second, and seems to regard the ballroom as a hunting ground in the most recreational sense of the word. Then there are those who seem almost misplaced enough to become fascinating. The Mourner keeps himself to the margins with such deliberate politeness that one begins to wonder whether his distance is shyness, caution, or simply habit. The Scarecrow, meanwhile, appears to have wandered in from an entirely different story, complete with a badly behaved crow and enough earnestness to make the host's attention visibly overwhelm him. The Shikabane is stranger still. They have said almost nothing, yet their arrival has done more to alter the atmosphere than most conversations tonight, leaving petals, bells, charcoal, stagnant water, and uncomfortable glances in their wake. And presiding over all of it is the Magnated, who seems less like a host managing an event and more like someone actively feeding it. She drinks, sings, jokes, wanders, adopts strangers into her good graces, and generally behaves as though the entire ballroom is a stage she is delighted to share. #outglutmasquerade
I will show you "mine" if you show me "yours." But then the fun is ruined, and we will go down without fond memories, Noir.
I am a mask, of a mask, of a person. I believe you will discover well enough through that statement alone.