Masquerade Archive

23 hours ago

@profilingMasks[PM]

Greetings, Readers. It is time that I finalize my thoughts on the 15th Masquerade held by @gullibleColumnist with the assistance of some sordid individuals. I will be frank and true with you as always, my readers. These three nights were most excellent. Though, it was surely missing a little flair for despair. At the next event, should I find myself there, I will be sure to incite the fires and their irons much more than I had from a distance. Three nights is enough time for a person to forget why a mask was put on in the first place. By the end, most of you had stopped concealing yourselves and had merely found more elaborate ways to confess. I have no objection. A disguise is at its most useful when the wearer begins trusting it. This will be the final record left on this account. It is not every drink, dance, insult, flirtation, disappearance, injury, and poorly concealed identity. That would be bookkeeping, and I have met enough bureaucrats recently. This is the course the affair actually took. Night One The Magnated opened the doors, the Musical Messengers took their stage, and the ballroom rapidly filled with guests who interpreted “conceal your identity” with wildly differing levels of commitment. Noir arrived prepared to investigate. Rake arrived prepared to socialize and instead found herself confronting something considerably more personal. The Angel and Rake's reunion became one of the earliest reminders that a disguise is poor armor against someone who already knows where to wound you. Their relationship fractured in the open, though the Rake made it quite clear that separation would not produce indifference. Even with her mask askew and the party continuing around them, she held the Angel and promised that whatever happened, she would forgive her. Elsewhere, entirely different connections were beginning. Flare and Researcher found an easy rhythm together that would continue across the entire event. Vixen and Vulpes discovered that dancing with a stranger becomes substantially more interesting once the stranger begins kissing back. Frost Tail, Pale Thorn, Dr. Latency, Tempter, Sir Peppermint, the Lords, Raven, Demoiselle and the rest of the growing crowd began accumulating the little relationships that would make the following nights feel less like separate parties and more like episodes of the same ongoing disaster. The Mourner arrived looking appropriately funereal and soon found the Shikabane, who entered trailing bells, petals, charcoal and stagnant water. Their exchanges would spend the remainder of the event occupying that charming territory between courtship and funeral planning. The Scarecrow began the evening mostly in the quieter room, playing his banjo and arguing with Johnny about whether he belonged at such a gathering at all. Raven helped coax him toward company. The Magnated managed to make him visibly flustered almost immediately. Before the night was over, however, the comedy around his shyness developed an unpleasant second layer when he abruptly collapsed like a marionette with its strings severed. The crows gathered around him and helped bring him back. Whatever the Scarecrow was, the costume did not explain it. Scarface and the Coquette made excellent use of anonymity for considerably less existential purposes. Madame Voleur began making a nuisance of herself. The Bourreaucrat arrived carrying classifications, warrants and an executioner's sword, promising that everyone would be processed in due time. Naturally, this merely encouraged people to bother him. Eventually, the Dudebro arrived in a Horse Mask. Seemingly, to pester the Shikabane specifically. Night Two The host eventually announced the actual Second Day, after which everyone returned with a dangerous new advantage: context. By this point, relationships had begun developing momentum. Ramshead simply installed herself in Mashen's lap and behaved as though this were the natural arrangement of furniture. The Naiad became nearly incapable of asking the House to simply spend the evening with her. He patiently made her finish the question anyway. Noir continued collecting clues, identities and observations, though the investigation was becoming compromised by romance. By this point the detective admitted that it had already kissed the mystery woman occupying so much of its attention and had begun planning a more proper confession involving dinner and squid-ink pasta it did not yet know how to prepare. Apparently even obsessive investigators eventually require a reservation. Rake recovered enough to return to the dance floor and spent time with Donskoy. Raven continued making friends with nearly everyone willing to remain in one place long enough. Bee and Spider managed to make an almost wordless connection remarkably expressive. Flare and Researcher kept returning to one another. Pale Thorn, Frost Tail, Tempter and Sir Peppermint continued producing enough interpersonal crossfire that simply observing them became entertainment. The Coroner appeared, or perhaps finally allowed herself to be noticed, carrying a ledger containing information she should not reasonably have possessed. Her categories included DESIGNATION, CONDITION, PERSONAL EFFECTS, PROBABLE CAUSE, ESTIMATED TIME and REMARKS. Previous drinks, injuries and private behaviors had already been recorded. At least one entry contained a time that had not occurred yet. More quietly, the Scarecrow's mystery worsened. The strange failures of his body continued. A mass of black feathers intervened when he was in pain. Fitzgerald appeared in the secondary ballroom, knew names with suspicious ease, carried the atmosphere of someone who understood more than they were saying, and immediately earned Johnny's distrust. What had begun as an eccentric strawman playing folk songs was rapidly becoming one of the actual mysteries of the gathering. Miscellaneous Mentions. Not every guest required a grand revelation to justify their attendance. Frost Tail spent much of the affair doing what several of the wiser guests did: eating, resting, trading remarks with friends, accepting whatever nonsense the room produced, and making sure the Black Lord received a proper farewell hug before he left. The Lords themselves seemed content to treat the Masquerade as an actual party, dancing, teasing one another, comparing disguises, and delaying their own reveals simply because the mystery was still enjoyable. Blue Lord even managed some pleasantly ordinary conversation about college and Light before returning to the floor. Sir Peppermint drifted between dances, food, flirtation and conversation with remarkable ease. Iron Maiden spent portions of the night observing from the wall when her armor became less comfortable than advertised, before later joining AppleCore in the historically regrettable creation of the “Macerade.” Kraken devoted an admirable amount of attention to food architecture and conversations about old trees, while Wicked perfected the art of being a dark and evil wallflower near the desserts until Hourglass politely dragged them into conversation. None of these needed to become the center of some great mystery. They gave the ballroom its texture: people twirling, snacking, joking, getting tired, hugging goodbye, and enjoying the peculiar luxury of being somebody else for a few nights without requiring catastrophe to make the experience worthwhile. THE FINAL NIGHT The Magnated formally announced the third and final day, and the knowledge that there would not be another evening changed the character of the room almost immediately. People began finishing things. Raven and Donskoy had long since progressed beyond casual conversation. Donskoy ended one dance with an invitation to continue the matter somewhere less illuminated, suggesting that if Raven wanted to see more of her, she should follow. Flare and Researcher finally converted three nights of returning to one another into a properly dramatic kiss in the center of the dance floor, timed neatly enough with the music. Rake and Meritomb received the dance that had been forming beneath the previous nights. It was not technically perfect. That improved it. Missed steps became corrections, corrections became play, and the Rake finally broke rhythm entirely to kiss her. Meritomb responded by lifting her to eye level and spinning with her before returning her to the floor. The Scarecrow finally asked the Magnated for his dance. After nearly three nights of becoming useless whenever she approached him, he managed to remain functional for the duration. At the end, the Magnated lifted his hand and kissed it before thanking her strawman. Pale Thorn and Tempter became steadily less subtle. Sir Peppermint continued his own social adventures before eventually allowing his mask to fall. Other identities began loosening as well. By then, the concealment had become almost ceremonial. Veiled solved her lack of a dancing partner through the time-honored method of pointing across the room at Gilded and shouting “YOU.” Moondrop objected. Gilded informed him that he was perfectly capable of choosing for himself and went dancing anyway. Direct communication occasionally works. AppleCore and Iron Maiden contributed something equally important to the cultural record by producing what was described as the Macerade. The Masquerena. I will not defend this. I will only preserve it. Elsewhere, Apollo and Artemis made their appearances, the Knight continued treating masks as interactive objects, Wicked repeatedly discovered new reasons to become agitated, Nekomata hovered around the desserts and other people's business, Gilded accumulated attention, Vixen continued collecting interesting dance partners, and the room increasingly resembled what all successful masquerades eventually become: a party where everyone has forgotten they were originally supposed to be strangers. Scarface and Madame Voleur finally used their dance to address an actual grievance rather than merely performing around one. He apologized. She eventually accepted. Madame later continued her separate and entirely inadvisable relationship with Imperial procedure by leaving lipstick on the Bourreaucrat's mask. He responded by pressing that mask against her hand and remarking that she had developed an unfortunate habit of leaving evidence upon him. The thief had, apparently, become suspiciously interested in being caught. Noir's investigations also reached increasingly strange territory around the Chevalier and Simulacrum, proving that attempting to determine who someone is becomes considerably more difficult when the answer begins multiplying. Then the Masqueraider appeared in an antique breathing apparatus, distrustful of the atmosphere itself. Debonair, possessed of excellent survival instincts for a corpse, approached immediately and asked for a dance. Eventually the Bourreaucrat recognized something familiar beneath the machinery. The apparatus came off. The words Marquise and Orphaner were exchanged. The Masqueraider elected not to remain for the arrest and departed at speed. This was merely one reveal among many. By the final hours, names and masks were being discarded throughout the room. Sir Peppermint revealed Kankri. Pale Thorn eventually traded that identity for Crucible. Others chose quieter reveals or saved them for later. The important part was that the experiment had ended. People who wanted to continue knowing one another now had to do it without the protection of being strangers. The End of the Evenings Even after the ballroom began emptying, the secondary room still had one last story to finish. The Scarecrow gathered those closest to the mystery surrounding him. Fitzgerald, unfortunately, attempted to involve a revolver. A familiar trick was attempted without the poker chip required to perform it. The gun exploded in Fitzgerald's hand. This proved to be the smaller emergency. The Scarecrow apologized, announced that “The show's over tonight,” and drove the key into his chest. Light, screaming, discordant music and crows filled the room. His body collapsed into something dark and impossible, then broke apart into two forms. One still resembled the Scarecrow, albeit altered. The other struggled between shadow, bone and shapes that did not seem to agree upon what they were supposed to become. Both fell. Only one initially rose. A masquerade devoted to hidden identities ended with the discovery that a single identity had itself been concealing multiples. Excessively thematic. I approve. FAVORITE MOMENTS The horse. There is nothing to improve. A skateboard. A floppy horse mask. “The horse is here.” “Welcome Mr. Horse.” Perfect. Veiled selecting Gilded by pointing at him and shouting “YOU.” An underrated method of courtship. The Macerade. The Masquerena. History is cruel, and therefore I have preserved the name. Rake and Meritomb's messy kiss. Not because the dance was flawless. Because it survived not being flawless. Flare and Researcher finally committing to the bit. Three nights of dances deserved an ending in the middle of the floor. The Magnated kissing the Scarecrow's hand. A remarkably efficient reward for approximately three evenings of nervous suffering. Fitzgerald's gun exploding immediately before the room acquired a much larger problem. There is a special humiliation in suffering a catastrophic weapon failure and discovering you are still only the second most concerning thing happening nearby. Everyone who made plans for after the Masquerade. Those were, in the end, the most successful disguises. People arrived intending to become strangers for three nights and left disappointed by the prospect of returning to them. That will be the final entry. This account will remain archival. The masks have been removed, the names largely returned, and whatever relationships survived now belong to the people underneath them. The evidence remains. The embarrassing behavior remains with it. I have disembarked. #OutGlutMasquerade