tampered | Log; ongoing

Current Mood: artistic
Current Location: Deserted Mansion
Current Music: Violin's tune

Log; ongoing

When; October 2, 21:40.
Rating; PG-13 (could go R but not beyond).
Characters; Open to everyone in the Day of Atonement celebration.
Summary; Belial performs the closing act: the Flight of the Turk/Angel and announces the final ball to conclude the holiday celebration.
Note: This takes after dinner and after the activities that involved spraying people with aphrodisiac upstairs, therefore those who were hit are under the effect of that (the ones who went with Hatter).
Log;

The almost deserted house was fully populated during the entire day of celebration with guests of all ages and genders who could not set a difference between eachother and that was perfect in Belial’s opinion: they needn’t to follow boundaries like those.

The atmosphere was calm, if amorous and anxious. Sie did not need to see their eyes to notice the exchange of shy or heated looks. The climate between the four walls of the construction was soothing, almost intoxicating without the demon’s intervention.

After dinner, everyone was guided outside whilst the last preparations for the ballroom were taken care of. All were led across the marble path, between the roses and daisies that bloomed before the trees until they reached the backyard and were beckoned to sit on the black chairs placed there for their comfort. Behind it, the hedge maze stood for those adventurous enough to stray their ways inside at sundown (close your eyes and listen the inviting whispers to lose yourself inside, away from the world).

There was a rope held firmly by a steel chain to the ground that was tied with the top of the Mansion.

Hatter had assured that King Lucifer and his Messiah were sitting on the front line, just in the middle with Kurai not too far of either. After they were settled, the Satan of Pride stepped into the light with a couple of somersaults, pulling hirself to hir feet in front of the rope. Sie clapped and the lighting increased, bathing her pale form completely.

There was a lack clown make-up this time in Hatter’s face and was sparsely clothed with a purple, leather bodice, a pair of white, arm-length gloves and silk stockings of the shade of hir hair and supple lips. Hir blue eyes held behind a black, feathered, half-mask and a doubled-pearl necklace hung on her neck.

It was such a contrast, smooth, womanly legs that displayed the butterfly tattoo (sin, always sin waiting to fly) and the flat, male chest.

Belial’s smile was broad as sie bowed to the audience, feeling the crisp air of the night covering hir slim form without provoking hir any discomfort.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” started Hatter, clearing hir throat. Hir voice was as androgynous as hir appearance. “The holiday has come into a closing at last. One hopes you have all enjoyed yourselves in the diversions we offered. Before the final dance, one has thought to show you a tradition of Venice. Ahh, that City, full of vice and intrigue.” Whirling around, Belial placed a foot over the rope. “The Flight of the Turk. Applaud, if you would be so kind, and music, please, Maestro!”

A sole violist had been called from the orchestra inside to play a sinister tune, unrecognizable by human composers. It was a melody Hatter had composed hirself long ago, a tune of sultry enchantment and dangerous liaisons. Perfectly designed to spike the effects of the aphrodisiac sie had distributed within those of the first floor earlier.

Mad Hatter was mad enough even without a hat handy, sie started to climb up the rope, balancing hir weight without the aid of the rod used in those situations. Up sie went as the melody filled hir ears, stirred memories of Sheol. Even if the wind rocked the rope, Belial was glued on and firm on hir path to the top.

Thus, sie reached to the roof –everyone looked as small from there, if there wasn’t for their auras sie could even smash hir own lord- and as quickly sie came down, slipping hir feet across the rope and performing somersaults until landing at the level of Lucifer and Alexiel.

While hir devotion to Lucifer was grand, Belial knew better than expect a reward from him. Thus, hir eyes met Alexiel’s, head bowed, not as servant but as host. The Organic Angel removed one of the jewels of her costumes and offered it to Hatter as gift. It was traditional to prize the performer.

“Thank you,” Belial said, grinning still knelt, even in that position hir voice sounded loud to all the guests. “To finish this act, one is giving a literal meaning to the name ‘Flight of the Angel.’” From Hatter’s back, two black wings emerged. Sie batted them, flying at the top of the Mansion once more – dark feathers fell over them all.

“One is grateful for attending and to forget your prayers. Let the devils fly without chains and you all enjoy the last ball,” murmured Hatter while the gates of the ballroom slammed open and the orchestra started to play, covering the silence of the Mansion with a magnificent redemption of the Waltz of the Flowers.

This is for you, Emperor. This is for you, Kurai. This is for us and all devils humiliated this day by human customs.

((OOC: This is Hatter's look during the act. The pic was butchered by dialogue and random Yuki's notes so ;_; Thanks to Ly to try to improve the mess)).

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Lucifer had watched her act boredly, more interesting in Alexiel's reaction to the evening thus far and searching her eyes (For he could not see her face) for clues as to what might or might not happen later in the evening.

With a black gloved hand, he adjusted the black robes- all black velvet and silk with leather gloves and boots. But not just black, black like a void that sucked the nearby light into it, especially that from Alexiel as though trying to consumer her so they might join together fully and completely.

The only hint of color was in his mask, not an austentacious creation, but tooled from leather, red and black and yellow and orange, the color of fire and in the shape of flames around the edges of his forehead, spiring up like horns to form a crown.

As Alexiel presented Hatter a gift, Lucifer pointedly ignored it. The vile creature was not worthy of his attention especially when Alexiel was so near. Lucifer's eyes always strayed to her form above all else.

When the Hatter finally departed in her Flight of Angels, the Devil extended Alexiel a gloved hand in open invitation, for what he had not decided, but knew she would take the lead and he would gladly follow.

Kuja watched the proceedings with a well-practiced air of boredom. His posture, like the mask he was wearing, simply served to hide everything he really felt.

The intoxication was getting even to him.
And with Zidane so close....
It was almost maddening. In as many ways as that particular word could be used.

He breifly contemplated retreating to his room here in the mansion - which he had locked up tight and cast barriers on - but then what fun could he have with his little brother?

No....

He would stay.

And Constantine's second venture had taken him here, to this large mansion and ball that every bloody citizen in the City had been prattling on about. Was he late? Didn't care. He had to make his mark here, even if he did not come in a mask or outfit, sharply dressed in a blue suit and trenchcoat, a throwback to his old glory days in Houma. Too uncivilized for balls, he was, Constantine had decided. Quickly at that; his weathered old face and reputation was a mask enough.

Regardless, his penchant for coincidence would cause him to blend and the crowds would ignore as he pleased.

The small vial he had picked up in his second trip to the black magic market in the Underworld felt hot in the breast pocket of his coat. Some sort of enchanted vodka. Shouldn't harm anyone in the long-term but if the seller was right, the tiny amount he had would be enough to supply several Cities with a night of headtrips. Worked well enough for him; now to find a punch bowl of some sort which he could make his deposit, then locate a few mates of his that might have chance attended to watch the show. And warn them against it.

The magus grinned. If all went his way, it would be an interesting night. A pleasant diversion from the shit of the last few days and the warm ache from the larger bruises that still lingered.

((OOC: Another player, another "ho shit did I du dis wight?????!!!1" note. :{ For those curious about the Houma attire, basically old school John: Like this (http://www.qusoor.com/hellblazer/images/ST72.jpg)! Now looks less like Sting!

As an added bonus, here is him calling the Dark Knight squire: Boornz (http://www.qusoor.com/hellblazer/images/ST44.jpg).))

Alexiel was bejeweled in gold. From her heavy, intricate mask (with ribbons and flowers patterns), the silk and gauze ample dress that sported a fan-like hat at each side of her head to the shoes she wore. It was shinning like a beacon of endless light even when the only other source was the stars above.

Heavy clothed and lustrous, the Organic Angel felt unlike herself within the attire. She was supposed to dress austere, almost insipid yet the delivered outfit was the opposite of her normal wardrobe.

She applauded when Belial’s display ended and turned to Lucifer, accepting his hand to be taken inside. Touching him, even through the clothes was sending chills to her spine, even itching her hidden wings. It was surely the aphrodisiac her system absorbed earlier. Fortunately, she was able to avoid most of the perfumed eggs.

Within the ballroom, Alexiel deposited a hand over Lucifer’s shoulder and led them into a dance. The lack of distance did not help to surpass her primal needs but, at least, they were silenced by the contact with his chest.

((OOC: Alex’s mask/costume)). (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v232/arthurislands/venice3.jpg)

He stood from his seat and was still a moment, looking up after the performer with tranquil eyes that had distilled every moment of the Flights into memory. A black feather had come to rest in his hand and Fuuma looked down at it a moment before a vaguely pleased smile chased across his face and he tucked the delicate thing into his cap--an adornment for the evening, and if it were plucked then so much the better, perhaps he would pass his enjoyment on. A whim, a soft laugh, and he moved on.

The chill evening air had been refreshing next to the throb of crowds against his body when he moved inside, following the faceless throngs into heat and splendor--flickering fancies on the ceiling that delighted him, and the unique perfume of upstairs that clung to many in the crowd, intoxicating.

He gravitated naturally toward these clusters, knowing he would find fellows; there were no distinctions here.

(On the surface, at least, bubbling with a thousand different auras and taste of desires; there was the undercurrent that he and not a few others could tap, that made it next to moot, should they so choose. He chose to ignore the more powerful calls in the press, and sought out the one most familiar--whom he would be taking home at the end of the night. There was merit in building a web of trust, and Fuuma liked to stay his anchors in strange places.)

Intricate and frail and everything - like hemlock, or hellebore or something altogether sweet.

“…wretched…poison.” He could not bear to stand well balanced, least of all walk, but to retch was rather unthinkable. – and oh, the vice of it a pallor on his tongue, eating at his throat, fading in the white-black-white of his entrails.

Belial.

“…that whore…” He said it viciously, whispered, with doll-faced fierceness underneath the white mask – white, always white, couldn’t be helped - and a white robe to go with it, though no wings. There was more the animal as he clutched to the balustrade - wall - half-slid to recline against it – more the animal indeed than ever the angel could hope to be on this night, and he was, in his especial way, most thankful to have shed his wings.

Aphrodisiac, Eros, devouring him as all gifts of Sheol, of Hell - and he Lord Protector of Heavens, no less, Master, Mastered, Keeper of God’s Will and Intent, Bearer of a part of Him that now demanded the body’s ablution. Never a war purer, never a flesh weaker, never a poison the wiser.

“…Beli ya’al…”

He caught his head in his hands, lulled the headache please be stilled, muttered some curse that was no more than chalk dust on heretic fingertips and sinful, he knew, not that it mattered, until -

Raw, thin, desperate; complete in its completion.
Lust.

“…damn you.”

The day had been long, but had been so busy and full of activities that she'd hardly had a moment to question the time. She was only able to tell time apart from when they were supposed to change their outfits and masks. In her final outfit now, she was growing a bit weary, but that was only because she had not gotten any sleep the day before.

After all, it wasn't often one got to help prepare for these sort of things, and on top of that she was in a different body. Well, still hers... But older. She had thought that she wouldn't welcome the change again...not after what had gone on the last time. But it was so easy to put her worries behind her for fun like this.

Belial's outfit and performance were both mesmerizing, and Kurai was on the edge of the seat by the time the ending drew near. She had to smile warmly when she saw Alexiel give Belial a present. She had been afraid that Lucifer might say something rude, but apparently she gave him far too little credit. Disdainful to Belial and many, but he still had class.

After the performance had ended and Belial had given the last speech, Kurai stood up and clapped, a few stray black feathers clinging to her outfit. That had been wonderful.

Really, after the disgusting way she had been affected by those curses those few days, she thought she could never forget... But at least for today, her mind was focused on enjoying herself, and making sure her friends (those who she could recognize) enjoyed themselves, too.

Tedium upon tedium. A falsetto reality.

Katan sighed as he lingered in the beginnings of the shadows, thoughts preoccupied with the arrangements thus far, curious as to the outcome of this evening’s events. An unworthy beginning, to be sure. Such fowl moods permeated the air beneath the regal divinity of the floor, pale eyes flickering beneath the prison of his ghostly mask. He could feel His presence, knew the location at all times though the displeasure wrought earlier had settled into a ‘deliver and be gone with you’ demeanor.

Ah, Rosiel-sama. How lovely You are.

And lovely still, despite his breaking of all occasions to exist this night of wonderment and fantasy. Katan did not wander far, intrigued with the Dance, the sway, how easily company succumbed to the bindings of Lust. But boredom settled, and quickly, drawing eyes quickly, dancing fast as if in a sway, a vigilant guard in the night. A protector bound without such a name and trusted so little now. But he watched, kept still, silent. Waiting, knowing to hear it, a call of devotion, rescue. For only he knew the language spoken in the sweet tongue of the Divine, and thus, did not move, surrendered to his duty.

Until his attention drew awkwardly to the side, the figure crawling through the dark murmuring whispers, his brothers and sisters strangely afraid. A pull at his heart, at his mouth, and Katan advanced.

“Your wager, sir,” he murmured thoughtfully, voice changed to hide a useless identity, knowing well any and all could sense it if they so tried. And Katan needn’t try to know what he felt in his soul. “To keep me waiting long is considered rude.” Solemn, distant. He spoke against the other’s ear, not too far but close enough. And waiting, his ears tuned strictly to answer, to resuming his sound function if the Voice rose into the air.

While his Majesty marched with the Messiah into the party, Belial kept an eye on the purer twin. How unfortunate that he was caught in the crossfire of the perfumed eggs, surely a vain attempt to shield his sister. Tracking his moves as a predator, Hatter leaped down, willing the black wings away and landing with feline grace only three meters away from the former ruler of Heavens.

“My, my,” Belial said, clasping both hands together. “You didn’t applaud. Awfully rude, Lord Protector, awfully rude.” Sie tilted hir head and lifted hir chin haughtly, catching a glimpse of Kurai among the audience, feeling it was the Princess behind the disguise.

Rosiel was shaking as a leaf (or at least the closest the proud angel would shake in public, with or without masks) when Hatter passed by him. Penned up sexual frustration kept by eons suddenly awoken could be painful. The aphrodisiac didn’t create desire, it merely allowed it to flood freely. That sin was Rosiel’s own, buried within his mind and to see him like that made the Satan triumphal.

“One is damned already, but thank you,” murmured cheekily as Belial went into Kurai’s encounter.

The heat. The confusion. The desperation.

Tatsumi struggled to keep it all from bursting out of his chest as he walked into the ball. Black feathers clung to his clothes, standing out of the white fabric and quite simply making him appear like a tainted prince of light. It was a sharp contrast to what he truly was; a kagetsukai, a creature of shadows. And right now; a man filled with forbidden desire.

This was his test, he realized. He had held himself well so far, until, that was, the last event that involved the ridiuculous tossing of perfumed eggs. He suspected something had been inside those... It hadn't been so bad earlier. But now, Tatsumi felt like he would lose control anytime.

All the better that Tsuzuki isn't here, don't you think?

And he had to agree. He didn't know what he was capable of now... or what he would do... There was a haze in his mind that clouded all thinking.

Just a few more hours, he told himself, a few more hours and you will be free. Done. You will have proved yourself, Seiichirou Tatsumi.

Proved yourself... what?

"To do such a thing..."

Last resort of a nature, whim of another, the flicker of mere chance. He could not fault the whore her strategy, and nausea again, because to suppose this had been born of mere accident was unthinkable.

"If that is all you can...know to do..." His gaze was blanker than glass and shattered in as many pieces of suffering, malign notoriety. He blessed the mask and cursed it all the same and dreaded, dreaded, dreaded her, flesh burning and so cold underneath.

"Then I...pity you the knowledge." He could not summon the hatred, too much of Atziluth, pride and God remained - and no greater insults than this, "I pity you."

Eyes that held more a liquid depth, two pieces of night sky set into a face as cold and flawless as chilled marble watched the assembled dancers circling and swaying.

The cloth of his tailored robes shifted in color from a shade that better resembled tha absolute absence of light, a deep blackness that only appeared when one closed thier eyes on the waking world, to a rich blue that evoked images of the last rays of sunset slipping away into darkness.

He kept still, and watched the waking dreamers as was his usual behavior in such a setting, unless directly asked to partner.

In some instances he would oblidge, and silently move into the other revelers, with a cat-like grace, and consumate skill.

Black ( or was it blue?) gloved hands now toyed idly with a delicate polished silver wine glass stem, though if one were to observe long enough, one could see that the lower portion of richly gleaming mettalic mask would be removed in favor of a glimpse of a mouth the same in shade and artistic detail as the mouth piece that had covered it.

There was no one moment where the approaching aura, intent with purpose, intruded; he accepted the brush of it against his senses, prickly with wary composure. It put him in mind of his twinstar, and he greeted the familiar words (though not the tones) with a warm smile.

"Greetings, stranger..." Easily he reached up and detached the dark, luminous plume, tucking it in the other's aesthetic mess of a hat, sweeping beneath his own; a token, a gesture of giving. "The wager accumulates price like soles to dust and ashes down the trail of time; and I said I would walk the shadows to you, and beyond that veil of time: the wager." He lowered his head, hats meet and blotting the writhing blurs across the skies of their vision. "Soul. I have no use for. Self, a putrescence, tonight. Wish, desires of your own and yours; I ask their freedom."

Raising his head again, letting music pour from his shoulders, Fuuma winked. "And yours, fair knight?"

Belial paused hir tracks and glanced over the pathetic (as he was in that moment, a slave of his own body and hidden desires) angel for a second.

"This is all you always wanted and hid, Inorganic One," replied the Hatter, hir voice dripped with malice. "Don't push your pitiful charade unto self. One has many things to make self worthless already."

Speaking everything sie had to say, Mad Hatter went on Kurai's meeting, offering hir arm with a deep bow.

"Shall we dance, Princess?"

She was a little surprised when she saw Belial heading in her direction, and glanced behind her to see if perhaps he was heading towards anyone else. Nope. She had thought maybe Hatter would have wanted to talk more with those that had been in the audience, but when the Mad Hatter bowed and offered a dance, the young girl...no, young woman was glad that the mask was there to hide her red cheeks.

Part of her wanted to laugh, but this was a proper masquerade. She was being asked to dance in the proper way. It made her heart flutter, really, but she wouldn't think to ever admit that. And of course, it was no surprise that Belial could tell it was her behind the mask.

With one gloved hand gripping her skirt so that she could curtsy, she lifted her other hand and let it rest on Belial's arm. "Yes! Oh, um... We shall."

((OOC: If things go John's way, pretty much. %3))

((OOC: LMAO. Without knowing who are they screwing since the disguises disable to peek. But no, those affected by the aphrodisiac are only those who went upstairs. So those who remained downstairs can enjoy the party as usual)).

((OOC: No sir. He's love-drug free.))

Charming. Like the somber eyes of a snake in trance, just as deadly, cold. If but the hand who tamed it met a warmer fate than this oblivious creature of mortal turning. And upon the feather gracing the folds of his pristine dress, contaminating, burning with the feel of a vice ill-favored with him, Katan laughed. The sound twisted, waged as a war upon the other’s hearing, seduction velvet even in mistuned vocals. He laughed as one amused, one tormented and cast aside, and the sudden anger of it caught him surprised. A terrible sin, dark and ugly. A brief tremble. No, away.

But was jealousy not worse? And here he was pressed lightly to the enemy in enticement, warning stay free of, from, by Him. Despite his service, his claims because to love so deeply caused pain, and it was Rosiel’s whim to do as he wanted, desired, wished, and strove for. Idiots. All of them, and Katan no different.

“Your words are delusion, sir,” he whispered, a brief caress to a porcelain-cold cheek. Another, if but callous laugh. “You’ve had my wager without so much a spoken turn.” Hand to the juncture of where throat and jaw met, obscured by the material of gaudy, beautiful, wonderful affairs. Ever so hinting. “And I kindly ask you to surrender a token not yours.” Not anyone’s. Palm to broad shoulder, pressing weight to feel. “A trade, if it pleases you.” Dare to speak stupidity his eyes flashed, hearing flat, the cloth of his disguise mysteriously heavy.

A distraction, sorely called for. He was bored already and thought nothing more than to return to side of endowing deliverances. Summon me if You have the need…

Katan teased a piece of material from the other’s costume in his fingers and sighed quietly.

Constantine finally had located a punch bowl, and shit, an extravagant one at that; it might as well have been a fucking fountain when it wasn't being a punch "bowl" for poncy parties like this one. Then again, what else did he expect from a party with angels and not-quite-angels? Briefly, he could recognize Mad Hatter.

Once John was sure his luck was holding and the party goers had been too wrapped up in their own conversations to bother with even his bloody masklessness, the black magician utilized his seasoned skill with sleight of hand: The vial was quickly produced and the contents quickly deposited, all evidence returned to the coat. Collar up, he soon shuffled away, back into his safe blend, back into synchronicity under the cover of his bullshit.

They'll be seeing pink elephants and the bleedin' angels soon. He would be sure of it.

((OOC: If you want something other than drugs o' wubbin', you can have some psychedelically drunkening punch instead. Perfectly tastelss but the effects come quick. :S Should wear off after the night.))

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Page 1 of 3

Log; ongoing

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[Closed to Zidane]

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To Rosiel or/and Kurai

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...keh

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To Rosiel/Kurai

To Belial

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