tampered | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHEN: Sunday, May 22 - 20:00 / 8 p.m.!
SUMMARY: courtesy of the most recent curse, the local Palace has dressed up as its Versailles equivalent. Citizens are cordially invited to the ball: come one, debauch all!

On tonight's ball agenda:
{
the introduction of attending nobility and other figures of note;
dancing;
card games;
a brief sample of magic - the interested may take the time to dab in the emerging fashion of Mesmerism afterwards;
midnight fireworks!
}

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Attending a cursed ball when you are uncursed is possibly not the best of ideas, but it seemed like such a nice opportunity for dancing with Suzaku and celebrating Lelouch's return to the City.

Dressed in an elaborate gown, Euphie and her knight enjoy the ball.]

[The Baronne du Fontette is enjoying herself thoroughly. Her husband is nowhere to be found, and her lover is making the usual rounds, introducing himself to the right people. More importantly, Dulcine is on her second glass of champagne of the evening, and nibbling at a French pastry with a little less delicacy than those around her. She is wearing, very possibly, the fluffiest dress possible, (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/82/Madame_de_Pompadour.jpg) covered in bows and roses. Her hair is powdered pink and piled on her head, decorated with an ornamental birdcage complete with silk bluebird. Her eyes are bright, always scanning the room for the next unwilling dance partner.]

[Stephane is standing in the corner, balancing a tray of champagne glasses expertly on one arm. He is dressed in the uniform of the palace servants, his long hair combed back and neatly tied in a bow. Slightly terrifying for those you may remember him un-cursed, he is completely clean-shaven.

Stephane has a lot of experience serving the nobles in Versailles, since he's been doing it his entire life. He knows that once the drinking starts, it usually won't stop until the sun comes up again.

This looks to be a long night.]

The doors atop the stairs leading down to the ballroom open to reveal Amélia and Romain. She is dressed in a pale pink gown of the best silk while he wears a dark green frock coat with pink waistcoat and light-coloured breeches, from equally grand quality.

Her hair, as opposed to the wig one might expect, is piled elegantly on her head, with strands of red cascading over her shoulders. This lack of... formal attire, if one might call the lack of wig that, is reason enough for the porter tasked with announcing the attending nobility to hesitate the briefest of seconds; he is clearly not used yet to this particular couple. He catches himself quickly enough, however, and announces them.

"Amélie d'Étang, marquesse de Lendemain, vicomtesse d'Hier and Romain Guillaume, écuyer, vicomte d'Hier."

And thus introduced, they begin to descend the stairs.

[It's just after sundown, and Vicente has infiltrated the palace ball, and is being inconspicuous. His normal outfit has been exchanged for period attire, though still black. He's also wearing a face-obscuring mask, even though it's not required for this particular ball. He is still a vampire and an assassin, and is pulling off the Dark Stranger look.

He's keeping mingling to a minimum, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike at his target. His knife is well-hidden within his outfit.

For now, he just needs to blend in. Chat a little, and maybe even dance.]

[Who is that young man, a casual observer might ask, standing with perfect posture and an equally perfect blank expression on his face beneath one of the relatively quiet archways in the ballroom? Oh, him, that's the young son of the duke - you know, the one they call the prodigy? They say his father has the ear of the king...as much as anyone can have it, that is. They say he's a remarkably gifted lad, too. His instructors marvel at his talents; quite possibly he's been brought here to demonstrate them to His Majesty, should the opportunity arise.

How strange to think a youth of that caliber could seem so incredibly bored, with everything that lies in store for him in his future.

And how strange that he doesn't seem eager to win the favor of all these powerful people surrounding him, but instead simply watches through dark, calculating eyes from his corner of the room.

Oh, well. Children should be seen and not heard, after all.]

"Hello again! Fancy seeing you here!"

[Noé Dorain du Petit stands against a wall, arms crossed, looking around with palpable anxiety. Every gaze he tries to meet avoids his, and it's really no wonder why-- for one of noble birth, he looks just about as ill-suited to be here as is humanly possible. His clothing, taken piece by piece, is elegant; but as a whole his ensemble looks mismatched and thoroughly objectionable. He has got no wig to speak of, though his unruly hair has been chaotically pulled back and clubbed at his nape. His decidedly slouched posture is doing nothing to help matters.

There are those who didn't especially want him here to begin with, and he glares daggers at them in between forlornly seeking attention from anyone and everyone else.]

[Stephane notices Noe from across the room, and carefully maneuvers himself over, with the pretense of serving people on the other side of the room. Once he's sure he's close enough to speaking with being heard, he casually crosses behind the young man and uses his best 'ignore me, I'm a servant, I'm not even here' voice.]

Enjoying yourself?

[Leans back and turns his head to the side just slightly so that he can't be seen talking out of the side of his mouth. He's practised and nearly perfected this technique by now.]

I hate my life and I want to die. You?

At least you get to drink.

You do look delighted to be here.

[The briefest of smirks.]

True.

[He reaches out for a glass of champagne, and immediately takes a sizeable gulp. He fake-cringes and sets it back on the tray.]

This is terrible. You'll have to take it back to the kitchen and do something with it.

[Clever as he is, the young man has probably noticed that particular count, but only insomuch as he is noticing all the activity in the room. The frivolity is boring, and his parents are likely already immersed in it. There's really little of interest to watch, by his standards.

Should something prove interesting, however...now that would draw his attention at once. Even should it mean venturing away from the relative security of the bustling crowd to investigate.]

Yes, I'll just get my magical servant powers right on that.

[Stephane raises a skeptical eyebrow. Being a servant at Versailles can really be hell sometimes, so he always uses his opportunity to be as sarcastic as possible to the one noble he can get away with it with.]

You do look delighted by all this.

[Stephane glances up, more surprised then anything. Nobility tend to treat him more like a piece of movable furniture and/or magical food-producing genie, so he's never sure how to respond to any noble that isn't either yelling at him or making some kind of outrageous demand. He resorts to the fall-back.]

Monsieur?

I said you look utterly delighted to be here. Little wonder that you would be, in such splendor as all this.

[It's a big night for Curtis the Wolfman. He has been promised that if he just eats some raw meat in front of the nobles and howls when appropriate, he will be given brandy and let out of this cage for a while. There was a time, at the beginning of this charade, when Curtis pocketed his cut of the profits in a non-liquid form and secretly carried a copy of the key, but that seems like a long time ago now. He can no longer be trusted not to wander off, and he no longer has the energy or sobriety to insist on his rights. Instead, he curls up on a dirty pile of straw, clad in not much more than a fur loincloth and a collar, waiting for an audience.]

[And those dark eyes slide up...]

Sarcasm, monsieur?

[Lord Myrnin is in his element. This is precisely the sort of thing he loves. He's dressed to the nines, cascades of lace adorn his bottle green velvet suit. His shoes are heeled and he's wearing an elaborate powdered wig. He has a glass of champagne in one hand perpetually, often sloshing a bit over the edge of the glass as he gestures with it while speaking.]

[Stephane notes the sarcasm. He is a master at it, after all.]

But of course. We are all honoured to serve in court.

[And honoured to get drinks spilled on him and clean up after parties at 5 in the morning. Obviously.]

I should think that would be obvious.

As is, I should hope, my own.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 13

(no subject)

Euphemia and Suzaku | open | anytime

Dulcine DesRosiers | Open!

Stephane Stile | Open

no subject

Vicente Valtieri | Open

Kidnapping Fodder | Open, Pre-Abduction | Otherwise, Closed to Spies

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Curtis the Wolfman | Outside | Open

no subject

Myrnin || Open

no subject

no subject

no subject