A shambling and graceless orang-ootang lurches into the seat labelled "Malthaussen" and begins a diligent study of the crockery and silver. After nibbling a bit on a dinner roll, he lobs it at the occupants of table Four, who are deeply involved in some conspiracy or other. The words "Food Fight!" are distinctly heard.
– Mal
Most of the mushroom failed to hit the intended target. Instead, they fall quietly into the tureen of soup - a creamy concoction of dead Blemmigans and rose petals - as if they are sacrifices into a well. The soup is too thick for the mushroom to make any sort of splash.
Estelle peers into the tureen for a brief moment, then serve herself a bowl. There are no mushrooms. She sits back and watch the food accumulates on Vavakx’s headgear.
A small woman in a highly stylized Owl mask slides under the table. She is not best pleased; partying with an ape was not among her priorities for the evening. Nor was having to guard her clothing from onslaughts by mushroom projectiles.
edited by cathyr19355 on 11/1/2016
There already appears to be someone sitting beneath this table - a young girl in a bat mask, skirts of shadowy parabola-linen splayed out around her on the floor. She raises a finger to her lips. "Shhhhh."
-(Posted from Table Four)
The Mirthless Colonist stares on at the fracas impertinently for a while, biscuits and morsels are flung both-ways throughout the room, guests join or take cover, or try to ignore this outburst of deranged stupidity and immaturity.
Finally, something cracks in the Mirthless Colonist. Literally, that is. A stuffed crab-claw hits him right on the mask, leaving a nasty split through the right eye. Carefully, he takes off his mask and puts it on the table in front of him, puts his wine-bottle on the floor, and empties out his goblet.
Now, he throws over his chair and pulls a derringer! He stares at the ape and empties the derringer’s cilinder into the ceiling above it. The sound is deafening, and the room quietens as white dust and small ceiling-debris settle on Malthaussen’s figure. As all attention is upon him, the Mirthless Colonist gracefully picks his chair up and stands it at the table, sits, wipes his mask off, and puts it back on.
"Now," he continues, "Where were we?"
The food fight continues, and several laughs are thrown in the humiliated ape’s direction.
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 11/1/2016
The first woman whispers back, "Don’t worry. In about a minute there will be too much noise and chaos for anyone to find us or miss us."
The girl nods seriously, and smiles.
"It seems the shooting’s started already."
A piece of the chandelier has bounced off the ape’s head, leaving a noticeable bump. With a roar of displeasure, he grabs it and hurls it, but his eyes are so obscured by dust from the ceiling that his aim is right out, and it goes sailing crookedly in the direction of Table Eleven.
– Mal
edited by malthaussen on 11/1/2016
[quote=malthaussen]A piece of the chandelier has bounced off the ape’s head, leaving a noticeable bump. With a roar of displeasure, he grabs it and hurls it, but his eyes are so obscured by dust from the ceiling that his aim is right out, and it goes sailing crookedly in the direction of Table Eleven.
– Mal
edited by malthaussen on 11/1/2016[/quote]
The woman in pale green turns to Evangeline. "Do you suppose he will stop before he has destroyed everyone at Table 11? I wish I could help them, but I left my own ape and my more Dangerous saboteurs at home, assuming this was to be a purely festive occasion."
edited by cathyr19355 on 11/1/2016
A Harried Maître D’ glides across the room towards the table. En route he wipes - (are those beets?) - presumably beets from his face with a silken handkerchief. Though stained, you have a feeling his face was, in fact, red beforehand.
His arc concludes at Malthaussen’s seat. "Sir, it is my pleasure to inform you the food for this evening has been prepared with great care. Elder Angler Crab Bisque. Shark Livornese fried in olive oil and garlic. Shredded Jillyfish with goat cheese. Mutersalted Rose Petals, and Honeyed Tyrant à la Carnelian." He wipes away what is definitely a beet from behind his ear.
"All of which is to say, Sir: Don’t. Throw. The. Food."
“My word,” says the woman to Evangeline, “does that man honestly expect culinary discrimination from an ape? Oh, by the way, you may call me Catheryn.”
A teary eyed woman comes to your table and whispers to you.
“I’m not one to gossip, but circumstances urge me to warn you - do you see that miserable rogue at table four? -”
She tells you such terrible things about the man - his acts in the Shuttered palace, his notoriety in the tomb colonies, how he stole her and her guests’ wine. Such terrible things
He has been silent, gulping a cup of Morelways afer another. His eyes begin to look as Void’s approach. The man feels not hunger, but thirst. He drinks from a hip flask. More accurately, he tries to. His physician mask won’t let him accomplish his goal. He curses. It marks the beggining of a series of hit against the table that aim to break the uttermost simple device which lets the user drink from the flask, or make the piece of furniture crumble. Some sort of thing which could ressemble a tomato if one is enough diverted has impaled itself against the beak of the mask of Magmionify. He laughs.
From what Estelle is seeing, the table will soon collapse under the additional weight of the chandelier. The silken tablecloth may hide the worrying condition of the table from sight, but not from hearing.
The table creaks. Moans.
Finally, an Aeolian Scream vibrate throughout the room as the table legs disintegrate and dishes falls off the table. Someone might even had an jar open for such an occasion! Not her, of course.
She is not sure why her fellow guests have elected to sit beneath the table, but this might not bode well for them. She has packed spare dresses, just in case, but perhaps she will offer them if they ask.
Estelle shrugs and leans towards the struggling man and extends a hand.
"Would you like me to help you with that? Unmask yourself, perhaps? Or find a hole where I can pour it in for you?"
edited by Estelle Knoht on 11/2/2016
On the far side of Table 11, a woman in a very realistic, red-furred Fox mask climbs to her feet. "Did you honestly suppose I would stay there with a chandelier crushing the table?" she inquired, with mild pique, of Estelle. "I sought to persuade my other friend under the table to move with me, but so far as I can see, she did not. Can I help you locate her?"
edited by cathyr19355 on 11/3/2016
You hear the sound of a gong, seemingly emanating from everywhere (you suspect a clever cook with a very large soup pot). A space on the floor has been cleared, and a nervous looking string quartet begins to play.
(The dance floor is now open in a separate thread to anyone who wishes to dance)
edited by pillbox on 11/2/2016
Catheryn stands. "I would love to dance, if anyone here is interested," she says. Oddly, for a woman so disinterested in propriety, she makes no further attempt to obtain a partner.
"Well, since there is no scream or blood coming from the table, I assume she probably got away fine."
"I’d love to join you. I mean, I don’t have anyone to talk to nor anything to eat at this particular spot, anyway." Estelle shrugs, stands and curtsies at Catheryn. "Would you like a dance? I do bare my ankles when I dance, though."
A stranger wearing a white suit and Harlequin mask approaches from the dance floor. “Dear friends, we are going to start a square dance and are looking for a fourth. Is anyone interested?”
[OOC: Didn’t realise Catheryn wandered off!]
Estelle gestures at empty air… then she realizes that Catheryn is gone. She shrugs. "I will take you up on your offer. I take off my shoes when it comes to dancing… is that acceptable to you?"
edited by Estelle Knoht on 11/4/2016