Hello and welcome, it is I your hostess TheBriteModiste (formerly known as NiteBrite). I would like to propose a toast to those of you who could join me here tonight for being amazing. So here’s to you the lucky few, the brave, the bold, and the new. I hope you all have a refreshing and relaxing time. Please help yourselves to the free food and drinks, but please these are for eating.
I would like to also take this moment to remind my guests that this is intended to be a quite and relaxing evening for making new friends and strengthening relationship with old ones too. Fighting, incivility, and otherwise crass behaviors are not to be tolerated. If someone is misbehaving it is best to ignore them, but if this is not possible or effective do let me know and I’ll see if there’s any way I can help.
Now, with the formalities out of the way I wish you all Happy Hallowmas!
Mrs Brite raises her glass CHEERS she downs her shot of espresso and sits back down
"Mademoiselle Modiste, it is an absolute honor to have you and all your guests here." The Discreet Maître D’, who has appeared seemingly from nowhere, refills glasses all around. His smile is unfailing.
He continues in a hushed tone: "I am endeavoring to ensure civility reigns, as was your intention. I have already taken the liberty of quieting - what some here have called - a ‘food fight.’ I have restored Table Eleven’s chandelier, which I refuse to believe was damaged by a Tomb Colonist’s derringer. And I have restitched Ms. Pillbox’s Tomb-Ferrets."
He removes his mushroom boutonnière - a festive fly agaric - and adds it to the table arrangement. "Please do let me know if I can be of any more assistance at any of your tables."
Rushing like a mad man from a mad man’s work, look around, the noise, the confusion, the thirst, the hunger, the colours, the guest!
“May I help you… Sir?”
“One cough one, ya, right? Arandia?”
“Oh, TheBriteModiste! Nevermind, thanks!”
Hum, just the two of use an a new guest
“Ya, cheers and thanks for this lovely opportunity!”
Not the best RP, but most of the times I forget to check the clock when I’m working and end up in a bit of a rush. :D
From table eleven, Vena raises her glass towards the BriteModiste, her green eyes sparkling, a sly smile at her lips. "To London, to Hallowmas, to all of us, but most of all to the BriteModiste, a hostess of singular grace and peerless tastes."
edited by Akernis on 11/2/2016
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
A lady wearing a white cat mask, already seated at the table, has been so ensconced in conversation with two gentlemen - one in a peacock mask, the other in the mask of a white zee-bat - that she has not immediately noticed the Bright Modiste, and the one they call Skinnyman, arrive. Now she looks up, smiles brightly and raises her glass to the proposed toast. [OOC: We were conversing in in-game messages so far, should we copy this here?]
“Thank you to our gracious host for inviting us here, and a very happy Hallowmas to all!”
The Scorched Sailor, engaged in spontaneous and intermittent conversation with his immediate tablemates, is rather enjoying the occasion. It’s not often one has the opportunity to socialise and mingle without showing one’s face. He joins in with the toast cheerfully and turns back to his neighbours, keeping an eye on the room at large. He is eager to meet as many people as he can this evening - he gets out so rarely.
(OOC: Like Arandia, I’ve been conducting a lot of RP in social actions, but I’d hate to miss out - open to interaction with delicious friends via forum, PM or in-game. Happy Hallowmas!)
edited by Barselaar on 11/3/2016
The woman with the realistic Fox mask halts by Table 1 on her way to the front door. “Good evening, Mrs. Brite” she says. “Forgive me if I don’t stay and chat, but I am a bit indisposed at the moment. If I may offer a bit of advice. Avoid the airag–especially if you’ve been drinking anything else.” She continued walking unsteadily toward the front door.
Though the doors to the ballroom were carefully locked, the hardware at Caligula’s is no match for a good set of kifers. There comes a scratching at the door, and then they burst open and a battalion of waits floods into the room. The urchins have made an effort to scrub up and make themselves presentable: though there is probably not a whole garment among them, they are clean and well-patched. Self-consciously and with only a minimum of pushing, shoving, and giggling ("aht the way, ya bluidy farmer!"), they form ranks before the head table and begin with high, piping voices, to sing:
"Night Brite’s gone to Utter North
Though here in spirit, she’s fared forth
To venture into unknown climes
And forsake all her happier times.
The Bright Modiste is now in town
And now wears Night Brite’s starry crown.
We wish her well, and drink her health
May she find fortune, fame, and wealth."
There is a fumbling and disorder among the urchins, then they hold forth a large cake (devil’s food), with chocolate icing so dark it appears black, and orange pumpkins, witches, and other symbols of the season applied in frosting to the top. It’s a bit lopsided, but looks good enough to…
Lighting the single (orange) candle in the middle, they finish their song:
"And so we proffer a gift of cheer
To one we hold as very dear.
In London town, where devils dwell
She makes a Heaven out of Hell."