A young woman in a raven mask stands at an empty table 45, checking and double checking her invitation. The numbers 4 and 5 are just barely legibly smeared together, almost passing for the number 45. Perhaps the sender had intended the invitation for table 4 or 5, a simple typographical error. A rushed job would make sense as the envelope literally pressed into her hands an hour prior.
But table 4 was already full, as was 5. Perhaps the card was right and she was merely early. Surely other guests would visit her table soon. So Ms. Davidson seats herself in the back of the room at table 45 and waits.
She has patience. Another guest will arrive soon, surely.
(OOC) I’m doing something quite eye-catching at the moment, at the beginning of the party, so I’ll move the time for this post ahead to about halfway through the evening.
Late into the party, after the food fight has settled, the drinking and feasting is in full motion, and the music has gone from classical and elegant to fiery and decadent, the Mirthless Colonist finds himself standing at the edge of Table 45, looking for respite from the bright lights, the loud sounds, and the orchestra of voices.
He looks down at the lady Davidson, a bit lonely, a bit bored, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her.
He opens his mouth to adress her, hesitates briefly, then goes ahead anyways, "Doesn’t seem like the best of tables, don’t you want to move more to the centre of the room? It’s not like there’s any strict rules, seeing as that baboon got away with starting the War of Edibles."
He chuckles, touches the crack in his mask, then continues, "So, what brings you here? Not necessarily this single table, but this ball as a whole. You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself too thouroughly, so it can’t be for the entertainment." edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 11/1/2016
Ms. Davidson turns to face the Colonist and tuts softly. “Perhaps it was better that I was misplaced over here. A shame what has happened to your mask.” The Wine-soaked Ferret darts beneath a table, causing another series of tuts.
“And I’d be livid had my suit been damaged in that fight. It’s an re-creation of what a certain Clothier used to sell. Cost me a fortune.” She gingerly pokes at a plate of what could be boiled pumpkin, if pumpkins had the consistency of toothpaste. She sighs.
“No no, but you’re right. I’m not exactly the life of the party here. But I needed a break. I’m just moderately frustrated that the latest series of investigations have ended fruitless.”. A sparkling jar is produced from a blazer pocket, a single soul bobs gently within.
“Have you ever seen one of these before?” She asks.
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.
A mirthful man in Exceptional Rose garb approaches. “A soul? Yes - I’ve seen them before. Sooner or later one’s bound to stumble over a hidden cache - unless of course, one deals in their trade explicitly. But what’s this about your investigations?” Your fellow reveler looks fair, bearded, and - with his head at the center of silken rose petals - utterly ridiculous.
[quote=Blaine Davidson]Ms. Davidson turns to face the Colonist and tuts softly. "Perhaps it was better that I was misplaced over here. A shame what has happened to your mask." The Wine-soaked Ferret darts beneath a table, causing another series of tuts.
"And I’d be livid had my suit been damaged in that fight. It’s an re-creation of what a certain Clothier used to sell. Cost me a fortune." She gingerly pokes at a plate of what could be boiled pumpkin, if pumpkins had the consistency of toothpaste. She sighs.
"No no, but you’re right. I’m not exactly the life of the party here. But I needed a break. I’m just moderately frustrated that the latest series of investigations have ended fruitless.". A sparkling jar is produced from a blazer pocket, a single soul bobs gently within.
"Have you ever seen one of these before?" She asks.[/quote] "Ah, hah. Yes. I certainly have." His mood sombres. "About three-hundred years ago, I left my soul with my sweetheart on the surface. Literally. I’ve reclaimed it in the meanwhile, but it sure was a strange feeling to be reunited after so long."
He carefully observes the soul, taps the glass, coos at it. "Who’s this one belong to, what’s its story?"
Ms. Davidson pauses to peer over at the 4th table. Her back stiffens as tales of a certain individual are whispered. “Duly noted.” She hisses back, “How he managed to secure an invitation we may never know.” Ms. Davidson turns and is slightly taken aback, it seems her trinket is drawing a crowd.
“Souls are commonplace, but on rare occasions exceptional ones like these can be obtained.” The soul continues to shine brightly, making the bearded gentleman’s fair skin look white.
“There are rumours about certain writers in the city. I don’t know why but everyone is interested in them so clearly there must be something important going on.” She pauses to collect herself, and continues.
“I managed to track one of these writers down, and it hasn’t been easy or cheap. Did you know that at one point Devils broke into my home to slow my investigations down? The nerve! But in the end, my writer disappeared before anything substantial could be learned and my nightmares are now filled with giants.”.
Ms. Davidson sighs and a heartless chuckle escapes under the raven mask. “As my father would say, I could use a drink right now. But I would prefer something without mushrooms. I wish surface wine was cheaper, I could go for a nice white right now”.
“Oh. And the Boatman gave me this soul. And somehow this type of soul relates to my writers.” The bottle disappears back into her suit jacket.
"Oh, by the way, I’m Professor Ginneon Thursday." The bearded reveler catches the attention of a Harried Maître D’. "A bottle of Chablis Beaunois for the table." He returns his attentions to the lady and the Tomb Colonist. "Just in from the Surface. Should be delightful. Hopefully it will serve as an effective antidote to the giants haunting your reveries. If don’t mind sharing, what brought you to the Boatman?"
A crisp bottle of white wine soon appears, and Professor Thursday proposes a toast: "To better dreams." You cheers and sip. "And to you, my friend from the Colonies. To your newly recovered soul. Tell us, if you will, what became of your Beloved on the Surface?" edited by Ginneon Thursday on 11/1/2016
[quote=Ginneon Thursday]"Oh, by the way, I’m Professor Ginneon Thursday." The bearded reveler catches the attention of a Harried Maître D’. "A bottle of Chablis Beaunois for the table." He returns his attentions to the lady and the Tomb Colonist. "Just in from the Surface. Should be delightful. Hopefully it will serve as an effective antidote to the giants haunting your reveries. If don’t mind sharing, what brought you to the Boatman?"
A crisp bottle of white wine soon appears, and Professor Thursday proposes a toast: "To better dreams." You cheers and sip. "And to you, my friend from the Colonies. To your newly recovered soul. Tell us, if you will, what became of your Beloved on the Surface?" edited by Ginneon Thursday on 11/1/2016[/quote] "Suppose she’s dead. Like I said, it was nearly three eons ago that I left her. Turns out she was with child, though. A son. And by the sound of it…" the Mirthless Colonist takes a long sip from the wine, "He took after his father, when it comes to romance, anyways."
The Mirthless Colonist fiddles with the brass ring on a chain around his neck. "I have a whole dynasty topside, now. They’re quite unsure of what to think of me though, I’m not the most responsible of ancestor-ghouls."
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Professor Thursday. Where are my manners? My name is Blaine Davidson. Yes, I am aware that my nam-”. She freezes the instant the wine appears on the table, uncertain as to how to respond.
“I’m not one to complain but how? Especially in Caligula’s of all places. Please, tell me your secrets or at least, your connections.”. Ms. Davidson shifts her raven mask to the right and accepts a glass, relaxing visibly.
“I’m a bit of a collector of oddities, or as I prefer to call them, rarities. And I often come across questionable tomes and rumours in my hunts. One day I decided to test out a “tradition” if you will, meeting the Boatman on my own terms. Well, it succeeded, and long story short he is deceptively large and I gave him a soul for this soul.”. She taps her suit jacket lightly.
Blaine turns to the Colonist, “At least your lineage has thrived in your absence. Much to my Father’s chagrin, the Davidson name ends with me. If you don’t mind professor, I’d love another glass.”.
The Professor pours freely. “Please - help yourself! I told Benthic I needed some specialty supplies from the surface to aid in my research. Mycoenology, you see - the conversion of mushrooms into wine. Fortunately specialty supplies for me often include many bottles from the Surface. More than is needed, scientifically speaking, but let’s keep that between us, shall we?”
“And you,” he says to the Mirthless Colonist, “Let us drink to your descendants - may they outnumber the stars, Mister…well…I didn’t quite catch your name.” He extends his glass and drinks again. “By the way,” he says, rattling the Colonist’s sleeve, “I like your bells.”
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
Ms. Davidson readily accepts a second glass, “I assure you Professor, so long as you continue to share your “research” supplies with me my lips are sealed. But do tell me more about your research. And does it have anything to do with the petals around your head?” She twirls a finger before taking another sip.
Blaine glances at the dance floor and shrugs, “I’m not one for dance I’m afraid, but the two of you are welcome to enjoy yourselves.”
"Heavens no!" he laughs. "My research and my costume are unrelated. I do enjoy playing matchmaker though, so I thought it fitting I dress in my most romantic attire." He sips his wine.
"Ah, now, you’ve just said my seven favourite words: 'Tell. Me. More. About. Your. Research." He laughs again, buoyantly.
"You may just regret having uttered them. But I strive to recreate my favourite Surface wines in our more mycologically-prone climes. Currently I’m trying to render a Sarcoscypha Coccinea Port. It will be a few years before it will be produceable on a wider scale, but for now I enjoy the experimental tipples to which I am privy. Since you like white wines, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m trying to cultivate a Chanterelle similar to the Chablis we’re sipping now. Does that interest you, Ms. Davidson?"
“So long as I’m able to sample your experiments you can talk about your research as much as you like. I’m more accustomed to chanterelles in wine sauces as opposed to wines, so yes, I am extremely curious.” She sighs, “You’re going to turn me into an alcoholic at this point, with this constant indulging.” Ms. Davidson allows herself a small chuckle before taking another sip. And another.
She glances about the room. “But I’m glad to see that the party has mostly calmed down. I doubt our hostess would be appreciative of their antics.”