wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. MOONLIT RIVALS LOG 2, SCENE 1

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors, everyone who is invited (and those who are not).
What: The event of the century, the Umbra Ball, is about to begin.
When: The night of the ball itself, and a slice of the morning after. [ooc timeline: Feb 6th - 19th]
Where: The city of Montica and the Umbra Mansion.
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers.


Waxing Gibbous Moon

The sun begins to set, and the city of Montica buzzes in anticipation. Vendors close their stalls early - the consensus being that there is no point in running a night market tonight. The streets empty, houses and shops shuttered as eager folk stream up to the mansion.

A few industrious salespeople can be found on the way up to the mansion, selling masks and accessories for any last-minute needs. There is a rumour filtering through the people that a dress code is being strictly enforced, and the clan are supplying masks of silver for anyone who does not bring their own - a concept that delights some and stirs trepidation in others.

The Umbra Mansion almost glows above the city, light spilling from its open doors onto its perfectly manicured lawns and drive. After the sun sets, the metal shutters on the windows are lifted and the curtains are drawn back; and the night sky, in its star-studded glory, paints a picturesque view for the party-goers inside.

The strings of a waltz ring clearly, echoing out into the streets in joyful invitation. Not everyone will be allowed in - some will remain out here, rejected by the doorstaff or content to create their own festivities.

[The Masquerade]

For those who make the cut, the masquerade itself is staffed by humans and vampires and is separated into 2 distinct parties.

The first, for the ‘common’ folk. Those without formal invitations, who are free to mingle and be awed. They are greeted at the doors to the main entry hall - doors that will remain open for the duration of the masquerade. Human doormen (and women) do cursory checks before bowing visitors through, doing their best to keep everyone in line. (No weapons, dress standards met, no obvious werewolves.) Anyone who hasn’t brought their own mask will be offered one here. Silver, of course, and the expectation is that you will wear it.

A pair of grand staircases awaits past the doors, framing a magnificent chandelier. Guarding each staircase is a well-dressed servant. They’re making no secret of their too-sharp teeth or the red tinting their irises, and to get upstairs you’ll have to present an invitation. Gilded in real silver, these invites are only for the elite or those favoured by the vampiric aristocracy. These stairs lead first to a mezzanine; one that encircles the grand ballroom below, framing the common people’s masquerade. Arched doorways connect the mezzanine further to the sprawl of the mansion - in particular, to the private sitting rooms where sensitive… ‘business’ can be conducted. So too does it connect to wide balconies that overlook the garden, providing entertainment for those above.

The downstairs ballroom, lined by this mezzanine, is where the band of musicians plays. Waitstaff roam the sides of the room, balancing trays of canapes and wine. The doors along one side of the ballroom have been opened, allowing attendees to slip away into the expansive garden.

[The Garden]

Intricate stonework lines paths through the gardens, weaving around precisely planned flowerbeds. Stone lanterns light the way along the paths, providing opportunities for self-guided strolls. There are many quiet areas to be found here; whether it’s in the shelter of a small gazebo surrounded by fragrant lavender, or on a bench nestled beneath an arch of wisteria.

But don’t get too comfortable in your perceived solitude. The balcony of the mezzanine overlooks these gardens almost in full - the risk of being seen is never zero.

Out here, in perfect view of those mezzanine balconies and completely accessible to those on the ground floor, is a raised platform that acts as a stage. Here it is planned for a performance from The Crystal Ermine Troupe to take place: ‘The Tin Soldier’s March, or the Tragedie of Ierico and his Harlequin.’ There is nothing stopping other would-be entertainers from taking to the stage when it is not in use - assuming, of course, that they are not put off by the dozens of sharp red eyes watching them from above.

[The Hedge Maze]

A large, complicated hedge maze sits centered in the garden; its width almost as vast as the mansion itself. Vines of moonflowers grow across it, almost seeming to glow in the moonlight. As the night goes on and the partygoers tire of dancing, they may find themselves filtering out here - where a sense of renewed excitement permeates the air.

There is a game that some vampires like to play. Its origins are obvious, but its modern iteration is - usually - a touch less gory than decades past.

It begins with a human. An eager competitor, a jibing friend, or a flustered lover. Someone who takes a head start into the maze, blood and adrenaline pumping as they race to find its centre before time is up.

And it then continues with the vampire who begins their pursuit through the thick hedges at the set time. Employing their senses to track their quarry, they seek to capture the human before they succeed in reaching the maze’s safe centre.

For some, this is a simple game played for fun. For others, it’s an opportunity to demonstrate their skills - for up on that balcony are the aristocracy. If one can prove their wit and skill, they may find themselves with offers for greater power than they currently possess.

[The Morning After]

As the sun begins to rise, the party winds down. The vampires begin to retire to their sun-secluded dens as the many coverings on the mansion windows are redrawn. There are some human guests that might stay a bit longer, but all visitors are ejected by the time that dawn truly breaks. The staff, however, still have clean-up ahead of them - and a few extra helpers certainly won’t be noticed. Any attempt to breach the vampire’s sleeping areas will draw attention, however; so best to keep to the mansion itself.

And while the ball has been underway… some werewolves have made some fun of their own.

[The day will continue in Log 3.]

[Info post here and most recent plotting post here!]

Comments

OTA one very out of place werewolf

[angel_of_baal]

the Moon
The moon sure is mooning and he can already feel the call of the moon in his blood, and he knows the other werewolves can as well. It's why everyone's temper is so short, especially with the location of the planets in the zodiac.

It is a dangerous time. And he feels like a fool, knowing his brothers and sisters of the Fang and Claw are watching him as he crosses the market square, dressed in fancy dress--velvet breeches and a gold embroidered vest, the mask held loose in his hand, and two bone knives tucked, just in case, in his boots.

He could have brought the wooden weapons used against...their kind. He could have brought a vial of the special water they despise. But he was not, at heart, a killer, much to his father's eternal disappointment. He would fight, but avoid killing. And he hoped that his bone knives could stay sheathed. Unless someone tries something foolish....

Masquerade
They had let him enter, fearing, probably the repercussions of refusing the second child of the Guidulf family. He could feel more eyes upon him, curious, hostile, some mocking.

He's not trying to hide who or what he is--that would defeat the purpose and the message to other wolves who may have infiltrated this place. Still, he's glad for the cover of the wolf mask he wore, which covered most of his face, and hopefully most of the worried furrows of his brows.

Sigwulf holds a glass of wine without drinking it, giving it a cautious sniff. "Is this...just wine?" Because, you know, his hosts might prefer a, well, spiked beverage.

At another point, holding up the wall starts to feel conspicuous and hardly lets him see what's going on, so he reaches out a hand to whoever comes near. His father, if nothing else, had insisted he and his sister be taught manners. "Shall we dance?"

wildcard

((hit him up at any point, throw something at me! Or him, lol))

The Masquerade Wine

[terraboo]

"I mean, the alternative is that it's something that, if most swallow a lot of, would cause them to rather swiftly vomit."

Armin the Fool is probably someone Sigwulf's run into a time or two before. Remarks often pointed, always trying to be humorous.

"The condition of my tights is very pleased that it's not that sort of party, and that I'm pretty sure that sort of party doesn't exist. Also, vomitoriums are just places to exit, the idea that the highest of the Eldfolk literally vomited out food so they could eat more is fiction."

She's going into half-disconnected rambly thoughts trying to provoke a laugh or at least a bit of bafflement - which can be good for soothing some nerves. Notably, she seems disinterested in starting anything.

[angel_of_baal]

"That's...somewhat reassuring." He guesses. Though really he has no place to judge or gainsay anyone or their tastes. "I was just unsure if they prepared for, well, others to attend their ball." Others like his kind, with an entirely different sort of fang.

He's also disinterested in starting something--he's trying to do the opposite. "I admit, I could not see the entertainment in a party of that sort." Ew. Still, she's diverting, and talking to him.

[terraboo]

"This is because you're of sound mind and body, and thus legally capable of writing legal documents. At least until you've had an indeterminate number of glasses of wine. Or the spiced wine over yonder, which is also as safe to drink for most as any other alcohol."

Yep, definitely going for the diffusing joke.

"Of course, I'm supposed to limit myself on that front. You've more choice there, methinks."

what up my liege (masquerade)

[unsheathedfromreality]

While he might have intended to dance with a stranger, the one Sigwulf reaches out to is very strange indeed -- clad all in enshrouding black, hooded and veiled so only the least flash of golden eyes is visible of their face, and decorated at wrist and ankle with costume gold bangles.

They also don't hesitate but a moment to take the heir's offered hand.

(Does Illarion know who this is outside the Story? Doubtful. But it's an opportunity to find out.)

"Gladly. You will teach me? I am foreign, to this place." The voice, at least, might be masculine -- high tenor, or low alto. All the black makes anything else about the person hard to tell.

Though they smell dead, though not like a vampire might -- unless some of Montica's vampires smell of ocean brine and new-shed tears.

[angel_of_baal]

It would be good to get out on the floor, if for no other reason than to be able to move. A wolf, held too long still, begins to chafe, wanting action, either running through the streets and fields beyond the city, or wanting to rear up and howl, teeth and claws wanting to sink into something of substance.

A dance was...neither of those: civilized, instead of feral, mannered and small instead of wild and throbbing with energy and life. But it was something.

"I know this dance well enough." Some of the Umbran dances were too refined for his skills, but this was a simple country dance, with easy whirling steps. "This palace is foreign to me as well." He had been in Umbran territory a scant handful of times before, but never this far into what might be considered their own place. "Where were you before here?"

[unsheathedfromreality]

The stranger's a quick learner, at least, and an attentive student -- he picks up quickly on the steps of the dance, following Sigwulf's lead easily. (It's not all that different from festival dances Illarion's danced before. Something signified about that -- if only that the Stories seem to build their cultures out of existing material. No surprise, there; what Generation had dreamed once, He would dream again.)

"You are of the wolves, not so?" he ventures, to the idea his partner's also a stranger. "Come to make peace?"

A pause, and a small huffing noise. "A very long way from here. My home is in a far, far forest -- lost across both space and years. I have wandered a long time from it."

All true, if not exact.

[angel_of_baal]

The dances were reasonably easy, or at least, Sigwulf thought so, because so many of them were built on math, and once you saw the mathematical patterns and harmony, dancing felt like an echo of the movement of the heavens.

And what could be better than to be a twinned star, circling each other in their empyrean travels?

"Make peace, or at least try to prevent outright war." Somewere in that general area. If nothing else, it was a vulnerable action, walking alone and, well, not unarmed, but lightly armed, into the den of his enemies.

"Does this home still exist?" A tacky question, perhaps, but he heard a kind of sadness in the other's voice. "Can you not return home?"

[unsheathedfromreality]

He looks away on their next turn to gaze out across the teeming ballroom. So many of Clan Umbra's supporters and loyal vassals -- an ocean of vampires, with a lone werewolf cast adrift in it.

When he looks back, it is with another veiled smile for his partner, another half-concealed flash of fangs. "Brave. Very brave, if foolhardy. But sometimes it is foolhardy gestures needed, to make fools of those who will not give up war. To shame them to peace.

"You do well."

It's a more familiar groove, to speak of someone else rather than himself. A long moment passes -- the space of a breath, if he breathed -- before he closes his eyes behind his veil and gives a tinkling shake of his head. Not sorrow, not grief -- he doesn't feel them -- but the moment needed to reorient on the question. "Not as it was, and they would not take me -- I do not think -- the way I am now."

Masquerade

[newmemorywhodis]

There's a bit of hesitation, before Loic nods. (And Sigwulf will know it is Loic. Even if Loic doesn't spend a lot of time a a human, Sigwulf will know their family's silent guardsman and his sister's friend enough to recognise him.)

The hand that grips Sigwulf's is tight, and there's a trace of anxiety in Loic's scent. At an event like this - lots of people, him having to be in human form - it seems that Loic is rather nervous.

It's a bit different from his usual calm, collected demeanour.

[angel_of_baal]

Despite the mask, Sigwulf is pretty easy to recognize--his height, his telltale mane of grey, hinting at his grey wolf form.

He nods at Loic, but does nothing more, for a few moments, enough to make sure, he hopes, that his movement looks incidental, like he was merely refilling his glass.

"Who have you marked as a potential threat?" he murmurs, taking up a position near the family retainer.

[newmemorywhodis]

Oh, good. They weren't dancing. Bit of a relief for Loic, honestly. Sigwulf might have been taught manners and dancing, but Loic wasn't. He would have been terrible.

Scanning for threats, however, is a much more familiar affair. Loic straightens. As usual, he doesn't speak. But he makes his thoughts known nonetheless.

Though nods of the head, and purposeful glances, Loic points out six potential threats. Strictly speaking, every vampire here is one. But it's these six individuals who are most likely to act on it.

And they aren't all vampires.

[angel_of_baal]

The not dancing was also a relief for Sigwulf. He can dance because his father made him learn, but, well, he has yet to find it entertaining or fun. It's all just politics with an aerobics component: who is dancing with whom, how long, what are they saying...it's all just theatrics.

"I have spoken to Nero. We need to ensure no trouble erupts from our kind here." This is a very fragile alliance and Nero had made it clear he was being tolerated. "What of my sister?"

[newmemorywhodis]

A firm, decisive nod from Loic. There would be no trouble started by Loic. (If trouble was started by others, that was different. Then, Loic would do what was necessary in defence of Sigrid and Sigwulf. But Loic wasn't going to be the cause.)

Then a small smile, and another quick nod of the head over to where Sigrid was dancing. She seemed to be going okay, and none of the aforementioned potential threats were anywhere near her. Which was how Loic liked it.

(And at this point of the evening, she hadn't yet had a rather more eventful encounter. That was still to come.)

Masquerade

[lightsgift]

Cinthe is doing her best to be good company, while also mindful of her companion's duties and need for space. Still, in her peacock-themed finery she presents a very striking figure, and between carefully considered glasses of sparkling (white) wine, she's there close at hand to talk, observe, and, of course, to dance.

She doesn't mind the looks overly much, knowing very well that she's a mystery, and that she's on the arm of a rather...contentious figure in this particular circumstance. She's used to stares in her normal appearance, and she's not going to let it bother her.

Much.

So when Sigwulf offers his hand, she accepts it with a delicate flourish and a smile. "Of course. Since we're here, right?" Her lavender eyes behind the shiny, feathered mask scan the floor idly, judging the space, but the music playing suits her just fine and she steps lightly, easily into the sway of a simple waltz.

[angel_of_baal]

She does not need to be mindful of his anything. If anything her presence here is a reminder to stay on the path of not getting riled up, because he wants her to have a memorable time. Preferably the good kind of memorable.

Against his black velvet outfit, her own shines like a jewel on a velvet cushion and he's very aware of how many eyes are on her. It makes him stand a little closer, not out of jealousy, but of pride. He is a wolf, after all, and if not territorial about places, they do get so about people.

"Since we're here," he echoes, letting something like a smile (it sits a little strangely on his face, like he has not had much to smile about for some time) light his mouth.

Despite the appearances, he is a more than passable dancer so her toes, in what are probably very fancy shoes, are safe as he whirls her across the floor.

[lightsgift]

There's a certain amount of performance even in simply attending an event like this, especially for Cinthe. She's been trained in appearances, used to displaying one mask or another for an audience, and it takes her a bit to relax from her usual composure and consideration.

She's here for her own reputation as well as his, and her first instinct is to put on the best impression possible. But slowly, she does pick up the flow and relax into it, and his protective presence helps a great deal with that.

She feels so much less stranded with him watching over her, the sharpness of eyes and teeth less worrying. It's still a careful sort of show, but having someone at her back...that feels good, and as they turn about the floor, sweeping through elegant motions, she finds that her smile is far easier.

"You cut a very fine figure, you know," she says breezily. Little golden lights sparkle around them, casting glittery trails with the motion because of course she's got to show off just a little. She follows his lead easily, fluidly, enjoying the simple shared pleasure of coordinated motion. "I expect you might hear it a lot, but, particularly when you smile. It looks good on you."

[angel_of_baal]

If anything untoward happens tonight, she will be the safest in the room, even if he has to transform, in the midst of enemy territory, using claw and fang to protect her.

But that thought is only in the far reaches of his mind, because right now, his hand is a light pressure against the small of her back as she dances, and her colorful clothing swirls around her, and little golden lights flicker around her like fireflies and who could think of anything bad happening when eyes as bright as those are looking at you?

Not him. "I do not hear it often. I have precious few reasons to smile." But the compliment flares a blush across his cheeks.

[lightsgift]

It's a precious moment of peace and grace, the kind of moment to hold in memory. Cinthe doesn't know a great deal about werewolves, but she's finding herself far more at home than she'd expected.

She understands taking care of your own, being willing to fight to shelter and protect. It just hasn't been often that she's been under that kind of care before, and it warms her as much as the cadence of their waltz across the floor.

"That's a shame," she says gently. "I expect it's difficult, amidst troubled times. I'll just have to appreciate it while I can, and perhaps give you more reason."

At some point in the night --

[ultimateedgehog]

It's been a good couple of hours, but the werewolf in the ballroom wasn't going to remain unaddressed forever. Shadow is going to blame Armin's distraction for his delay.

Sigwulf may feel the ominous aura before he actually sees the Lord Umbra. It may manifest as the heavy feeling of being watched, or like a sense of dread or foreboding prickling in the air. Whatever it feels like, it's the result of psychic pressure being leveraged in his direction; and as the Umbra are renowned for their psychic abilities, that in itself may be an early signal of whose attention he's caught.

But when Lord Umbra approaches, it's by his own two feet. No overt shows of power, no blatant misuse of shadows. He's pissed off, but he's a stickler for his own rules - and he won't be the one who starts a fight. No, instead Sigwulf is going to get the Montica Vampire Special: biting words and acidic glares, the weapons that Shadow has demanded his court arm themselves with in lieu of actual violence.

"You've made a brave choice tonight." He says curtly. His tone indicates he doesn't think it's brave so much as an obvious taunt, and his sharp eyes are critical as he looks over the man. Wolf. Man-Wolf. (Contentious mask aside, assessing the rest of his formalwear. Has Sigwulf dressed well for the ball?)

[angel_of_baal]

'Werewolf in the ballroom' is clearly the Montican version of elephant in the room, except dressed better.

Because Sigwulf is trying: is his finery up to the standard of the Umbran court? Probably not. But it is his best: black velvet with gold embroidery (not silver oh absolutely not!) and he has been using the best manners he has been trained to by his father.

And he absolutely feels the heavy, oppressive wave pressing down upon him, but he has dealt with his father, so someone bringing stark terror as a bow wave isn't quite as novel an experience as the other might want.

He bows, as deeply as he can without letting the other out of his sight. Umbrans are FAST and he wants that split second to see an attack coming if one is. "I promise you, my presence here is not meant as an offense."

The Masquerade

[bashasasdemon]

Kai does not want to be here, but he is here all the same. His relationship with the vampire clans is... tenuous, but it exists, and to not show up would be much worse. So here he is, a fellow for Sigwulf in holding up the wall.

His own mask conceals his eyes but not his mouth, and from the lower half of his face alone Sigwulf can tell the man is looking at him with a mix of confusion and irritation. "No," he says flatly, not moving from his position against the wall with his arms crossed. (He does get points for boldness, at least- wearing a wolf mask to the vampire's party? Well, bold or stupid."

[angel_of_baal]

Listen, the bold/stupid line is very broad and blurry in werewolf-kind. Such as asking random strangers to dance.

"I apologize if I have caused offense." It would risk some of the vampire kind to be seen dancing with one of his kind.

[bashasasdemon]

Kai waves a hand. "You didn't just. But I don't dance." Something he thought he'd been broadcasting very well, until this moment. (He could dance, but not in this kind of setting. And whoever this is probably doesn't want any tarnish from what dancing with him would mean, to the more snooty vampires.)

[angel_of_baal]

"I wish I didn't. My father made me learn. I had to practice with my sister." It was SO awkward. So awkward. He is still not over it.