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

[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."

[angel_of_baal]

"Is it truly bravery if I do it solely because I fear the outcome if I do not?" It's still run by fear, in a way. But if things did not calm down, too many would die, and even more would get injured in the crossfire.

"My father insisted we learn the skills of diplomacy. It had seemed foolish at the time." Ugh, every child's worst nightmare: finding out their parents were right, after all.

Let's just move on from that. He obviously translates his partner's distress to being a vampire. "I am sorry, that was an intrusive question and the biases against your kind are almost as bad as those against mine."

[unsheathedfromreality]

While it is clear that this wolf-scion wishes to avoid the topic of his own bravery (or fear), the stranger is not quite ready to let it go. His veiled expression might be a touch more sympathetic -- or ruefully amused -- at the admission the elder Guildulf was right, and he spares a brief huff of stale breath in a near-laugh.

But he replies to the apology first: "It is not needed, though well-meant. My people would not take me because I am a traitor, not for my fangs." The undeath was also a complication, but explaining that his vampiric semblance is natural but his unbeating heart is not -- is more bother than he wants to explain while dancing.

They take another turn, and he adds -- back on the previous track, "As for whether fear is also bravery, I could wear on your ears with the old words, that bravery requires fear to overcome. Or, I could ask you -- what benefit is it to you, to make yourself out a coward instead of a lover of peace?"

Right for the heart with that one.

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf has seen what bravery does. His father is brave, stoic in the face of any threat, and...he's seen the price of that. He's seen his father impassive against danger, but also against almost any other emotion, as though courage was a shield to be used against all emotions, to pummel any softness or weakness out of himself. Or his children.

"Traitor means many things to many people. Some do not deserve our loyalty." He could not believe his partner in this dance capable of base treachery. There had to be some reason. As the stars always indicated, there was always meaning, even in retrogade.

"Courage is a trap, an arrow. It limits one's options to only one. A coward can dart in many directions." There's also the benefit of being underestimated. It is a liability at home, but as the world outside hears it, buys into it, the more valuable it is.

[unsheathedfromreality]

Another soft huff, a laugh that disappears beneath the noise of the hall, meets that declaration. "It is so," Illarion admits. "But I am one who chose too late -- who was understanding this too late. There was not forgiveness for my mistake."

And perhaps Esfir had also been among those who had never deserved his loyalty -- but he cannot even now believe that her judgment of him was wholly flawed.

Somehow, if she had declared it, he had deserved death.

"This is so, you are thinking? That courage admits only one course, no others?" The question's genuinely curious, not mocking.

"Why is this?"

[angel_of_baal]

"So your treachery was merely a loyalty others had forsworn?" Excuse him but that sounds very much like a them problem.

He manages a wry smile. "I have seen it: courage among my kind means attack, or always angling for attack. Even what passes for our diplomacy always has the threat of claw and fang behind it." Obey Roberte Guildulf, or....else. "It is how our kind sees the world." He shakes his head. "It fits, too well, into the bigotry held against my kind." Ravening beasts, seeking only violence and blood. There was some truth to that.

Else, of course, it would not be a stereotype.

[unsheathedfromreality]

"One could say so. There were betrayals on all sides. It is a long story." And his tone, what there is of it, says it's not one he is averse to telling -- just something, perhaps, that would be hard to relate while they're dancing. Even a dance so simple as this one.

He nods, however, to this description of courage. It's what he had expected, from how the young wolf had spoken of it. "I am seeing the use, then, of being a coward in their eyes. Though perhaps they are needing a wider definition of 'courage' -- more stories about what a courageous wolf can be, if she is not all tooth and fang and giving the first offense. Not so?"

[angel_of_baal]

"This is not the place for one of those," even he with his iffy social mores, knows that much, "but I would like to hear it sometime. If you would tell it."

They're both in dangerous territory here. But he notes in the other's grace that he had the skills of a fighter, even as he went through the steps of the dance.

"It is the ascendant definition. I am only allowed to stray from it because I am the second pup." Well, pup being a strange term for someone of his size.

[unsheathedfromreality]

He nods to that conclusion -- just so -- and says aloud, "I will. Find me at a quieter time. Even by daylight," he adds, teasingly, "for I am not the same breed of dead thing as our hosts."

And if he had any poetry or appreciation of the tragic in his body, he'd say it's a story better told by daylight.

"Are there many others in your position?" Secondborn. Misfits. "Those who are not liking this idea of 'courage', who take the name 'coward' from other principles that simple strength?"

[angel_of_baal]

He was about to admit to surprise--the expression on his face probably made it evident. "Another uninvited guest to these festivities?" Like himself, sneaking in with the theater troupe.

"Too many of my kind believe in might as right and rule. Too few want to let go of the old ways. Some still perform blood duels. It was suggested once, between my sister and I." He would have refused to fight Sigrid. Not for fear of loss, but because they were twins and he refused anything that might separate them, like the sting from a loss.

[unsheathedfromreality]

That gets an actual laugh -- a dim thing, but a laugh -- out of the stranger. "I should not say, and ruin the mystery!" he retorts. "But no, I am invited -- as the entertainment."

He gives a jerk of his veiled head back toward the musicians winding up the music of the dance. "Though for now, I am given my time with the other guests."

And what a pleasant opportunity that has been, some fragment of emotion in his tone implies.

"To duel your own sister? For what cause?" The notion of a duel itself is not so strange; shrikes were habitual duelists. But the rules of dueling were codified to prevent abuse of the weaker by the stronger and ensure they settled disputes in a way both binding and satisfying to all parties. They were not for sport or stunt or matters of brute dominance.

"Is not the strength of the wolf the pack?"

[angel_of_baal]

"There are enough mysteries about already." One tiny piece of actual information would be a most pleasant change.

"I am sorry I have missed your performance." Did he sing? Tell tales? Play an instrument? Act like the troupe that had smuggled him in? (Thank the Moon that they hadn't had to have him recite lines to gain entry to prove he was an actor!)

"For the old ways, for dominance. My family does not believe in those archaic ways that would turn family against each other." It's one reason they have raised the ire of the other packs. The other packs constantly tearing themselves apart by blood duels has certainly benefited the Guildulf family, until recently.