September Event - Waltz of the Harlequin

[pumpkinhollow]

**Plain text version here.

WALTZ OF THE HARLEQUIN

ACT ONE: MAKE AN ENTRANCE

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: None }

SCENE: Leeds Estate Ballroom, night. Music can be heard from a small string band in the corner. Enter PARTYGOERS, stage right.

The estate is beautifully decorated, as it always is, in vivid blues against dark wood. Flowers made from blue and golden silk adorn the walls and furniture. Candles burn in tasteful centerpieces on the round dining tables. Delicious-looking foods can be seen on the serving tables, ready to be claimed and devoured. A member of DAHLIA’S diligent staff tends an ornate bar near the door and dancers in fine clothes twirl on the dance floor to upbeat string music.

DAHLIA can be seen in the center of the room, wearing a golden gown embroidered with roses and surrounded by her ENTOURAGE, which consists of DAISY, LAIOS, RADAR, and JEFF. All of them wear the colors of House Leeds---- blue and gold. She welcomes the PARTYGOERS warmly.

DAHLIA, going for an appropriate greeting for the person she is speaking to--- a handshake, a hug, a kiss on the cheek.
Welcome. So glad you could make it. You look ravishing. Please help yourself to something to eat, and enjoy your night.

It is a beautiful night. Formal only in appearances, the energy of the Gala is casual and light, if not a bit decadent. All seems well.

ACT TWO: ALL IS REVEALED

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: rotten food, blood, forced body transformation, unreality. }

SCENE: Leeds Estate Ballroom, one hour later. The party is well underway. When the grandfather clock chimes, it sounds strange and distorted.

The sound immediately draws the attention of DAHLIA, who grows concerned. The sour chiming continues. In the center of the ballroom, a plume of sickly yellow smog bursts as if from a smoke bomb, flooding the room and causing PARTYGOERS to stagger and cough. When it fades, the environment has changed.

Enter MENDEL, from the smoke burst.

The decor in the space has changed drastically. Where once the space was deep, cool browns and shades of blue accented with gold, it is now filled with ruddy browns, jaundiced yellows, plummy purples, and searing reds. The bundles of silk flowers are replaced with bouquets of decaying fishing nets, bloody gauze, and rotten fruit which seems to bloom from splitting bruises. Tattered swags in mismatched patterns line the walls, and each PARTYGOER is now in a masquerade mask designed to fit with their outfit.

DAHLIA, lightly panicked.
What are you doing here?

MENDEL, laughing raucously.
Surprise! Oh, I do so hate to cut in, but I simply could not go another year without doing something special for my favorite niece.

He wraps his arms, which look like graying, exposed meat, around DAHLIA.

MENDEL
You see, everyone---- Darling Dahlia here has been lying to you. Her whole life, even! Can you believe it? You see, her father was never Japhet Leeds. The man couldn’t stand her! Jane Leeds was still her mother, oh yes, but her father---

DAHLIA attempts to cut in, but MENDEL grips her tighter, clamping a hand over her mouth as he presents her to the crowd. His claws dig into her arm and her cheek. He continues to snicker as he speaks, and DAHLIA struggles.

MENDEL
Her father is my own baby brother, Prince Aster of the Dark Feast! Isn’t that a funny prank? But I think the joke has overstayed its welcome. It’s time to show your little friends who you really are, isn’t it, princess?

In a swift motion, MENDEL pulls DAHLIA into a twirl, as if dancing, sending her spinning toward the crowd. When it ceases, DAHLIA stands before her gala, changed. Her complexion is blue now, and her hair, raven black. A pair of bat-like wings adorn her back, and a crown of antlers like that of a deer wreath her head.

MENDEL
Ah, no, that’s not quite what I was going for. Let me try again.

With a snap of MENDEL’S fingers, DAHLIA changes again, her body shifting against her will. Her well-kept black locks morph into wiry ashen hair which covers her body. Her face extends into that of a cow-like skull with sharp teeth. Her hands become clawed, and her feet become cloven hooves. Before the crowd now stands THE PINE DEVIL.

MENDEL
There’s our birthday girl!

THE PINE DEVIL (DAHLIA) attempts to lunge at MENDEL, but with another snap of his fingers, his streamers and swags lash out at her like vines and lash her tightly.

MENDEL
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some catching up to do with my darling niece. And you all have a party to enjoy! I leave you in the care of my talented assistants.

He starts to turn away, but then holds up a finger to shake and turns back. Oh, one more thing, I almost forgot. I’ve left all of you some party favors in those masks. Have fun!

MENDEL grabs a bound and helpless DAHLIA and disappears once more in another plume of smoke.

Enter BLANCHE and SEEMINGLY (GLEE MASK), opposite sides of the stage. The pair of them meet eyes, and pantomime tugging on an invisible rope in opposite directions, and suddenly the ballroom expands as if unrolled like a scroll, becoming a sprawling labyrinth of tiny ballrooms, winding corridors, and secret alcoves. The PARTYGOERS are separated from one another. At the same time, the magic in their masks activates, inflicting one of the following curses:

• Leaky Bucket: deprives the party goer of their short-term memory. They know who they are, and why they're here insofar as understanding it's Dahlia's birthday gala, but all new information tends to leave their mind after a few minutes. (Think Dory from Finding Nemo.)
• Amnesiac's Lament: deprives the individual of long-term memory. All new information is retained, but they have no idea who they are or why they're here. How distressing this is can be at the player's discretion. Perhaps they despair at the memory loss and are trying to find a way to escape the ball, perhaps they don't see anything wrong with their lack of context and are just trying to enjoy this weird party.
• False Friend: the opposite of Zone of Truth, those with this affliction will be unable to tell the truth and can ONLY tell lies. Any fact from the most mundane to the most complex can only be lied about. Whether or not the person is cognizant of their new habit is the player's choice.
• The World Revolving: those afflicted suffer frequent bouts of vertigo which makes the space feel as though it is spinning, sometimes very slowly, sometimes very quickly.
• Dirge of Delusion: this particular curse will cause the mask-wearer to struggle to perceive reality correctly. Objects will appear as other objects, people as different people, rooms as some other place, or even the entire ball as somewhere entirely different. These disorienting visions will come and go at times.
• Feeling Funny: the wearers of these masks will find that their emotions are completely out of control, sometimes bursting into fits of laughter, tears, or abrupt paranoia, before going completely numb for a while.

All PARTYGOERS will find their masks incapable of being removed. Those with infernal resistance from NEIL or the HOUSE OF CARDS will find their masks are less impactful, but the resistance is imperfect. However, ALICE DYER and SAMAMA KHALID will find that they have absolutely no effect from the masks at all, due to the BOON OF DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY acquired by ALICE.

The party resumes.

ACT THREE: Dance with the Devil

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: rotten food being eaten, imprisonment, impending violence }

SCENE: a distorted Leeds Estate, time unknown. As the party devolves into chaos, a clandestine meeting is arranged to locate the host.

Somewhere in the distorted estate, ALICE locates JEAN. Once she gets the Golden Wolf Mask in their hands, JEAN will be able to remove their current mask to wear the new one, which has a unique effect---- the ability to see the path of MENDEL through its eyes.

JEAN and ALICE, along with anyone they are able to recruit for help, will find MENDEL and DAHLIA on the second floor, which has transformed into a large theater balcony overlooking the party. DAHLIA is caged, and MENDEL seems to be enjoying the view as he eats half-rotten tomatoes as if they are apples.

MENDEL’S assailants choose how to make their approach. When he is destroyed, the party will end.

GRAND FINALE

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: fire }

SCENE: Leeds Estate ballroom, late night. The stage has returned to its prior state, and we are left to the aftermath.

When MENDEL is at last destroyed, the ballroom is restored to its normal size and coloration, as if the events of the night never occurred. Masks fall away, and DAHLIA stands center stage, looking exactly as her friends and neighbors remember her. However, the memory of what has occurred here tonight cannot be wiped away, as evidenced from all the onlookers around her. Are their expressions concerned? Angry? Fearful? Hurt?

Does it matter?

DAHLIA, quietly.
Get out.

There is a moment of stillness and consideration, before she speaks again, louder.

DAHLIA, shouting.
GET. OUT.

As she speaks the second word, a massive burst of blue flame erupts behind her. Glass breaks. Tables topple. DAHLIA’s hair flutters in the force of the blast. She stands stiffly, unafraid as the hot, raging blue flames consume her ballroom, peeling the wallpaper and cracking the wood. She means to chase everyone out, even if it means bringing the room down upon herself.

When everyone is gone, the flames seem to retreat, as if sucked up into their original blast point. DAHLIA, spent, collapses to her knees in the burnt shell of her own birthday party, and sobs.

Blackout. Curtains fall.

After the event ends, Dahlia will be absent from town and her home only open to close CR until further notice. She will not be answering her sending stone or her phone calls.

Comments

QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/CONCERNS

[pumpkinhollow]

Fashion Show!

[pumpkinhollow]

Share your outfits here!

Agent Jean

[restingslasherface]

Jean is, at long last, in the fit from their icon. Like with the Page of Kora's Avatar, the sword is part of the outfit, and they have it peacebonded thoroughly at their back where even drawing the blade would be extremely annoying. They still are not aware that this peacebond does less than nothing.

Agent Jean

[restingslasherface]

The Page Of Nikolai | Make An Entrance

Jean has become a more confident person since the last gala, though the crowd is still a little intimidating to them, as is their keen awareness of their awkward position. They are known, well-known, as a staunch ally to Doctor West, and yet Jean has also been the face of outreach, both to the community and to Dahlia Specifically, seeking out her cooperation on projects and giving a lot of way to show respect for her position in the community. Now they're here again, head full of suspicions, and they could not be more happy that Manager Kora had managed to secure their most comfortable outfit for them.

The nugget in Cobalt Scar is one thing. Jean in the Page of Nikolai is another; no nervousness on their face, walking with a smooth predator's gait, eyes wide and attentive. They arrive with Zelda and with Link, and they're hoping, against all odds, to have a pretty good time, even if they suspect it won't last.

It Doesn't Last | All Is Revealed

Is it the prior battle that has Mendel place an absurd clown mask on Jean's face, the lenses of its eyes spinning and swirling, making the world lurch and whirl? Maybe. Maybe it was just random chance. Jean is no slouch when it comes to resisting mental attacks, and Doctor West's gift is certainly helpful, but any sharp or sudden movements are extremely impossible right now. After their first attempt to tear the mask away, Jean abandons it in favor of clapping their hand against someone's arm. It might even be yours.

They're...

...Meditating.

The peacebond is falling away from that sword. Alice Dyer needs to find them soon, before they go for the attack without what she's been charged to provide.

The Role of the Wolf | Dance With The Devil

That's better.

That's so much better.

Jean does not trust the blue blade that has been placed in their hand, a near-perfect imitation of the overlong saber in their other hand. They do not trust this mask that seems to let them see through the illusions. But they've willingly used tools they trust less, and they have a promise to keep. They suck in a ragged breath, see the path...

It's a path that could be improved. The first thing they do is fish a whistle from around their neck, something they have been wearing since it was given to them, not even taking it off to sleep or to make love. It became part of their daily routine and was never brought up, or mentioned; indeed, perhaps only the crew of Mipha's Grace truly understands that they own it at all. It is this whistle that Jean blows, loud and shrill, to signal to Lord Erik Osborne that Jean needs his help, that the vow which was given is being called in. Jean spits the whistle from their mouth (it falls against their chest, unheeded), and calls out: "Get the combat team on the demons. Watch out for the masked one, it's tricky."

The next step is, perhaps, more of a gamble, but one Jean is extremely comfortable making. Link of Hyrule may or may not have Jean's experience in resisting mental influence, but what Link does have, which Jean knows about, is the respect of a Wolf. They slip through, around, over partygoers, bouncing off of shoulders with surprising strength, light as a feather and hard as a hammer, and from the depths of their suit jacket they retrieve a familiar pair of gloves, and toss them to the Hero of the Wild.

They can't stop. Link will have to protect Zelda. Jean makes a beeline directly for Mendel, death in their eyes, the old slasher-face grin seared into their expression. They won't be stopped. Not by confused friends, not by misguided enemies, not by anyone. One more body for the pile is no great thing.

[OOC Note: In the interest of my sanity I'd like no more than three unrelated obstacles/interruptions on the way to Mendel. One of those slots is reserved for Valdis as of prior plotting. The Grand Finale prompt will be a separate TL; gotta figure out how the fight goes first!]

entrance.

[abhorrently]

It's more that she appears out of the crowd on Jean's side when they're away from Zelda, from Link. The words she has are not for their ears, and Fever's been thinking heavily since meeting Gebura - a party is a place as any to talk. She has a glass in her hand that's only had a few sips taken from it, more to hold than anything else.

"Jean. Can I borrow you for a moment?"

John Rambo | Open

[theydrewfirstblood]

Act One

John is—well, terrified. Give him a beast, a soldier, a killer, a monster and he’ll thrive. This?

A date?

He’s not ready.

Still, John arrives at the gala, his knife tucked at the small of his back under his frock coat, and tries not to worry at the sleeve rubbing his bandage. He was fitted for his suit with his injury factored in so it’s not too tight, but he’s only covering it when he has to. Too much chafing and it starts to seep.

The minute he walks through the door, the amount of people…

His heart is racing when Dahlia Leeds greets him, and he knows he can’t take it. Stealing a glance at Radar and at Laios (who looks incredible, holy shit) helps a little—enough that he covers by stepping back to offer the most gallant bow he can manage, and when he straightens follows with a loose, but flawless salute.

“Since I don’t, uh—have my usual dress uniform tonight.” He explains. “I’m military back home—anyway. Thank you for having me, Miss Leeds. ‘Preciate the invitation.”

INTERMISSION

Laios is his date, but they still have to talk about a few things—like the fact that John isn’t his only date and okay with it. So, he just gives Laios room to mingle, spend time with Miss Leeds and others.

He can’t eat the food, though. Can’t drink a drop…and he doesn’t think he can handle dancing, not around all the bodies he might brush against…

Basically John is a wallflower. Someone come save him, besides his date.

Act Two

He blinks, confused and a little uncertain. He’s not sure what’s going on…

…a party? He looks down at himself and is startled again. Shit, this is fancy. His arm is kind of sore, too, and something is digging into his back.

He reaches up to his face. He’s got a mask on…costume party of some kind? Okay.

Shedding his frock coat, he rolls up his sleeves, noticing the bandage on his arm. He reaches for the uncomfortable press at his back…and pulls out a knife sheath containing a big knife.

He has no idea what’s going on, why he has a knife, or what this party is about.

He doesn’t get really worried until he realizes, with a start, that he doesn’t even know his own name.

[John has been hit with Amnesiac’s Lament! Wanna know what he’s like without the trauma? Come say hi.]

Finale

When the mask falls from his face, John remembers. Every moment, every note—every second of the freedom he just had. He mourns it…

But seeing Dahlia kick them out—then try to scare them away?

He’s not sure if anyone else lingers, but he does. He just stares up at her, posture loose, lips parted, unresponsive to the fire around him. His breathing and pulse are steady as a rock, and he makes no move for his knife.

Because he knows Laios, and he knows Laios is, apparently, with her or at least close to her. He knows Laios, knows how Laios sees him…

And knowing what she is now, understands why Laios sees him that way.

If Laios isn’t afraid of John, then John can’t be afraid of her.

So he just moves to locate his coat, looks up one more time…

…and walks, doesn’t run, for the exit.

intermission.

[abhorrently]

It's someone from the town who tugs John off the wall and onto the floor. Exuberant, clearly enjoying the festivities - younger, so it can't be helped that they don't entirely get the whole thing. But it's enough that a voice cuts in after a song and a half, red eyes amused even as she tries to not laugh.

"You've got an admirer who's been staring since you walked in."

The youth's head snaps in a direction, they blush scarlet, and they scurry away like they're fleeing school. Now Fever can actually laugh, glancing back to John when it's clear the other isn't coming back.

"Apologies for spooking your dance partner, but having one's feet trod on always looks rather painful. That, and they really do have someone after them with lovesick eyes."

River la Croix

[somebodychildofanyone]

[OOC Note: There's only one general prompt on here and then a closed one, because to be quite frank I need to focus on Jean for this event. You can assume that when River gets hit with Dirge of Delusion, she turns her spells of sensory deprivation on herself and hunkers down to wait everything out, in the perhaps-correct hope that if she opts out of Mendel's game entirely he'll seek more amusing prey. Less...pyromaniacal prey.]

Bittersweet Celebrations | Make an Entrance

River enters the party on Erik's arm, killing it in a gorgeous sleeveless dress from Dahlia's collection, incongruously still wearing her heavy boots that do not go with it at all. She cuts a striking figure, her burning arms visible even across the dance floor, but while she's genuinely happy to be here, even giddy at her recent good news...there's a sadness too. She attended this party the first time with Annabelle, and Annabelle...is gone.

She's gone.

Still, River's trying to have a good time. Have a dance, maybe? Bring her a drink she doesn't have to go get herself and it's worth a conversation at least.

Somebody, Child Of Anyone | Grand Finale | Closed to Dahlia

River obeys Dahlia's order to leave, without comment and without complaint. But she doesn't go home. She lets Erik know not to wait up for her, asks his help in getting to the front gate, where she exits Dahlia's property.

Barely.

Pumpkin Hollow's resident necromancer slumps against the outside of the fence and scratches familiar sigils into the dirt around her, creating a half-circle of burning runes that warm the air near her. River sets her head against the fence and gets as comfortable as she can, exhausted by the stress of the night, and she goes to sleep.

She'll wait.

She'll wait as long as she has to, for her friend to invite her inside. Sending stone messages get assurances that she's fine, or requests for food or water, and not much else. The forge goes untended by its master, left to her apprentices to manage in the meantime. River is waiting, and she does not intend to be denied.

Somebody, who loves me.

[thethirteenthchild]

Dahlia appears after a long while, nearly a day and a half after the fact, having spotted River's bright ass red hair from the window.

She looks bedraggled. She hasn't taken care of her hair, which is usually immaculate, and she's wearing only her night clothes and a massive blanket like a cloak. She lingers at the door, which is close enough to the gate to be heard, her voice hoarse and dry.

"What are you doing."

fever, ota.

[abhorrently]

act one. -🌹🌙🌹

After everything that's happened recently, every upheaval, Fever can't shake feelings at this point in time. Getting arrayed and ready for the event, she makes sure the amber dagger is within reach, grateful for custom work to make it simpler to holster and hide. And so far, nothing has yet befallen the crowd. Maybe it's something lingering from something never in existence, the ghost of a dream. Maybe it's the lingering echoes of feeling turned inside out by what has occurred. So, she shelves the misgivings, and takes to dancing instead, a shimmering night sky weaving through the other dancers. Staying in motion lets her watch the room better, after all, and there's plenty of people to dance with. Maybe she'll catch you on the way out of one round.

It'll be a rarer moment to catch her against the wall taking a break, hand holding a glass she's sipping from in minute amounts. So far, so good, and she's remembering to smile. The time is meant to be lived in, after all.

act two. -💀👁️💀

That's more like it. The estate distorts, changes, and the silver mask on her face throws a haze over her thoughts, spinning reality up like so much mismatched thread. Concentrate. Breathe with it. She's not going to stay still here, and instead moves on impulse, starting to look for those who seem lost and confused. There's not much to fight, but the world is chaotic, shifting its borders, and she stumbles hard at times to make out what's going on.

Resistance won't help, she knows. The only way out is through. And in this time, that's what Fever can offer, instead of a knife. She looks for friends, yes, but also the truly incapacitated. The ones who can't understand what's going on, who are frightened or overwhelmed by their new visions. And those are the people she approaches, hands shown. No weapons.

"Can you hear me? Can you hear my voice?"

act three. -⚡💫⚡

Still, being able to move through it doesn't mean she's immune to what madness does to her. The doors change position, and then back, and she walks into a wall - or this is not the Leeds Estate, but the revolting heart of the mind flayer colony, or her hands are not her own. And some people get stared at like they're the walking dead, and some get leapt away from while she tries to piece out what they want. She might come back with a spell clutched in her grip, or with the dagger held so tightly her knuckles are white.

"Remind me where we are."

It's a request, in those moments, trying to tear herself free of the endless abyss in her head, because this mask isn't making it easier to handle. Louder, louder, the drums beat on. And a few might get her head snapping to them, and a panicked expression.

"...get away. Now."

wildcard.

[have another idea? throw it at me or request something custom.]

act two

[incomingchoppers]

The sickly green lights of the hospital plunge into darkness. Radar whips around, breathing so hard he can taste the copper in the air, not just smell it anymore. Red tailights in the distance swim closer and closer, a jeep reversing at full speed.

Not tailights. Eyes, glowing deep red.
can you
hear
my voice
He swears a wall wasn't behind him a second ago, but when he gasps and backs up, he slams into it so hard that it knocks the wind out of him. The roar of the choppers swallows everything again. His eyes dart upward, trying to calculate how many wounded they're carrying, but it's too much, too much, and if he takes his eyes off the monster in front of him for too long it's gonna kill him, he's sure of it.

Sheogorath | CW: dismemberment, unsanitary mention, eating rotten food, disembowelment mention

[blindwatchersees]

Act One

This is the first time Sheogorath has been out in his usual splendor. He’s dressed in an artful mismatch of a tailcoat and close-fitted slacks, the whole thing an outfit-shaped tapestry of purple satin and gold embroidery. It’s a setting-appropriate variation of what he typically wears back home. The mask he wears resembles what many consider to be his symbol, three faces as one- one laughing in glee, one crying in anguish, and one screaming with unbridled fury. He’s followed everywhere by his entourage of butterflies, and it’s clear that the only person who would be feeling more in their element than this would be the Daedric Prince of Parties himself.


Act Two

What is a Madgod to think about this all? True, it is a scene of madness, but it is a single-faced realization of his sphere, madness as pain and torment alone. It’s a mockery. But does he not delight in mockery, especially of himself?

His opinion solidifies and shatters at once when the mask’s magic comes online, for he knows at once that his moods are being messed with, and only Sheogorath may afflict Sheogorath so. The three faces he wore now take turns taking up the whole of the mask, and with each one comes chaos:

The smiling face seeks delight without measure. It jokes at inappropriate times, it shrugs off serious matters, it indulges self-destructively. And it encourages others to let go of their inhibitions, for good or for ill.

The weeping face is panicked and inconsolable. It believes the sky is falling. It laments what it has lost, and obsesses over what it does not have. It incites panic and grief, in itself and others.

The screaming face has no reason to stay its hand. It lashes out, in primal rage and cold-blooded murderous intent. It rips out entrails for the laughing to garb themselves in and the weeping to recoil from.

Beyond these things come more general acts of an unfettered will. He throws rotting fruits at people, and crams them into his own face. He paints the walls with whatever filth he’s gotten on his hands. He knocks things from shelves, he screams profanities and blasphemes the names of every otherworldly being he can think of.

Through all of this, despite seemingly having been loosed to be the fullness of his terrible self, there is a little part of him who knows he is not truly free. That little caterpillar struggles against the crushing weight of Mendel’s curse, and utters one very focused, earnest curse against him and his court.

The growing vines on his walking cane that have been slowly creeping their way up its length over the past months grow a little more as he wanders, visibly, and the bud forming at its end finally begins to open, partially revealing the eye within.

act one.

[abhorrently]

"Father."

She greets him smiling, in glittering blue and black and currently unmasked. And then sweeps into a low bow, playful and not serious in the slightest.

"How do you feel about a dance?"

Alice Dyer | OTA

[closureisformovies]

Act One

Alice is barely hiding her nerves.

The dress she's wearing is as big and layered as it is gorgeous on her, perfectly fitted to work with her body and far fancier than anything Alice has ever worn in her life. Moving around in it is... a challenge, if in part because of the large sword she has stashed under the skirt.

(She'd enjoy it more if she didn't. If she hadn't walked into her apartment and found this heap of material waiting for her with a note. Christ, she feels sick if she thinks about it too hard.)

Nervous anticipation turns her into a wallflower in a way she usually isn't. She smiles at people, even chatters and jokes, but it's hard to get her away from the sidelines and people might even be asked to bring her drinks or food because, "Frankly, mate, I'm scared I'm gonna trip on my face."

Every now and then, her gaze flicks uncomfortably to Dahlia.

This is going to be a long night.

Act Two / Three

The big reveal is no surprise to Alice, of course. Aster already told her enough and she cares little about the unveiling of the local cannibalistic predator in comparison to the nightmare ahead.

The masks do nothing to her. Her head is as clear as it's ever been, despite the inevitable consequences of Sam's own clarity, and she has a job to do.

Time to find Jean.

[For my own sanity, I'd rather only one or two people get in her way as she heads to find Jean!]

Act One: For now...

[huntingtruths]

Sam had thought he would follow Alice to the gala, it felt better to go with a friend than alone. Stag if you would. But He doesn't get that chance seeing as Alice seems to be a lot more dodgy lately. He's sure it has to do with whatever she refuses to tell him but for now, for now he'll just have to deal with it.

He doesn't see her until he does at the gala and...he's struck speechless by what he sees. He feels absolutely underdressed in his nice sleek sage green suit. Meanwhile Alice looks like something out of a painting or some period piece. Excusing himself from greeting Dahlia, Sam makes his way over to Alice with a smile as he cleared his throat.

He means to say something witty, actually feel smart talking to a pretty girl for once. Instead...all he can get out is....

"Wow."

Dr. Siebren de Kuiper

[spaghettification]

Anitra's Dance [Act One]
Siebren is nervous at the best of parties, but he's determined to enjoy as much of this night as he can. Dancing? He can do that. He wants to do that, both with his nearest and dearest, and with anyone who seems to have the vaguest sense of rhythm and a spark of delight in their hearts. Light on his feet to the point of floating, he'll bring dance partners with him above the crowd if they like.


In the Hall of the Mountain King [Act Two; Feeling Funny]
Perhaps Siebren's lucky, that he doesn't end up with the memory-screws or delusions. But those would be more familiar horrors than for everything to be turned up to eleven as suddenly as it is. His immediate reaction is a blinding rage as he realizes his mind is being fucked with again, and he lets out a horrifying scream, a sound that doesn't seem human in nature.

Later on, one might find him weeping, despondent, lying in a pile on the ground. Too broken to float, or even sit up. And later, still, his rented suit stained with blood, he'll be found in a corner, manic--his eyes wide, breath catching on the edges of his laughter as it teeters ever closer to a panic attack.


Dance of the Mountain King's Daughter [The Death of Blanche; Closed to Blanche]
It is at the height of his rage that Siebren sees Blanche, and with the clarity of madness he recognizes her. Not just as the demon she is, but as what she represents. The mind folding, thoughts being buried or burned to ash, a moment of revelation or inspiration that flashes and then dims to nothing but the vague certainty that something was there.

Siebren sees her, and he hates her.

"Jij, demonbroed. Kom hierheen!"

Anitra’s Dance

[misbegottendreamer]

“May I have this dance, kena?” she asks, her hand extended. Her ‘smile’ is on display for all to see, her claws carefully shaped and enameled a deep red. Drelasa looks absolutely radiant, and there’s little doubt to be had that she feels truly beautiful right now.

Drelasa Veloth | Dirge of Delusion (cw: cannibalism, self-harm, distorted perceptions)

[misbegottendreamer]

Act One

She is House Dagoth in its splendor, dressed in the reds, golds, and blacks of her kin and her name. It's not unlike a Hanfu gown, the dress itself patterned with golden willow flowers, and the stole embroidered with the Scarab. Newly-forged bells jingle from the hem of her sleeves, and along rows across the front of her bodice- they are dark-forged metal and sound beautifully, formed in fires fed by her songs and blessings.

She has a new mask, too, fashioned to look like it was made of gold. It covers the upper half of her face, while the lower half is open, leaving her flutes unbound and uncovered. After many months of Siebren's love and Imbros' council, she's finally ready to present this side of herself to the world.


Act Two

She is House Dagoth in its splendor, Red Mountain reborn, dressed in the reds, golds, and blacks of the House Unmourned. She wanders the halls of this lie-place, knowing that she alone can see the fullness of the falsehoods for what they really are. Whenever she comes across someone, she offers them succor.

"Come," she says, offering a hand and gazing at them through the three eyes of her full-faced, golden mask. "Come, lay down your burdens, and let me give you rest. Let me free you from this false world, rescue you from the whims of the ones who would have you suffer."

Those who listen, those who submit to her song, will find the unpleasantness of the party swept away, and she will guide them to a place she has prepared, laden with sumptuous food and drink. They do not notice that the goblets smell of blood and sore-water, or that the meat has bits of gray skin upon it and an ashen taste to it, or that their gracious host seems to be missing chunks of flesh from her arm. No, this is the finest of drink, and the choicest cuts, and here they will be safe, and provided for.

Act Two

[suenoimposible]

Well, perhaps she'll humor this prey of hers for just a bit before sinking her teeth into them. Her curiosity has been rather easy to pique as of recently, considering she can remember almost nothing at all.

"Art thou some sort of savior to mineself? I hath no recollection of thy." Don phrases the question with an air of curiosity, though from her voice is a cold authority that'd be uncharacteristic of those who'd know her.

"Since thou wisheth to rescue me from such villains... Pray tell, who is responsible for such suffering?" Perhaps it seems somewhat philosophical how she'd phrased such, but in truth she has no idea of whomever the author of her supposed suffering is. Perhaps the one who'd organized this strange party?

Don Quixote | OTA

[suenoimposible]

Act 1:

A 'par-tay'? She simply must attend such an event!

She's quite pleased with her outfit for the occasion, but she has yet to adorn it with her pins. First things first, she has to place the Red Mist's pin in clear display for the red in her dress! Next, the Black Silence's pin, to match with the black! And then the Blue Reverberation! And then...

She'd make up reasons for each placement, but the result of it more or less just ended up with her having a haphazard cluster of pins along the front of her dress in the end. There were supposed to be matching shoes... but alas, they'd not fit above Rocinante when Don tried to wear them. It's quite an absurd display, her wearing a gothic dress adorned with several dozens of pins and worn running shoes, yet Don for better or worse seems completely unaware of how strange it appears.

Don's always been one to love her "Par-tays". She's eager to stuff herself with food and drink, dance, and regale people with her various tales of Fixers and heroism. Though, she's no excellent dancer by any means admittedly. She's not particularly well mannered either despite how she speaks either. Nonetheless, she's quite eager to socialize with whomever approaches her, and chat with some familiar faces.

Act 2: [Amnesiac's Lament]

No! She can't allow this act of villainy to continue! Because she is... she is... who is she exactly? What was her name again?

This is a rather strange party she's at. Not that she remembers any to compare to. Whatever it was that she was about to say, it must have been important, to feel so strongly about it. What was it that gave her cause for such righteous indignation exactly? She tries to remember, she thinks harder and harder about it but nothing comes of it. There's nothing here but this disgusting ballroom in her mind right now.

Don stares at a mirror within the room, her reflection bearing a gloomy expression under the strange mask she wears. She looks at her dress, then toward the pins and ragged shoes on her feet. It's absurd, her being dressed in such unfitting garments. So she discards her pins, and she takes off her shoes one by one. She looks back at the mirror, and for just a moment she catches her eyes glowing red before the mirror shatters into a thousand pieces. The chairs and tables break, and the fragile walls give way too. The only thing left unharmed are those garish looking shoes of hers and the pile of pins on the ground.

She may not remember anything about herself, who she is, or why she is here... But she does know that she's hungry, extremely hungry. The rotten food here won't suffice. The only thing that which shall sate her hunger is blood. So she wanders about the ballroom, eager to find her next meal with hungry eyes of crimson.

2.

[mindflayed]

At this point Imbros has eaten enough demons to effectively be the Illithid equivalent of high out of his mind. At least at this point he no longer cares that he's hallucinating, that everything around them is an illusion. That's fine. Everything is fine.

He nearly steps on the pile of pins before pulling back in a flourish of tentacles and that flamboyant cape trailing behind him. It takes a moment for his sluggish mind to recognize what they are, and that they belong to the blonde nearby.

"You dropped something."

The Birthday Girl

[thethirteenthchild]

[ Keeping these simple because a lot of what Dahlia is doing is already in the prompts, but I want people to be able to come find her <3 ]

- Prologue -

Care for a dance? Dahlia looks radiant in her golden gown and her crown of flowers, and she's got an hour to get all her greetings and dances in before everything goes to hell.

- Epilogue -

The fire is a different kind of hungry than the feast. But it consumes all the same.

When it ends, her hair is scorched, her dress is scorched, and she's very lucky the ballroom hasn't collapsed on her head. Not that she'd care. As far as she's concerned, the townsfolk are going to take turns executing her every day until they can figure out a way to make her stay dead. Might as well let the first one be on her own terms.

But the roof never falls, and eventually the tears run out. There is only the smell of smoke, and silence.

Whether she picks herself up, scraped like the burnt leftovers of dinner off the bottom of a pan, or whether there is someone there to help her despite her protests, the only place she wants to go is bed.

epilogue

[thaumatophage]

Kitty has been watching the fire burn, recovering from being around and intaking so much tainted magic. The raging blaze feels almost welcoming. She wishes she'd been able to express her anger like that, when it had happened to her.

When Dahlia is finally done, Kitty takes a step into the ballroom, and then another. She's never met Dahlia before, not properly, but she needs to say this. "Miss Leeds?" she calls out. Her tone is uncertain, but it's the uncertainty of disturbing someone who's really going through it, not the uncertainty of fear. "Miss Leeds, I'm...sorry. I'm sorry he did that. It's not your fault."

Radar O'Reilly | OTA + 1 closed

[incomingchoppers]

act one [ota]

Phew. Finally. After weeks of running around and twelve straight hours of last-minute prep today, the gala's arrived, and Radar can take a second to breathe and enjoy it.

He doesn't clean up too bad, if he does say so himself. Not even his army buddies -- okay, probably especially his army buddies -- have seen him dressed like this. Sure, it felt a little weird the first time he tried on the outfit, like he was going to a costume party instead of wearing something that really looked like him, but by the time everybody starts filtering in, he's settled into it with the pride of a guy who just got his lieutenant's bars. This is exactly where he wants to be: next to Miss Leeds as she welcomes everybody, knowing all his hard work will make the night go just like she hopes it will.

If he spots someone he knows, he'll break formation to beam excitedly at them and give them a small, but extremely enthusiastic wave. Look! Look how great everything's going!

(And if he keeps sneaking awestruck looks back toward Dahlia... can you blame him? The first time he saw her wearing that dress, his breathing went all funny for a whole minute. He'd happily stare for hours if he didn't have a job to do.)


act two, scene one [meta]

Honestly, Radar's first reaction is sheer indignation. After everybody worked their butts off, the gala's gonna get ruined by a bunch of party crashers?!

That quickly becomes the least of his concerns.

What strikes him hardest, under the brief burst of terror, isn't incomprehension. Instead, it feels like he swept under the mess tent tables and found a missing puzzle piece from a gathering weeks ago. Deja vu, but not even that, really. Just a single thought: I knew this already.

Dread builds in his gut as he stares up and up at the Pine Devil -- Dolly -- Dahlia -- just like he did that night in the woods. She's exactly the same. The teeth, the ragged fur, the horns, the ambulance stink of her breath. It's been her the whole time. Just because the news doesn't impact him as fresh as before doesn't mean it hasn't scrambled his thoughts and sent his ears buzzing.

Radar barely has time to feel more than that before the bindings lash around her.

"Don't hurt her!" he cries, with such a driving desperation that he doesn't even realize he said it at first. He even takes half a step forward like an absolute dodo, as if he could stop Mendel on his own when he's lost fights with his own bedsheets a not-insignificant number of times.

Then the curse hits, and the world falls apart.


act two, scene two [dirge of delusion; ota]

Radar collapses to his knees.

what's going on

where am i
what's going on

where am i
oh god
HELP ME
oh god
HELP ME

He claps his hands over his ears with a shuddery noise of pain. Everything. Everything. Every thought every word every sound. It roars around him like it never has before in his whole life, as loud and incoherent as if he were tumbling down a waterfall, tailspinning, drowning. He can't block it out. Feedback screeches in his head at a pitch that makes his eyes water.

over here
stop, please
can you hear me

who's there
don't come any closer
over here
stop, please

Gasping, he squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them again as the noise whirs and whirs and thunders.

"Choppers," he whispers.

over here

over here

He looks up. Stretching into the endless distance, a hospital corridor reeking of blood beckons him. Radar lurches to his feet. His shoes skid on the concrete -- dirt road? corn husks? -- and he catches his hand on a wall that feels too warm. His palm sinks into it just enough to make his gorge rise.

"Choppers," he says again, louder. Coughs around the stink; raises his voice as he starts moving. "Hey. Hey! Can you hear me?! WE GOT CHOPPERS INBOUND!"

There's gotta be a doctor around here somewhere. Where is everybody?


grand finale/epilogue [closed to dahlia]

He wavers. But eventually, Radar bolts with the rest of the crowd.

Ears ringing and head pounding with the aftershocks, he stumbles out of the ballroom. For half the length of a hallway, he follows the flow of traffic, too dazed to do much else. It's not until he whacks the back of his hand against a doorknob that he jolts back to himself.

Right. He's -- he's got a guest room. All his stuff's here. He thinks, with an oddly calm clarity: I'm not gonna make it all the way back to my house like this.

So that's where he ends up instead, after everything, the heavy wooden door of his room muffling the last dying embers of the gala. He just barely manages to find his teddy bear and peel off that fancy outfit he loved so much a few hours ago before his body gives out. Toppling into bed, he curls up, mashes a pillow over his head like that'll block the rest of the noise, and tries to sleep off the migraine.

It only kinda works. He wakes up on a flood of adrenaline a handful of hours later. Some nightmare he can barely reach, of Dolly snatching up the bodies of the wounded before they can get them inside... but then it's gone, leaving him too jittery and way too awake.

So. What now? Radar sighs. Slowly, creakily, he shrugs on the bathrobe he brought along. With his bear tucked under one arm, he shuffles out of his room to take stock of the aftermath.

There's a whole lot of damage to fix and even more of a mess to clean up. He'd better get started.

Epilogue

[thethirteenthchild]

When Dahlia emerges from her own room some hours later, she looks dehydrated and like she cried off all her makeup rather than washing it. Her hair is a mess and she's heading to her kitchen for tea in what appears to be a nightgown, three dressing gowns, and a thick blanket, turning her tiny form into a large mass of gossamer fabric.

She walks in on Radar doing whatever it is he's doing and just stops. Staring.

Daisy Tonner | OTA

[hadnoright]

Act One

It's a fancier affair than Daisy's used to, but that doesn't mean she doesn't seem perfectly confident in the golden gown Dahlia gave her, that shamelessly displays her toned, scarred arms and shoulders. Her hair's done up nice and besides her signature daisy earrings, she's even bothered with some other jewellery. This is Dahlia's big night and she's more than happy to doll herself up for the first time in a long time for that.

Even before things take a turn there's the air of a particularly loyal hound about her, whether when she's at Dahlia's side or watching her from a distance as she goes about her business. Live a life like hers long enough and you start distrusting big events, waiting for something to explode or descend into chaos. Hoping it won't come to that doesn't stop her from being braced for the eventuality that it does.

Until then, she still tries to enjoy herself. Friends and loved ones can lure her into dancing without much effort, and anyone may find her at the edges in quieter moments.

Act Two, Scene One

Anyone who looks toward Daisy in the immediate event and aftermath of Dahlia's nature being revealed may notice something odd: the complete and utter lack of surprise.

In its place there is a protective, feral rage. Even through the slits of the mask now stuck to her face her own odd, yellow eyes are like daggers aimed directly at Mendel and there is something wild and bestial in the way she holds herself. Like a predator seconds from lunging.

Like she's about to do something very, very stupid.

Only an interception from Jon stops her, but even then it's like she's physically restraining herself, barely keeping control by the skin of her teeth as the streamers wrap around her partner and she can do nothing. Nothing but stand there, blood pounding in her skull and dancing over her tastebuds, as Dahlia's choice is stripped away from her and all hell breaks loose.

Act Two, Scene Two [dirge of delusion, risk of violence]

She knows this feeling.

Except, no, she doesn't, because she doesn't know anything. Nothing is anything and everything is something else and the inside of her head is filled with sound that isn't sound, music that isn't music that isn't and is familiar and— and—

She shakes her head violently. She thinks it's her head. She doesn't think. She doesn't know.

Sometimes, the ballroom is the ballroom is the nothing, because nothing is anything, and sometimes the ballroom is the wax museum where everything is nothing but everything is everything, and sometimes the world seems clear and she can think just enough to find the word.

Unknowing.

Fuck.

In this state, Daisy is a danger to herself and others. Faces are wrong, objects are wrong, everything is wrong and her hackles are raised like a beast backed into a corner. Be careful, she bites.

Epilogue

People who know her will probably notice that Daisy didn't actually leave the estate and she won't be seen around town for days after the gala. She'll reappear eventually, but until then your best shot of contacting her is by sending stone or occasionally by finding her pacing the perimeter of Leeds Estate like a restless guard dog.

Epilogue

[thethirteenthchild]

Dahlia lingers in the doorway of her home as Daisy takes another lap past the front gate.

"You don't have to do that," she calls out hoarsely. "I'll be okay."

Zivia Birnbaum | OTA

[tehilim127_1]

Act One

The thing is: Zivia really isn't planning to stay long at the party. Just enough to greet and congratulate the hostess, circulate a little, then head home in time to eat a late supper and feed the cat before going to bed. She's not likely to dance, she knows she won't be able to eat most of the food or drink most of the drinks, and she isn't really feeling celebratory -- but this is an important community event, and she wants to put in an appearance.

So here she is, mostly propping up one wall or another unless she can find somewhere to sit, smiling and chatting cheerfully enough, nibbling some fresh fruit if there's any on the buffet table, and counting down the minutes until she feels she can reasonably leave without it being rude.

Act Two

The mask that's affixed itself to Zivia's face is a stylized crescent moon. Her first attempts to take it off, combined with her frustration at the timing -- Two minutes. Two damn minutes earlier, that's all it would have taken -- combine and feed off each other until she's practically weeping with rage, trying to wrench the mask away.

Minutes later, she's crouched under a table, paralyzed with terror. Not too long after, she's reeling down a hallway, doubled over, wheezing laughter. Not long after that, sitting on the floor staring straight ahead in numb desolation.

If the condition you find her in is unnerving, don't worry! You can just wait a few minutes and a new one will be along.

Finale

There hasn't been time to process the revelation until they're all stumbling out of the manor house, fleeing the fire. To be honest, there still isn't time right away; Zivia is doubled over for at least the second time that night, coughing, focusing mostly on trying to clear her lungs and catch her breath and not fall over in the process.

Someone help an old a middle-aged lady get home, will you? Maybe give her someone to talk to?

finale

[saintoflangley]

Well that sure was a fucking evening. This is why Alex doesn't do parties.

Although he has to admit...he learned a lot.

He'd scarpered from the blaze as quickly as he could with his cane and prosthetic, and has also stooped over to catch his breath, leaning heavily against the cane.

"You all right?" he asks.

Cassandra de Rolo with bonus Okie Hitchcock | OTA

[not_the_last]

Act One: Revel/Regard

Cassandra enters the manor house on Okie's arm, resplendent in the most Whitestone-like finery they were able to find, smiling and exchanging greetings. She's been a political hostess at this kind of celebration a time or two; being a guest should be so much easier, especially when she doesn't have a specific goal here.

Well ... not much of one. She doesn't expect to be able to learn anything much about their hostess or her family history, not at this kind of event.

Come say hello to her, and/or to Okie; they'll be together for most of this part of the evening. Though if anyone wants to dance with either of them, they probably won't say no.

[Tag-ins welcome here for Cassandra and/or Okie for this segment of the party only! A separate Act 2 / Finale top-level for Okie will be forthcoming.]

Act Two: Reveal/Revile

When the demon appears, seizes Dahlia and begins declaiming to the crowd, Cassandra immediately fades into the background as stealthily as she can and starts working her way around, trying to get behind him. It's no use, of course; before she has anything like a clear shot with a thrown knife, he's already dropped his explosive truth and his distracting spells, and vanished.

The mask that closes over her face is that of a queenly lady carved in marble; a saint, some might say, or a goddess, some noble figure enthroned on high, smiling serenely.

From behind it, Cassandra turns to whoever is nearest, intending to say We knew this. We were told, those of us who went to the past, we knew.

What comes out instead is "We had no idea." And then silence, as she brings a hand to her throat, and then to the carved and painted mouth that covers her own.

Finale: Retreat/Regroup

In the restored ballroom, Cassandra tries to slip through the crowd and reach Dahlia before any verbal or physical violence can begin. It's as futile as her attempt to reach Mendel; Dahlia begins it herself, driving her guests out into the night.

There's so much she wants to shout at Dahlia, into the face of that furious despair, and knows she can't. No more than she could speak the bare truth through that lying mask.

Outside, she scans the crowd hurriedly, searching for her people -- first Okie, then everyone else.

Act One: For Cassandra and Okie too if y'all want

[ss_buttcrack]

"Don't we all clean up nice?" Crichton says, feeling pretty debonair himself as he approaches in his rented black suit accented by the red cravat his date, Sally, had picked for him. The pin he's wearing on said cravat, however, matches with the two worn by Okie and Cassandra.

"So, what are the odds, you think? Of this whole shindig going bad before the end?"

Sally Boyle (cw unreality, paranoia, drugs, death)

[sunshinesally]

- Prelude -

Sally had not been expecting to go to this. She had missed the last one by a few weeks, and had exactly zero interest in showing up to this one alone, especially after the Arthur Double Whammy situation. It'd been a few months since Arthur Morgan had been called back to the ferry, shattering the life she'd just spent nearly a year building with him to pieces that she was still picking up. And now she's barely three days out from saying her final farewells to Arthur Hastings, and the weight of it truly and honestly being The Last Time weighs on her like an iron ball.

No, Sally is perfectly content to stay home, helping Claude get all gussied up for the big party, playing with Gwen until she goes to bed, and then curling up with some sad romance novel and one, just one, glass of wine.

And then Starlight calls and asks her to go with him, and suddenly she is giddy with enthusiasm.

It's unclear whether this is a date or a friend-date, though the fact that he wants to match with her lends at least a little credence to the former, but it really doesn't matter. Not as much as the fact that someone she really, really enjoys the company of wants to go with her. And so she gets herself a stunning ruby red dress in crushed velvet, white satin gloves that come up to the elbow, and a pearl necklace with a ruby pendant in the center. For Crichton, a red cravat embroidered with the symbol he mentioned wanting (a sunburst, something to do with some good friends), and a tasteful red boutonniere. (Thanks for letting her dress you up, Crichton, it will happen again.)

Time to call Tarantulas about babysitting.

- Act One -

Sally is beyond pleased to arrive on Crichton's arm, feeling for all the world like a slice of red velvet cake magically come to life. She only knows Dahlia casually, but making polite conversation with the younger woman comes easily to her. This is such a lovely party! Happy birthday! Oh, thank you, you look so beautiful as well. Love what you've done with your hair, thank you so much for the invite, well I won't keep you, have a great night! And then it's off to the races.

She turns to Crichton. "So, what's on the agenda first? Want to see if the bar has any fun mocktails and then get some dinner, or do you feel like dancing?"

And of course she's delighted to talk to any of her other friends! Catch her at one of the dinner tables for a chat over food, out on the dance floor, or on the back porch overlooking Dahlia's beautiful gardens.

- Act Two & Three -
[ Dirge of Delusion ]

Of course something would go wrong. It always goes wrong. Poor Dahlia.

But is it right to feel that way? After all that she's done, all that she's hidden, all her family has done? Perhaps she deserves it. That feels wrong, too, though. Is it even Sally's place to say?

Sally has no time to process the ethics of this complex situation before the building is thrown into utter chaos. The building is pulled apart, and in an instant, Crichton is gone from her. Everyone is gone from her. What is this place?

The Garden District. A bombed out wasteland reclaimed by nature and Downers. She is one of them, dressed in rags.

The Parade District, a stone cityscape with marble carvings and archways on every street. Leering bobbies watch her carefully. They know they know they know they know. They know she's off her Joy. They know she has a baby at home. They are going to kill her.

Her home in Hamlyn Village. The doorbell won't stop ringing. The tube is backed up into the ceiling with pneumatic containers of mail. They are spitting out onto the floor. The Blackberry Joy is burning. Spud won't stop screaming at her, he's going through her things, he's destroying her lab, he's trying to find Blackberry but all he's going to find is Gwen.

Under the stars with Arthur Hastings. She is fifteen. She is relaxing in the grass in Lud's Holm, staring up at the sky, talking about nothing as smoke from half-used German cigarettes procured from the grounds of the military camp curls up toward the shimmering stars. He calls her Salamander. She ignores the feeling in her gut that her mother and sisters are dead.

Hayworth Labs, listening to Anton brag for hours at the release party for Strawberry Joy about his achievements. They're her achievements, but she's on his arm, and he's the boss. All she can do is smile and nod. She's on Sunshine, has been for months, can't focus on work when she's on Joy. She is surrounded by plastic white masks forcing a sea of faces into smiles. They're staring at her. They know. "Are you feeling alright, Miss Boyle?"

She is not.

Where are her feet? It feels like they're under a mountain of weight. Moving feels like wading through a river. Did her hands always look like this? Are they her hands?

Where's Crichton? Where's Ruby? Where's Claude?

Hello? Is anyone there?

Act One

[not_the_last]

Cassandra has spotted Crichton, and makes a beeline in his direction. Greetings and introductions ensue; Sally is almost certain to spot the little gold sunburst on the collar of Cassandra's silvery grey gown, matching the one on Crichton's cravat.

"I know I've seen you about town," says Cassandra, "but I don't think we've ever properly met. Blackberry Apothecary is your shop, isn't it?"

jeff | ota

[cacophonish]

Act One: The Party

A party! It's Jeff's natural environment. He seems to be in an exceptionally good mood-- almost giddy-- as he makes the rounds, chatting, drinking, dancing, offering his opinions on the hors d'oeuvres with anyone, whether he knows them or not. His borderline manic good cheer is... honestly pretty consistent with how he's seemed since a recent trip to the Visitor's Center. It's almost like he's trying to prove just how awesome and happy he is.

Or maybe he's just trying to convince himself.

Anyway! If you want to hang out with Jeff, now's a good time! And if you don't want to hang out with Jeff, that's okay, because he wants to hang out with you. And to keep this from being a "come bother him" prompt-- although you're absolutely welcome to come bother him-- he'll even approach wallflowers with a plate full of stuffed mushrooms.

"Have you tried these? They're fucking good. I think they're the best stuffed mushrooms I ever had? No-- wait, no, they're almost the best stuffed mushrooms I ever had. They'd be better with, like, ranch dip. Okay-- see--" He picks one up and shoves it in the face of whoever he's accosting right now. "Try this. Then, like, try another, but imagine it's been dipped in ranch."

Act Two: Amnesiac's Lament
(Note: Jeff is in pure Spiral Avatar mode and will likely try to make everything worse. Blanket warning for possible gaslighting, hallucinations, unreality, delusions, mental/emotional manipulation)

When Jeff's memory drops away, so too goes the anchor keeping him tethered to his humanity. He doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know about the Gift, or Ziggy, or the music that shaped him or the people who passed through his life. He doesn't know why he's here, or why he's gripping a fiddle in his hands. He doesn't know that, just moments ago, he'd snatched it from one of the musicians, with every intention of using it to perform some magic that might help Dahlia.

He does, however, know what he is, with the same innate understanding that he still understands things like language and breathing. He is swirling, twisting contradictions. He's composed of madness, and of lies, and delusions, hysteria, mistrust, held together by skin and sinew.

This party is his element. Whatever the occasion, it feels... Hm. Not right, exactly. But the fear and hysteria bubbling up all around him, the perverse wrongness of everything... That's what feels right. It slakes something hungry and greedy inside.

He doesn't let his giddiness show. Instead, he plays up his own confusion, pretends to be fearful, as if the black hole of his memories means anything at all to him. He drops the instrument with a gloriously cacophonous clatter, and races from the sickening, bruised ballroom in what seems like panic. He passes through halls, moves from ballroom to ballroom, each one emptier, and emptier, and a little different from the one before. It's dizzying, and wonderful, the way that the layout defies all sense. All roads lead back to an inescapable party.

(Now that strikes a chord. Has he dreamt of such a thing?)

He stops running when he steps into a ballroom that makes his head spin. It's the same as the others in most ways, with one striking difference: the walls are mirrors. In this room, he's surrounded by people, countless variants of himself, reflected back onto each other, endlessly repeating as a reflection in a reflection in a reflection in a reflection--

Or are they reflections? He lifts a hand, and some lift the opposite hand, while others spin around, and still others cry, or scream, or laugh. Every reflection that he can see-- and every reflection of a reflection-- is different. Every one is wrong.

It's like he's peering into windows, rather than mirrors. And so here he is, the thing that was Jeff, staring, transfixed, at his misbehaving, glitching reflections.

He only manages to tear his gaze away when somebody approaches. (And to those who do approach: while Jeff's reflections are at various stages of wrong, yours seem to be right. Unless you're under the Dirge of Delusion, then who's to say!) He looks afraid. He looks panicked.

He's a lie made predator.

"I-- I don't know what's going on. Can you help me?"

Grand Finale (Closed Meta)

When the world returns to normal, Jeff isn't there. With everything that's happened, it's easy to miss his absence. There's so much going on, all that chaos and violence, of course some people slip through the cracks.

Maybe he's dead. He'll be back in, like, 24 hours, right?

Twenty-four hours pass. Still no Jeff. He isn't at work, or any of his usual haunts. Days pass. He's nowhere to be found. It's as if the infernal party swallowed him up.

ACT FOUR-- wait, four?

[cacophonish]

(CW: unreality, body horror, brief allusions to fire/burning and self harm)

The room begins to spin.

Or maybe he's the one that's spinning. Maybe they both are, circling each other in a swirling waltz: the avatar and his reflections. With every spin, the world splinters into kaleidoscopic fragments and repetitious fractals, an infinite ballroom, seamlessly existing in reality and reflection.

He spins, surrounded by himself in various stages of being.

There he is, bloodied, flayed, and beatific, wrapping himself in a cocoon of his own skin.

There he is, arms swaying like branches, his feet splintering into roots, with skin like wood grain and bark, and he's becoming something.

There he is, contorted into a twisting impression of a person, with limbs that don't make any sense-- are his joints on backwards? Does he have too many fingers or not enough? Why do they curl the way they do?

There he is, but his face isn't a face; it's a sound. He sees himself becoming a symphony of cacophony, while his body smolders and leaves stardust for ashes.

And there he is, split open from the underside of his jaw, down to his sternum, skin peeled back to reveal six strings, running the entire length of his throat. His neck's too long. He plucks a song from his own body.

He spins, and all around him, in the infinite ballroom, the crowd grows. Figures, anonymous strangers with faces like migraines, take each other's hands and spin in a joyful, delirious dance. And oh, how he wants to join them, but every time he reaches for them, his fingers brush against the cold, flat surface of a mirror.

The party isn't here with him, it's beyond him. It's his destination. He knows this, even though he knows nothing about himself, where he's been, who he was before he became (becomes?) a what.

He stops spinning, though the dance continues and the room swirls like a whirlpool. The mirrors can't all be mirrors. He just has to find his way in. He sings a song that's nothing more than muscle memory, with no care or reverence behind it, no real magical intent. He sings to find his way--

--a mirror shatters.

He picks up a shard and he knows, without knowing, what he needs to do. His other selves are still, watching him, tracking him as he moves from one mirror, to another, and another...

And they all grin as he stabs the glass into his own reflection. It begins to bleed-- they all begin to bleed-- and he knows this is it. He's so close now. All he has to do is keep on stabbing, cutting, slicing, until he can peel away the stifling, suffocating boundaries of truth and knowing and step inside.

And that's exactly what he does. With his palm split open, and his beautiful white jacket stained red, his head swimming with delirium (or blood loss? when did he start to bleed, too?), the thing that was Jeff steps inside the mirror, to explore what lies beyond this reality and join his other selves.

A week passes in Pumpkin Hollow. A figure, distorted, its face blotted out, though it may resemble one of the many possible iterations of the avatar, may at times appear in reflections, though it never lingers.

It never lingers.

Until, one day, it appears in Leeds Estate.

Martin Blackwood

[lofi_charm]

- Act One -

Despite Jon's misgivings about attending a party for Dahlia, Martin is utterly delighted. He can't remember the last time he had an excuse to get all dressed up! It's easy, most days, to give into the impulse to be underwhelming, to wear plain, loose clothes that draw no attention to himself. But at Dahlia and Jon's encouragement, Martin has been putting together a nice outfit for this.

And so, proud and puffed up like a rooster, Martin arrives as the date (holy shit, he has a date to something) of Jonathan Sims, wearing a grey suit with an ornate waistcoat and silvery-blue ascot. He's really leaned into the local fashion, enjoying the vintage look, and his suit is beautifully tailored and he feels--- great, actually.

And he has friends! Many are somewhat casual friends, still new, but that's okay! And maybe he'll even make some new ones here.

The first thing he wants to do is dance. To be absorbed in the lights and the sounds and the swirling masses and for all the world to fade away with just himself and Jon.

Once they tucker themselves out, though, it's time for food! Need a hand reaching a plate from the tall stack, or getting something from across the buffet table? Martin's got you, whether he knows you or not. He's 6'4" and not opposed to using that power for good.

He's also prone to bumping into people in crowds. "Oh--- s-sorry! Nothing spilled, did it?"

- Act Two & Three -
[ Amnesiac's Lament ]

Ṃ̷͌͝?̸̠͇̅?̴̠̲̍?̵̠̉?̸̢̿̈́ has no idea where he is. What is this place? When did he get here?

It's a party, he thinks. It looks like a party. The decor is kind of ugly. But everyone's dressed really nicely, and there seem to be drinks? And dancing? That's fun. And clearly someone here likes ?̴͕̓?̶̖̤͑r̸̤̖̒̅t̸̪̳́?̸̱̯̍n̵̗̊ enough to invite him here. He wonders who that is? Their name was...

What was it?

...D̵̥̎̇?̶͕̋͜l̴̬̺͗̍i̵͖̓?̷̯͠a?

Hm. That's not quite right. Well, M̷̳̉͆a̴̝̐͊͛?̶̝̻̎̀?̶̰̣͛̀͑ȋ̸͎ͅn is sure he will figure it out eventually. For now, maybe try to mingle? It's a party! Might as well try to have a nice time while his mind sorts itself out. He probably just drank too much or something.

Except everyone seems so far away or busy. Well, that's... that's alright. They seem stressed out. Maybe this party is kind of terrible. Or maybe he's just irritating. He'll just move on.

"Kind of a weird crowd, huh?" he jokes offhandedly to someone nearby, looking more nervous by the second. There are so many people here--- why does he feel so alone?

- Finale -

Martin is not with Jon when the spell breaks. The pair were separated hours ago, with Martin unable to recall who Jon is, rebuffing him over and over again until---

"Jon! Oh, god, what have I done---"

Fire erupts in the ballroom, and Martin only has a moment to spare Dahlia a sympathetic glance before he tears off, crying out desperately in search of his partner, screaming Jon's name into the din of chaos.

Act 1, and onwards... >:)

[apocryphalarchivist]

Even with his misgivings about attending, it's hard to argue with the sheer delight on Martin's face as they make the trek up Founder's Hill.

He doesn't spend much time away from Martin's side, even in bidding Dahlia a happy birthday. It's awkward, but he's doing what he can to play nice and be lovely when he's able. Martin likes her, after all; it's worth making an effort, if nothing else, to be cordial with his friends.

Though he's very much keen to stick close, he's prone to short little ventures away to check out this or that - and, in the short steps away he does take, he's always quick to return, usually with something or someone in tow.

This last trek away yields much of the same, as he's quick to return with a second glass of champagne, looking all the more pleased for it, stepping close enough to gently bump elbows to signal his return. Even once he's passed the glass over, he doesn't move much further away than that, either.

"Didn't miss anything too exciting, did I?"

Purple (cw emetophobia in Act 2)

[impostor_syndrome]

Act One | It's no problem of mine, but it's a problem I find

Purple's ensemble of a borrowed purple suit and freshly purchased hat is so classy that you could almost forget that they're wearing a diving helmet with it. They've been in town for less than a week, nobody here has earned face privileges yet. The suit wasn't their size when they got it, but it was the best-looking loaner so they've tweaked their shape to fit. Ooh, there's deviled eggs over there!

They mostly stick to the edges of the dance floor, even when they're not snacking. "I never learned," they'll admit to anyone who asks them for a dance, just a little sheepish. "But I'll try anything once."

Act Two | The wisdom of the fool won't set you free | The World Revolving

They're not sure if the muffled many-voiced laughter ringing in their ears is real or imagined. They're lightheaded and dizzy, motion sick on a stationary floor, all they can think of is hot blood eating through their environment suit and blue field-of-vision arcs spinning wildly on the terminal.

Purple grabs the edges of their theatrical comedy mask and pulls hard enough that their seemingly metal diving helmet stretches like rubber. The mask doesn't come off.

"Get this thing off me!" They stagger to the side, bump into someone, and grab hold of them to steady themselves. Shit, now they're acting like a Masked and it's not even finished with them. They fight to keep themself from throwing up. That's the last thing either of them needs right now.

Act Three | Every day my confusion grows

They've wrestled the panic down to manageable levels (the dizziness not so much, but it helps that there are plenty of places they can sit down) and can spare a bit of mental airtime to think about what's going on. Apparently the hostess isn't as human as she looked. The asshole in the jester outfit showing her off to everyone reminds them of a real shitshow of a job they worked once, where they were just trying to pay for their ticket to the next system but they had the bad luck to pick a ship that already had a pair of saboteurs hiding on board. One from their home planet, the other they weren't sure about. Orange got the green-suited reactor technician who caught him standing over a dead body thrown out the airlock, and then when the crewmates came for him he swore up and down that Maroon was the other impostor. Not to save himself, just to make sure his partner couldn't succeed without him. Oddly enough, the humans hadn't gone for it, at least not as a consensus. They'd muttered about false accusations, Purple seemingly having been the only one to spot Maroon standing around doing nothing when the life support mysteriously shut itself off. They'd even made it to their destination without anyone else dying.

Is this whole demonic monster thing something they'll be expected to do something about? They're more surprised that the Pine Devil that stalks the streets and prowls the forests eating townspeople who stay out too late isn't an urban legend than that it's actually the heiress from the city council. If she tries to eat them, they can take her. Beyond that she's not their problem. Who hasn't had to eat a guy before? And they'd look weirder if they really went all out. They're not going to make themselves a target by being the first or even the second to jump in to defend her, but they're not going to help the townspeople kill her.

Grand Finale | Why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday?

She doesn't have to tell them twice. The mask's gone, and good riddance. Purple's making a swift retreat even if they have to step over the other guests, although anyone who actually tries to grab hold of them is getting thrown over their shoulder and carried away with them. It's faster, alright?

Act 1

[actuallyawolf]

Ylva has only the vaguest notion of what a diving helmet is. The concept seems clear enough, though it seems like the most annoying solution for going underwater. It also seems very heavy and awkward.

When they're both looking at the devilled eggs, though, the question that's been on her mind since she first saw them bursts from her, almost involuntary: "Aren't you uncomfortable?"

Cerrit Agrupnin

[maltesefalcon]

There, coming over Charaton Bridge;
Look, do you see the man who is poor but rich? [Act One]
Cerrit, in his halter dress and crest-feathers painted gold to match, cuts a pretty figure in the gala. He considered gold leaf on his talons, but it seemed like just a bit too much for the occasion. He can be found escorting Watson, or going to get a drink, and looks for all the world to be calm, at peace.

Unless you know him well enough to see how those crest-feathers are held, how he's constantly looking around the room worried. Memories of his last night in Avalir are strong. How could they not be?


Then said he, "Fair Pantagruel,
My name is Panurge and I have come from Hell [Act Two; False Friend]
The mask that covers Cerrit's face does so nearly completely. Gold and featureless but for two glowing yellow eye-slits, it obscures his expression completely. Even so, there's something still and calm to him, even as the effects of the masks set in. He stands on the dance floor, wings tucked to his back, as chaos descends.

The first people he looks for are the other Enforcers, especially those he's talked to recently about Things. They need to know...


So brotherhood was made as their bond;
Carried him home and provide for his needs [Post-Event]
Cerrit takes up a post outside the manor, without asking Dahlia or anyone else. While others tend to the comforting thing, Cerrit perches on the fence around the manor, ready to deal with anyone who decides they want to take on the Pine Devil tonight.

He'll be here until the sun rises, if not later.

Act One

[admiralchiss]

Thrawn doesn't really like parties, but as a good friend and ally taught him, they're good for networking and getting your face out there. Thrawn still thinks that there are better ways to do that without going outside of his comfort zone, but he lacks the rank and recognition that he does in his home galaxy. Thus, here he is, dressed in a nice black suit.

It doesn't take him long to spot his fellow Enforcer.

"Good evening, Cerrit Agrupnin."

father mulcahy | cws in headers

[lovethyneighb_or]

ACT ONE: "The table's full."

It's a long debate whether or not he should, but he does come. He's a somewhat public figure, even if he is a priest of a flock of only two people in the whole island. And it'd be... good for his health, or something trivial like that.

So he comes, in nothing more special than a formal black suit, saying his hellos and wallflowering near immediately. He doesn't seem discontent, though. Marveling at the estate, picking at the food, and passively basking in the bright atmosphere is enough.

ACT TWO: "This is the very painting of your fear." [cw: ptsd flashbacks/panic attacks, child abuse, alcoholism, gore, injury, blood, medical stuff, medical abuse, surgery, involuntary inpatient stuff, torture, drugging]

A mask nails itself to his face, and he almost screams.

He watches the scene unfold with a dim horror. Whatever was happening had nothing to do with him. Like shelling, it was outside his influence, his attention, his power, and like shelling, there was nothing to do but survive the collateral.

He tries to run for Mendel to do–something, he doesn’t even know, but war wastes no time and even when Mendel vanishes he beelines for one of those infernal demons–the worst thing he could do was just stand there while

the world
shatters into

the world splinters into

the world bursts

apart into

a home in Pennsylvania, cramped with family and shady with small windows. Francis, nine years old, hides in the dark in his sister's room, listening to his parents scream at each other downstairs. One of them is drunk. His father, he thinks. His sister isn't home. He's not sure where. Helping out at the church, maybe, which means all he can do is wait.a camp in Korea, cramped with wounded and heavy with desperation. It bleeds into everything. Into the OR, into the movie night, into their parties, in the sober stoicism they wear to weather the worst of it and the near-hysterical jubilation with which they throw themselves into their joy. There's no clamp for that. Father Mulcahy is 40 years old, sitting in the dark of his tent during a blackout order, and sometimes it feels like he's watching the end of the world.an empty room. It’s so dark that he can’t see his hands in front of his face, but he knows that the walls are all white.








Number 4077 is 45 years old.


There’s a sound. Something’s here. Someone. He tenses, heart jumping. In a (small)(careful)(hoarse) voice he calls out, “… hello?”

ACT THREE: "It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood."

He still doesn't quite know what's going on by the time everything collapses. He just knows that his head is quieter, and it finally feels like he can stop spinning a dozen mental plates--mostly because he probably dropped them all.

Mulcahy follows the crowd, bleary and stumbling, putting one foot in front of the other as he hobbles down the hill, shaking and mute.

act two

[incomingchoppers]

Radar has followed the same curving wall for hours. Gravity tugs on him in lopsided directions, like he's walking along the inside of a sphere, but he never falls. The constant threat of it just swoops through his stomach over and over. The plunge will come, but he doesn't know when.

One wrong step. One slip. One... door?

Desperate for steady ground, he sprints toward it, yanks it open and stumbles through. As soon as it shuts behind him, the cacophony drops away in an all-consuming silence.

The three people sitting in front of Radar tense up. It's the same movement, but staggered, each one lagging half a second behind the other. They vibrate and stutter in and out of the same spot, translucent: a child, a chaplain, a friend he almost doesn't recognize.

"...Father?"

Dedue Molinaro (Just Act Two for now, may add others as plot develops)

[glassaxolotl]

Act Two: Lost In The Stars

Dedue has been walking through these corridors for a while. He knows that much from the tired motion of his own feet. But when he tries to think back on the how, what, and why, it all comes back as a haze. He knows he was here for a party - even if it wasn’t obvious from the way he’s dressed.

He has a strange iron mask on him. He tries to take it off but it doesn’t budge. The path diverges into crossroads. He goes straight and finds a dead end.

He turns around and tries to remember what he’s doing here. It’s a party in Pumpkin Hollow. He didn’t go alone. He has someone very important to him that he needs to find.

He walks forward and sees a crossroads. He goes straight.

He knows who he is, and he knows how he came to Pumpkin Hollow (albeit that involved a lot of surreal magic that he is still pretty unclear about). He remembers hating fancy parties like this back when he was in Fodlan - a word that still comes back to him easily. There’s that feeling of being judged, of not quite getting it right. He knows he’s doing something wrong, but he doesn’t know what.

It’s just... trying to think is...

His face feels uncomfortable. There’s an iron mask. He tries to pull it but it won’t come off.

The path goes to a dead end. He turns around.

[prince_of_beasts]

The lion is lost.

He's dressed for a ball, in fine clothes tailored to his measurements, but he doesn't know how he got to this manor, nor why he came here at all. Who invites a lion to a gala? And why can't he find the exit?

Ah, there's someone who seems equally lost. The lion steps into their path, and dips into a shallow bow, one hand outstretched. "May I have this dance?"

link | ota

[dubiousfoodie]

ACT ONE: Mask

Link arrives to the most social thing he's been to in... quite a while, really. It's a wonderful excuse to dress up, but he'd be lying if the prospect of such a massive crowd wasn't making his nerves buzz a little. It's been a long time since he's been to something like this; even in Hyrule there were hardly the high-class social functions he would've been expected to attend before the Calamity. But at least he won't be battered with talk and watched like he would have then.

He sweeps in on the arms of Zelda and Jean, marveling at the estate--most places like this in Hyrule are in ruins now--and walks with as much gaiety as he does attentiveness, ever the sentinel.

That doesn't mean he'll spend the whole night glued to her side, though; Link circulates here and there, happy to snack on the refreshments and smile and wave. Maybe even come up to a few interesting-looking people to hear what they have to say.

ACT TWO: Incarnation

The world unfurls, and Zelda vanishes from his side.

Not again. An anxiety and rage bubbles in his stomach--she's gone, Jean's gone, those demons get to just show up unnanounced and interfere-- it's not fair, he thinks hotly. It's not fair.

A familiar pair of gloves comes spinning through the air in his direction, and he knows from who they have come. Link leaps for them. Bloody and wicked claws fit over his hands like a second and terrible skin.

That rage is stoked into a volatile bonfire by his mask, which scorches and burns the edges of his reason. Link girds the skirt of his dress and tears off, racing through the halls in search of the people he needs to protect, and nothing will get in his way. Not the furniture, not the infernal servants he cuts down with brutal efficiency as he goes, and certainly not you.

ACT THREE: Wrath

There's nothing to do but leave.

Link is silent as he and his turn off down the hill, the bloody gloves made bloodier, hunched like he should be walking on all fours.

Having a tendency for muteness sure is convenient when you don't know what to say.

INCARNATION {World Revolving}

[hyliasblessing]

"Link!"

It is what feels like hours after that horrible separation that Zelda's distant voice finally reaches Link's ears. If he didn't know she was here, he might mistake it for the faraway call of her spirit to his, when she was trapped in a century of combat with Ganon.

But no, she's here. Somewhere. Even Zelda couldn't really describe her location if asked. The ballroom spins and tilts in an endless dervish, and she staggers, grasps, topples, drags herself up and repeats. Sometimes she's able to keep to a wall long enough to make some progress, or the vertigo will fade for a while, but then the world will fall away and she'll lose her purchase again.

Everything hurts. Her head spins and her stomach flips. Her eyes swim and she's sure she's bleeding from somewhere. But she pushes, and pushes, relentless. He has to be here somewhere. He has to.

Watson, OTA || cw: PTSD for Act II.

[lightconductor]

Act I

He's not nearly as eyecatching as his date (and he certainly does keep catching himself casting long glances in Cerrit's direction when they're on opposite sides of the room), but Watson looks rather sharp himself, in his brown suit and gold waistcoat. He feels like something of a dandy, even so.

Watson makes his way around the party, sometimes with drink in hand, checking in with neighbours and patients and friends alike. He dances little tonight, which someone who's seen him at other events might think odd; generally that's something he enjoys.


Act II - Dirge of Delusion

Watson, behind a gold mask of a lion, wavers uncertainly in the middle of the room. The voices around him are drowned out by the roar of artillery and gunfire, desperate sobbing. There's a smell of blood and black powder, of panicked horse, but also of antiseptic and infection and rot. A battlefield, a hospital, a sickroom -- the room seems to swim around him, and the only things that are constant is the chaos.

He struggles up to people, sometimes even grabbing them by the shoulder. There's something frantic in his mannerisms. "Where does it hurt?" he asks, not sure if he's looking at a patient or a soldier, if they're bleeding out or running a fever or completely fine.

Act II - Dirge of Delusion

[amourtician]

Anzu's lion mask is a little more abstracted, a little more aspirational compared than the bravado of the English lion. But it's a gilded lion mask all the same, and he too hears the sounds of battle ... but more distant. He's inside, after all, in a stately house. He might as well be back in the Winter Palace, and the sounds of pitched battle are distant because they're drifting in through the windows, as the Red Guard clash with the White Guard and the Hundreds, as the barricades are mounted in the Talons.

He hears the distant, anticlimactic rattle of the Maxim guns, and the curiously muted screams. His ears ring.

He clutches at Watson's arm to steady himself.

"I bear not no injury," he gasps. "But ah, darling — we must leave here. We must ... seek shelter. There's someone we need to wait for. Please."

He looks imploringly at Watson, reluctant to tell him exactly who they need to wait for. He needs to get his colleague to safety, before he can explain to him why he's betrayed everyone here, why he's led the Red Guard in.

He rather wishes he'd had laid better groundwork for that, in the weeks prior.