ph_logs | September Event - Waltz of the Harlequin

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September Event - Waltz of the Harlequin

**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.

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[ 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.

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."

Anger flares back in Dahlia's body language as someone speaks to her, about to burst into flame again, but the moment she sees the speaker, she stops.

It's just a little girl. A teenager. She's the same age Dahlia was when Jasper died. Dahlia deflates, returning to her despair. The kindness feels like a knife.

"You should go," Dahlia says quietly. "It's not safe here."

"It's rarely safe here," Kitty points out. "Why is this any different from normal?" They just had a plague and people die all the time only to pop up fresh as daisies. Not to mention the cult.

"I'm just saying. I...I know what it's like. Having to keep secrets about who you are."

Dahlia stares at the floor, the wood charred and the blaze continuing to crackle behind her.

"I don't want to hurt you," she says, her voice only just audible over the roar of the flame. "...I'm sorry. I don't want anyone to have to be like me."

Jean approaches and offers that odd salute, a little bow with one arm across their chest. They then offer a hand to Dahlia, grinning a crooked grin that has not previously been on their List of Approved Smiles. "May I, Comrade Leeds?"

There is a part of Jean that does expect to be rejected here. They are, inextricably, associated with Neil. But they hope that perhaps Dahlia's words of respect for their work might extend here, at least far enough for this small sign of cooperation. It's been little steps; money for the militia, words exchanged around a strange and tense distance, but...

...She, too, is part of the community Jean is giving of themself to protect. It's never been anything personal from their end.

Sometime soon after the guests have begun arriving, Anzu approaches Dahlia during a lull.

"Darling, could I speak with thee a moment?" he says. "It's, ah. A rather private matter, but nothing alarming. I merely wish a quiet word."

A flicker of concern passes over Dahlia's face, but she offers Anzu her arm to wander away from the crowd. "Yes, of course, what can I do for you?"

Anzu takes Dahlia's arm, and follows her to a quieter spot.

"Ah, nothing is wrong, darling," he says, a little abashed. "Nu, ah. I merely wished to thank thee for looking after Leyb. During the ah, unpleasantness with the epidemic."

"Oh!" Dahlia seems immediately relieved. "Yes, of course. I grabbed as many people as I could."

She and Lyubov haven't really had much time to properly chat, but they seem nice. And Dahlia is glad she could do something kind for Anzu as well. Even if the people she grabbed were largely random and proximity-based.

"...It was a difficult time. But if I could stop a few people getting sick, then I'm glad."

"A good deed is a good deed, darling," Anzu says — though he's rather tempted to call it a mitzvah outright, he figures that right now, with Dahlia under pressure to play hostess, is no time for cultural exchange. "And few in thy position even think about such things, preferring to pay someone else to perform their good deeds on their behalf. Not even, ah, directly providing others with money, thou must understand."

He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower, "I have ... worked for the upper classes, darling. As a physician, not quite as the help, but, ah. I know even good families, with pristine reputations, the burden of being the one on whom the line hangs, it rests heavy on the young."

Dahlia lets out a breath of a laugh at this. "Yes, well. Being the last of my name, there's no one here to criticize my methods. I caught wind of the situation early and my home can hold quite a few people, and is quite remote. So I did what I could. But--- I do appreciate it. It's nice to hear that I'm doing some good. That it impacts people."

Anzu cocks his head to one side, and considers Dahlia for a long moment.

"Few scions of any house of note have thy compassion, or thy pragmatism, dearest," he says, sombrely. "We're lucky here, in the Hollow, that the last of thy family should be thee."

And he means it. Sure, once the revolution finally came to Osedka, to Svet-Dmitrin itself, many of the toffs and nouveau riche had acquiesced to share their estates and lands; but very few had come to the Nostalgines before, and offered. Even fewer had come offering things of immediate material use.

There is a ghost of a smile on her face, and the corner of her lip twitches ever so slightly, as she wonders just how much longer anyone will find that statement to be agreeable.

"I hope you and yours will find yourselves comfortable relying on me in the future," she says vaguely.

They keep finding her- little slips of paper, torn as small as possible while still being a feasible writing surface. They used to occupy her desk at town hall, but now they're all inscribed with the same name, in the same elegant handwriting: "Lord Sheogorath."

They're always where she least expects them, and in the most absurd places. Once, only once, she catches a glimpse of a butterfly moving a slip into position.

There have been enough grand gestures of support. This is something Sheogorath is uniquely qualified to provide- a quiet laugh at a tiny absurdity.

And indeed, a laugh it certainly gets. Several, in fact, longer and louder each time she finds a new one.

After a few days, Sheogorath receives a dark blue envelope--- the same kind used for Dahlia's gala invitations--- sealed with gold wax. Inside is a beautiful piece of stationery, bearing stunning hand-drawn calligraphy, ostensibly done by Dahlia herself.

[Open it?]

Oh, what a fun game!

New little slips of paper show up (how did the butterflies wedge that one between the floorboards?!) that, rather than having a name on them, they have different greetings on them.

“Hi!”

“Hello!”

“Tidings!”

“Salutations!”

“Heya!”

“Greetings!”

It’s never the same word twice.

"Should warn you. I don't think I've danced in a dress this long in my life."

Not that it's likely to really cause a problem, Daisy's agility has always been a little disconnected from reality, but she's playing around.

A coy smile plays at Dahlia's lips as she takes Daisy's hand. "I'm sure you'll be a natural. I've never seen you do anything that didn't manage to be graceful somehow."

Daisy nods her head to the side and flashes a smile in return. "Do have some unfair advantages. Usually I'm surprising people with what I can do in heels."

"It's a skill, like anything else." Dahlia sets a hand on Daisy's shoulder, content to let her lead unless she indicates otherwise. "You look incredible, by the way. Best birthday present I could have asked for."

"Well," Daisy starts, with an amused crooked smile as she leads Dahlia into the dance. "If all I have to do is let you dress me up and admire the results. Presents are going to be easy."

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September Event - Waltz of the Harlequin

The Birthday Girl

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Prologue

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