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

[incomingchoppers]

Radar makes himself look at the soldier's face. It flickers between a hundred features, then none at all, while moss and lichen creep across his skin to try and cover his mouth.

"Right here," he says to Fever. He grabs both her hands and plants them on the center of the soldier's chest. "Press hard. One, two, three, like that. Keep going. I'm gonna get him breathing while you do that."

He sidesteps up the table to start yanking the lichen off the kid's face. There's gotta be a breathing bag around here somewhere, but it won't do any good unless the airway's clear first.

[abhorrently]

As instructed. She nods once, and then starts. One, two, three, it's a rhythm to follow. Try, try, try to keep the heart going. To let their patient who is everyone and no one keep living. Get him breathing, and everything else can keep going. They're doing this together. Radar being able to give these instructions, the situation going as he wants now. They're fighting it without fighting.

Keep it up, come on. They're not dead yet. Come back to life, she thinks, investing herself in his fate.

[incomingchoppers]

Most of Radar's experience in the OR has been a swift entrance and exit: move this patient, get these supplies, relay that message. A few extremely memorable times, he's been a spare set of hands for one of the doctors. It's his job to fade into the background and not get underfoot; to fill in the gaps on a bumpy road. He keeps wanting to look around for someone else so he can ask, even if silently, what do you need from me, sir?

But there's nobody else. Just him, Fever, and the patient. And the patient's telling him pretty plain what he needs Radar to do.

So he does it. He gets the lichen clear. He finds a breathing bag that sits kinda weirdly in his hands -- it doesn't feel like plastic, more like a spongy film that tries to stick to his palms when he squeezes it -- but it fits over the soldier's nose and mouth with no problem. He starts giving him air. One, two, three. Breathe. Scratch away another layer of moss that tries to get under the mask. One, two, three, breathe, matched to Fever's chest compressions.

"Come on," he whispers. "Please."

Another three-count. Another. The walls of the operating room bow inward the next time he squeezes the bag. They expand again when he releases it.

And then they move again without Radar touching the breathing bag at all, as beneath Fever's hands, the soldier's heart begins to beat on its own.

[abhorrently]

She can feel it, knows it in her blood when it happens, a pulse that rises and falls. Strong, steady - continuous. The compressions stop, but she keeps her hand there, making sure it doesn't decide to slip away again. A relieved sigh, and she looks over to Radar.

"His heart's going."

They did it. They saved him, pulled him away from death, and the rest is up to the doctors to take care of. Breathing - the rise and fall of the chest, that the heart remains strong, no sign of faltering. They've done what they had to do, what they could do. Death is inevitable, sure. But that doesn't mean it has to come today.

[incomingchoppers]

As soon as Fever says it, he knows it. He feels the pulse like it's his own heartbeat, the three of them in sync, the walls moving like they're in the lungs of the whole world itself. Radar lets go of the breathing bag and buries his face in his hands, too overcome with relief to do much else.

The table creaks. When Radar looks up, vines have risen from the ground and begun to wrap around the patient. But it's okay, he thinks; that's what's supposed to happen. He's alive, he's alive, he's growing and changing but he lives. That's the important part. Exhaling, he reaches out to lay a hand on one of plants.

As soon as he touches it, the flora explodes around them, spreading lightning-fast over every surface and blossoming in a riotous spray of flowers. Radar laughs, a tiny, giddy sound that catches him off guard, as he looks up to follow the flowing path of greenery.

[abhorrently]

Her head aches too badly to keep hold of what she sees, and briefly Fever closes her eyes to ease it, taking a deep breath. When she opens them again, she isn't playing along as she was, but they still did it. And Radar is less afraid than he was.

The world's reflective to her, shimmering, but still navigable. Their patient has dissolved into the fine mist that makes it all so. And Fever takes two steps in Radar's direction.

"You got through."

For now. As long as they stay here, it could happen again. But he got through it, and that's worthy of celebration.

[incomingchoppers]

"Yeah," he says with the same giddy breathlessness. "Yeah, I guess I did, huh. We did."

Keeping hold of the vine with one hand, he holds out the other to Fever.

"You okay? I think we gotta keep walking, but..."

If she needs a second, well, Radar kinda needs one too, after all that.

[abhorrently]

"Just one of my headaches. It'll pass."

Pain or no pain, she sees that hand extended to her, and she reaches out to take it.

"Let's get you somewhere safer. I know some of the others have been trying to stay in groups, make sure no one gets waylaid by demons or the like."

[incomingchoppers]

"Okay." He grips her hand tighter, making sure nothing's going to send them flying apart now that they're finally settled, and looks around for anything that might be an exit. With the next breath of the walls, a few green tendrils curl back to reveal the outline of a door. "There -- you see that?"

Radar traces his fingers along the vine like a guide rope as he moves toward the door. The plants sway, starting to regain their eerie glow, but shy away from him instead of engulfing him when he gets too close. He knows which way he's going now.

[abhorrently]

"Can't see much of anything, but I trust you. It's all shining for me - like standing in a raincloud someone lit up."

Which is the only way to explain how distracting it all is. She focuses on Radar's hand, on following him, on breathing. If she's in a rain cloud, let it release, or let it blow away. Let it do something useful.

[incomingchoppers]

"That sounds pretty, though," offers Radar, a little wistful. Easier to think of the hallucinations as pretty now that they don't feel so malevolent and overwhelming.

He stretches his hand toward the door, and the vine follows, wrapping around its handle to help him push it open. It attaches itself to the wall once they're through and spreads alongside them, keeping pace. Flowers ripple outward in its wake: dandelions, dahlias, violets.

Maybe it's Serranai, he thinks, even though that's gotta be impossible.

He leads the way, and hopes it's to somewhere safe.