F01-OP Blackbook, Grand Opening

[Hirru 0]

***

[Jevi 0]

The attacker scurried off the moment they felt Jevi's grip loosen on the handful of hair. Dipping out of the club with their metaphorical tail between their legs. She followed his retreat, making sure he were headed towards the front door. Hopefully Oscar's bouncer could do their job next time and keep uninvited guests out. 

Then again, was anyone really 'uninvited' if Oscar dropped flyers on every single open floor?

Averting her gaze from the front door to the establishment, she would give a sweeping look at the players around her. The ones that just stood and watched as a woman was attacked. Sucking her teeth to show her annoyance, she turned around to see how Mari and her husband were doing. 

“V…Am shorry.”

"Huh? Mari wha-?" she looked down at the man she was currently using as a seat. Did Jevi invertedly start a bar fight? She first looked back to the opposite end of the bar, past the shoulders of curious players gawking in their direction, to Lancaster. Why had Mari decided to go after Jevi and end up fighting with someone else? (Did she stop another attacker, or did Mari just want in on the action?) Lancaster seemed amused though, watching the two perform as if they were an act on a stage. At least it seemed he and Mari were on the same page, rather than giving her a reason to escape from him. 

"What are you doing?" Jevi asked first, referring to the man beneath her. "Why are you-?" He didn't look familiar, even as Jevi gently pushed the mask from his face with a sandaled foot. Whatever he did, he probably deserved it.

She was just mad she didn't see Mari kicking his ass. 

Reaching a hand down to help the woman up off of the floor, she would pull Mari up off of the man and to her feet. "C'mon" she would gesture for Mari to follow her away from the bar. Jevi had no where in particular to go, just away from the scene they had created. They circled the large dance floor, which had grown with bodies since she last gave it any attention. 

"Got nothin' to be sorry for, why're you apologizin'?"

[Mari 1]

Mari patted the guy she was sitting on. "Unconk...unconsh...un..." She frowned, why was it so hard to talk properly. A shake of her head, an a deep breath. "Unconscious." Mari said with the fluidity of someone who hadn't just downed seven straight whisky drinks. "C-Came to thank you fer helpin' me get Lancashter here an...man...yanked my hair." Mari would rest the back of her head against the bar, closing her eyes. She was so sick of fighting. Mari figured Vincent did this to allow Mari to let off some steam, but this wasn't what she needed. "Hmmm?" She'd open her eyes again, feeling something move in front of her face. "Ah." Mari grabbed hold of V's hand and used it to help pull herself up.

A slight stumble and Mari's head collided with V's shoulder. The woman would gesture for Mari to follow, then a tug on her hand and they were off, away from the fight and from the bar. The one place that had been Mari's sanctuary throughout the hole night. A glance over her shoulder at Lancaster, but he just watched the two of them, an amused grin on his face as he sipped his drink. Is this okay?  Mari thought to herself as she unconsciously squeezed V's hand.

V pulled Mari around the dance floor, where couples embraced a little too closely - others in passionate positions. Mari cleared her throat and shook her head, she wasn't used to being surrounded by things like this.

"Got nothin' to be sorry for, why're you apologizin'?"

"Oh."

Why...was she apologizing again? V paused and let go of Mari's hand, eyes turned to her as though waiting for an answer. "I-" Mari shifted her gaze away, the bar unseen now. Her husband disappeared behind the crowd. "I- you seemed...annoyed? I think. When Lancashter arrived." Now that Mari was voicing it, it seemed a little silly. "And - I asshumed yer were not wantin to hang out no more. Which ish fine but-" Mari gestured from V toward herself with a few points. "You and I are now here, sho maybe I wash wrong. I don't know. I'm not good at shoshalishing. Hell. I'm not even good at apologiesh."

An awkward laugh followed by the tug of her hair. Gods...She was bad at this. The alcohol certainly didn't help. "I..." She looked down at her hands then clenched them into fists, unclenched them and stared at her open palms. "I do a lotta bad thingsh. Sho easily...but thish? Thish is hard."

@Lancaster

@Jevi

Edited 16 hours ago by Mari

[Cascade 0]

Hands grabbed her, moving her about the room. She attempted to pull away in protest, but they moved quickly pushing her down into a seat... that wasn't at all a seat, rather someone's lap. She felt the warmth of lush skin beneath her, a scent of liquor, smoke, and something faintly sweet entering her senses.  She turned seeing the faint glow of a cigarette being laid to rest. The person under her shifted, the lights flickering back on, everything had happened so fast. She looked around noting the change in the room, others had been moved and paired at random. A scuffle at the bar had drawn some attention, the sound of glass shattering, followed by some yelling and then pounding. A woman's voice cut through claiming Cascades attention. The tone low, steady. "Hi there, you're quite warm." the woman offered gently.

A soft flush rose in her cheeks, this certainly wasn't what she had pictured for the evening. "Can I offer you a drink?" She didn't startle or pull away as most would when caught in the act of... whatever this was. She simply breathed in once- long, steady- and let it out along the woman's collarbone, like someone acclimating to warmth rather than apologizing for taking it. She turned slightly, carefully, just enough to lean back and meet the eyes of her new companion. A pair of striking purple eyes looked back at her, a wine glass in hand, gesturing her way.

Cascades voice, when it came, was hushed. Not shy. Just soft. "When I felt hands leading me in the dark, I hadn't expected them to drop me here. Not that I'm complaining...." She sighed softly, "A drink would be nice." She moved, adjusting and relaxing into the woman's lap, "If you want me to move, say the word and I shall." Until then she would stay, content and warm in the woman's lap. She crossed her legs, the fabric of her dress falling just right as she moved. She took the glass with a thankful nod, taking a sip. The slight tingle of the liquid on her tongue was a welcome sensation in the course of the evening. "Our host certainly made sure that the evening would prove eventful."

@Simmone

Edited 11 hours ago by Cascade

[Jomei 0]

"And I definitely owe you that guitar when we get out of here.”

But.. this was his guitar. 

The corner of his lips curved into a smirk. Obviously she was a bit flustered, torn between enjoying the evening and performing. Didn't matter how experienced she was, it came with the life. Jomei was very well aware of that. 

"He makes you happy? Then that's all that matters Go sing your song so you can spend some time with him, you've earned it." 

The ginger was left alone on the side of the stage as Lysette took to the spotlight once more. Holding up his instrument, he would dismiss it back into his inventory with a flash of white light. He watched from off stage, listening to Lysette's voice as she performed her last song for the night with a smile on his face. It had been far too long since he had performed in front of a crowd, let alone with another performer. The adrenaline of being on stage was a drug he didn't realize he missed, and he was still riding on that high. 

"Speaking of spending time with someone.." he'd say to himself, rubbing the palms of his hands together and peeking past the tied off curtains for Lessa. He was familiar with what she was wearing, her flowing blonde hair, the mask adorning her face. Yet, in the crowd, it was still difficult to pick her out. Perhaps it was his turn to seek, and her turn to hide. 

Before blending into the masses once more, Jomei looked to the light fixtures above. Anticipating another trick that would drag him off to another part of the club. Back with Oscar, with Lessa, or with someone random. He waited for a moment for the lights to cut out.. but the darkness never came. Guess Oscar didn't have any further need for Jomei's assistance, guess he could just -

And off went the lights. Of course.

Once the dark had dispersed once more, there she was standing in front of him. 

A smile painted on his face, he shook his head as he looked at Lessa. 

"Someone doesn't want to let us have our fun." A couple of small steps would close the distance between himself and the blonde. The tips of his fingers would delicately trace her jaw, tilting her chin upwards to meet her gaze. "We can make up for that now though." His face hovered in front of hers for a fleeting moment, "You're mine for the night now. And I'm yours." 

His lips would press into hers, with no interruptions this time. 

"I believe I owed you that.. after being rudely stolen away from you." One more peck of a kiss, "And that one's for me."

Pulling himself away, just to give them both enough breathing room, he would hold a hand out to her with palm facing the ceiling. "Still holding space for me?" 

@Lessa @Lysette

[Simmone 0]

Such an interesting twist of events, and the sounds of broken glass and undoubtedly a bar fight breaking out the floor just below them made the evening even more of a mystery. It was likely that some neanderthal had found themselves shoved out by some of the many wait staff that rushed about the place, likely some with a bit larger features and height to boot. Like the shaded men that had awarded Cascade into her lap not but a moment prior. Honestly their inclination to remain under guise spoke to just how often such things might occur, anonymity giving them the benefit of not gaining a second helping of trouble. The wine glass passed to her snuggle buddy, one thrust in the situation just as she had been. It would appear that they were almost acting like experiments, or perhaps that was half the allure of the club. To have your own inhibitions stripped from you like a piece of clothing, all the while given a mask to maintain a level of pride.

The sad thing was, Simmone couldn't even fault the reasoning. In here she wasn't bogged down by expectation or perception, in this place she was only The Black Cat. A playful and mischievous number for as long as that mask remained on she would remain as so. Some part of her held to that with a dire tough fist, to ease the requests and melt into relaxations. It had been far too long since she'd had the opportunity....

A pale white hand traces itself down an exposed shoulder of a darker complexion, like a child tip toeing down a hallway. Skin tender and hotter then hers, tracing markings that lingered on them like a paint brush to a canvas. "Quae via ad libidinem.... sanandam." The woman hesitates on the final word, a bit of a skill identifying the markings and very old studies layered under rust and dust from her college days. The woman was hardly multilingual, and more then likely butchered it she was certain. The woman dwarfed this girl both in age and experience, in height and features. The contrast of eyes and hair, of skin would become like water and slip away through the cracks. Instead that warmth and softness worked like an amplifier, where every breath, every smell threatened to turn the cat feral. As if this scene had eroded her resistance, and the deprivation was the only thing left. A want, quickly becoming a need. A hand reaches over @Cascade's shoulder, while the other arm slinks around her waist like a belt. A ball of yarn for the cat to play, as she's pulled in and offered just a simple reply.

"If you want to leave, I'll... oblige." The flushed and intoxicated expression on her face as a shoulder finds a space beneath her chin nesting her cheek upon it, spoken into the girls ear in low murmur. "But it could be fun, to let it all go. For but a single moment more. A single night..." With a heartbeat tapping against her chest, made wild by not only indulgence of alcohol but by flesh. "Stay, and make yourself comfortable. I certainly have."

[Scar 0]

The dark invitation felt almost unreal when he held it, as if the dying sunlight was being absorbed into the shadowed paper. The gold filigree sparkled faintly in the light when he turned it over, tracing the edges of the fancy lettering calling him. A Masquerade Ball. Tonight. The Blackbook.

After dusk was upon the city, Jack was at the door of the place, a grand hall made of glass and marble that reflected the moonlight into silver fragments. He once more pulled at the collar of the black suit that he had borrowed, its fabric still having the faint scent of cedar and old perfume. Even though the sleeves were a bit too long, the suit was a good fit for him. His boots were shiny but worn, and they seemed a little off together with the shiny marble floor.

Two men in the same formal dress were standing at the entrance. Each of them was holding a tray that was lined with velvet. On one side, there were a few deep, shiny black mask, subtly decorated with faint red lines that resembled veins under the surface. On the other side, the masks were white, feathered at the edges and sprinkled with slight traces of silver. "Sinful or Sainted?" the one at the left and right side of the gate said, his voice being courteous and professional.

Jack hesitated, glancing between the two trays. The black masks were calling him with their quiet power, maybe they were dangerous or simply charming, but still his hand moved to the other side. The «Sainted Mask» was much lighter than he had thought, and it was cool on his skin when he tied the slim ribbon behind his head.

The moment he stepped through the grand doors, the noise hit him all at once. The sound of the orchestral strings getting louder and the clinking of crystal glasses could be heard. The thousand reflections coming from the mirrored walls were the images of the masked and richly dressed players, who were like the stars moving in the sky under the chandeliers.

He had witnessed some parties before, but this was something beyond his imagination. Perfume and laughter filled up the air and it struck him as being extremely weird, to see so many faces, or rather half faces, all gathered in one place. People were doing the talking, dancing, and shining, while Jack, in his borrowed suit and mask, was standing there as if he had entered a story which was not his.

Jack was at the border of the crowd, taking a look at the place through the lens of his sight, and with a slight shove of his hands in his pockets. He wondered what the point of it was, why an event like this existed in a world that was still struggling to find its balance. But then again, perhaps that was the reason. Maybe people simply needed a night to forget the danger outside the walls.

Not knowing how to dance and not being willing to try it, he was in his own world as he moved to the side of a long table which was covered with exquisite platters. He smelled the roasting of the herbs, the freshness of the bread, and something buttery which he couldn't identify. Tiny, artful bites were arranged in rows, too small to be a meal, too perfect to resist.

He picked one up, glanced around as if expecting someone to stop him, and popped it into his mouth. To his surprise, it was delicious, something crispy, then soft, then disappeared. He kept taking one after another until the feeling of guilt came over him and he grabbed a glass of champagne.

The bubbles hit his tongue like starlight, sweet and sharp, and before he realized it, he downed the entire thing in one go. A faint burn lingered in his throat, and he exhaled, the corners of his mouth curling into an embarrassed grin.

On the other side of the room, dancers wearing masks moved gracefully to the music they were used to, the orchestra getting louder like a wave. Jack was against the closest post and was quietly thinking while watching. Despite all his discomfort, there was something wonderful about the disorder, something that was alive.

For tonight, at least, he wasn't a wanderer or a hired errand-runner. He was just another mask, like many others, caught up in the weird, sparkling rhythm of the Blackbook Ball.

* * *

Spoiler

Scar | HP: 140/140 | EN: 32/32 | DMG: 8 | MIT: 4

WC: 747

Edited 1 hour ago by Scar