applesaucedream | The House was Awake with Shadows and Monsters [Open to All]

Current Music: October 22nd/23rd, 2013

The House was Awake with Shadows and Monsters [Open to All]

photo gothic halloween party_zpshzlnzwra.jpg

This might not be the first time a given dreamer has found themselves at a fancy party in a large mansion, and dressed in something they wouldn't typically wear. If the architecture is more gothic than usual, well, that could just be a coincidence… but it's probably no coincidence that the dreamers are all wearing Halloween costumes that they decidedly did not pick themselves. 'Tis the season! They might look fancy, they might look slapdash; either way, it shouldn't be too difficult for the dreamers to figure out who - or what - they're supposed to be.

The evening's festivities are centered around a grand ballroom. Music is emanating from somewhere or other, and numerous chandeliers are aglow with warm candlelight. Tables line the perimeter, and they're piled with seasonal snacks and bowls of punch. If dancing isn't your thing, there's a whole mansion and extensive grounds to explore.

Those who venture forth will notice that the farther they wander from the party, the less friendly things seem. Tidy rooms with fires in the hearths will give way to dark, dusty corridors and neglected spaces. Manicured lawns grow into tangled hedges. As the music fades out of earshot, the house's settling groans and the hiss of the wind through the ivy will be impossible to ignore.

(It was just the house, wasn't it? Sure it was. It was probably your own footsteps that made that floorboard creak, too. And that rustle on the other side of the hedge was just a rabbit.)

All things considered, it might be more comfortable to just stay in the ballroom, where it's warm and cheerful and there are plenty of snacks. A note about the snacks, though: the dreamers will find that the more punch they consume, the more their own identities seem to fade away in favor of a persona more in line with their costumes. A dreamer dressed as a tiger might find themselves inclined to hide behind a curtain and pounce on passersby. A dreamer dressed as a mummy might adopt a stiff-legged gait and dole out a curse or two. A dreamer dressed as a robot might start speaking binary.

At least no one will actually turn into anything. That would just be embarrassing.

The good news is that eating any of the available food will counteract the punch's effects, so it's possible to have a fine time and still keep ahold of yourself. But what's the fun in that?

[ooc: the usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, whether they've been apped to the game or not. Characters can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Any punch-drinking dreamers will take on the personality characteristics - and potentially the magical/supernatural capabilities - of whatever or whoever they're dressed as, though their physical appearance will remain the same.]

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[[ hello, I stumbled across your rp a while ago and have been thinking of apping ever since. So, mind if I cut in? ]]

The dress she's stuck in - silver, floaty, and completely wrong for her preferences - makes Kate wriggle and stand awkwardly to the side of everyone walking by. She doesn't even notice, until she passes a mirror, that every part of her flesh and hair has been whited out and that her dress is decidely more... ethereal than she realised. The folds of the skirt shimmer in the light until she almost looks like some form of spectral illusion.

A ghost, her brain echoes as she drags her eyes away from the mirror and towards the grand hall that sets the stage for tonight. Fancy - the kind of fancy she's only ever been exposed to when someone needs monitoring as a suspect of some kind of supernatural ability - and completely... and utterly not her.

At the very least, Kate knows this isn't something she's getting paid for, so the urge to hide in the corner and observe peters out, replaced by a notion that drink would be excellent. With an entire table there, filled with food and punch, there's no reason not to indulge.

So she has a glass. And another. And her brain fogs and suddenly the only acceptable idea is to grab a passer-by's glass and float it in mid-air, because - hey - no one can see her, right?

"Boo," she drawls, hoping to see her victim jump with surprise.

[[ also crashes because YES and p.s. I'm so sorry ]]

The young man whose drink has just been stolen leaps back with a great deal of wild, indignant flailing. In the process, his own costume is revealed: a small, equine backside is strapped to his waist, making him an ill-proportioned centaur. If he'd had a chance to really get into the punch, his reaction might have been a bit more graceful and calm. As it is, the boy turns bright red with adolescent fury.

"How dare you!" he bellows in a dubious accent, patting where his pockets ought to be and scowling when he finds himself lacking pockets entirely. Where is his wand? He'll have to make do with bluster. "Return my drink at once," he orders with an imperiously outstretched hand, "or my father shall hear of this!"

[[ never be sorry! although I shall be, weekend got stupid busy. ]]

That, admittedly, was more fun than Kate expected. In fact, the urge to torment this... centaur? Or did the kid just lose the other half of his costume? - seemed to come from deep within her stomach; a desire she never usually indulged outside of the occasional prank on friends. With a tilt of her head and a grin, the drink is returned...

... unfortunately, it's returned by Kate tipping it over his head.

"Whoops," she singsongs, layers of wispy material fluttering and floating their way back down to her side as Kate lowers her arms... and drops the glass.

(Being ~~what she thinks is~~ invisible? Kinda fun.)

Draco stiffens, shoulders hunched and eyes wide as punch drips down his formerly perfect platinum blonde hair. He's met his fair share of ghosts before, some more uppity than others, but this one really takes the cake for Worst Ghost Ever.

"I don't believe that was an accident at all." He scowls in the general vicinity of the mostly-transparent girl as he scrapes at his hair. "This sort of tomfoolery would never be allowed at Pigfarts," he sulks. "Rumbleroar would oust you in a trice."

"... Didn't understand a word of that, love," comes the reply, Kate's hand scrunching up her now grey-appearing hair. The hell was a Pigfarts or a Rumbleroar, and why would being ousted be a concern of hers? All that matters now is-

(Where IS she?)

Fun. And this kid was providing loads of it.

"Lighten up, have a drink." Kate, the reason the kid hasn't drank is all your fault, but never mind. "Hands off, I swear."

"Of course you wouldn't," Draco sniffs. He's just assuming she's some minor Hogwarts ghost he's never met before, and few people at Hogwarts, dead or alive, seem to be all that familiar with Pigfarts. Only the highest caliber wizards are aware of the Martian institute, which is exactly as it should be. Not that it doesn't stop Draco from name-dropping the place to almost everyone he meets.

"Pigfarts is a much better school than Hogwarts, and Rumbleroar is the headmaster. He's a lion... that can talk." And, presumably, rough up any mischievous poltergeists such as this one. Draco raises his eyebrows at the ghost, waiting for her to be suitably impressed.

Impressed? Well, thinking you're insane is kind of a type of impressed, maybe? Kate's translucency ebbs a bit more - solidity returning, the urge to prank and torment not nearly as loud and irresistible as before. Instead, she pushes her hair back and blinks. "Great. You're still talking nonsense though." At least, to her. Maybe someone else at this party knew more about what this kid was on about.

... Or maybe he just had a bit too much of that punch already. Who knew.

"... A talking lion sounds like a pretty cool headmaster though." Certainly better than a plain old human headmaster. Would have made schooldays more interesting, if you ask Kate. She can't blame the kid for daydreaming.

His eyes narrow incrementally, but he supposes this is as good a response as he can hope for from whatever rubbish ghost this is. Just to demonstrate how little he cares for her or her opinion, Draco strides right through her en route back to the snack table. There's an unpleasant shock of cold as his shoulder clips through her, and his steps falter as if she has the consistency of something like honey, but he grunts and gives himself a little heave, and then he's free and striding onward as if nothing happened. See? Easy.

"As I said," Draco says as he makes a show of perusing the table's contents, "he wouldn't let you anywhere near the place." He has his cubs to think about, after all. This ghost would only upset them. "I don't suppose he could kill you, seeing as that's been done," he muses, building a little sandwich out of crackers, cheese, and neat little slices of pepperoni, before concluding: "He'd have to do a hexorcism."

Mako is not really sure what it is she's wearing, and a few minutes of thoughtful inspection hasn't proven to be deeply informative. If it were blue, she might have guessed it were some form of kaiju, one of the many cheap costumes that arose in the PPDC's golden age, but the odd color and shape of the lumpy outfit has left her rather puzzled.

Still, she rationalizes to herself, it is a step up from being forced to confront a winged, fire-breathing lizard. Discerning dreams from reality has become easier, as Raleigh - as Mako thought it might.

This may be a dream, but she is intent on exploration regardless, testing the boundaries of the swooping balustrades, the well-tended lawns, the curving cobbled passageways of the mansion. She is sure, however, to stay within the light. She has not made a habit of breaking the dreams' established rules, and she would not like to start doing so now.

When she returns to the central room with its warm glow and pleasant buzz of other voices, she retrieves a glass of the pinkish punch absentmindedly - and nearly gasps when the glass slips from her hand and suspends itself in the air.

"Hello?" she says sharply, scanning her surroundings but finding no one culpable. Still, she quite clearly heard someone say 'Boo'.

She advances a step, painfully aware of how difficult it is to seem remotely intimidating while clad in a cartoonishly lumpy purple costume.

Still, she fires another inquiry into the apparent empty air. "Who's there?"

[[ A+ costume choice, I lol'd. Sorry for the delay, my weekend got weirdly booked up. ]]

Standing just to Mako's side, Kate can't quite suppress the snort of amusement at the sight of the woman trying to look anything but ridiculous in her costume. That punch clearly had a bit too much alcohol in it, because Kate's reservations, her usual behaviour seems a cage she's long broken out from and escaped, running miles away until fun and pranks are all that matter.

Like a child, Kate grabs the tail of the costume and swings it side to side, wagging away. No words leave her lips, but as she leans over to do it, Mako may just feel the light exhale of someone's breath close to her shoulder.

Mako sucks in a tight breath in alarm as the clunky tail to her costume starts wagging on its own. She tenses. Her first guess would be this is the result of something related to the Rift, but she can't guess what that might be. Ghosts? Something more?

Then she feels the tickle of breath on her shoulder. Do ghosts need to breathe? Seeing as this would be her first encounter with one, she can't entirely say for sure.

"Who's there?" she tries again, doing her best to hold still despite the soft hush of her costume's tail being swept back and forth without any visible impetus.

This certainly tickled Kate's funny bone, enough to make her continue playing with the tail. Seriously, that punch? Way too effective, because her inhibitions lay forgotten on the floor as her invisibility lets up, just a bit - and who knows if that's the punch wearing off or Kate's conscious choice, because even she seems a little surprised. "Just me. What did you expect, a ghost?" And she drops the tail with a quick flutter of the layers of her sleeves, offering the half-cock of a smirk that was supposed to be a grin.

"I don't know," says Mako, uneasy. She doesn't know what to expect anymore, not when her landlord is an archangel and she's still got too many ghosts living in her head.

That stops being a problem when the culprit materializes. She looks human and normal enough, but then again, so does Gabriel. Mako looks at her dubiously, stepping back.

It is unexpectedly hard to feel anything other than intimidated in this costume.

"Are you human?" she asks quietly. Perhaps an odd question to start with, but better to play it safe.

"Think so," Kate replies, brushing down her dress. On the other hand, now that she can half see through herself... "Used to be, anyway." And she sure doesn't feel dead, for one. That make-up created line across her throat, as if she'd been hanged, might not help the idea of her being a very, very live human. "Just had a drink, and..." She shrugs, trailing off, her sentence unended as she draws her eyes to Mako's costume.

"Aren't you supposed to be scary?" Her eyes linger on the tail for a moment too long.

Used to be. That's...ominous. Still, the costume does actually look like a costume, and not something more.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be," she admits, reaching up to tug lightly at the costume's big, purple hood. "I thought maybe a kaiju, but they don't look like this."

She doesn't explain what a kaiju might be. Some things are more pressing.

"I've never seen you here before," says Mako with a faint crease darkening her brow. "Are you new?"

Ominous, but not entirely untrue. Kate's not exactly sure what a half-spectral form counts as, really. It's not something they taught at The Agency, largely because ghosts were regarded as nonsense by the superhuman community.

"You look like - shit what's it called..." Kate Galloway, unfriend of all children. "Bongo? Something like that. Kids dinosaur." Some friendly concept from enough years ago that the memeory is just a purple dinosaur and a vague tune.

That question leaves Kate with a pause, and she slowly nods. "I guess so. Nothing about this seems familiar."

"Bongo," she repeats skeptically. It doesn't sound familiar, though if it was something for kids, in all likelihood, it happened long before her time. She has grown used to the knowledge that her timeline seems to have advanced far beyond most of those she has come across.

"You haven't recently - come across an alternate version of Manhattan, have you?" she asks, tentative. It's an odd question out of context, but it would help to be sure.

"Er..." That... Isn't a question she expected, and Kate's face betrays the sudden surprise - widened eyes, rapid blinking, tense mouth. "Haven't even been to the real one, so no. Why?" A questuin like that isn't something that happens every day, nor is the way Kate's body slowly, slowly keeps growing more corporeal. The punch wearing off minute after minute, but so gradual that the girl-turned-ghost doesn't notice the way she becomes slightly more vivid, the way her hair slowly regains colour.

So she isn't a rifty. Or at least, not yet. Mako remembers the scattered dreams in which she was drawn into this strange universe, where people were trapped in that sprawling metropolis and warned her it might happen to her, too.

"It's important. I had to ask," says Mako, sadly. "There's a Rift in spacetime, and it seems to like drawing people there - here. In Manhattan. It's where I am now."

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The House was Awake with Shadows and Monsters [Open to All]

kate galloway. oc. open obvs.

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well dw thanks for the lack of a notif :P

More like thanks work for keeping me from tagging oyyy

eyyy

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