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

[applesaucemod]

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.]

Comments

[worth_it]

Draco scoffs down at the struggling muggle. It's not very nice of him, and he probably shouldn't be discussing magic with a muggle at all, but he can just erase his memory or something later.

"Oh, I don't know," he says with exaggerated nonchalance, examining his fingernails. "I guess if you don't count defeating the Dark Lord as important, then no, I haven't done much of anything." He plants his hands on his hips, striking a bold pose. "All in a day's work for one of the greatest young wizards ever."

[grabme]

What.

"You're bluffing," says Wheatley, nervously, because that does sound dreadfully important and he may or may not have just gotten on the bad side of someone who's very on the - advanced side of things. "You're bluffing, aren't you, right proper liar, you are - oh, oh no, no, you're not bluffing at all, are you? You're not, are you. You're not."

He blanches.

[worth_it]

It's nice, being able to look down at someone without having to stand on a bench or be lifted into Goyle's arms, first. Draco preens. "It's all true," he confirms with a toss of his head. "I am... a hero."

His brow furrows as he takes in the muggle's get-up. "What are you supposed to be?"

[grabme]

"I'm - " he begins hotly, all familiar bluster, and promptly deflates. "I'm a core," says Wheatley, semi-listlessly. "I'm - I maintain things. Important things!"

He's insisting it aloud for the other man's benefit as much as it is for his own, but it isn't doing any good. It's all rather moot, isn't it? Lost his job, lost any sort of professional credibility, then catapulted into a whole other universe right on top of it. He's never been a hero, or an accomplisher, or anything of the sort. He just makes a right bloody mess of things.

Wheatley gets himself into a sitting position and then has no idea where to go from there. In the case that he tries to stand, he's a bit worried he might just end up flat on his back again.

[worth_it]

"A core," Draco repeats, wrinkling his nose dubiously. "Is that some sort of magical creature?" He knows most of them, of course, but Hagrid was a rubbish professor. He probably forgot some. "I suppose you're half of a manticore," he says with a guffaw, pleased by his own cleverness. "The bottom half." He's hilarious.

[grabme]

"A what?" He looks around him in a brief bout of terror. "Where? How? I'm not - I work in maintenance. I'm, you know, employee of the old Enrichment Center. For Testing. You know."

He cups his hands in a rough ball shape, hoping this might jog something. "A core. Personality core? Made to - well, never mind what I was made for, all that matters is that you're just some smelly human and I don't - I don't have to listen to you, now, do I?"

There's a tremor in his voice as he says it. The man is magical. A wizard! Challenging him over something isn't, possibly, one of his best ideas.

Then again, he wasn't built to have good ideas.

[worth_it]

Most of what he's saying is muggle rubbish, but Draco understands 'employee' and 'maintenance' well enough to draw his own conclusions. His father told him about how muggles have janitors, which are little more than house elves who have the temerity to expect payment. And he touched him! Disgusting.

He's in the process of striding magnificently away when the muggle janitor calls him a smelly human, and that--that cannot stand. He may not technically be completely human, but he smells nothing short of delightful, thank you very much. Draco freezes in his tracks, then slowly wheels about to glare daggers at the man. "How dare you," he snarls. "You're nothing but a muggle servant, and I am from one of the greatest wizarding families in all of Britain!"

He'll show him. Draco starts checking his pockets. His wand must be in here somewhere. "Just you wait," he says as he pats at his thighs. "As soon as I find my wand, you are in for a world of pain."

[grabme]

"Muggle servant?" Wheatley blusters, outraged. He is neither of those things - or, rather, reasonably sure he is neither of those things, though he's not really quite certain what either of those things are, exactly?

"You're lying," he postures wildly. "Right bluffing, that's what you are. Can't hurt someone like me, no sir, not with whatever...hoof getup it is you're wearing. That, sir, is a - well it's - it's a rubbish costume, how d'you think of that?"

[worth_it]

Draco puffs up like a furious cat - which, given his diminutive stature, still doesn't make him all that large, but it's the thought that counts. "I," he begins, whirling in a circle, "am a magnificent," he executes a graceful caper that would make Daddy proud, "centaur!" He leaps, lands next to this unforgivably rude muggle, plants a foot on his shoulder, and shoves. "They are the most beautiful creatures in the Forbidden Forest, and I have lived among them and learned their ways!"

And there's really only one way a proper centaur would respond to such an insult. Draco points a finger right at the man's nose.

"I challenge you to a dance-off."

[grabme]

"A what?" Is that supposed to explain anything? His understanding of earth animals is paltry at best given the vast file reduction that occurred shortly after his eviction from the Enrichment Center premises, but he can hardly be blamed for that.

Never mind the horrifying consequences of trying to dance in that absurd costume, but what sort of person goes around challenging people to dance?

Wheatley scoffs loudly.

"Y-yes," he says, valiantly trying to sound more certain of himself than he is. "Absolutely. Solid plan, I should think. Nothing - nothing better than a, uh, than - a dance...dancing."

[worth_it]

"On your feet, then," Draco orders. Realizing he might have a long wait before that happens, and not about to offer assistance, he strides a few paces away and makes a show of stretching. He doubts he'll need to limber up all that much to beat this fellow, but it can't hurt.

"Feel free to bow out," he says with a smirk. "It would be such a shame if you hurt yourself." No, it wouldn't.

[grabme]

"Bowwwww out?" A few minutes of precarious wobbling has him, fittingly enough, on his feet, but that doesn't make that little phrase any less perplexing.

"Like - like so?" Wheatley hazards, dipping the upper half of his body in a clumsy, experimental bow.

[worth_it]

Dear god, this is almost too easy. Draco watches with naked disbelief as the man attempts a bow. "I'm sorry," he says, making an idiot-encompassing gesture towards him, "was that a surrender? You do realize that's what 'bow out' means...?"

Or doesn't he? Draco's beginning to suspect that it would be unsportsmanlike to challenge him to a dance-off at all when the man has all the coordination of a newborn cow, but on the other hand, the muggle insulted him, and the entire centaur race.

[grabme]

"Surrender?" He looks at the man in utter bafflement. "Why did you say so? You're not very good on the clarifying front, now, are you?"

He hesitates, attempting to shrink into himself and failing utterly.

"Would that, um, surrendering, that whole bit - would it - hurt?" he asks tentatively.

[worth_it]

"You're not very good on the 'understanding simple metaphors' front," Draco fires back, too amused by the muggle's idiocy to be upset over the attempted jab. "Perhaps you might be more interested in 'throwing in the towel' or 'chickening out' or 'getting cold feet.'"

He paces around the man, hands on hips, tiny horse bottom bobbing behind him. "It would only hurt your pride," Draco says. "Assuming you have any."

[grabme]

"Then, ah, in that case, I'll, I'm - I'm more or less - content to be where I am, thank you, not much one for the dancing and the, um, the surrendering and, and what-not. So what say we just call it a, um, a good old-fashioned draw, how's that sound?"

He regards the other man hopefully.

[worth_it]

Draco's paces slow as he looks up at the man. "I suppose I might be willing to spare you," he says, planting his hands on his hips. "But only if you apologize for insulting the noble centaur race, and admit that I am the best dancer in the room."

[grabme]

"Fine!" he snaps, wholly ungracefully. He's really just not eager to be engaging in any confrontation of the sort! "I apologize for that - on the behalf of - you're a right fantastic dancer, are you bloody happy?"

[worth_it]

"You know," Draco says with a grin, "I am." See? Putting muggles in their place is easy. Daddy would be ever so proud if he could see Draco now.

He waves a hand imperiously and says, "Now, be off with you." Then, without waiting to see whether the muggle actually retreats or not, he leaps back onto the dance floor.