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

[singthesong]

The Balladeer knows right away this is a dream, because he would never choose a costume like this.

It is a bit ironically fitting; he tugs away the black hood obscuring his face and studies the scythe in his hands with an incredulous snort. "Funny. Veeeery funny." It feels too heavy to be plastic, and suddenly he's not quite willing to test the blade. Maybe he should just keep this with him. He doesn't want just anyone running around with it.

Anyway, it'd be rude to clutter up the party! He's never been to a costume party before! The costume choice isn't enough to put him off, and he merrily wades into the ballroom, careful to avoid smacking anybody with the scythe tucked under his arm. There's dancing! And punch! This should be a fun dream!

i was very hesitant about tagging bc i know i am the worst at it

[i_jones]

Ditto on the costume choosing, although Ianto is dealing with it. He wouldn't have minded a longer cape, or maybe something a bit more, er, tailored to his form. He waves to the Balladeer from the snacks table and makes a beeline for him, balancing a plate of pecan pie. "Well that's cast rather a gloom over the evening, hasn't it?" he comments in an inexplicable and half-bad American accent, nodding to the get-up.

No worries I'm terrible

[singthesong]

Oh, good, a familiar face! The Balladeer brightens and waves as well. "Yeah, and the scythe's kinda awkward in a crowd," he agrees. "Hope I don't reap someone by mistake." It's not really heavy for someone used to toting a bunch of instruments around all day, but it's too long to keep track of all of it. He's probably hit at least five people in the shins with the end.

"At least you're colorful." Ianto's outfit is fairly ridiculous, but it's funny! Not all black and morbid! "How've you been?"

i think objectively i am worse but i appreciate you joining me under the bus

[i_jones]

Ianto looks a bit alarmed by the suggestion that the Balladeer might actually reap someone by mistake. Can that happen? Is this party slasher horror? He had assumed it was supernatural horror. Oh god, maybe it's cross-genre. Gothic exploitation horror or something.

"Yeah, well," he scoffs, plucking at the bodice of his costume. At least some mind had the courtesy of giving him black clothes underneath, because him stuffed into only a Red Riding Hood costume would not make for a fun party. "Been alright. Trying to keep myself occupied, but there's not a lot of busy work to be done in the TARDIS. And you?"

[omnomnom_feels]

Rashad bounds up to the black-clad figure, the hood of his pink hoodie flapping. "Have you tried the punch?" he exclaims in a rapid falsetto. "Because it's amazing!"

[singthesong]

...well, this is unusual. Luckily the Balladeer is extremely difficult to put off!

"Nope!" he replies, equally cheerful if not quite as energetic about it. He's pretty energetic in general, but he's not that up all the time. "Just got here a few minutes ago!"

[omnomnom_feels]

"Ohmygosh! That means you probably haven't even talked to anyone yet, or done any dancing, or seen the decorations --"

He can't stop. Really, he can't stop. Rashad grips the Balladeer by the arm and tries to steer him toward the snack table. "You have to try it, it's the best!"

[singthesong]

The Balladeer is entirely willing to be steered. "Sure!" he agrees readily. What a nice guy! Twisting a little, he offers his free hand. "I'm the Balladeer!"

[omnomnom_feels]

"I'm Nhodd!" beams Rashad, shaking his new friend's hand with gusto. "But you can call me Rashad Durant. Everyone else does!"

Wink. "Maybe later I can introduce you to all my friends! I just have to..find some friends...."

[singthesong]

"Good to meet you, Rashad!" The Balladeer returns the handshake with equal vigor. He's one to easily get caught up by enthusiasm, and it's definitely happening now.

Obviously such a friendly and outgoing person must have a lot of friends; the conclusion's obvious. "I'm sure they're somewhere around. There's just all these dream people - honestly it'd be easier if they didn't even show up." He'd have rather had a party with just the dreamers, where they could all find each other easily and hang out. Nothing against dream people; they're just not really people at all. Not great for conversation.

[omnomnom_feels]

"You really think so?" Well gosh, if the nice man thinks there are people waiting around to be Rashad's friends, it must be true! This place is not full of strangers and enemies; it is full of friends he just has not befriended yet!

"Well, it does make it seem more like a party when there are more people," Rashad points out. "Even if they are not real people."

[singthesong]

"True!" The Balladeer shrugs. "I really haven't been to all that many parties. I did see a parade one time..."

God, he really wishes all his stories didn't end in murder.

"They had a band! It'd be neat if they had one here too." He glances around for the source of the music, but nothing's visible. They must just be piping it in. Either that or it really is just coming from nowhere - dreams and all.

[omnomnom_feels]

"Oh! Ooh! I bet we could make a band!" Rashad practically bounces up and down with the force of his brilliant idea. Scratch that, he does bounce up and down, with no sign of stopping. "We just have to find instruments! And people! Real people, though, not the dream people. Unless you think they could play instruments...."

[singthesong]

"Maybe?" The Balladeer looks around speculatively. "If they were meant to be...dream musicians or something. But I can play, if we find instruments! I'd rather have one of those than this." He holds up the scythe a little, careful to keep an eye on the blade. That thing looks way too sharp for comfort.

[omnomnom_feels]

"I am pretty sure I can play an instrument," muses Rashad. He eyeballs the scythe, then gasps with sudden inspiration. "I know! We could make that into an instrument! Come on, let's find some string!"

[worth_it]

"Well, well, well," Draco drawls from his position atop Ecks's shoulders. "Isn't this cute." He looks down at the... man?... one elbow casually propped on Ecks's head so he can rest his chin in his hand, the other hand free for twiddly-fingered gesturing.

It actually is a rather intimidating get-up, but Draco refuses to be intimidated by anyone, especially now that he has his mighty steed new henchperson at his disposal.

"Are you trying to be a dementor?" He looks down his nose at the scythe, trying to divine its purpose. "You have the 'depressing' part down." Ha! Draco smirks, then glances down at Ecks, waiting for her to chime in.

[ecks]

"Hello," says Ecks, also eying the scythe. It's not entirely dissimilar to the one Gildon carries, and so she is reluctant to venture within its reach. Still, there are other possible reasons for a person to carry such an implement. "Are you a farmer?" she asks.

[singthesong]

.....is he being addressed?

The dark figure on the ground slowly lifts his head to look at the boy. There's nothing at all visible beneath that hood. Of course, that's probably just because it's a very good costume, right?

He stares silently for a minute, and then apparently dismisses him entirely, turning his attention to the other entity instead. What is this? Her flesh was dead, but isn't now. Fine; what happens with the shells afterwards isn't his concern. Her soul? She certainly doesn't seem to be someone returned to life improperly. A new life, made out of scraps of old bodies? His head cants faintly to the side, looking at her.

What is Death supposed to do with this?

[worth_it]

He doesn't mince words, does he? Draco refuses to be unnerved, his frown rearranging itself into a pout. It's no fun if they don't talk back.

"Perhaps it's a mime," he says, though his tone is more sulking than snide, now. Or perhaps it's just thick. The party isn't short of complete idiots, last he checked. Draco tries again, raising his voice and annunciating deliberately. "ARE YOU..." he points right at the person's lack of a face, "SUPPOSED TO BE..." he gestures towards the costume, "A DEMENTOR?"

[ecks]

Something is wrong here. Ecks openly stares at the hooded figure, logging minute details about its body language in the absence of facial expression and speech. The body looks likely enough to be an ordinary humanoid under the robes, no indication yet that it is anything more or less than a living person, but its attention is fixated on her, rather than Draco, for no reason she can immediately discern.

"I would like to see your face," she says quietly, her voice the same near-monotone it is when she doesn't make a spectacular effort to emote. To Draco, she adds without turning her head to look at him (he is, after all, leaning on it), "What is a dementor, exactly?"

[singthesong]

Get ready to be totally ignored a second time, Draco!

To be fair, the cloaked figure is also utterly ignoring Ecks; though he keeps staring at her, he doesn't move an inch, or do anything else to acknowledge that he heard her request. His stillness is a bit eerie.

He's not used to having to consider a person so closely. But he is nothing if not decisive. It doesn't take him long to make up his mind, and then he silently extends a hand towards Ecks, palm up, as if he were asking her to dance. He's not, of course. Just curious.

[worth_it]

"They guard Azkaban, the wizard prison," Draco explains a bit absently. He's used to having to remind his lackeys of the basics every now and again. "But he's not a real one. Obviously."

It's a disappointment when the figure utterly fails to respond to his jibe, and it's downright insulting when he reaches for Ecks. Excuse you, Mister Rubbish Dementor. First he has the nerve to ignore him, and now he's making some sort overture towards his henchperson? That will not stand.

"Let me down, Ecks," he orders magnanimously. Once his feet hit the floor, he swaggers between the stranger and Ecks and frowns up in the general vicinity of the hooded fellow's face. "What," he begins in a tone that suggests he won't be ignored again, "do you think you're doing?" He sneers at the outstretched hand, then lifts his gaze back to the faceless shadow beneath the hood. Then he gives the outstretched hand a deliberate, dismissive whap with the back of his palm.

Ignore that.

[ecks]

"Is that in the Eternal Empire?" asks Ecks, because that strikes her as the only place so organized as to have prisons, let alone one specifically for wizards. She blinks at the outstretched hand, shifting her weight slightly in preparation to free one of her own, but Draco preempts her with a command and generally takes over the situation once she's put him down.

She's not one to stand idly by, though, when he may be setting off a roll for initiative about to start a fight. Ecks tenses in split-second readiness, mind flashing through her options -- weapons absent, extracts absent. Best option: grab Draco and run if the figure attacks.

[singthesong]

The figure keeps right on ignoring Draco's words and actions - until the boy smacks his hand away. It's only then that he turns to look at him. He's tall enough to loom over Draco, but even from that perspective there's nothing visible beneath the hood.

Despite what he is, he's not generally used to conflict. People don't often strike him. It's such a small, petty thing; not one he wants to keep bothering him, but really not worth any trouble. Grip shifting to his scythe, he reaches out with the end to press Draco away.

Run along now, silly little mortal. He'll find you when it's time.

[worth_it]

An attack! Draco leaps nimbly backwards at the first sign of what could turn out to be a serious physical confrontation, then scurries around to hide behind his new henchperson.

"Ecks!" he cries out, as if the figure had drawn blood and not merely given him a light nudge. "Did you see what he tried to do to me?!" After a beat, during which it occurs to him that Ecks might not understand that swift retribution is required, he levels an accusatory finger at the cloaked mystery person and bellows, "SHAKE HIM!"