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

[altitude]

[[ 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.)

[worth_it]

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."

[altitude]

"... 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."

[worth_it]

"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.

[altitude]

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.

[worth_it]

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."