applesaucedream | 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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"Not a speaking one," Rashad admits, still put off balance by the creature's presence. Death is an odious form of entropy, but undeath is a violation of the established order of the world and is not to be tolerated.

"You do not look like a lich," he adds. "But you do not act like a zombie. What are you?"

Sans laughs, a low, amused chuckle, shutting both eyesockets. He's getting a kick out of this. Whoever this monster is, he's way behind on the times.

"i'm a skeleton."

As if to prove it, he opens his jacket a little wider, exposing his empty ribcage.

"see? i guess you could say," he winks again, cheekily, "you can see right through me."

How can this creature shut its eye sockets. Rashad has not detected any sign of eye lids. He finds himself leaning forward, then abruptly leans back again. He does not wish to inspect this creature more closely, let alone open himself to the possibility of physical contact.

"Yes," he says, not quite following the significance of the statement. "I would be capable of saying so. How are you animate? What necromancer spawned you?"

Sans hasn't stopped smiling as the monster starts looking more interested, then suddenly a whole lot less. He's not really sure he could stop smiling even if he tried, but he's not really interested when this is getting to be pretty entertaining. Is he spooking this guy out or what?

"nah. made of magic, just like every other monster out there." He studies the monster closely for a minute, thoughtful. "now it's my turn to ask a question: what kind of monster are you?"

Rashad draws in a harsh breath as the corners of his mouth turn down and his lips part in a snarl. "I am an angel of Heaven!" he snaps, forgetting that he ought to protest that he is human. "I am nothing like a monster!"

Woah, hey, looks like someone hit a nerve. Sans pulls his hands out from his pockets to lift them in an exaggerated shrug. If this monster's going for intimidating, he certainly has the stature for it - Sans is maybe half his height - but he keeps his composure, nonplussed as ever.

"cool it, big guy. i just mean you're not human. you're not, are you?"

Too late, he realizes that he has fallen into some kind of clever trap. It does not behoove him to reveal his true nature to all and sundry, though what else he could possibly remain to lose at this juncture he does not know. He growls at the little skeleton before he can think better of it, but slowly settles down into a more simmering form of anger.

"I told you," he says in a calmer voice. "I am an angel of Heaven."

"alright, yeah. sure you are," says Sans, in a placating tone that all but outright states that he doesn't believe about half the words that are coming out of this guy's mouth. Angels? Heaven? Please.

Of course, there were always words and prophecies, symbols carved on stone doors that liked the sound of his jokes, but he knows the difference between legend and reality. If angels were ever to come to the Underground, they sure as hell wouldn't look like this guy.

"so whenever you come across a problem," he continues amiably, "does that mean you just wing it?"

Rashad stares at him blankly, either not understanding the pun or refusing to understand the pun. "I approach all of life's problems systematically and in accordance with divine law," he ~~lies~~ explains far too calmly.

He still does not know what to make of this creature, but so long as it is not attacking him he will finally give it his full (if reluctant) attention. Looking the inexplicable skeleton up and down again, he asks, "If you are not undead, what hellbeast spawned you?"

Oh, good, he's got a real literalist here. Even funnier. Kinda weird, since he's not really used to getting this kind of absolute non-reaction to his jokes - Frisk might have been stone-faced but at least they bothered to acknowledge it and respond, most of the time - but he can make it work. It's kind of hilarious in its own way, minus all the effort of trying to actually be hilarious.

This guy is great. Whatever his deal is, he's great.

"hellbeasts went outta fashion years ago, buddy," says Sans, feigning a yawn. "i guess i was just born this way."

"You are a skeleton," Rashad points out, visualizing what the creature has just suggested and rejecting it as a biological and physical impossibility. "Skeletons cannot give birth, or be birthed, sans soft tissues. You are clearly a creature of the Pale. Tell me why I should not immolate you and send you back."

He is in a bad mood. The fact that he is always in a bad mood has no bearing on the matter.

"hey, look at that," says Sans, his grin unfailing. "you guessed my name. it's sans."

They've moved from hilarity to latent threats. Okay. Less hilarious. Sans subtly shifts tack.

"buddy." The threat is all but implied in stark opposition to this monster's straight menace. "you wanna reconsider what you're saying? cause if you don't..." He looks at the alleged angel steadily, but the friendly wink of lights in his eyesockets have gone out. Empty-hollow-eyed, bony smile stretched wide.

"i think you're gonna have a bad time."

As much subtlety as he lacks in his own bearing, Rashad is perfctly capable of picking up on the cues given by others. He narrows his eyes, hands twitching again in preparation for violence, but he does not make the first move.

"I am an angel," he reiterates yet again. "You would not be capable of putting an end to me."

"i wouldn't be so sure of that, pal."

In the next blink of an eyesocket he's normal again, unassuming as ever.

It's not like he wouldn't mind having to kick this guy around a bit - it's just that it sounds like an awful lot of work. And look at this, it's a party. Parties are for kicking back and not fighting with one another, unless your name happens to be Undyne.

Sans is reasonable. Even better, Sans is too lazy not to be.

"let's try this again. you guessed my name. what's yours?"

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

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