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]

What.

What.

What is this.

He makes a grab for the scythe, but misses and rocks back uncertainly on his heels. Even without listening in, he's got an instinct that he doesn't want to challenge this one too far. Besides, he doesn't fight people. No one tries; no one can. Should it even be possible for someone to just take that from him?

This is making his head hurt. He can't quite wrap his mind around it. Something is wrong. Abruptly, he holds out his hand. Getting the scythe back will make things better. Give it back.

[andhiswife]

Greta's not entirely following (what's a combine harvester?), but the casual air with which Gabriel takes the scythe is reassuring. Without that weapon in hand, the cloaked figure looks a great deal less intimidating. Their evident bewilderment helps, too. All traces of their former, chilly resolve are gone, now, replaced by uncertainty and even petulance. The way they thrust their hand out, they might just as easily be a child demanding a biscuit.

Her spine straightens, and her hands shift to her hips. She has officially had enough with being terrified. If the figure wasn't still significantly taller than she was, she'd be tempted to dart forward and snatch that dratted hood right off of their head.

"I think someone's had too much of the punch," she says dryly. "It's been making people forget themselves." She's inclined to be forgiving - goodness knows she had a few too many, and she can't even say she refrained from menacing people while she was under the influence (though she carried her mischief out by proxy). But if anyone ought to stay in their right mind under these circumstances, it's someone kitted out as Death.