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]

"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!"

[ecks]

Draco is fortunate that he is quick enough to dodge away from both the scythe and from Ecks's grasp, as she was entirely prepared to pick him up and bolt. She rather thinks she would have preferred her own course of action to what he next commands her to do, but she did promise to obey him.

Readying herself to dodge away if the being slips from her attempted grasp and retaliates, she steps forward with a vaguely apologetic look in her eyes and attempts to take the hooded figure by the shoulders and do what she is told. "I don't think this is wise," she says as she goes.

[singthesong]

This is a day of new experiences.

No one has ever dared try to manhandle him before. He's not afraid - there's no way he could really come to harm - but neither is he inclined to let himself be tossed about. Swinging the scythe about, he takes a step back and tries to use it to bat the amalgam's arms away. With the blunt end, of course. He's got too much respect for the job to ever risk harming someone before their time.

[worth_it]

This won't do at all. Draco scowls as the hooded figure attempts to fend off Ecks instead of just submitting to the torture he so richly deserves. Why does he have to be so uppity?

Then again, Draco hasn't missed the way the fellow keeps using the blunt end of the scythe. Maybe it's only a prop, or maybe he just isn't inclined to use it as a real weapon. Either way, it gives Draco enough courage to leap forward and wrap his arms around the handle. A moment later, his legs follow suit, and he clings to the scythe like a koala.

"Ha!" he cries triumphantly, for all that it's a constant struggle to not slip right down to the floor. "Shake him now, Ecks!"

[ecks]

He won't have any more luck hitting her with even the blunt end than she did grabbing him by the shoulders. Ecks's arms seem to sort of flow out of the way with uncanny precision each time it comes close to touching her. She can't both dodge and grab at the same time, however, so the two are locked in awkward non-combat (an anti-slap fight, if you will) until Draco takes matters into his own hands.

And then there is a clear opportunity. "I still don't think this is wise," she sighs, even as she moves once more to obey.

[singthesong]

...why is this happening to him?

When becoming incorporeal doesn't work (and he does try), he gives the scythe a shake to try and dislodge the child. Does he have some kind of death wish? That's all well and good if he does - it's not his business to care - but harassing actual Death is a completely inappropriate way of dealing with that.

It could be someone upset about a dead loved one, of course. That's a little more common. It's just that usually they come in yelling about whoever they want back.

Maybe if he just uses his foot to slide the child off.

[worth_it]

From the sounds of generalized affrontery Draco makes, one might think it was his scythe and that he had every right to be there. He mulishly tightens his grip as the fellow shakes it, refusing to be dislodged.

Then, as the stranger tries to scrape him off, he threatens, "I'll--I'll bite you!" Sans wand, it's the only real weapon Draco has at his disposal. He cranes his neck in a creditable attempt to bite the chap's ankle as he waits for Ecks to do his bidding, already. Good help is so hard to find.

[ecks]

Ecks is fairly sure that obeying Draco implicitly includes protecting Draco from harm. As she grips the hooded figure's shoulders and firmly shakes him (or, depending on how heavy and/or strong he is, shakes herself), she reflects that her orders do not explicitly include protection, and that Draco has very clearly made his life choices re: latching himself on to deadly weapons wielded by dangerous strangers.

"Is there an end goal I am meant to be trying to accomplish beyond simply shaking him?" she asks, though of course Draco's mouth is likely full at the moment.

[singthesong]

As intimidating as the hooded figure can occasionally be, Ecks will find that he's actually pretty skinny beneath that heavy cloak. So yes, he is the one being shaken.

It doesn't hurt so much as it startles him. How dare she? Draco will probably find those thick boots a little much to gnaw through; he also might find it rather painful as one of them lashes out hard this time. He's been very patient with all this, but he's just about had enough.

[worth_it]

What sort of question is that? Draco cranes his head back so he can give Ecks a startled look. "Torture, of c--" is as far as he gets before the figure kicks him, hard, and he's jarred loose. He slides back with more momentum than the kick really should have given him; it's possible he gives himself an extra shove with his hands for added dramatic effect.

"How dare you?!" he blusters, propping himself up on one elbow and bringing his other hand to his face so he can press his fingertips to his nose. "Am I... am I bleeding?" He looks at his fingertips, eyes widening when he spies redness. "I'm bleeding!" This is unacceptable. This hooded monster must pay. "Shake him harder!"