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The Big Applesauce Moderators ([personal profile] applesaucemod) wrote in [community profile] applesaucedream2013-06-29 05:04 pm

Paper Faces on Parade

The residents of Manhattan will once again find themselves drawn into the currents of the rift when they sleep tonight. Once again, too, the rift is drawing in people from other worlds, both those who might one day find themselves pulled through in waking life and those who might yet escape its grasp.

Tonight, it seems, a celebration is in order. The ballroom of a country manor is the setting for tonight's gathering. Wood and marble gleam in the gas lighting, and a bar at one end of the room provides the, ahem, social lubricant some guests may require. At the other end, a staircase leads to a walkway that runs the entire parameter of the room, allowing guests to watch the dancing from above. While the party is localized in the ballroom, who knows what secret passages and hidden ways a grand old house like this one might conceal?

Those who appear here will find themselves wearing a disguise on arrival. Should the rift cause one to appear in a costume not of their liking (as it is fairly likely to do), an enormous wardrobe can be found through a door near the bar. In it, guests will find a seemingly infinite assortment of costumes and masks of all sizes and varieties ready for their use.


[Mod note: Usual dream-party rules apply. Both members and non-members are welcome to use any character, be they already in the game or no, and players can choose whether to have their characters remember this in the morning.]
theoldgirl: (:|)

[personal profile] theoldgirl 2013-07-06 11:01 am (UTC)(link)
As during the original conflict, she does actually feel chastised for a moment being reminded that Peter is just a small, scared human. It hadn't been strictly necessary, he's no Zagreus who can't possibly be tolerated, perhaps she should have been better than that. But where her conviction falters, the hurt of being treated like this by someone she'd come to like so much so quickly is there to pick up the slack when he laughs and acts like she needed his permission to do as she sees fit.

She's been in close enough contact with his mind to know that his facial expressions have a tendency to not line up with his emotions, particularly when they change so fast, but she's too upset now to care about whatever's behind the mask, or about his stupid cookies. It's good that he's leaving, she tells herself; she wants nothing more to do with this mess, is done feeling like this. "I hope not," she tells his retreating back, quiet and bitter.