|
|
F.A.Q. ♦ RULES ♦ PLOT ♦ FACE CLAIM ♦ CANON SPECIFICS ♦ BIO FORMAT ♦ CANONS ♦ DEATH TO MARY SUE! ♦ BELIEFS ♦ EVENTS |
|
JOLY Technicolor-Werewolf SISTER SITES  
 |
| The Sea of Smiles; dans l'Opera Garnier | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Jun 22 2009, 10:23 AM (1,884 Views) | |
| Erical | Jun 27 2009, 03:25 AM Post #21 |
Leader of the Surete
|
A la, the lights. The dancing and music, eh? Odile moved slowly, aware that none of the gloriously drunken chandeliers with their drips of diamonds and their long glittering chains of light looked half as well as she. Her dress cupped her in black lave and a deep green satin that set off her hair to perfection. A rose encased in green and gold, with her diamonds set like dewdrops on her hair. The fabric skirted across the floor as she walked carefully towards the entrance. It was an effort to hide the slight limp caused the previous night. A bird of paradise, oui? With a broken wing. Mais non, what could be more poetic? The men would die of love, and the women of jealousy. She would be the queen of the masque, her face half-covered in gold and peacock feathers, and her hair dripping diamond tears. She would be happy. Always happy. The dancing princess with her shoes worn out by the end of the night. And the king never to know, oui? Vidocq When one had the reputation of a man with a thousand faces, a masque was hardly a challenge. Vidocq, Eugene Francois Vidocq - greatest detective mind in the history of the world - had decided not to even try. His suit was simple but elegant, sheer black from head to toe with a flurry of crisp white around his neck and a little red at the cuffs. His mask was black as well, and his red-brown hair had been combed back into a tidy cue. Nevertheless, he had pinned to his chest the wolf's head symbol of the Surete, leaving little question as to whom he really was. All the deities of Paris were in the ballroom, their eyes filled with the stars of passion, alcohol, and delight and their heads filled with the giddy mix of supposed mystery and pretended innocence. Gene recognised a few as he scanned the crowd. Ah - Judge Turpin. Mental note, Gene my boy, avoid the vulture in the corner with his little dove of a prisoner, eh? And there was that charming barber fellow, unless he was very much mistaken. The names rolled out, Madame Giry from the opera, a few of her young pupils, some of his street-wise friends who had no doubt avoided the men at the door in hopes of the rich pickings to be found in drunken pockets... Perhaps he should have brought his wife. Her health was not good, but she did enjoy music. And if she were here she would not be sitting at home imagining him engaging in ungentlemanly activities with young actresses. Such suspicions were very bad for her. Suddenly irritated with the pretense, and annoyed that no one had noticed him yet, Vidocq strode over the floor in search of his barber. Now there was a man who talked sense. |
 |
 
|
| PqA | Jun 27 2009, 03:04 PM Post #22 |
Agent
|
Bahorel ((Meh, I'm sorry for the shortness.)) The poor girl didn't seem to know how to respond. He smiled, somewhat devilishly. And pulled her alluringly into the crowd. "My name," he said, in a deep baritone, "is Lebeau." He pulled her in close to him, twirling her, and his waiting hand met hers. Merde, those lessons had paid off in the end. He began to waltz. "M'sieur Lebeau." He didn't have the slightest notion of why he'd chosen that name at all. It wasn't the name of anyone famous. It wasn't even that glamorous. It had simply struck him as the proper name to use. ((Was that Godplaying? *glances*)) Leverett He probably looked somewhat like a dog chasing his tail... His cape was so magnificently... well, heroic. Wide red and green stripes running vertically down his back matched his suit which was colored similarly, but with slightly smaller striping complimented his green mask and red hat. His buttons were silver and matched the wolves head pin which he wore proudly on his wide red collar. Unfortunately he didn't much have anyone to show off to... But he could take in the splendor of it all. He wandered around somewhat aimlessly, wide eyed, and mouth somewhat (he was ashamed to realize,) agape. |
|
|
|
| Liza | Jun 27 2009, 04:03 PM Post #23 |
 
|
[ooc: d'ohhhhh liza hopes this works okay. XD] This was going to go well. Was it sad that she had to tell herself that? That she had to reassure herself? Perhaps, perhaps not. Regardless, it would go well. It would be... good for him. Yes, it was good for him to get out of that dreary room above her shop for one night. She was doing him a favor by bringing him here - of whether or not he acknowledged it that way Lovett was uncertain. However, nothing had gone wrong so far. Maybe, by the slimmest chance, he might even find something to interest himself. However not someone, because she covered that area, and hopefully rather sufficiently. The tremendous amount of masks and gowns nearly made her dizzy, but gave her a rather giddy rush of adrenaline as well. She felt like a child, like her attention was captured by thousands of different things all at once. The music, the swishing of the fabric of skirts, the laughter and other sounds of chit-chat. For a moment she'd wondered if she'd found where she truly belonged; in her best gown, curls unrestrained - unlike how they were pinned most of the time - amidst the socializing and thriving society of Paris, instead of behind a counter covered in flour or in a bakehouse dissecting a corpse. How droll and absurd that was compared to the life that dwelled here. Really, who would choose that? Ignoring the fact that she evidently had, it made her contemplate her satisfaction with life running a business, and playing the role of an accomplice to murder on the side. "Well," she began quietly, or as quietly as one could be to be heard above the nonsensical chatter (that she would undoubtedly soon be a part of) and music, "this isn't so bad, is it?" It was going to be pleasant. And it was going to be a night to remember, most definitely. It would be grand. Her companion's outlook on this event, on the other hand, she was unsure of... She only hoped that his looking through the eyes of a mask would be like looking through a different set of eyes all together. __________________________________ How long had she been sitting in her dressing room? It was almost as if she was afraid to go out. Excited, of course, but that resided alongside the ever-present anxiety and nervousness of a child. Who would be there? Would she know anyone? Surely there would be people she knew there - fellow ballet girls, other performers... Perhaps even Raoul! It comforted her slightly, but she still couldn't shake the anxious feeling. But she relaxed slightly upon realizing that she could just as easily slip away from the ball as she would arrive - if she were to end up having a bad time, of course. However, she would have to at least try to make an appearance, in case there was anyone there who - maybe, with the slightest chance - would be looking for her. Like Raoul, maybe - though whether or not he would be looking for her she did not know. Either way... Christine stood from the seat at her vanity after giving her long, golden curls a final primp, then turned to looking in the large, looming mirror at the end of her room. She admired the fabric, a shade of deep red-orange - with various decorative stitching in the same lighter shade of the color around the skirt and it's hem, collar and down the bodice - which contrasted the pale, porcelain quality of her complexion while not making her blonde curls look out of place. It had been her mother's, and it was something she'd found one day while her father still lived. After inquiring and hearing the story, Christine decided that she would then keep it for herself, and save it for an occasion such as this, should she ever need it. It was, no doubt, the finest gown she owned; with its piles of fabric and bustle, its off the shoulder neckline. It was one of the possessions that she valued most. Feeling her stomach stir nervously, she reached for her mask and turned away from the mirror, breaking her gaze after realizing how it lingered there - as if asking it to give her a reason to stay. But that was silly, she wanted to go, and to see the people, and wanted the people to see her. She would be fine. Just fine, even if she knew no one. Abruptly she moved to the door and stepped out, not giving herself a chance to think twice, and moved down the hall. Once near, she donned her mask, then immersed herself in the masked crowd. |
|
|
|
| Lena | Jun 27 2009, 05:02 PM Post #24 |
This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
|
Meg was still worried. Oh my, he was modern. He was going to try modern. Meg Giry did. not. know. modern. Oh my, oh my, oh . . Aha! The twirl was executed perfectly, her toes just about to go into pointe to pull off a pirouette. And .. She made it back! Yes, yes, magnificent mademoiselle Margaret Giry strikes again! "Margaret Giry," she said softly, hoping it wasn't too soft for the music playing. Yes, she could dance this. She could dance this quite well. He was not trying anything fancy or modern as his speech had been nor was he attempting to get too close. She had not expected the men to have class (though she had hoped and assumed that they must) and it was very much appreciated that her first dance partner was rather a good sport when it came to dance. "You dance well, monsieur," she told him with a smile. ((No, not at all. I have no idea how else 'dancing' can be done)) |
|
|
|
| Alandree | Jun 27 2009, 05:56 PM Post #25 |
|
Mr. Todd had done the unthinkable. He had brushed his hair. He had also tied it back, because one had to in these affairs, apparently. There is next to nothing on the account of Mr. Todd's attire most days. He wears what he is given, and he kills who he is given. It is no stretch of fine detail. The suit was somewhat illy-fitted, but wearable. It was darkly green and far too boistrous for him. He had not the tolerence to wear a mask. Merely a hastily cut swathe of black calico from his most cherished curtains, with holes for his eyes of coarse. It was a touch frayed at the edges, but apparently good enough for him to be dragged out of the shop and into a carriage. Then dragged out of the carriage into the Opera House. Which was far too gilt to be a place of men. He'd been to many locales, particularly those of South America, but he'd seen nothing so garish and self-absorbed as this presumptuous architecture. Golden nude figures, chained and risen with wings. Masks awash with every hue and every sort of shape. It took no small amount of effort to conceal his discomfort. Not only did he despise each and every stranger present, but each and every stranger present was like a paper figure of a vividly drawn event that he'd had the misfortune of missing. Lucy's foray into treacherous hands. He imagined these to be the exact faces present then. Older now, with brittler bones, but no smaller were the joys gathered from seeing the innocent accosted. He wondered who would be broken tonight... With luck, it would be the Judge himself. He held onto his landlady rather like one does with a cumbersome handbag in the crook of an arm. Weighing one down, but ignorable, if one tries. His eyes darted from one garish face to the next, searching. Ignoring her words. Finding it more pressing to get things good and done with before midnight, at least. |
|
|
|
| Skazka | Jun 27 2009, 07:43 PM Post #26 |
all the ships go down/following the sound
|
Women, each a new mask and a new head of hair among a crowd of others. Golden locks, like the other that had distracted him, but that of a female, a woman of breeding. And another colour he could not name, not without a magnifying glass and a selection of paints. Don't start with that. Don't act like a stunned schoolboy every time you see something in a dress, with curls. It's bad enough for men. This became... confusing. Only libertines got away with liking both. And Herbert liked to believe that he had some amount of style attached to his mild debauchery. Now, the entire point of this thing was concealed identity. And that meant he was utterly alone. Awash in strangers. And without that damned girl who'd bothered bringing him his invitation. Standing on foreign soil could not have mysteriously transfigured him into a social cripple. A familiar spray of feathers seemed to appear-- but a lot of women wore feathers tonight. And more than one man. But there was only one swan worth noting; his swan. He drifted through the idling ballgoers between them-- evading dancing pairs and elbowing through crowds, still attempting to seem nonchalant. Until he found the pair. Why was she with a man? How could she be? A man who seemed a little old. That seemed a little indecent. He appeared abruptly, like a guardian angel, and laid a warning hand on the man in the pair's shoulder. "I say, 'May I cut in', yes?" He smiled at the girl, the way the Devil in hell would have been proud of. --- She feigned a stumble-- which did not take too much acting-- finally wrenching herself free, stumbling to the nearest wall. Eyes and mouth pinching shut tightly. Now she really did have a pain to worry about. "I-- I will rest here, I think. If you would like to dance." She would not dare be so bold if she didn't have Anthony to watch out for. Johanna was not likely to be the only young woman trying to evade a chaperone tonight. Turpin did not seem terribly perceptive. Those eyes flashed. "You will not leave this spot until I return. Understood?" The Judge squeezed her hand, a bone-crushing reassurance, and she could feel his breath against her brow. The sudden bite of metal reminded her of the chain of the necklace around her neck, which he'd tugged sharply. She twisted, so as to not face him-- evading what?-- and he let go. As best her skirts allowed, she slumped. Looking sharply for her lad, mask down, through the loosened curls of her hair. -- The Judge stalked off, casting a lordly eye over his fellow guests. Too much exposed skin, and frank libidinous glances that flirted with indecency. In the right world, he could have enjoyed an occasion like this... |
|
|
|
| Alandree | Jun 27 2009, 07:50 PM Post #27 |
|
He lit up like a street lamp at midnight, ignited by a janitor who wished for something more, shuffling fleetly through whirling couples to near her. The Judge was like a black hole, sucking all life as he strode, and Anthony felt one corner of himself being tugged at by him, but it did not last if he turned his mask the right way. But he daren't remove it. How fortuitous this occasion was. And he'd heard Mr. Todd to be here as well. Gently he touched her feathery white shoulder. "Johanna?" Positively aglow and a-quiver with reverence. "Johanna." And he lifted the mask, curling forward secretively, taking a few steps to the side, finding solace in the corner. |
|
|
|
| Skazka | Jun 27 2009, 08:11 PM Post #28 |
|
all the ships go down/following the sound
|
Each breath caught at the feathers on her mask, and it would be terribly unappealing if she had to remove her gloves to keep down from sticking to her lips. Dainty as it was, this thing smelt of geese and lavender-water, likely from long storage in a box somewhere. Perhaps a nostalgic relic of the Judge's. A gift given to some past sweetheart. The thought made her shudder. Had he been married, once? A concerted effort to catch her breath. Each stripe of face between mask and collar seemed familiar, but none her Anthony-- She turned her head sharply, startled, and stifled a gasp. The delicate feather tickling her chin nearly got inhaled. "Anthony," she breathed. Eyes wide. |
|
|
|
| PqA | Jun 27 2009, 08:18 PM Post #29 |
|
Agent
|
He frowned for a moment at this man- nay, this impostor. He considered punching the man, but decided that might be just a bit too ungentlemanly. He considered saying, "No, you may not." He considered simply ignoring him. And then decided it was just too early in the night. There were too many other skirts to chase, tails to trip up... It wasn't worth giving up for one fight. Rather than say anything at all, he simply looked at the girl, as if to say, "Thank you for the dance," turned sharply on his tail, and walked away. He looked ruefully at a young man who was attempting to touch a white feathered shoulder with out actually gaining her attention. Either that, or he was shy. He plucked the back of the young man's head as he walked by, and shouted, "Speak up, fool!" Edited by PqA, Jun 27 2009, 08:19 PM.
|
|
|
|
| Alandree | Jun 27 2009, 09:11 PM Post #30 |
|
He nodded. "Yes, it's me. Where has Judge Turpin gone?" And he searched the crowd for him. "I thought he'd never leave your side..." And he pulled her, gently, behind a conveniently placed pillar, though slipped the mask back down with his free hand. It made him look like a rather unfortunate court fool. Or a misshapen bird with abnormally elongated legs. "You...Er, y-you look beautiful." And he smiled, though the effect was somewhat lost beneath the feeble disguise. He was a touch more confident though. He could speak in her presence, at least, which would most likely be beneficial to their relationship in future. |
|
|
|
| Lena | Jun 27 2009, 09:25 PM Post #31 |
|
This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
|
Meg froze. Who was it that was stopping them? At that, why wasn't the fine sir not saying anything? Oh my, he was just walking away! But. . But . . The dance had not yet ended! Had they even looked into one another's eyes? Was that even normal? Meg thought so: it always seemed to be the topic of much happiness. Apparently, looking into one another's eyes was a good thing. Who was the last person she had looked at in the eyes? Behind her mask, Meg's eyebrows knit together for but a moment before turning to the man who had so rudely interrupted. "Excuse me, monsieur," she said, just before looking at him and focusing. . . Ah. Things seemed much more clear now. "Monsieur von Krolock!" she said fondly. "I have been looking all over for you. Did you just arrive?" she asked, tilting her head (and her mask, fortunately) to the side. "I got here several minutes ago, but thought I might well dance with someone and perhaps attempt to find you later." Meg smiled and began to wonder why exactly he couldn't have waited until their waltz was done before stepping in. "Oh, Frederick, this is so romantic!" Wilhemina Mooney whispered in her husbands ear as they waltzed together. The music was perfect and he nearly appeared. . . He was almost handsome in the golden light. That much made her happy, much more so than the thought of her fowl daughter gallivanting around looking for men. Though, she mused, it was a good thing. Get the damned witch out of her house and into another's bothers. Mina did not need bothers. She was bothered enough with that wench Lovett stealing all of her business and then seducing the kind and good hearted Mister Todd. He was such a love. . What was he doing with her? The mistress of darkness and hate and-she wouldn't put it past Nellie-prostitution? It wasn't right nor fair. Speaking of, were the two even here tonight? Certainly it was hard enough to tell. Mina herself- dashing in a black dress and white petticoats, a white cloth mask, and her curls let out- was hard enough to identify. What if Mister Todd was here with Nellie? As in . . With . . She shuddered at the thought. "What's wrong, love?" Frederick asked her in a concerned tone. He . . . Well, he wore matching colors: black on white in a near bovine fashion. It didn't quite suit his mousy brown hair, but it suit her and that was all that mattered. "Nothing. . Nothing," Mina replied, continuing the dance. It was sad how she was just this close to having to lead, for Fred could not dance if his life depended on it. |
|
|
|
| Wild Rover | Jun 28 2009, 05:57 PM Post #32 |
|
"Did you really have to go out dressed like?" Charlene whispered sharply. She was not referring to the fact that the suit Janine was wearing was several decades out of fashion, faded, and smelled like dust. Instead, she was more annoyed that Janine had insisted on going to such a formal event in a men's suit instead of some fluffy pink number. Or blue, or green, or any color, really. Janine pulled a silver flask from her pocket and took a healthy swig. She was already feeling a light buzz, though her intentions for this evening were to get wildly intoxicated. "My dear, if I was wearing a dress, do you think I could get away with this?" Janine wrapped her arm around Charlene's waist, pulled her in, and kissed her lightly on the neck. Charlene's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. "You shouldn't be so forward in public!" Charlene whispered. Janine's only reply was a coy smile. "I'm going to go find something more...festive to drink than old gin. I'll be back soon." Janine turned and left, and as she got deeper into the crowd she already began to feel more intoxicated from the overall mood. This was going to be some party. It was a little unsettling, too: not being able to see anyone's face as well as having her own vision partly obscured by a mask that was as old and dusty as her clothing. Janine bumped shoulders with a stranger, and mumbled a half-hearted "sorry" before turning around to look. |
|
|
|
| Skazka | Jun 28 2009, 06:14 PM Post #33 |
|
all the ships go down/following the sound
|
With tonight's luck, there was probably a flush creeping up her throat and into her face. She clung to Anthony's side as best she could, eyes still roving the crowd-- he had to be watching, somehow. Turpin still had one eye on her, and the rowdy young man who'd gone past might have aroused his attention... now she'd lost sight of her guardian, and that did not bode well. Johanna smiled weakly. "He's gone, for now. You have to go. Take me with you." She blurted this, immediately bitten with regret. His compliments made her stomach twist in a way that mingled utter terror and joy. Perhaps this was what real freedom felt like. "You... you look very handsome." --- "Ssh! You're not supposed to know who I am." He gave Margaret Giry an avuncular nudge on the arm, perhaps a little more familiar than he ought have. But they all wore masks anyhow. No one would know but she. And her mother. "I've just arrived. And then I lost my way. I don't know what to do here..." He gestured vaguely with a gloved hand. "Besides socialise. Which I cannot do. Who do I talk to first?" --- Feuilly bit back a concerned word-- Antoine seemed so damned fragile now-- but maintained his steady beeline for the door. It wasn't dark enough to excuse how careless he was, pushing through the crowd with Combeferre dragging behind him like a nursemaid with a petulant child. One of them had to be taking the initiative here, but there had to be somewhere else they could be. Bahorel was supposed to be here. They could meet up and then steal off into the streets, find something real to do. "You look like you're drowning in here. And there's nothing to do. I certainly won't be doing any dancing. Here--" Damn it, couldn't they co-ordinate a little more before deigning to split up? "Help me look for Bahorel. See anybody you recognise?" Not... well, not Enjolras, surely. What had either of them been thinking? Coming here... |
|
|
|
| Nil | Jun 28 2009, 08:40 PM Post #34 |
|
"Ne vous inquiétez pas, monsieur." Bruce responded with a smile. The last thing he wanted was to worry the man. "I'm fine. Just a little cough, is all." Of course, he knew it was more than just a little cough. According to his doctor, he had the lungs of a smoker. He forgot what the names of those small hairy things in his lungs were, but apparently, they had been dried up from breathing in so much soot. He was told there was a chance they may be restored. The Toussaints were to thank for providing him with the proper medicine. That stuff was expensive! Something drew his gaze upward. It was one of those gut feelings that could not be explained. His proessors always reduced them to primitive instincts, that detects danger, but he would rather imagine them to be a power of some sort. To contact other souls, perhaps? Or better yet, a mysterious sixth sense that allows him to see exactly who was there, and where, precisely they were. Or telepathy. But, no. What led his eyes towards the massive steps was still a mystery. So, maybe he had to hone his powers just a little bit. His gut feelings, however, had yet to decieve him. He recognised the frigure in black, leading a bunch of little girls. Very much like little geese. That rigin poise struck a cord in his memory, one that was very pleasant indeed. Although the initial image scared him, his mind quickly formed links to a certain pretty little girl, whom he had grown fond of in their single meeting at the beach. This girl was, naturally, taller than him. But that had no importance whatsoever. Well, almost no importance. He squinted his eyes to see if he could single her out. At his distance, and with those masks, however, the identiication process proved to be rather difficult. Telepathy would be a good tool at the moment. |
|
|
|
| Alandree | Jun 28 2009, 09:14 PM Post #35 |
|
"Ah. Hah. Well then." And he stood rather abruptly, glad that it was over. If he were to be unskillful at anything, it would have to be coddling. Or perhaps merely general, genuine concern. No matter how dearly he may care for the suffering party. But he followed Bruce's gaze, one he recognized all to soon. It made him beam. "Ah..." he tutted a bit, raising a gloved hand to adjust his mask. "Les filles." The word within itself held together to need nothing more. He folded his arms and smirked. Miss Pomeroy swiftly dipped from the line once it had reached the foot of the stair, raising her skirts to run, to lose herself in the throng. But unfortunately this feat could not be so easily carried out with such voluminous amounts of skirts, nor voluminous amounts of people. So she slowed from a trot to amble, bare feet stinging a bit from the rush anyway, hoping Giry had not seen. The dancing was a bit slower now, a bit less imposing in the rapid spinning of gowns and rapid clacking of heels and shuffling sweeps from one corner to the next. Smoothing her skirts self-consciously, she searched the crowd to take in each face. Some more pleasant than others, but none recognizable, save the ladies who'd parted mask from face to hold on sticks in the grasping of partners hands in dance. |
|
|
|
| Nil | Jun 28 2009, 09:47 PM Post #36 |
|
The girls descending the steps mesmerised him. Time moved slower. He watched as their skirts moved with each step. His gaze remained fixed until the stream dissolved into the vast sea of dancers. Then, and only then, was he released from his trance. Fabian's voice seemed far away and it was not unil Bruce's eyes were once again under his control, that Bruce remembered hearing him. He glanced at him briefly before looking back at the steps. Again, for no particular, nor explained, reason. He then quickly snaped his eyes back towards the older male. The smirk. The look in his eyes. Bruce suddenly felt embarassed, and flushed deeply. "What? I was just-- Well....." He reached for an excuse, but they were too slippery and always just barely escaped his grasp. When all fails, opt for indifference. He crossed his arms, very much like Fabian had. "They're just girls...." He did not realise he was pouting until he played his words back through his mind. It was then that he looked direcrtly into Fabians eyes. ERASE! You did NOT hear that! I DID NOT POUT! He wished... |
|
|
|
| Liza | Jun 28 2009, 10:04 PM Post #37 |
|
Lovett's eyes scoured the room, searching for any sign of familiarity amongst the crowd. Or at least any scrap of familiarity that one could decipher with all the masks and costumes and whatnot. She smirked slightly, almost disappointed. How interesting it'd be to see all the different costumes, to see what certain members of society tried to dress up as and either succeed or fail. It was guaranteed to be amusing in one way or another. It wasn't bad so far. He was unresponsive... but that wasn't bad, or good. It was just... neutral. She'd probably find out in ten minutes what was really going on in that head of his, and then she could decided whether it was good or bad. Though those were both very broad words. Good could mean a wide variety of things with Mr. Todd. Some of them may even be the same as 'bad,' which was not a very heart-warming thought. However, she didn't dwell on this and soon scanned the crowd once more, this time spying the face of a particular Mina Mooney. A particular Mina Mooney who she would now avoid at all costs, and a Mina Mooney who she would attempt to try and force Mr. Todd to avoid as well. She only hoped she wouldn't have to force him, that he would gladly do it on his own. So, she grabbed his hands, and pulled him slightly in the opposite direction, but perhaps a bit further into the crowd. She cleared her throat slightly and peered around him slightly to eye the woman again, then look at the dancing couples surrounding them. Well, she thought, there seems to be only one thing to do. She glanced back at the barber. "...Shall we?" |
|
|
|
| Lena | Jun 29 2009, 01:12 AM Post #38 |
|
This s**t is Lenanas: L-E-N-A-N-A-S
|
Meg laughed. "It is not as if anyone here knows your name," she informed him curtly. "Mayhap a few of my row, but no one else save the ones you yourself have introduced yourself to." She looked out at the crowds. "First, if we are not to dance, we should promptly leave the floor so that we do not interrupt those who have chosen to do so. That is the first step." Meg looked at the walls. "And then you escort a young lady as if she is your younger sister or a simple companion to a group and she introduces you to them . . . I believe. . I haven't quite been to one of these before, and everyone looks so strange and elegant tonight, nothing like themselves." She felt confused and did not quite like it. |
|
|
|
| Elise | Jun 29 2009, 04:01 AM Post #39 |
|
So many people. More people than she had ever seen at one time in any one place. Everywhere, too. On the staircases, stuffed into balconies, lining the halls, floating across the marble floors, there were people every colour of the rainbow glimmering here. So very many people. Tonight, she wore a pink, frilly... thing. It was a dress, yes, but soft and pink to the point of resembling a cloud during sunset. Everything floated. It really felt almost unreal, like Cosette was a princess in a castle on a cloud. More than a little nervous, she unconsciously scratched her hairline, just beneath the little crown of pink roses that rested delicately on her hair, declaring innocence to anyone who cared to look. Clinging to the small drop of reality left in the room-- her Papa-- she whispered something about the number of people present, and giving one last lonely and longing glance at her beloved Papa, let go of his arm. It would only be a few moments alone in the crowd, and she'd surely be able to find him again if anything happened. But almost immediately, she noticed herself floating away. Oh, Dieu. He's goggling girls... Léopold sighed, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. He began to wonder if Fabian had any older friends, closer to his own age. Probably not. He seemed a bit... strange, as it was. This was boring. No one was doing anything but dancing around and staring at each other with dreary eyes. It had been more exciting earlier when he was bothering people and worming out their response. He considered pulling out his sword and challenging the other boy to a duel, but it seemed rather unwise for whatever reason. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, before turning to Fabian and declaring directly: "I'm thirsty." He recognized her immediately. Of course, Erik's ever-watchful eye had never actually left her. He had seen, through methods other men can merely guess, her beautiful form moving through the corridors of the Opera in that lovely sunset gown. Erik half-chuckled to himself. They'd complement so nicely. His own attire was decadent and scarlet, a Red Death that Poe would be pleased to meet. Red silk with a strange dragon pattern shadowing made up a brilliant waistcoat that somehow managed to make him appear less thin than usual. Everything was some shade of red, the tight trousers, the silk jacket, even the boots were a deep, nearly black, bloody shade. All topped off with a Death's Head. Again, Erik laughed to himself. Here he was, disguising his own death's head with another. What did it matter? Ah well... Christine would most likely prefer the death's head that had some gold dust on it. He turned sharply and stepped down the staircase, taking care that his cloak not catch on anything or anyone. Erik could sense the eyes following him, reading the golden warning on the train. None of those eyes mattered... ...only hers. He slowly came up behind her, and for the shortest of moments, did not know what to say. He settled on a moderately generic greeting, reminding himself to some up with something more creative next time. "I must say, Mademoiselle, that you look most stunning this evening." Antoine coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Feuilly, I am drowning in here." he replied breathlessly, tightening his grip on his friend's hand. He shook his head negatively a few times, trying to catch up on what he had been saying. Well, at least Agrican had a reason to be present. There were pretty girls here, lots of them single and lots more of them tipsy, plenty of amusement for his friend, probably for more than one of his friends, come to think of it. "No, I don't... don't see anyone..." he said in short bursts, trying to slow down Feuilly's maddening pace towards the door. "We'll get... out soon enough... Feuilly, for the... love of heaven... slow.... down!" He gently yanked his friend's arm, pleading for attention. "We'll... get there... soon.... enough... I have... to breathe..." |
|
|
|
| Liza | Jun 29 2009, 04:31 PM Post #40 |
|
Now she knew why she'd had such an anxiety spell about leaving her dressing room. There were so many people! Though it wasn't as if she hadn't seen a large crowd of people before - she was simply being irrational. It was as if her naïvety was dominant, and she saw everything with child-like amazement. However, it was a bit intimidating, at least. She had to say that much. For several minutes, Christine merely stood there and looked about the crowd, searching for someone - anyone - who she might know. But strangely, everyone seemed to look the same, just different colors. That didn't help matters any. For a minute she thought she saw Meg, and then she'd turn and look in another direction and would see another girl who looked just like her. Or three men who resembled Raoul. And then she could've sworn that she saw Madame at least once, but then the crowd shifted and she lost her as well. How infuriating. She began to wander in one direction, hoping that if she moved through the crowd she would eventually bump into someone by chance who she would know. She was stopped short, though, because before she even had a chance to take a step she was halted by a voice. A voice that drifted to her ears from behind, slowly snaking its way to its destination and rooting her in place. A voice that she could've sworn she'd heard before, or at least one that was extraordinarily similar. A voice that compelled her to turn and find who it belonged to. When she did, she was not expecting to see what was standing there to greet her. Christine instantly became rigid, her breath catching in her throat. She attempted to swallow, but found that her mouth ran dry. She wanted to scream, to run, to never see such a mask again in her life. Who would wear such a thing? And why? What would possess someone to wear such a frightening, deathly thing? At least it was only a mask, Christine knew not what she would do if it were a real face. She pitied the soul that would have to live with such a countenance! Upon realizing - within seconds of laying eyes on the mask - that she was standing in front of this man, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes wide and unblinking, she composed herself and straightened, feeling as if she'd been leaning back in an attempt to distance herself, but had been unaware of it the whole time. She opened her mouth to speak, "I... I..." she stuttered helplessly. "...Thank you, monsieur," she forced out, along with a polite smile. She took a moment to examine the costume more closely, taking in the detail of the material and the colors, how closely they matched her own gown. Funny, they seemed to go together so well, though she doubted that they had ever met, or even seen each other for that matter. Her eyes returned to the Death's Head mask, and she spoke again. "I apologize for my earlier insolence, monsieur. You surprised me." |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · In Character · Next Topic » |
| Theme: Darkness | Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
 11:03 PM Nov 30
|
|
CBOX RULES: No spamming, flaming, copious 'lol'-ing, advertising, or playing canon characters from our fandoms in the IC Cbox that you don't already play on the board. Thankies! | |
|
|
|
Hosted for free by ZetaBoards
