[Narrator]

The mansion had been prepared well, though who exactly had been working on the décor remained unidentified. A string of muted lights, like fireflies hovering against the gray of the walls, led the way down the corridor. At the large, imposing doors stood two faerie, one male and one female, both with their faces set stoically in the dim illumination. Of the faerie who waited outside of the mansion, their attire was the most plain; the others, dressed in various costumes and adorned with anything from pearls to peacock feathers, milled about restlessly.

Leaning over to the side, one of the door watchers—the female—nudged her partner and nodded at the people who were starting to filter into the clearing. “Eyes that way, Shaye. It looks like the newcomers have decided to come, even after all their misgivings.” She smiled, a little toothily, and placed one of her hands on the handle of the door. “It will be a wonderful masquerade.”

“But not all of them, Ikhara.” Shaye’s eyes narrowed as he observed their approach. “Some of them have doubtlessly stayed behind. Shall I send some people to look after them? They might cause trouble.”

“Everyone’s at the celebration. Who’s going to want to leave it to watch them?” Ikhara said with a derisive snort.

“Idiot.” Without bothering to turn, Shaye glared at her sideways. “You should know well enough that not everyone is allowed to attend. We’re lucky enough to be here as it is, even though we’re stuck here at the door. Wait—” This said as the clock began to chime. “Quiet, now. They’re coming.” Shaye, too, took hold of the doorknob, giving Ikhara a slight nod.

Then, simultaneously, each gave a light tug, and the doors swung open. They turned together as well, gesturing to the faerie waiting outside. “All right, everyone. Follow us.”

And they led the way in.




[nyc main]

[Sezru]

Sezru hummed quietly, gaze almost soft as it traveled over the sparkling interior of the mansion, letting it linger on the shiny crystals of the chandeliers and proud high ceiling. Then he let it travel downwards, a faint smile on his face edging upwards as he observed the milling fae, dressed in glitter and lovely swishy fabric, all manner of masks on their faces—some simple, others so elaborate that it seemed a work of years to get to that point.

He stood on the middle of the stairs, perch obvious because it was one of the most visible in the room—what kind of host would he had been if he couldn’t lay claim on the extravagance? Besides, he was required to make some sort of speech, that thought the only thing keeping him on the stairs, one hand lingering on an elegant banister, body leaning on it lightly.

He exhaled softly, breath making several strands of hair flutter for a moment, and then smiled at the entering fae. If they knew him (who could not?) then it was obvious at first glance who he was, if only by the languid way he held his body, the tilt of his head, the faint gleam in his eyes as he tracked the fae—beyond the fact that he wore no mask, for it was dangling from his left hand casually, momentarily forgotten.

“Welcome to the masquerade,” Sezru pitched his voice low, his smile widening at the immediate stillness the brightly colored fae below him fell into. As was proper. He let his left arm sweep out, gaze fixed on the entering fae, edging on rude by the near boneless way he was leaning on the banister. His outfit was almost muted compared to others—black outlined with dark silver with faint colors of grey-green that almost matched his eyes. The mask he held so casually was much the same, with the silver a splash bolder, discrete gems studded on it.

He inclined his head a fraction forward, let his smile turn playful. “So nice to see that you’ve come. Have fun.” it was almost an order, tempered by the almost gentle look on his face. “Feel free to mingle with the others; they should be on their best behavior tonight.” Sezru let his eyes sweep over the silent fae and watched many of them smile at him automatically.

A pause for a moment that seemed to stretch, then he slowly straightened his body, hand curling on his mask as he fixed it on. “That is all,” he said, and the fae below him began to softly chatter once more. Sezru went down the steps, elegant in the smooth, fluid movement, the graceful arch of his neck.

“Welcome and be welcomed,” he murmured under his breath, eyes glittering with muted amusement.

[Kihreyn]

Stepping up behind his prince, Kihreyn let his gaze trail across the mass of costumed faerie in almost the same manner as Sezru had, his lips curling in faint distaste as he noted the overabundance of glitter and vivid colors. He, too, was masked—as if his identity had not already been jeopardized by the fact that he shadowed Sezru’s every move, remaining inconspicuously in the background.

That said, staying “out of the way” was completely out of the question: instead of loading up on dazzle and glitter, Kihreyn was adorned in black and silver and, rather than wearing a belt, had strung one his numerous chains across his hips, threading it through the belt loops of pants that slid far too low to be modest. Apparently, the makeshift belt was only for decoration. Barefoot, with a sleeveless shirt clinging tightly to his body and leaving his stomach prey to the chill air of the evening, he slid through the crowd, keeping an eye on Sezru from a distance.

Despite having too much skin showing (a fact that had seemed to amuse Sezru when they assembled for a meeting earlier), Kihreyn appeared stoic, though it was hard to tell merely from the set of his mouth. The mask he wore, like his clothes, was a solid black, with slightly slanted eyeholes and dark red slashes that stood perpendicular to the openings.

Kihreyn sighed as he made another round through the dance floor. The faerie there, waiting for the music to start, had begun striking up conversations with the others. He lurked next to the ones talking to the newcomers for a few minutes—making sure that they were keeping the lid firmly shut on all the forbidden topics—and then returned to Sezru’s side, remarking in a low voice, “We’ve gotten off to a good start.”

[Narrator]

It would be to Kihreyn’s surprise (and immediate annoyance) that one of the just-mentioned masqueraders decided at that very moment to detach himself from the rest of the crowd. Approaching with an ironic bow, the faerie removed his mask, feigning a grimace as he did so, though the expression promptly contorted into one of aggrieved innocence as he caught sight of Kihreyn’s glare.

“Bad time?” The man sent a sidelong glance at the scowling Kihreyn. “I can come back a little later,” he added, and even though he hadn’t yet returned his attention to Sezru, it was clear that he was addressing him directly. He looked down at his mask, and then replaced it, adjusting its position with a disdainful smile. Behind the disguise, dark eyes gleamed, dull and cold. “Of course, I am honored to be held in such—high regard.”

[Folie]

Folie was excited. Oh, he was very, very excited. Though these strange little liers were odd, and they made his Folie-Senses tingle (he wasn't sure what Folie-Senses were, but they were certainly tingling whenever he was around these people), they showed a great deal more of the old-Alanor courtesy that he remembered. Vireyda would be happy here, he figured. Quite happy.

As the prettypretty door-ladies opened the...door, he practically waltzed in after everyone else, looking around with his supposedly-blind eyes and a wide, toothy smile. The white glow emanating from his skin marked his heritage to all who knew, and the fact that he'd chosen his traditional white as clothing wasn't much of a surprise. The outfit itself...well, that was the surprise, and he delighted in the confusion of those who had seen him around before who were now looking at him and trying to figure out just what the hell was going on.

You see, Folie was wearing a dress. A ball gown, to be precice, that had apparently been made for him, as there was no extra material sagging in the front where a woman would have boobs. It hugged his torso tightly, and then puffed out around his nonexistant hips to fall to the floor. He was even wearing high-heeled shoes, and moved in them as gracefully as ever. Unlike his usual coloring though, there were hints of another color at places - deep, bloody red trimmed the edge of his skirt, along the waist and neckline, and his shoes bored the same color, as well as the opera gloves he sported. Something different from the usual solid white.

Mask-wise, he'd gone with a simple white mask that covered his eyes and left the rest of his face free so that he could talk easily with others. A single ruby decorated the mask right between his eyebrows, and his white eyes were unmistakable when peering out of the eye-holes, if his crystaline hair hadn't given him away already.

[Alois]

Unlike his former bonded, Alois was very much a social creature. Back in New York City he had flourished among the wealthy circles, and even made his way into the Social Register. Even so, parties still amused him greatly, as human etiquette and customs often did. Twenty eight years was simply not enough to become accustomed to such things. Even standing on two legs was an oddity he was still getting used to.

He was dressed dashingly in a tuxedo. He had chosen to replace the customary white dress shirt with a blue one of silk and similarly a blue handkerchief was deftly tucked into his jacket pocket. On his face was a rather simple mask, predominantly black with abstract blue strokes that caused it to look feral. The lower half of the mask had been removed below the nose so even now his wolfish grin was apparent.

"Quite the party," he said to no one in particular as he admired the decorations. The other Alanor never had such commodities, at least the part he had seen. His first stop would have been, of course, the snack table if he had not seen Folie. Alois instead walked towards the other Alanorian fey and tapped him politely on the shoulder. With a charming grin, he gentlemanly held out his hand.

"You look positively stunning." He said with a perfectly straight face. "Would you care to dance?"

[Sezru]

Sezru slid onto Kihreyn a quietly amused look and reached out behind himself, casually snagging one of the silver chains slung around Kihreyn’s hips. He gave it a soft pull, a vaguely fond smile tugging at his lips as he swayed towards the other fae, and turned his eyes onto the faeries poised with instruments. He looked at them. Nothing sinister, not even expectant, he just gave the vaguest motions of tilting his head in their direction and they immediately began to play, the song low and striking, with elegant sweeps of a bow and small flourishes of the body.

Not deigning to incline his head in acknowledgement, he started to turn back to Kihreyn, fingers twining in the chains, only to smoothly halt as a masquerader came up to him. Instead, Sezru slid a half a step back and leaned in Kihreyn’s direction, letting his eyelids fall into an almost sleepy stare as he gazed at Raphael, listening to the words being spoken to him.

Feeling Kihreyn’s scowl, Sezru lightly stroked at the fae’s hip with the fingers that were tangling themselves in the silver chains, as if that would soothe him. Kihreyn should have fun after all, relax a bit and not let the rabble annoy him so; it wouldn’t be good for his blood pressure.

“Of course, I am honored to be held in such—high regard.”

“You should be,” Sezru said lightly, no hint of anything at all but pure sincerity, liquid eyes not shifting the slightest in emotion—as if Raphael was nothing more than smoke or a waking dream that he could ignore.

Then his lips tugged down the slightest bit and he spoke with faint censure in his tone. “Do not take off your mask again; it is not a masquerade otherwise.” That he did so himself… well, he was the exception. He would always be the exception. Sezru let the edge of his teeth show in his lovely smile, eyes flickering for a moment with… something. Threat, maybe. A warning? Indifference? Tolerance?

A pause, and suddenly a grin appeared and amusement moved throughout his face. Sezru raised the hand not currently occupied with playing with Kihreyn’s belts towards Raphael, palm side down, hand slender and pale, like he was a lady waiting for the gentlemen to kiss her hand. Which it seemed was what he was waiting the other fae to do.

“And?” he queried, “What did you wish to ask me?” Apparently he felt magnanimous enough to ask.

[Narrator]

Though it was impossible to tell, from behind that mask, whether those eyes narrowed at the reprimand, all motion behind and around it stilled imperceptibly. Raphael allowed the moment to taper off into a long pause. Then, the eyes flickered shut, holding in that position for only a second before opening again. “Of course,” he said simply, though the tone behind it was hard. “As you say, the mask will stay on.”

As Sezru extended his hand, Raphael’s gaze drifted to Kihreyn, and then back to their leader, his expression one of faint amusement, twisted into a thin smile. He ducked his head in acquiescence. Lingering there for a moment, he then bent over in a bow, taking Sezru’s hand in his own and pressing his lips to it briefly, before releasing it and stepping back. “The guards in the west wing send you their regards, and they would like inform you that the Utlagi are restless. It seems that they are planning to leave the upper levels. What shall I tell them?”

[Dray]

A giggle, a liquid purl of animalistic dribble, distinctly tuned in nature, a soft song amongst a symphony. A stalking figurine that consisted of naught more than a shadow of finely veiled crimson, swallowed in the intent to perform foul deeds. Tall, lanky, he moved much like a predator, a devilish grin mastered upon his frail, pointy mug, his deep, blood-tainted eyes foresworn with deceit of the playful kind.

Despite many that may believe so, he and his brother were not dead. It was quite the opposite. Dray, ever the watchful creature, had spent his days frolicking amongst the trees, spying on individuals that caught his fancy. The new fae of Alanor interested this masochistic fae. He delighted basking in their little web of lies, their playful tales of a true Alanor. This wasn't Alanor as he remembered it. Dray remembered the other Alanor as a place full of fiery women, ignorant men, and sexy short faerie...namely Fiacre. Instead, he was shoved into a place that contained more maliciousness than his simple little mind could handle. Oh dear.

He had bathed in blood earlier, crafting his attire from his favorite color. Relatively lax attire, sophisticated as Dray could be, clothed his frame. A claret suit with an ebony shirt contained beneath it, a tie lacking in prevelance. He had carried over his gothic fashion sense from New York, the chains that had accompanied him down the rabbits hole now adorned his lithe six foot four frame. Tight-fitting, the fabric clung to him like a second skin, the jacket unbuttoned to relieve his chest from constraint. Recent bandages wrapped about his right hand. His brother had unfortunately thwarted his last attempt to cut his fingers off. How sad.

His mask was full faced, two small slit-like holes cut through to reveal thirsty eyes. There was no release for the maw, merely a blank slate, one slash of red marring the left cheek, nothing more. His hair, untamed, hung loosely to his chin, bronzed locks tumbling to obscure already limited view. He was hungry, starving to dig his fingers into something precious. Actually, Dray just wanted conversation.

He had skipped ahead of his brother, for he was the one whom had wanted to attend this little parade of masked-men, women, whatever. Dray ignored everyone as he silently, eerily stalked through the area, keeping to the shadows, very much like a panther. He eventually came to rest in a corner. No need to make Loki look any longer than necessary. Besides, Dray wanted to absorb the merchandise before he dipped his fingers in.

Pretty pretty faeries.

This post has been edited by Dray on Jan 15 2007, 11:02 AM

[Aiyr]

“Party, party, party,” Aiyr chanted quietly, clutching Lythe and Kiri to his chest as he peered around the lavish room. To be honest, he was having a few misgivings about the party—not because of any suspicions (well, other than the fact he was still convinced that he was kidnapped… but that was okay because they were feeding him and stuff). No, rather, he was just hoping that it wasn’t going to be one of those boring, stuffy parties that his parents sometimes threw. Complete with talks about business and murmurs about the state of lycanthropes in the city—whatever. Boring, boring, boring.

Well, if it turned out like one of those parties, then he’d just… have to liven things up. Or something. Maybe set the furniture on fire. Throw Lythe at people.

Absentmindedly he stroked Lythe’s smooth head, ignoring the whines that came from the plushie fox’s direction. Kiri was silently smug, secure in her knowledge that Aiyr wouldn’t pitch her away. At least not when Lythe was around.

Aiyr craned his head as he looked around, feeling mysterious behind his pretty dark grey mask that was accented with silver, slightly puffed out by small white feathers. He couldn’t help but stroke at the feathers, delighting in the smooth feel of them, and was proud to know that he was pretty in his black, hugging pants and slippery midnight blue shirt. His long coat fit snugly around him, like it was tailored to his form, and it flared when he swished around. It had short sleeves and was fastened securely mid-chest, and though long, it was obviously made for the warmer months. A dark blue gem dangled from one ear, set off in silver, and a spiral of silver metal was fastened around his upper right arm. As a last touch, a black choker-like piece of ribbon was secured around his neck.

Nobody would know who he was! And, to help disguise Lythe and Kiri, he tied more of the black ribbon around their heads as makeshift masks. Little holes were cut out for their eyes and it was perfect. Nobody would know who they were.

Unlike some people who were very obvious. Aiyr glanced in Folie’s direction and snickered, muttering, “You lose!” under his breath.

Gold eyes then spied someone corner, very familiar looking though he couldn’t quite pin down who…

Aiyr straightened and ungracefully pushed his way through the throng of milling people, giving sharkish grins at the fae who gave him dirty looks, waving Lythe in a threatening manner.

Finally, finally—after pushing one faerie into a table and another one into a wall, tripping a woman in a flowing evening gown, and stomping on more than a few feet—he reached his quarry and halted in front of the man, lips pursed in thought.

“You’re familiar,” he said, nodding to himself. Aiyr’s head tilted slightly in Kiri’s direction, listening to her whispers. “I know you!” he declared and barely refrained from pointing his finger (bad manners, Kiri had snapped out) at the other fae.

He tugged on one of his loose strands of hair, staring at the other faerie and not bothering to hide his stares, gaze frankly contemplative.

“You’re… you’re…” more moments trickled by as Aiyr struggled with his memory. Then his thoughts stilled, offering up the answer before short circuiting once more. “PIGEON GUY!” He beamed a smile.

[Seryth]

Minimalist. Seryth didn’t care how plain he may seem in his black pants, untucked black silk shirt, and dark red tie. No accessories, no chains or jewelry or whatever else people may have on. He went with simple sophistication, sure in his anonymity with his dark mask and pleasantly polite smile. Others—he checked on Aiyr discretely, his brother obvious if only because of the way he lugged around his toys—were obvious, but he…

He flashed a smile and inclined his head gracefully at a few faeries, slipping away through the room in a slow prowl. He was using this time to observe room dynamics, the way the leaders of this Alanor place interacted with the rest of them. It was… almost unsettling how obedient the milling throng of people were, but who was he to say how people ruled? As long as he and Aiyr were safe… well, things were fine then.

Discretely he looked around for one of the members from the welcoming committee—the one that had seemed so familiar to him. If it really was him (Seryth half hoped and half tried to stave off the hope—the chances were so slim that it was almost laughable) then… Something. He didn’t know. He was half convinced that he was going mad anyway. Thrown into a new world, not a lycanthrope anymore (though he’ll never stop referring to himself as such, even if it was in his own mind).

Seryth shook his head and sighed, hand twitching as it longed for the familiar, comforting weight of a gun.

Damned but he missed them. Knives, daggers, swords, axes… whatever. They had nothing on the sheer comfort a well handled gun gave him, the slick metal, the cold feeling of bullets, the knowledge of the power he held in his hands.

He was depressing himself.

Seryth frowned and, with a quick mental shake, roused himself from his morose thoughts. No use dwelling now. He let himself move smoothly with the crowd, always this side away from interacting, and just observed.

[龍-tatsu-]

Note: Since I haven't posted with these guys for a while, I'm going to stick in a quick reminder that Tatsu = Byakuya, and Ryuu = Kuroshi.

Sweet!! Drinks and hot chicks, who else could ask for more?? PARTAAAY~

Byakuya was positive those were the thoughts running through his brother's head as the two arrived at the grandiose scene. The young man was dressed in a crisp white suit, while his twin- who had ditched his jacket- was clad in black. Both wore their shirts slightly unbuttoned, and decorated themselves appropriately with metal accessories as any proper J-rock star would.

Somewhere along the way, the pair had been "misinformed," and believed that the masquerade was but a simple ball- of course, they soon found out otherwise. Consequentially, their "masks" were not really masks, but black sashes substituting as blindfolds. Of course, both could see quite perfectly, as their "snake-eyes" were well-adjusted to the dark- it was as natural as wearing sunglasses (which Kuroshi had first proposed).

Cute, we even match. Byakuya thought dryly, sighing and gingerly touching one of his cartilage piercings- WTF is up with these pointed ears?!- as his brother darted off in search of victuals. He couldn't help but feel a bit curious himself, however, and allowed his crimson-hued gaze to travel around the room.

There really was nothing better to do than to keep his twin in check, and so he quickly followed his sibling, who probably would've tried something stupid like jumping off of the balconies. (Though tricks like that might have been possible in New York, they certainly weren't here.) The garlanger noted Alois' position farther into the room, and made note to meet up with him sometime before the night ended.

That is, if I make it through tonight watching over that idiot.

This post has been edited by 龍-tatsu- on Dec 20 2006, 01:37 AM

[Loki]

Loki hated gatherings. There was a time when he once reveled in the midst of others. He had once enjoyed sweeping his way through the crowds, doting upon women and getting laid later on. He had been such a party animal back in New York, before Sarah had come around. Once that happened, his entire persona changed.

However, the moment they arrived in this new, different Alanor, Loki felt himself more at ease. The vampires, his hated enemies, had vanished without a trace. He was no longer shadowed with their ugly presence. The land he had once walked upon now soiled his shoes once more, and with that filth came a new desire to live.

That didn’t mean he actually wanted to be here. Loki had some pathetic, overwhelming desire to protect his sibling. It had come around when Loki had realized he was the indirect source of Drays insanity. That and the fact that Dray had had a horrible childhood, and Loki wanted to make sure his brother would have an enjoyable adult life. Loki loved his brother. He would do anything for him.

So that was why Loki was here. He never trusted Dray on his own, so he tailed around behind him to make sure the relatively mentally unstable idiot didn’t get into too much trouble. Since this was a masquerade and all, Loki had been forced to attire himself properly. He had taken a relatively lax, conservative approach to his clothing. Dressed in a pair of simple black slacks, a black shirt, his customary black trench coat, and common black boots, he appeared to just be another person basking in the favorite color of the night. His mask only came to cover his eyes. Bathed in a deep green, it was dotted with small emerald gems that outlined the entire cloth. That was the only ‘bling’ to his outfit.

Loki missed his cigarettes. He was having major withdrawals. Even the comforting feel of his lighter in his hand would have been enough to satiate him for a while. Unfortunately, not only was it lost, but his gun was as well. Loki had never been a combat fighter. He knew martial arts, and he was relatively good at hand to hand combat (he hated weaponry), but there was nothing more empowering than the handle of a gun clutched in one hand. Had he known Seryth was thinking the same thing, he would have sympathized with the poor fellow.

The male entered slowly, but with purpose. He turned to avoid the crowd and idled up against the wall, his eyes scanning for his brother. His relatively pale skin had a more healthy look to it now, and his golden touched bronze hair was tousled rather messily, feathered down about his cranium. He had an unkempt look about him for the evening, a look that clearly displayed his willingness to be there.

Dray was spotted with ease. Who could miss a person who stood out no matter where he went? Loki couldn’t help but smirk just a tad when he noticed Dray had already attracted a young one. His brother had to be ecstatic. Loki even recognized the little male as the guy who had been chasing pigeons a while back. If memory served him properly, the kid was indeed just as crazy as his brother.

Loki had no hesitations. He made his way over to them with long, purposeful steps. He did, however, stop a bit away so that he did not intrude. Leaning up against the wall, he forced down his nicotine craving and stared towards his brother with flashing chartreuse eyes.

(Crappy, but I got a post out! Yay!)

[Rowen]

Ah! How he positively loved parties! What could he say, Rowen was quite the social butterfly. It was why he made such a splendid second in command of the High Council--he enjoyed fluttering about upon his impressive wings.

Even if he didn’t dress in his traditional colors, Rowen would’ve been easy to spot anywhere at the party. There were very few of his kind anywhere in Alanor. Today he wore a black tunic with odd splatters of orange dyed into the cloth and loose black pants. As usual, his long mahogany hair was tied in a charming ponytail. A huge butterfly mask of mixtures of black, orange, and white seemingly swallowed much of his face. It made him appear like a being adorned with two wings: one on his face and the other on his back.

From the upper level he descended, lazily flapping his wings as he floated by. He bowed deeply to Sezru and then to Kihreyn before smiling broadly and clapping his tiny hands.

"What a lively party!" The garlanger pixie exclaimed. "It is most excellent. Most excellent, indeed."

An affable smile remained on his lips as he continued. "Our dear friends upstairs will likely be coming down soon whether it was planned or not. I, for one, think it would be quite fun to seem them mingle with our newest arrivals. It would give everyone something to do, yes?"

That being said, with another bow, the small faerie floated away. He was determined to find someone interesting to converse with. His eyes landed on Dray stalking the shadows in a corner of the room. It would be a start.

"Greetings and Salutations!" He beamed, hovering a few feet from Dray's face. "How are you enjoying yourself?"

[Vhalcaur]

Rubbing his hands across his eyes nervously, Vhalcaur glanced sideways at where Sezru and Kihreyn were being confronted by one of the Immortals. Then, setting his jaw, he found the one named “Seryth” in the crowd, and made his way toward him, dodging through the numerous faerie. He changed his mind halfway there. It couldn’t be Seryth, after all. Not that Seryth. No, it had to be another...

As Vhalcaur turned in the other direction, a hassled-looking faerie grabbed him by the elbow hauled him back, coincidentally, toward Seryth.

“Now look, Vhalcaur,” the faerie said, “We’re having some trouble with the guests over—” He paused, and then looked around. “That’s odd. I guess it’s been settled. Have fun, then. Don’t kill too many people. Well, you know—that kind of stuff.” He patted Vhalcaur on the arm and left.

Staring at the faerie’s retreating back, Vhalcaur shook his head slightly, then turned to where Seryth stood. His gaze settled on his (former? Old? Ex-) friend for a moment, darting away after only a split second. “I...uh, Seryth?” he asked cautiously.