Masquerade Mingle

[thespaceopera]

[The night has finally come--the Gravity Rush is nearly upon us! What normally serves as a large performance hall has been gutted, emptied of its boring furniture and rigged up into a fantastical mismatch of technology and old culture. No matter where you go tonight, you're encouraged to move around, dance, play games, whatever helps you sleep in late tomorrow morning.

If you aren't one for scurrying around a ballroom all night, there's always plenty of people-watching to do. After all, so many people are wearing extravagant costumes and elaborate masks. How can you even tell who is who? Get lost in a crowd of sequins, chatter with a sun and a moon, or try to beat the guy in the monster-mask at a game of cards. Meet your friends or make some new ones--this masquerade party has begun!]


[[ooc: All sections are up now, have fun! A related ooc post is HERE for any questions or plotting you'd like to do.]]

Comments

[gentlearcher]

[Why on Earth would he worry? She barely knew him.

The familiarity of his words washed over her, and there was such a comfort to her lonely heart that she wants to fall right back into it -- but it wasn't true. He'd known a version of her, once, but she didn't know him.

So, courtly words, and she responds with a courtly smile, ignoring the comfort/affront of familiarity.]

You shouldn't worry. We are at a masquerade, after all. This is the last sort of party for any worries.

[precedented]

Worries tend to crop up, regardless.

[ Though he doesn't look worried whatsoever. Though his manner was sincere, his posture is relaxed and calm, like nothing in the world could possibly alarm him. ]

The idea of masks was an intriguing way to forget them though.

[gentlearcher]

Or hide them, at least. [She smiles a little and inclines her head towards his mask, and maybe it's because he consistently throws her off balance, she doesn't hold back the playful baited question that she might otherwise think too rude to say:] Who are you pretending to be today?

[precedented]

Today? Today I am Leto, heir to the the dynasty. The prince of prophets and fools.

[ There are other, grander titles. The Lion of the Atreides is one, but he wouldn't do that to her. He finds himself constantly holding back his true nature.

It would hurt to have her hate him, he thinks to himself and tastes the truth-sense of it. He is no stranger to it but he would prefer to avoid such an outcome. ]

[gentlearcher]

[There was something very sad about that, but it is a party and it wasn't too long (it was forever ago) that she was the hostess at masques like this, and seeing people truly smile at them was one of her forever joys.

Her gaze was drawn for a moment to the wormskin, not covered by his mask. Susan has seen far stranger things, fawns and centaurs and dryads and she had danced with them all. She doesn't wonder at it too much, knowing him to be as alien to her as she is (should be) to him, but she does wonder at it, briefly, before returning her gaze to his bright (bright) blue eyes. And she smiles at him, a true in the wryness of the expression, one needed only because she attacked when caught off guard..] At least you know who your mask is. I haven't quite figured mine out yet.

[precedented]

You have time.

[ Time enough to explore other options, other avenues. It is important for her to know that, but it is not Leto's place. ]

A mask need not be one thing only.

[gentlearcher]

[It seems in this place, time was what she had the most of.]

Wouldn't that make it 'masks'? [Still with a faint smile.]

[precedented]

Not necessarily, since a mask leaves us open to outside interpretation. Most likely, they will not see the prince or the fool. Most likely, they only see a man with fabulous dancing skills.

[gentlearcher]

[Her smile deepens for an instant, the increase of an angle of the curl of one side of her lips before the outward sign of amusement is wrangled back into politeness.]

And one so modest.

[precedented]

Why not judge them for yourself?

[ He holds his hand out as an offer. ]

[gentlearcher]

[She hasn't exactly not been dancing, but she hasn't danced with those that she knew yet either, not really. In a subconscious way, she'd been avoiding that sort of connection - the sort of connection that hurt too much when severed.

She arches eyebrows at him from beneath her mask of white lace.] If you're sure you want to be judged by me. I have very high standards for dancing.

[She gives him her hand anyway.]

[precedented]

[ He clasps it lightly. ]

All the more reason to try my luck.

[gentlearcher]

You make it sound like a gamble.

[And it might be, in a way. She doesn't regret giving him her hand and he has been both kind and truthful to her when it would be easier to simply be kind. That deserves a dance at least, if that was what he wanted. It felt, though, that every relationship in this place was a risk, even a casual dance with someone who was both truthful and kind.]

[precedented]

Aren't we always gambling?

[ At least, that is the kind of life Leto prefers. To gamble, to leave it to chance instead of knowing what the future must be. It's how his father trapped himself in prophecy. ]

[gentlearcher]

[Something about the sound of that Susan doesn't quite like... something empty, wind rattling in a husk. Even with the despair she is fighting here, she doesn't like to think of it all as a roll of dice -- after all, she is the practical one, the one who doesn't like unnecessary risks. Her fingers tighten on his hand and practical Susan sees the answer to this question clearly. The corners of her smile deepen.]

No. Sometimes we're dancing.

[She steps away from the wall toward the floor, not pulling him after her but leaving their hands connected. An invitation - keep the space between them as it was or let it grow, as he chose.]

[precedented]

[ With a winning smile. ]

Well, the gamble could be that I don't step on your feet.

[ He doesn't broach the distance - at least not immediately. But he draws closer, emboldened. ]

[gentlearcher]

[As long as he's following her out onto the floor, that's what matters.]

My brother would say it's not really a gamble unless we're laying odds, and I don't have anything to bet.

[Perhaps the mask disguises the flicker of sadness at the mention of her brother, perhaps it doesn't, either way the flicker is over quickly and she continues.] Besides, what happened to those 'fabulous dancing' skills? Am I at risk of being stepped on or swept off my feet?

[precedented]

[ He doesn't point it out. Not being with Ghanima was always a gaping wound, one he has learned to disguise. There's little point in explaining what Ghanima is to him, his heart, his soul, his other half. She completes him and without her, he is a pale, shadowed creature. ]

Which do you think is most likely to happen?

[gentlearcher]

At this point? [A quick smile as she abruptly stops walking.] Neither. Since the dance floor is all the way over there and here we are, still talking.

[precedented]

Well, then.

[ He twirls her neatly, as they travel to the dance floor. ]

I better prove my mettle.

[gentlearcher]

[Unexpected as the twirl is, she follows through with the ease of grace both natural and practiced. It's only by permission that she allows him to lead; stopping midway would make an awkward twirl, but she had accepted this dance.]

And so we enter the testing ground. [She gives him a little smile as they step onto the floor at the closing of the song (almost suspiciously well timed, that, if she paid it any mind, which she did not). What will the tempo of this next song be?]

[precedented]

[ continued here ]