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

[precedented]

Flattery is many things, but idle is not one of them.

[ He considers this, tapping his chin. ] People need a little hope, to know that not all is lost.

[fuga]

Hope.

[ It's a foreign word for her, and Lauralae obviously seems somewhat confused by it. All the same, when the crowds seem to grow she moves closer to Leto, as if afraid of them and their touch or their gazes, her eyes quick as they dart around the room.

She seems more like a trapped animal than anything else. ]

I see no worth in flattery, save an attempt to steal wits or gain something you desire.

[precedented]

[ He raises his palm. Not to touch, not unless she wishes to, but to begin the dance, close enough but not so close. A little personal bubble for them. His eyes are warm and placid like sunlit seas.]

And what is it you think I desire?

[fuga]

[ Her eyes are glued to his hand for a moment but she doesn't raise her own - her fingers, at her side, flex almost unnaturally, twisting and curling in on one another before she bows her head. Shame overcomes her - shame that she is cursed, shame that she cannot touch, cannot dance, cannot see her own palms without feeling pain. ]

I do not know. I have yet to answer that question myself.

[precedented]

The answer will come to you.

Raise your hand. We need not touch to dance to the night.

[fuga]

You still wish to dance.

[ It surprises her, and her eyes move over his features before, slowly, she lifts her own. She doesn't touch, but her fingers hover near his, silk gloves in place - and, below, the blackness of her skin perhaps a little more obvious. ]

[precedented]

Of course I want to dance with you.

[ It's an old dance, once Ghani and Leto used to play to music long forgotten. The game was to see how long they could dance without touching. Leto always lost that game and ended up chasing her across the halls. ]

[fuga]

[ She would ask why, but she thinks that she is unlikely to get a response that is anything other than cryptic. Instead, she moves forward, a little closer into his space, allowing herself a moment to consider before she relaxes and finally lets herself move. They do not touch, but it is much like the crowd around them; they dance. ]

They are watching you.

[precedented]

[ continued here ]