From Dust to Dust - Plot Point 2

[piper90npcs]

Who: Everyone on the Dust to Dust Mission
What: The hires and their daemons attend a fancy party and follow up on some mysteries.
Where: A ballroom on the mission.
When: After From Dust to Dust - Plot Point One
Warnings/Notes: None yet.

Comments

Dressing Up

[piper90npcs]

The dressing rooms are relatively plain, but the attire is not. To prepare for the ball, the Hires will be dressed to the nines in black-tie-at-a-minimum outfits of the local aesthetic, which means that they can’t just throw on their scrubby uniforms and go out there. Instead, they’ll have to help each other into gowns and suits, many of which are heavy to the point of cumbersome with embroidery and beading or require structured, restrictive undergarments to shape correctly. The dressing cubicles each have a few outfits in each hire’s size, but nothing offered in anything short of luxurious and expensive – and clearly not made for combat or mobility.

Some of the more fashion-forward hires may feel compelled to dress their daemons as well, as there are collars, ribbons, pins and jewelry available for a range of different sizes and shapes. There are tables set up with makeup and jewelry, and there seems to be the expectation that hires will partake in both no matter what their complexion, gender presentation or species.

The dressing cubicles are, thankfully, somewhat private, which means that those hires who’ve been waiting to have a moment to talk to each other without anyone else listening in may have a chance to make their move. They aren’t soundproofed, but no one’s checking who’s coming or going so long as shabbily-dressed hires go in and smartly-dressed hires come out.

[ownperson]

What South picks out is, going by its size and cut, probably sized with her brother, or one of the other male hires around his size, in mind. Suit pants and a jacket over a slightly more decorative shirt with a fancy bow rather than a tie that's a token effort at putting any more traditional, feminine touches on the outfit.

She'll do fancy, but like hell she's going to wear a dress again. The 1950s shit was bad enough, but an evening gown? Nope. Fuck that. If they want her to go to this, it's going to be in pants or not at all.

If the face she pulls at the jewelry and make-up tables is anything to go by, she's not exactly eager to engage with any of that, either.

"Who actually enjoys like, any of this stuff?"

The snake draped around her shoulders just replies, "People who aren't you," as South glares at her for being a smartass.

[For North]

Her hair's gotten too fucking long.

She keeps it short for a reason—well, a few, really. The closest to styling she gets is re-dying the front purple, otherwise, she barely touches it except to drag a comb through it. She has absolutely no idea how to make her hair look presentable and it shows.

"Maybe if you hold it up and I wrap myself around it before you let go I can keep it up for you," Anja says with dry humour and South rolls her eyes with a huff, still trying to fight her hair up into a— bun? That's probably a bun she's trying to make.

"Oh— shut the fuck up, I'm trying, okay? I'm not used to this girly shit."

"It's a bun, not a French braid. This should not be hard."

"You don't even have fingers."

"...fuck you too."

South snickers, then curses vibrantly as she fails, yet again, to get her hair to actually stay up in a passable bun. As soon as she lets go, pieces of hair escape in all directions, and she makes a frustrated noise as she pulls it all loose again and barely resists the urge to slam her fist against something. She's meant to be at least trying to rein in her temper.

[bothbarrels]

North's been neatening his suit and talking to Randi, but he starts to pass by South's station right when she's struggling with her hair and complaining—loudly. He slows, turning, and puts a hand on South's chair.

"Still can't do your own hair, can you?"

It's been a while, but he was used to being the one to deal with it whenever South needed it for special occasions.

[ownperson]

South's back snaps ramrod straight again, not unlike it did when he caught her watching him when they arrived. Anja immediately seems to shrink in on herself, contracting her length into a tighter coil where she's settled.

"...wouldn't have to if it hadn't grown so long," she grumbles, not looking back at him. "Would just leave it down if I could."

Which is a no. No, she can't.

[drladysounds]

"Aw, it's not so bad! People usually don't get to doll up and play socialite -- if you're a social butterfly you have fun, I guess"

Like Shelley, really. She'd try to get along with everyone, including the daemons.

"Not that I have been in parties that aren't really casual or costume parties. I hope this won't be as stiff as it sounds like"

[ownperson]

It takes South a second to place Shelley's face, but then the dots connect. Right, she was in her head during that memory bullshit—wonderful. Though, far as she can remember (and her memory of that whole thing is a bit blurred by later events) this one wasn't nosey about it, so, there's that.

So she just snorts quietly. "Probably gonna be stiff as a board. My kinda party's a lot more... well, I'll do bars and clubs and shit. Not this fancy-pants stuff. If they were the sorta riffraff you get at military bars I could chat 'em up easy, but I'm pretty sure all I'm gonna get here is weird fuckin' looks."

[for Brand]

[ownperson]

South stays in the cubicle for a long time, after North leaves. She starts off standing, leaning against the back wall with her head in her hands trying to just breathe, but no matter how hard she tries to hold them back the tears come eventually and she finds herself sliding to the floor. Knees up to her chest, she buries her face in them and cries, arms over her head and her shoulders shaking.

The few sobs that break through are quiet, muffled, inaudible from the outside—or at least she sure fucking hopes they are. This is pathetic, this is by far the most pathetic time she's started crying over this—as if the fact she can't seem to replace her tears with rage anymore wasn't bad enough, now she's breaking down in the middle of a mission, surrounded by the other Hires.

Fucking. Pathetic.

It wouldn't be obvious who was in the mostly-but-not-quite closed cubicle, if not for Anja having taken up a post by the door, watching to make sure no one interrupts South. Or, well, that no one interrupts South without Anja letting them, that is.

Re: [for Brand]

[runes_brand]

Brand isn't keeping an eye on South. Not particularly at least, he keeps an eye on everybody because he's lives his life in a constant fucking state of vigilance. That's what it means to be a Companion, keeping track of the movements of everyone in the room in case someone turns out to be a threat to your independently-mobile heart. Rune being a universe or two away doesn't mean he stops doing that; if anything Brand dives into it more deeply to distract himself from the lack of Rune.

So when South and her brother disappear together into one of the dressing cubicles, Brand notes it and files it away. Same when North leaves. It's Fi who brings it to his attention, having grown bored with Brand's ongoing struggle with his tie fifteen minutes ago. She knocks his leg, leaving white hairs all over his black trousers. She doesn't say anything, it's all significant eyebrows, but Brand huffs at her and heads for the cubicle because apparently this is what they're doing now. Assuming the snake at the door lets him through.

At least it's not fighting with his fucking tie.

[walkingballpit]

A: Robbie has gathered what he assumes makes an appropriate outfit: black shirt, black pants, a black and grey brocade vest that belongs on vintage MTV that he would gladly wear anyway, a top hat that he intends to do a Slash impression with if he can climb on top of a piano at some point, and a complete over-the-top cobalt blue velvet swallowtail coat. The coat, pants, and shirt are currently hanging on the front of a dressing cubicle to mark it as his, but he’s wearing the vest and hat already as he looks over the accessories more. The double-breasted vest is only half buttoned, and one side has a distinct round lump over his heart. “I can get away with not wearing a tie if I put a brooch where the bot would go, right?”

Phil peeks out from inside his vest. “I still think you should wear an ascot.”

Robbie hums at this - it’s not technically a tie, that’s true. “I think we need someone else’s opinion or else we’re going to look like Brendon Urie’s prom.”

“And we need to find someone to pierce my ears.”

B: Main clothes and accessories chosen, Robbie ducks into the cubicle. He closes it enough to be decency, not enough for it to look odd if anyone joins him to talk out of sight. It’s cracked like he’s waiting for them.

He hurriedly changes into the shirt and pants and then procrastinates on the rest, listening to everything going on outside. Phil is allowed to roam the cubicle freely, as he will be keeping his daemon on a tight leash at the gala later.

C: When it’s obvious that a few people are nearing fully dressed, Robbie will throw on the rest of the clothes and head over to the jewelry, makeup and hair section to look through the earrings and put a comb through his hair. The makeup he only glances at, at first, but then he starts reading the names aloud in earnest. “Merlot. Carmine. Noir - why is noir red? Who names these? Where are the saucy puns?”

C

[credit_not_blame]

"I'm guessing that they're going for 'pinot noir'," Stacia says. She's skipped the dramatic reds in favor of pastel pinks and peaches, combining it with a dress that downplays her curves for a much more youthful look than she'd usually go for. There's a shenanigan afoot and it's going to be amazing.

...She still wants to play with the dramatic colors, though. She eyes Robbie thoughtfully for a moment.

"You know," she says slowly, "A touch of red would really make your eyes pop."

[credit_not_blame]

[costuming]
Stacia indulges herself and spends a couple minutes simply blissing out among all the luxury. The outfits may not be practical, but they look nice and the cloth feels nice to touch, and she's missed wearing clothes that actually fit and aren't the cheap crap provided by Jorgmund. It's nice, okay? Liking nice things doesn't mean that she's frivolous or stupid, it just means that she likes nice things!

She only takes a couple minutes for that though, and then she gets down to business. She goes for the silks, because silk does offer some protection in case of violence and there always seems to be the potential for violence. She sticks with the pastels though, and dress styles that deemphasize her curves. As much fun as it would be to go full glamor, she's going to play it younger tonight. While she's busy with the dresses, her wolf Benny goes to peruse the jewelry.

Stacia glances over at the nearest person and grins.

"Okay, I'm not the only one who's looking forward to a little dress up, right?"


[hair & makeup]
The thing about 'minimal' makeup looks is that they're actually way more of a pain in the ass than the more dramatic stuff, and Stacia finds it much less fun. But the specific look she's going for does call for 'minimal' makeup, so she tries not to pout at her reflection too much as she does it. But she still really wants to play with the more dramatic colors. But that's what the other people here are for, right? Right.

"Hey, want me to do your fancy facepaint for the night?"

hair & makeup

[tr1xx]

For the most part, Cammie looks like she's set. She's dressed up, she's got her hair braided down her back, she's even picked out a couple of bits of jewelry—but her face is still very much bare. Usually she's not really bothered one way or another with makeup and the like, but hey, when in Rome.

"Oh absolutely, pretty sure if I tried to doll myself up I'd end up lookin' like I just faceplanted into the stuff."

[tr1xx]

1. Cammie disappears into one of the cubicles after picking something out and, after some comical fumbling noises as she works out how to dress herself without damaging something, emerges wearing a dress positively laden with bead detailing.

She's clearly trying to multi-task a little too much, going by the hair-tie between her teeth leaving hair spilling around her shoulders, the loose sash around her waist, and the way she's hopping trying to adjust the stockings bunching on her calf, all whilst wearing only one shoe.

At the same time, Fergie is bouncing around her feet trying to avoid being stepped on. It's... a sight.

"When I said I was small and very easily stepped on the idea wasn't for you to prove the theory!"

"I'm not gonna step on ye, calm down," Cammie retorts, only to immediately almost fall on her ass instead. "Whoa!"

2. Fergie escapes getting stepped on, but he doesn't escape being scooped up and placed on one of the tables so that Cammie can fuss over him. There's a minor squabble over whether he'll look silly with a bow around his ear before they compromise by using a nice pink bow as a collar, instead.

"There, what a braw wee lad," she says, adjusting the bow. "Look at us, all fancy like. Don't think I've even dressed up this nice in the Ether."

"And you still have to do makeup! And hair! Imagine how fancy you'll be then."

Cammie mock gasps, "What's wrong with ma hair? Ye can never go wrong with a ponytail. Though I guess since I don't need it up for the ears..." She pulls it down, and at least starts braiding it instead. "Okay, this? I can do. Accessories? I can probably do. But if I'm puttin' on makeup, I'm gonna need help, or I'm gonna look like a wee kiddie who got into her ma's things."

"I'd offer but. Only got paws," Fergie says with mock seriousness and lowered head. Cammie shakes her head at him with a laugh.

[drladysounds]

A: Dress up the person

Dressing elegantly never was Shelley's style, really. Costume parties? Fun! Casual style? Sure, let her do it. But it's not really often she dresses like she's going to a fancy party.

Perhaps that's why she looks like she's having a good time. To her credit Shelley Winters looks great! She's pretty, and looks like her taste in clothes for the occassion is good. Doesn't seem like she wants makeup, though.

"Okay, if I came to you and claimed I'm some old-time baroness from a faraway land looking for a suitor would you believe me?"

Not a question people would ask, as usual, but she's just trying to figure out if she looks good.

B: Dress up the bat

Lepakko needs to be dressed up too. Shelley has Lepakko standing on the nearest surface, looking over at him with critical eye while Lepakko whispers suggestions. Judging by Shelley's face, none of them are good.

"I'm not letting you choose anything. Clearly that'd be a disaster waiting to happen"

Ugh. Shelley turns to the nearest person.

"How do you make a bat look dashing and elegant? I'm at a bit of a loss here"

Re: Dressing Up

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday emerges from one of the dressing booths in a long-sleeved tunic with a high collar and tight fitting black trousers. Her lines are harsh and sleek, softened only by the addition of a half-cape, also black, draped over her metal arm. It's secured with a round bronze pin etched with a sun, shined to where it almost seems to glow. To magical senses, it feels like a warm summer afternoon.

She strides over to the makeup table with a grim look and hits the hair supplies like a typhoon. There's a lot of work involved in getting her pageboy cut as perfectly, artfully artlessly louche as it can be, and she doesn't shirk any of it. She's in the middle of tweaking individual hairs around her ears when she catches your eye with bitter smile.

"Always a fuckin' fancy dress party, eh? Don't people ever get enough'a this shit?"

[garmr]

“…uh.”

Guts does his best to hide his brief moment of wonderment witnessing Saturday all dressed up. After a year in Jorgmund jumpsuits, it was quite the glow-up.

“Yeah, guess nobles everywhere like to be dramatic. Always with the hollow parades and empty talk.”

He takes off a silk top hat that was just a bit much for him. Guts is hoping his fashion aide won’t notice him slipping it onto a difficult to reach shelf, high up in a corner.

Whoever helped Guts with his own attire at least seemed to tune in to his own preference for black. It leaves him in a surprisingly well-fitting vest, with a suit that wouldn’t look entirely out of place on an Edwardian hunting trip. It was about as sporty a thing as they could allow for the event.

The cravat around his neck is the only hint of color - a deep red inspired by the baleful eye of his daemon.

The Party

[piper90npcs]

The ballroom ceiling arcs high over the New Hires’ heads, chandeliers glittering like tiny galaxies. It’s a vast, polished space of wood and light, echoing with music and genteel laughter, conversations sparkling like diamonds. Skirts swirl and bootbuckles flash across the dance floor; everywhere you look, light and beauty triumph. The guards along the walls are almost ornamental.

Three tables groan along the wall under a banquet laid out à la française, or buffet-style if you’re a plebian. Each table has its own centerpiece: a spun-sugar unicorn kneeling in a marzipan grove, its horn the purest gold; a silver fountain of sparkling wine flowing from a dozen flowering spouts; and in the center, two roasted swans in their plumage arranged facing one another, wings spread out and beaks touching at the tips.

The dance floor takes up most of the space. The band sits in a raised alcove just off the floor, moving professional through waltz and minuet and quadrille. The dancers dip and bow, flirt and turn, coming together and parting in one long tireless stream. Couples join and depart, but the dancing carries on. It won’t stop until the sun rises.

Outside, partygoers wander a maze of low hedges or sit before fountains, sipping from glasses circulated by discreet butlers. Nearly all the men are smoking. Servants have come out to light the lanterns. It’s the gloaming, the brief time when the sun has slipped fully below the horizon, but night doesn’t yet rule the sky. Liminal space. A time of possibility - and danger.

One thing of notice: no matter where the hires go, at some point they'll be corralled in front of a photographer and have a portrait shot. The photographer doesn't seem particularly interested in making sure they're in a flattering light or smiling, and doesn't offer to share the photos with them.

Dan, Bunny and Stacia (plus daemons)

[hallelujahjunction]

Oh, how Dan loves a scheme, especially one where no one gets hurt but a little danger spices things up. Tonight, the idea is to pass Acacia off as the human with a wolf daemon, and Dan as her boyfriend, and while Dan's not a hundred percent on scheming with Stacia in spite of her apologies, this seems like a small, harmless way for everyone to have some fun with a caper together and prove that there are no lingering hard feelings over Planker.

Acacia is looking beautiful, and Dan cleans up nice, despite the fact that he bitched to no end in the dressing room about having to get this fancy. Dan considers dark slacks "dressing up" - a heavy embroidered coat with a cravat feels like cruelty, to him. He imagines this is what it feels like to be a small dog put into a Christmas sweater.

But it's hard to be in a bad mood. He'll be getting away with getting handsy with Bunny's soul right in front of their handlers, and no one will be the wiser.

"Bet I can get a crack at that piano," he says to Bunny, Stacia and their daemons, gesturing with his chin to the band. Virginia the ferret, who seems to have taken Dan's most distractible traits, paws at Acacia’s ankle to see if Acacia will pick her up.

Re: Dan, Bunny and Stacia (plus daemons)

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia's always down for a scheme, and one that gives her an excuse to cuddle Bunny and be close enough to Dan that she can work on making up for the whole Planker debacle? On top of wearing nice clothes that fit for the first time in over a year? Oh yes, this is a good one. She's all pastels and doe-eyes and Benny, who's clearly having the time of his short independent life playing big tough Acacia's daemon, has rhinestones woven into his ruff like armor. Stacia has also accessorized with a scarf worn as a sling in case Bunny wants a little more independence than being cuddled like a stuffed toy would allow. But right now, he's absolutely getting the stuffed toy treatment.

"That would be fun," she agrees. "Especially if we need to draw attention from someone else."

[tr1xx]

Curious soul that she is, Cammie wanders around the glitzy party seemingly aimlessly for a while, checking out the tables of food, the sea of dancing people, the gathering outside. She doesn't stay anywhere long, but she wants to get a good sense of the event, observe the people here the same way she's sure anyone who knows who they are is observing them.

So many daemons, so little time. Or— some shite.

Eventually, though, she ends up standing off at the edge of the dance floor. Fergie is tucked into a fancy, beaded bag that's just big enough to fit his little bunny self in, so he's not running around all underfoot.

It's really not the kind of party she's used to. She can't say she really knows how she's meant to act.

"Do they expect us to dance or somethin'? How are people even dancin' when they've got a bit of their soul tethered to 'em that can't go all that far? Guess you could sit 'em on the sidelines, but what if you accidentally drift too far?"

Sketchy Doings Afoot

[piper90npcs]

The ball is decadent, and the man you see seated nearby is clearly enjoying himself, eating a scrumptious hors d'ouevre and smiling. He doesn't seem to be imbibing any alcohol on top of this, but clearly this is enough to make him happy.

There's a few details to notice about this man—he's sitting near a vacant hallway, off to the side of the party. He's dressed like one of the servants that are serving up the hors d'ouevres, but he has a gold chain and pendant on that makes it clear he's set apart somehow, as if he's a manager or maybe even the person in charge of the festivities.

And this man seems to have taken notice of the person nearby, watching him. He smiles at them and stands, approaching.

"I see that you're enjoying yourself," he says. "That's good, very good. I was wondering, however, whether you are interested in knowing more about what's behind the curtain."

Re: Sketchy Doings Afoot

[prairietroubador]

Greg sighs.

"Is this a 'This is neat' look behind the curtain, or one of those ones where I'm probably gonna want to shoot someone when it's all over?"

Greg had been a vigilante too long to not be at least a little suspicious.

"In our line of work it tends to be mostly the latter, you understand," Patsy adds, the dun mare having been carefully moving around the ballroom.

sorry about the delay on responding to this

[piper90npcs]

The man chortles; a smarmy, throaty sort of laugh. He sets his hand on the medallion around his neck and jingles the chain a bit before lowering his hand.

"Indeed," he replies, "and I wouldn't deny that the latter is a possible outcome. However, you wouldn't have come over here if you weren't curious about things, would you?"

He hasn't come too near Greg, perhaps hoping to lure him closer to the entrance of the hallway.

[drladysounds]

Oh, the spicy happenings. Shelley doesn't doubt to approach. She has been having a good time, being the sociable woman she is, and someone sketchy isn't somebody she'd stay away from. She's not observant enough to figure out anything other than 'hey this guy is a little away from everyone'.

The offer, though, that definitely gets her attention. She exchanges a look with Lepakko.

"Will I regret the knowledge?"

sorry about the delay on responding to this

[piper90npcs]

The man gives her a self-indulgent little smile, setting a hand on his medallion for an instant, giving the chain a little jingle.

"Well, I suppose that's the sort of thing you'll have to tell me after you find out, isn't it?"

In any case, he's put the ball in her court now. A waiter walks by and offers him a glass of wine, but he waves the servant on, giving Shelley a pointed look.