Party Up, Throw Down!

[Sulla]

Open to many, and all. Recruitment thread here, but hell, you don't need to post in it.

“Keep the curtains closed,” snapped Lord Victor Rosanque with a mewling hiss, “and leave me to my misery.” The lord curled himself in his red leather easy chair, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Unkempt raven locks cascaded down his face, the grease on them shimmering in the faint hearth’s light. His two guests stared at him in a bored, though amused, silence, while the servant he’d scolded ran back from the window like a beaten dog.

“Sweet Victor, you needn’t worry. Just a bit of sunlight won’t ruin that wonderfully pale veneer of yours.” Maximillian Gildenfalt’s smile was as famous for being able to delight his high society friends as it was infamous amongst his staff. The man was lithe and tan, with fine white silk clothing woven in such a way as to leave little to the imagination. He lounged on his reclining couch with a servant girl close at hand, occasionally catching her unaware with a wandering grope. “Oath-brother,” he began with that feeble, noble sincerity, “my dear sister has been dead an awful long time. Mayhaps you’re ready to join the rest of us in the world of the living?” He turned now on his stomach, the girl helping his effete body as it moved.

“How dare you,” Victor snapped back, for once a flush of life catching his dour face. Before he could continue, however, Lady Wolkenhorst took a break from her plate to interject.

“Victor, love. Maxi, like always, is right in all the wrong ways.” Crumbs fell from the folds around her mouth as she spoke. Despite her size and lack of grace, she wore the clothes of a woman half her age and a third her size. The servants had had to fetch the largest chair in the manner for her, and each of them passed a worried look from one and other with every creak of the steadily weakening frame. “We’ve watched you waste away in here for over a year. You don’t eat, you barely sleep, and you only invite us by to sit in this dreary hall and listen to your prose.”

“And god! We have listened!” Maximillian’s hand shot straight into the air. “It’s time for a change, my dear.” He sat himself up to look Victor dead in the eye, unflinching even during an awkward silence that ensued.

“Well then,” Lord Rosanque finally said in little more than a whisper, “what did you, dear friends, have in mind?” The lady slapped her hands together in delight, and Maximillian took to dancing around a bit with his reluctant servant, her eyes sweetly pleading with the others. His friends squealed in sickening unison -

“A party!” Victor looked hesitant, but his eyes had all the base qualities of defeat to them. With a head hung low, he relaxed to sit like his station dictated. With a heavy sigh, he acquiesced.

“When, dear Hilda and Maxi, can I expect this travesty?”

“We’ve already taken care of the arrangements, oath-brother!” The deviant’s dancing slowed to a trot before he finally threw the girl down on the couch, chuckling as he watched her get back to her feet. “I’ve even brought in a few more strong hands for our soiree!” He pointed to me. Finally.

Every rumor I’d heard about these wretched nobles seemed like gospel truth. Stories surrounded them in some sort of mythos, but I was not easily cowed by flimsy fancies that so easily took the servants I impersonated. I saw these dreadful people for what they really were; the selfish, cruel, reckless abandon in each of them hearkened to a weakness at their very core. Wealth and titles had dutifully done away with their dignity and restraint. I walked over, as beckoned, with the same cowardly steps I’d observed in the cooks and valets, before being caught in Maximillian’s mincing clutches.

“Now boy,” he began, his thin fingers at my chin, petting it softly as one would a hound. I dared not look him in the eye just yet, for fear he’d see the white-hot fire in my glare and know his time had come, “how quickly can you muster a get together, for we fine masters?” His smile was slicker than the dribble of grease that dripped from Hilda’s maw.

“By the end of the week, m’lord, should be ample for the readying.” Maximillian pulled my face to his, with some great effort on his part even though I’d gone limp, and giving me all the overwhelming aroma of his womanly scent.

“Be on your way then, all of you, you’ve jobs to do!” Lady Walkenhorst shooed away the help, but not before requesting her third platter of meat-laden finger foods. As I strolled off away from the dour, hungry, and prying eyes, I hurried a step faster than the peons that surrounded me. As we closed the massive oak doors to the room, I could heard their worried whispers. Doubt befell each of them, some measly fear that their efforts would not be enough, and that the lash or worse awaited each should they fail. I was, as always, confident in my abilities. Walking past the rabble towards the servants' quarters in the basement, I took a sharp turn in the shadows, often unnoticed during the daily travel of the workers of the manor. Slipping inside a pantry closet, I slid back a small panel on the wall, and crawled my way into the hidden sanctuary I’d made.

My uncle was right on all accounts. Lord Rosanque’s father had this small office built to keep away from his sensitive son and shrewish wife many years ago. Uncle Dussek had been spot on in its location, but there was little doubt as how he’d come by the information. Each of those three wastes of flesh had dealings with him, and each had betrayed him in turn. The fat Hilda had refused repayment on a loan for a vineyard once the winter had withered the crop to nothing. The sullen Victor had dangerous knowledge that might shine unwanted attention my uncle’s way. And Maximillian was troublesome to the reputation of every high-born, including some former relations of mine. His debauchery was the stuff of legend, especially after it came to light that he’d held a group of village youth against their will for more than one hundred days. Any book written on the subject would be ripe for banning.

Discretion was key to killing them all without any blame falling Dussek’s way, so he’d had a few acquaintances recommend me as an excellent bit of help for a party, and he’d charged me to eliminate them with a princely sum of ten thousand gold. And after all my planning, shopping, letting writing, and booking, I’d be lucky to see ten pieces of it. But no matter the cost, I knew what had to be done. The chaos I planned by throwing the wildest feast yet seen would be the perfect cover for my perfidy.

”The messages will spread the word to every corner of Corone and Scara Brae, and I’ve had postings left in every capital in every continent for over a month. Villain, hero, rabble, and king, all were needed. Necessity dictates course. And I dictate necessity."

[ReleasetheQuacken]

I gaze of the front entrance of the manor, hesitant of stepping in for many reasons. One, my halberd was at home, leaving me feeling vulnerable and weak. Two, despite growing up in a high ranking family me and parties mix like salt in a bag of sugar. Third, I was at the mercy and will of the idiot next to me.

The idiot, a raven haired man dressed in frills, coughs. "Not hesitant are you? We have a deal remember?"

That's right. Leading until yesterday I had been under the impression that I had been hiding myself well. Then at while resting at tavern an old face I had not anticipated to see revealed itself to me. Jarl Aderyn. The seventh son of the seventh son, descended from the Valkyrie Bryhildr. If I hadn't left there is no doubt in my mind that our parents would had tried to arrange our marriage. Not that he wasn't unattractive or unintelligent but with the current situation my oldest friends are now my fiercest adversaries. Which brings me back to why I am here, in a dress, with an old friend.

"Well? Shall we go in?"

"Are you sure the ones you seek will be in there?"

"Most assuredly." Typical Jarl. Always running in blade first never thinking things over but that's a descendant of Bryhildr for you. "Can't you smell it? Those mudanes that spoil our world with their wastefulness and disrespect? Perhaps with enough them dead the Regency and High Council will allow you back into their fold."

"Jarl... I...."

"My I take your coat sir?"

That sneak, distracting me with his silver tongue to usher me inside. Best keep my cool though. After all, I'm here as support, if not to keep his mouth shut on my were about and movement. Personally, I hate the idea of needing to rely on him but if I try to flee again... no. Head up Coppelia, head up. Keep your eyes open and your lips sealed. After this party ends and Jarl has completed his objective, you'll part ways and you'll return to being just another person in the crowd. Right.

A regal woman, probably one of the house, introduces herself eagerly to Jarl. With his looks I'm not shocked, my attention shifts away toward the shiny decor.

"And who is this fine young woman?"

"This is my fiancee, Lady Coppelia Vogel."

"Congrats. Please enjoy yourself."

He nods, I curtsy and with that I am left on my own to watch him mingle from a distance, a cruel reminder of my current fate. The crowd was fluent and sifting into the main hall. Fuck them all. As long as men continue to deny my kind will always be in odds, odds that have lead us here. And now that we are, whose blood shall flow tonight?

[Otto]

"This itches like the blazes. Who puts sequins inside a jacket?"

Otto sighed, and twisted something on the underside of the iridescent steel disk he'd propped up on its rim. "Carrin? Just get ready, will you?"

The poky little servant's room had just a couple of lamps, but so much light reflected off its occupants that they really only needed the one. Colours shifted and merged together on the walls with every little movement, in a display usually only achieved inside someone's head and with the help of various illicit substances. The band had been avoiding alcohol by unspoken agreement. No one knew what effect the giddy display would have after a few pints, and none of them were willing to find out.

"I say it was a mistake accepting this gig," muttered Aaron, bass guitarist and walking flash-bang grenade. His suit had come in yellow, but it was hard to tell because Otto's eyes started to water if he looked at it too long. "I've heard stories about Gildenfalt."

"I say it was a mistake letting Ags design the costumes," Carrin grumbled. His glittering garb was neon-sunset pink, and he wasn't any happier about it than you'd expect. It even had a hat, which had been a particularly cruel touch.

"We owed her one after Moody's," Otto supplicated. "And you must admit, it was... nice of her to aim for something, uh, military."

To a man, they glanced down at their costumes. It was hard to imagine what sort of army would wear these as their uniforms: possibly one that wanted to ensure its soldiers couldn't be confused with those of any other military on the planet. It would be hard enough to mistake them for anything which occurred outside the maddened depths of a raging fever dream. Otto himself had been given a fetching green number, and while he'd prefer to hammer his tusks out than admit it, he was rather taken with the thing. It is difficult to explain what the overall effect was like, because rose chaffers don't come over six feet tall and wearing beards. But in terms of shininess, there was definitely some similarity there.

There was a violet flash, and the three of them quickly threw their hands in front of their eyes. The fourth member - Orlannes - had turned away from peering through the gap in the door, and sauntered back to the band. Otto swore that the half-elf's suit had received by far the most attention to detail; it fit the man like a glove, and the sequins had an orderly quality to them that was absent for rest of them. The man wasn't a peacock. You needed a new word for what he was. Peacocks were drab by comparison.

"I think I can hear the first guests arriving," Orlannes stated, while his bandmates tried to blink the sunspots away. "We ready to roll?"

Otto gave the disk one final tweak and stood up. "All good."

The four of them pushed out into the corridor and headed for the stairs up.

"What'll we start with?" Carrin asked.

"They gave us a set list," Otto said, and was completely unsurprised by the groans which met the news. "Here."

A grubby sheet of paper was produced as they emerged into an expansive ballroom, where a small stage had been set up at one end for the entertainment. The list was forgotten for a moment as they took in the velvet drapes, the shimmering marble floor, the mosaics and chandeliers, the balustrades of polished rare woods, and not least, the linen-covered tables sagging under innumerable platters of canapés and hors d'oeuvres.

Otto couldn't help noticing that the white linen tablecloths changed colour as each of them passed by.

They set their cases down on the stage and glanced uneasily around the mostly-empty hall. "So, do we just start?" Aaron whispered.

"That's what we were told. As soon as the first guests arrive, they said," Otto mumbled back.

"Alright, pass us the list then."

The chit made its rounds. Lips moved wordlessly as each musician memorized the first few songs. At last, it was pressed back into Otto's grey shovel-like hand, and then disappeared into the glimmering recesses of his jacket. "Whenever you're ready, lads."

"Alright, Otto. Count us in."

The orc nodded. "One. Two. One, two three, four-"

[eXgTurbostar]

Mighty roars could be heard in the main hall, awakening the prey-like ancient instincts that dwell deep inside most of the party guests and providing them with a short thrill as they look around them, before letting out a sigh of relief. What's the source of this 'noise' you ask? That is simple to 'see', somewhere near a assembled stage for singers, a white lion stood proudly on top of a round chair. She gives the crowd exactly what they want, excitement and puts up a good show. At first growling angrily, roaring and eventually lashing at the the nearby observers, only to stop at the last moment... apparently obeying her 'tamer' that was 'commanding' her to step down or heel in a strange language. In truth, the blonde 'tamer' spoke to the lion in a old form of elvish her mother had taught her during her magic training sessions. Her tone was demanding as to appear that she was issuing commands to lion with only 3 black stripes on her white fur.

"Remind me... why are we here again???" she asked, suddenly remembering a particular encounter she had on the streets while returning from a recently finished job. She was quite happy with the pay so she wanted to go to a tavern and celebrate when... "Hey lady, is that lion yours?" asked a sketchy voice that came from Ariel's left side. Turning towards the source of the noise that disturbed her good mood, her silver eyes would fix upon a average looking man that wore a untasteful turban. He showed a dumb grin, rubbing his hands while switching his gaze from the blonde to her white companion. She let out a sigh and was about to turn back and resume her initial plan of going to the inn when the guy spoke again, this time in a whisper: "If it is tamed, we can make lots of money real quick". The blonde was going to ignore this guy, until certain words made her frown and in a flash, the blonde unsheathes her short blade and puts it to the man's neck while pushing him against the wall. Her blade was barely touching his neck when she spoke the next words in a cold tone "Listen up pal, first of all I'm no lady so that we make it clear. Second if you refer to my beloved Kimba by IT, I'll let her have her way with you." she then lessens the grip she had around his chest, ultimately letting go of him and shows a mischievous smile while asking "You mentioned something about money, what were you referring to?"

And there she was, serving as a 'lion tamer' after the guy showed her a piece of paper that had the title 'entertainers wanted!'. She was told to 'entertain' the guests for a while until the main event. She wasn't told what that main event was...one of the party staff told her in a sarcastic tone before walking away: "You'll know when the time comes.".. so there she was, waiting for 'something' to happen and then get paid handsomely.

[Philomel]

The bass lines thrummed around the building. Philomel's slightly tapered, slightly fluffy ears twitched, perking up as they heard the sound. A small smile came to her lips, a real smile rather than the fake ones she was gifting out like breaths of air, as she heard the starting melody, and it was similarly picked up by the smaller human woman who stood beside her.

Gosling, with her unmistakeable crimson hair tied in two long bunches over her shoulders, leaned back and placed her hands on her exposed hips. Grandly she raised her chin and raised her voice, addressing all their clients in the specially laid-aside room.

"Lords and Ladies," she announced, "The music has begun, and thus with it will we begin our entertainment for the night."

Glancing up to her Matriarch, Gosling looked slightly awkward as she waited for the sign of approval. Within a moment, Philomel gave it - a gentle nod and a pleasing glint in her eye.

"Your first announcement," the faun mused, "Very well done, my dear."

As she spoke the noise in the room began to rise. Patrons, both male and female, began beadily-eyed looking at the set of ten servers Philomel had brought with her; seven human, two elvish and one of a lizard-like desert race known as drak'ra in faunish. There were no men, for the crew of the Fiesty Fox, and thus Philomel's inner circle, were firmly entirely female right now. She was considering befriending some rent-boys for her new offices in Ettermire, but for now women were her kin. They were for hire, and they were hers. Each one of them was a trained seducer and lover, but also trained as a waitress, conversationalist, sailor and now, spy, ready to get the darkest secrets from the darkest of hearts.

A couple of gentlemen rose, those who were the official guests of the lords of this party, and grabbed the wrists of two pretty maidens. Greedily, with lust dripping from their muggins they moved past the plush armchairs, the tapestry drapes and the tables of equisite beverages, onwards to the velvet curtain that closed off an entryway to a spiral staircase. The stairs only led downwards, and into a small corridor with a set amount of tastefully decorated chambers. Here the clients of the courtesan entertainment team, the set of high-class whores who had hired the room for the party night, could do with the clients as the clients wished, and hopefully make a profit on the evening.

Gosling, second in command for tonight, and enthusiastic apprentice of Philomel, clasped her hands in front of her bare belly, elbows touching the bottom of her bustier, and tipped her head to the side, watching the general excitement in the room.

"How much money do you think we will make tonight, Lady Phi?" she asked.

Philomel raised an eyebrow, looking from patron to patron, figuring out each one, where they might be from, who they might be, and how much money she might be able to make from them tonight. Her tongue flicked across her dry lips before she answered.

"Enough to help start at least the project in Ettermire," she murmured to Gosling. "Enough."

"Enough for our Lily to sprout a new root?" Gosling whispered excitedly.

The faun Matriarch nodded, eyeing up a man she suspected might be a prince in disguise. "Exactly."

[Skie and Avery]

Music and magic had a way of going hand in hand, she knew. Skie had entered the hall, stalked down the marble halls and stood for a moment in awkwardness. She didn’t know anyone here. She didn’t really belong here. Earlier that morning she’d stumbled on a slip of paper pushed under the door of the bedroom she rented. Party tonight, details downstairs. She sailed for Alerar in the morning, and her brother stalked Concordia, a beast that wouldn’t dare come into the light just yet. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go looking for something. What was it that she sought? Even Skie couldn’t answer that question.

She made her way past tables piled high with food and libation, and managed to snag a glass of champagne somewhere. The soft ivory of the bubbling drink was the same color as the dress she’d worn, a draped piece of silk that was reminiscent of Raiaeran goddesses. Her throat was swathed in pearls, fake but realistic enough to fool. Her dark hair and been braided and pinned back from her face, the scent of bergamot and deep spices dabbed behind her ears. She felt pretty, and it had come at no easy price. Tonight she would enjoy herself in frivolity.

Suddenly she knew what she wanted. Lifting the glass to her lips she took a deep drought. She wanted to get wrecked.

[Dissinger]

Boots tread across the streets of Radasanth. People were letting out a cacophony of joy and debauchery. It of course was these sorts of events that led the guard to be on guard against the occasional riot of drunken tomfoolery, but the guard had been paid to stay a respectful distance away from such affairs. In the end, the result was the same, an open party was like a fortress with its gates unbarred and doors wide open. Ripe for intrusion.

Those same boots were soon met by a pair, then a second, and a third. A smal group moving through the streets in unison. The leader tilted his head back and nodded to the compatriots before their heavily accented tradespeak marked them all from the same region;

“Preparations made?”

“Raven is in position, he'll have the vault open in no time.”

“Temptress?”

“As much as Succubus hates it, she succeeded. She's out for the night though, has expectations to maintain.”

The leader paused only a second, wheels turning and realigning before he nodded, “Unfortunate, expected, but unfortunate all the same.”

“Succubus says she can't make it,” The man responded.

“Also unfortunate.”

“But expected?”

“She has no reason to help me without direction from the Father. I was lucky to even get Temptress on board for this.”

They stopped a few streets away, the leader bringing in the rest of them with a hearty laugh and a clap on the shoulders. They all joined in the raucous laughter fitting in as people who had already partook of the party to the passerby. Finally he spoke his voice heavily laden, “We had a month's preparation, shorter than our usual fair but no less on point. The guard for the vault is out for the evening, and Raven is in position to exploit it. We don't hold our heist until Raven is in the vault and has the target, plus any targets of opportunity he has appraised. Are we clear?”

The three with him each nodded in turn before the leader broke the huddle and smiled, “Its so few an occasion we get to enjoy the hospitality of the elite. By all means take part, but remain ready for the exit strategy. As loud a distraction as possible gentlemen. Bait and switch and they'll never know the two were related at all.”

Seth Dahlios, the Lavinian Demon, turned away from his thief friends as they walked into the Rosanque estate. The dagger belt of the Demon was quickly confiscated as was the ones for the other compatriots. That was fine, Raven had already infiltrated and hid their real dagger belts elsewhere. These were mere duplicates that would make someone believe they had the Demon's weapons. Jackets and hats disposed of the thieves spread throughout the party, getting to know the events and distractions with clinical detachment, even as they sampled the wine, and the occasional offering of food.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

As I opened the foreboding doors to the mansion, I felt a pang of regret.

There were... people here. Dozens of them. Possibly over one hundred. All decked out in their most lavish, colorful, elaborate finery. Gold and silver jewelry sparkled in the blazing light of the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. They were all conversing with one another, discussing family and business ventures and Corone's upcoming political elections. Off in the distance, I could hear the telltale rumblings of a band.

Several of these figures had the audacity to look towards the doorway and see me and my companion standing there. They looked--no, stared at us for several seconds before returning to their conversations.

My right hand, wrapped in silk in order to hide the crooked vines that were my fingers, began to shake involuntarily. "Hype," I said after several seconds, "I don't want to be here."

Hyperion, my ever-present companion, looked over. From behind a beautiful mask forged of mythril, two glowing eyes looked at me quizzically. "If I'm not mistaken, you agreed to this as a meeting place with that archivist."

"Yeah, well, I'm having second thoughts."

The feminine horror turned her gaze back towards the people who loitered in the foyer, wine glasses in hand. Her attention flickered between each individual, quickly analyzing them with her enhanced senses. "Perhaps you should've thought harder before agreeing to this particular deal, yes?"

"I didn't think that there was going to be this many people attending the party of a bunch of stuck-up old codgers," I glowered.

A stranger came up from behind and startled me with a soft hand on my shoulder. I jumped several inches in the air and let out an embarrassing squeak. Hype tensed up, ready to spring into action and flay the offending person's flesh from their bones at my command. "Oh, sorry," a woman with red hair pulled up into a bun said with a quiet smile as she walked by. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I straightened out the sleeves of my black dress jacket as I side-eyed her. "Don't worry about it," I muttered.

I could sense my companion relax as the woman continued her way towards the thick of the party. Hyperion eased her stance, and I could feel her protective urges dissipate into the cool air around us. After several long seconds, she broke the awkward silence. "Are you sure that I'm the one who needs to learn how to blend in while out in public?"

"Look, I just get nervous at parties like this, that's all. Too many people. Makes me feel uneasy."

Hype's tinny chuckle rattled from behind her mask. "This isn't funny," I snarled as I whipped around to face her. "Look... Let's just get this over with. We should be able to find this guy soon enough, grab the book, and be on our merry way."

A small draft of chilly nighttime air hit my face as I shut the reinforced wooden doors behind us. Hype and I walked side by side through the foyer and into the adjacent room. I was dressed in an all-black formal suit, the form-fitting jacket unbuttoned. Hype picked out her set of Fallieni robes that hugged her curves tightly and displayed brilliant shades of blue ranging from light to royal. The crowds were thicker in here, caged in by walls where stuffy tapestries and old paintings hung forgotten. A fireplace roared loudly with burning wood, casting off enough warmth to make the party comfortable. My eyes darted from person to person, silently praying for a familiar face--either friend or foe; at that particular moment I would not be picky.

[Skie and Avery]

It didn't take long before three empty glasses, their slender forms speckled with foam and droplets of champagne, were scattered before her on the table. Even more quickly, someone came around and picked them up, replacing them with clean glasses of full drink. Skie thought about grabbing another but thought better of it, instead picking through the cheese platter. Her head felt weightless, her body even more so. She couldn't see that well but that was fine. Her place before the band and their dazzling getup ensured that she knew exactly where she was.

It didn't take long for her to realize that she was actually enjoying herself. The drink had helped transport her directly into a place of the here and now and the music was good. The lights were playing along the chandeliers, the glass, and the silver. The fine hall was bathed in light and laughter. One hip twitched and then the other and before she knew it, she was dancing to the beat, swaying alone. A few eyes were on her, but she didn't quite mind it. One man began to approach her, but she twisted away and left the table behind, moving across the room. She wasn't quite ready to socialize yet, but maybe she was getting there.

As she got closer to the entrance into the party hall, where hallways snaked out from the floor into dim walkways and forever more rooms, she scanned faces. Her eyes passed over a grey gaze and she stopped, backtracking. He was older now, and a scar blessed his cheek where her lips once had. It had been so long since she'd seen Seth Dahlios, long enough that his face had almost been that of a strangers. Not so long, however, that she'd forgotten the taste of his soul.

The Starslayer's Curse had come to fruition twice in her life, and both times she'd left, cleaved herself from the men whose spirits she'd nearly eaten without much of a goodbye. She hadn't expected to ever see either one of them again. Here she was, tipsy as a barmaid and staring down one of them. Had he seen her? Before she knew it she'd quickly exited stage left, finding a dim hallway and hiding herself on the other side of a tall statuette of some Coronian noble.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She'd let him have time to move on through the room and then she'd rejoin the party and stick to the crowds, she decided. After all, there was no need for drama. The two demons, one in name and one in blood, had nothing to do with each other anymore.

[Resolve]

Muir’s tan, freckled nose wrinkled as he and his companion approached the entrance. Already, a motley stream of guests filtered inside, and the congestion would only grow worse over the next few hours. Someone bumped into him as a group brushed past, and Muir groaned.

“I thought you liked parties,” Resolve piped up beside him, knuckles propped impatiently on her hips.

The two matched in their Fallien-fresh ensembles, which Muir had brought with him from his recent travels. Their robes cut narrow silhouettes on their athletic frames in a divine, sunset-hued cloth that set flame to his auburn hair and stoked embers in her violet, kohl-lined eyes. But whereas his hung lazily open to expose the blue ink scrawled across his chest, Resolve wore a bandeau, out from which crept the white filigree of her Astakan markings. They made a striking pair.

“You like parties,” the young man sighed. “I like intimate soirees, familiar fucking faces. This… this is just work.”

Resolve imitated his sigh in response, drawing it out into something melodramatic and mocking as she laced her arm through his. “You’re just saying that because you’re sober. But I’m here, and I’m going to introduce you to some of the loveliest people, and you’re going to enjoy yourself. Capisce?”

The way she yanked him in through the wide doorway didn’t allow him much space to respond, so he didn’t. Instead, as she dragged him into the main hallway, he reached into his breast pocket to extract a small, sterling canister. Out he shook one tiny, white pill, then thought twice and doubled up. Before his friend turned back to him, both had disappeared into his mouth and the tin was nowhere in sight.

“They’ve started already! Can you hear them?” Resolve grinned over her shoulder. “Come on!”

Indeed, the sweet sounds of the Moody Bastards had drifted in over their heads and settled around them, luring the crowd into the ballroom. They shuffled in, Muir at the mercy of Resolve’s enthusiasm, and their eyes finally fell upon the musicians.

Muir winced at the brilliant rainbow on stage and, for the first time since they’d arrived, he expressed something other than begrudged acceptance. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he laughed.

“Otto’s in green,” Resolve smiled obliviously.

Her friend squinted through the glare of sequins to analyze the group. “Well. He’s an orc, all right.”

“Yeah.” Resolve smiled some more, positively delighted at the prospect of introducing two of her favorite people, and Muir stared back, bewildered. Finally, she relented. “How about we get us some drinks,” she proposed.

His eyes sparkled. It was the first good idea she’d had all day.

Note: I can't promise I'll be good at keeping up with everyone's posts, so please just let me know if you want to interact with Resolve or Muir so I don't miss it!