(event) WELCOME TO THE MASQUERADE

[vestigemods]

WELCOME TO THE MASQUERADE

OCTOBER 31ST

► THE ARRIVAL

Whether you'd like to admit it or not, some part of you couldn't quite take your mind off of this so-called Masquerade Ball. That part may have been buried deep down under layers of introversion or party-pooping, but it was there. Something about it fascinated you, as if a choice not to attend would be one you couldn't help but feel you'd regret for months to come.

Or perhaps you weren't reluctant at all. Perhaps as soon as the flyers went up, a thrilled gleam flickered across your eyes, and you made tracks for Foodland to scrape together some kind of costume for the occasion. Learned to dance, maybe. Even asked your friend or your sweetheart or that passably-attractive stranger on the street to be your date for the evening. Hey, we're not here to judge.

For some, this is your first time visiting the tent in the brand new clearing. Others may have passed by it sometime since it the night it popped up nearly ten whole days ago, stealing a glance but never quite recognizing that the arrival of such a thing might be odd (or perhaps even ominous). Either way, the lifeless polyester husk has come to life on this night, the formerly drab-looking purple now rich and glowing through from inside. The tent flap sits unzipped, catchy dance-worthy music trickling out from inside. This might just be the best shindig since the @cock.licking.idiot's lake party. (Or it might be an absolute fucking disaster. You know how these things go.)

THE PARTY

The tent flap unzips of its own accord at precisely six in the evening, and already the sounds of a sort of era-neutral dance beat trickle out of the dim. Assuming you have a costume, you'll be able to stroll right inside. If you've tried to cut corners by simply dressing nice, your feet will stick for a moment just before entry, but it seems to merely be a warning. An 'I know what you're trying to pull and I'm letting it slide just this once', but from who? It's impossible to say. If you've not dressed up at all, well, you'll find your feet stick fast just outside the entry flap, unable to move in any direction but backward. That's alright, really - you can run quick to fetch a costume if you'd like, any costume will do.

From the inside, the tent is even larger and more grand than it seemed, and is decorated with subtle but eerie Halloween decor. The lighting is dim but not nearly enough to strain your eyes, coming largely from the scattering of old-fashioned lanterns dangling from the ceiling on near-invisible chains. Touch the walls of the tent, at least in the main ballroom, and you'll feel a nearly unseen layer shift under your fingers, feeling entirely too much like a layer of sturdy cobwebs for many's comfort. The music itself comes from out-of-the-way black speakers in various corners of the ballroom, along both the floor and the ceilings. There's no 'deejay station' or any kind of stage. There is, however, a small tablet halfway up the wall next to the refreshments tables to allow you to queue up a song through a rather simple-to-use interface or even voice command. It even responds to vague requests, like "something less stuffy" or "gimme a slow jam".

Speaking of refreshments, there are plenty. Two tables large enough to seat at least eight are covered in plates and bowls of various snacks and finger-foods, from sweet to savory. The food is absolutely fresh, more so even than what you'd find at foodland - the veggie tray is crisp and well-stocked, and the chunks of various meats and cheeses taste almost artisanal. Next to the food sits a similar table with two large punch-bowl centerpieces - one bowl of 'Blood Punch' (like regular punch, but darker red), and one bowl of 'Kicky Blood Punch' (the same, but with alcohol in it). The punch is almost definitely the best refreshment on offering, the absolute perfect mix of tangy and sweet, complete with floating and submerged chunks of fresh pineapple. The plates and cups both are a sturdy transparent plastic, the one break from the otherwise uniformly festive gathering.

Near the refreshments are the only other furniture in the room (beyond the occasional bench along the wall), a handful of lightweight faux-cast-iron tables, each with a set of matching chairs. It's a place to sit while you catch your breath from all that dancing, or even just to kick back and mingle.

A couple of hallways shoot off from the ballroom, one at each side, and while they each lead to a bathroom, wandering past the bathroom may very well get you lost. The tent wasn't this large from the outside, was it? Unless you're looking for somewhere to be alone, you may want to consider heading back.

THE PANIC

This Masquerade Ball's been quite an occasion... Music, celebration, and plenty of good food and drink. But once the clock strikes nine, it all begins to unravel. Not blatantly, of course. It may even take a few minutes for the partygoers to realize quite what's occurred. One lantern burns out, then two, then three, enough to dim the room even further but not plunge it into darkness altogether. The slow zip of the entry flap is nearly inaudible over the sounds of the music, but once it's zipped, it's stuck hard and fast and not even inhuman strength can budge it - nor can you slice a new exit through the wall of the tent. Even the music itself begins to distort, from clear to scratchy, or from quick to slow as if toggling the fast-forward key. By twenty minutes after nine, whichever half-mutilated tune it's playing degenerates to a single long screech, like feedback almost but much too raw. And then the speakers are silent... But by now, most of you have your own troubles to deal with.

Because fears have begin to manifest - not just any fears, but your deepest and darkest, the ones that terrify you and plague your dreams. Some, you'll recognize right away. Others may be the best available interpretation, foreign to you but for the visceral fear it elicits in your gut. Some go away in a few short minutes. Others will haunt you until the very instant midnight strikes.

It wouldn't be Halloween without a few good scares, now would it?

Once the clock strikes midnight, all remaining fears disappear back into shadows or obscure corners, or even through the newly-unzipped flap of the tent, never to return. Has it really only been three hours since that started? It feels like much longer, enough so that it's jarring to see by the moon that the night has just barely begun. By now, it's painfully obvious that attending the Masquerade was a shady idea at best - why didn't you see it before? You can't imagine how something so obvious slipped past you, but it did.

As soon as the last shaken partygoer steps out from inside, the tent collapses in a formless heap on the grass. There it lingers, a deflated shell of both the vibrant party and the den of terrors it was just minutes or hours ago. In fact, it's still there even as the last person leaves the clearing, but should you return for another glimpse even sixty short seconds later, you'll find that the tent (in all of its immensity) has disappeared altogether.

At this point, weary partygoers are free to drag their tired, potentially traumatized, and generally hungover asses back to wherever they call home. Into bed, most likely - if they can even fall asleep, after a nightmare like that.

► MOD NOTES

• This is a catch-all log for top-levels pertaining to October's Welcome To The Masquerade event. Go ahead and utilize vestigenet for any event-related network posts you'd like to make.
  
• All event information can be found in the Event Write-Ups tab of the October Bulletin, as well as the Masquerade FAQ.
  
• Please take care to label your top-levels or prompts with either which segment of the event it pertains to (the party or the nightmares) and/or what time it takes place (before 9 or after 9), so that folks looking for either fun party stuff or horror stuff can see at a glance where they might hop in.
  
• The network does still work during the fear portion of this event, and characters are able to post to it and/or contact others within or outside of the tent.
  
• Reiterating that it is possible for your character to resist the inclination to attend the Masquerade - it's more of a shove in the party-ward direction than any sort of compulsory thing.
  
• Any questions can be directed to this top-level or, for a quicker response, to Trace on discord/plurk.

Comments

lan sizhui ♪ ota (cw: buried-ish stuff, murder)

[deferences]

when it's time to party, we will party hard;

[putting together a costume and decking himself out in some makeup with fake horns proved far easier than he would've thought. after having been drawn to the masquerade, despite his wariness, he figured what's the harm? because surely nothing too terrible can happen at a party, especially not when he's dressed as an adorable little faun slash forest child.

once inside, the first place he goes is toward the refreshments, plucking up meats, cheeses, and veggies that he initially wastes no time downing, but whenever he returns for more, he takes his time the second go-around. on top of that, sizhui even risks a cup or two of punch, questioning what makes one of them ‘kick’ more than usual. rather than risk it at the moment, he simply plucks a few pineapple chunks from the liquid, delighted by the sweet yet tart flavor that kinda makes his lips tingle. odd, he thinks, though doesn't contemplate it further.

instead, he might be found dancing despite not recognizing most of the music that plays. when he tires of that, however, the lan disciple collects more snacks and drinks, finds a table, and lets himself wind down a little, happily watching other people enjoy themselves.]



calm down, we don't want to panic at the disco;

[after nine strikes on the dot and lanterns begin flickering out, sizhui is immediately on alert, somewhat relieved he'd thought to bring along his qiankun pouch just in case something questionable decided to unfold throughout the night. he doesn't reach for it yet, too distracted by the distorted music that eventually becomes uncomfortable screeching, which in turn makes him cover his ears and wince his eyes shut.

when he reopens them, the sound has blessedly stopped. his hands lower from his head, one hovering near the bag at his side, the other twitching, silently longing for the familiar weight of his sword. (he knew he should've brought it, even if it'd been unnecessary. better to have it and not need it than need it and not—)]

‘Wen Yuan,’ [comes softly from behind him, sending a cold chill up his spine that spreads through his chest, turns his blood to ice in his veins. it's a voice he recognizes, but it sounds hoarse and unsettling.

lan sizhui has never deemed himself a coward, yet abruptly and all at once, he's terrified to turn around. he takes a steeling breath, exhales steadily, slowly turns to glance over his shoulder— and can't help the sudden yelp he lets out. there before him lay countless slaughtered people, broken, bloody bodies spread out, piled in heaps, some even clinging to loved ones during their last moments. most he doesn't recognize, although the few he does, he can't tear his eyes away; his uncles wen ning and jiang cheng, aunt yanli, his best friend, lan jingyi (who had even come with him to this party!), nie-xiong and both daozhangs he's started befriending. all of them: dead and-slash-or half-buried beneath dirt he was sure wasn't there before.

but a second voice comes from nearby, another that's definitely familiar and though he's loath to look, the boy does, both hands reaching to cup around his face in an attempt to muffle another cry. wei wuxian, draped over the fallen body of lan wangji, pointing directly at him with chenqing.] ‘A-Yuan, why?’

I... but I didn't— [he stops, casts his attention downward, eyes almost impossibly wide at the sight of a sword – his sword – in front of his feet, drenched in dark, almost black-colored blood.] No... no, that's not right! It isn't real, [is the pathetic attempt at reassurance. he takes a step backward then another, clutching his throat like he can't breathe. if it's an illusion, why can he sort of taste dirt? almost feel the blood on his hands?] This is not real, it can't be! [and it's not, but it sure as hell feels that way, which is why he doesn't fight the tears welling up, lets them spill freely down his cheeks, a mixture of sadness and outright fear.]


wildcard;

[ooc: or hit me with something of your own! :')]

Now panic.

[gusumouthcannon]

[Jingyi trips over his own half-buried corpse.

He has no idea where his sword is (it had been on his back?) and he has no idea where his giant branch went (fat lot of good it did!), so he can do little more than scramble away from the bodies with a yelp. His hands are covered in blood and dirt and he, wild-eyed, does not spot Sizhui immediately.

Mostly because he is looking among the dead, first. After all, ghosts of Sizhui means a body of Sizhui somewhere. And if he is here, obviously dead, then it would stand to reason that Sizhui would also be. He would not have left him alone unless he was already dead.

The fact that he is alive to be thinking this and staring at his own face does not seem to sink in. When he hears Sizhui, though, the tail end of 'it's not real!' his head snaps around and he stumbles in Sizhui's direction, blood hands outstretched.]

Sizhui!

he's pANICKING

[deferences]

[probably good they don't notice each other right away or else there's a likely chance sizhui might not've realized the differences. he's so used to seeing jingyi in his lan robes or, now that they've somewhat adapted to horrortown life, something modernish, it doesn't dawn on him right away that they'd shown up to this party in costumes.

not until he upturns his attention and sees his friend stumbling toward him, still decked out in his amazing tree outfit with bloodied hands reaching toward him. (the getup had been so perfect before all the madness began, now it just adds to the terror.)

he backpedals another step, raises his own arms and holds them out in front of himself.] Jingyi, no, I-I don't want to hurt you...

[even though sizhui knows he wouldn't, not unless he wasn't in full control of his own actions. nevertheless, he shifts further away, trembling and sobbing softly while wrapping both arms tight around himself, like it will keep him from hurting anyone else.] Please, I didn't— I couldn't have—! [no, he couldn't, and that's why it's absurd to consider.]