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[ota] nobody's gonna have an orgy in their mansion all over their nice furniture
WHO: OTA, more or less
WHAT: An all-hands infiltration mission ends up being rather more hands than anticipated.
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: At an estate outside Ostwick
NOTES: Sending crystals are allowed but must be used with the utmost discretion to avoid discovery. A general warning for Eyes Wide Shut-type party nonsense, but more fancy swinger makeouts than sex dungeon. Please make sure to communicate OOCly to ensure everyone's having fun. NSFW content is likely, but if a thread is going to turn into prolonged porn please shift it to an inbox.
WHAT: An all-hands infiltration mission ends up being rather more hands than anticipated.
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: At an estate outside Ostwick
NOTES: Sending crystals are allowed but must be used with the utmost discretion to avoid discovery. A general warning for Eyes Wide Shut-type party nonsense, but more fancy swinger makeouts than sex dungeon. Please make sure to communicate OOCly to ensure everyone's having fun. NSFW content is likely, but if a thread is going to turn into prolonged porn please shift it to an inbox.
Word has come through reliable sources that Baron Hounsford, secretly a significant financial supporter first of the Inquisition and now of Riftwatch as well, is to be the target of an assassnation attempt. Precisely why or by whom is unknown, just that the threat is imminent. Worse, the Baron has left behind his personal guard to attend a somewhat mysterious event at the home of Lord Esterhauzy, outside Ostwick. All Riftwatch has been able to learn on such short notice is that the estate is secluded and the event extravagant. The massive scale is a blessing and a curse: it's certainly big enough to sneak in quite a lot of people, so long as they look as if they have money, but by the same token it will be easy for assassins to sneak in as well, and difficult to quickly locate anyone.
On arrival, everyone willing to dress the part is ushered in to Lord Esterhauzy's glittering mansion, where the difficulties of the mission suddenly become much greater: each person, whether disguised as guest or staff, will be handed a random mask, and informed of the rules:
- 1. Masks must be worn at all times.
2. When the musicians play the famous Merry Widow of Wycome, every guest must kiss the person to whom they're speaking, or who is closest. They must continue until the music stops.
3. If they aren't interested in stopping, slipping away somewhere more private is an option (but given the competition for space, finding somewhere completely private may be a challenge.)
4. Any person found to be breaking these rules, or the spirit of them, will be unmasked, removed from the premises, and forbidden from attending in the future.
The dimly candle-lit ballroom is already loud with masked guests, so many that they spill out onto the torch-studded terraces and garden beyond. The room is overwarm, but not sweltering thanks to the efforts of oiled footmen posted near the windows with large fans, and the servants circulating with trays of icy-cold champagne. Somewhere in this crowd are Baron Hounsford and those who wish to kill him, and the only way to find them is to spread out, speak to as many people as possible, and regularly pool information among themselves to try to zero in on their targets. They must mingle as if lives depend upon it.
Those reluctant to participate if it might be avoided will discover that locations where private conversation can be had without complying with the house rules are almost non-existent. Lord Esterhauzy learned his lesson the last time he tried this--it is a common subject of gossip among the crowd that the last party he had advertised as the most debauched of the season fizzled out into merely a slightly racy cocktail hour with underdressed staff. This time he has taken precautions, blocking off most of the house, monitoring access to the rest to ensure it's for sexy purposes only, and empowering staff to have anyone not complying with the spirit of the event thrown out--lest they think that an idle threat, shortly after they arrive several people are unmasked and thrown out for not obeying the musical cue, much to the laughter of the crowd. Even the grounds are patrolled.
There are several spots they've overlooked: a linen closet, a stairwell alcove, a corner of the library, but Riftwatch aren't the only ones to have discovered this, and there is no guarantee any particular hiding spot will be available when the music stops.
As the night goes on and the crowd gets drunker, the tone gradually shifts from slightly giggly titillation to more serious debauchery (much to Lord Esterhauzy's delight. If at first you don't succeed!) but there remains a veneer of decorum that keeps it from sliding into obscenity: people may saunter off to the garden or a private room with someone else's spouse(s), but nobody is just openly fucking on the piano.
ii here it is the best first meeting
He's taller than she is. There's something funny about her eyes, behind the mask--wide-eyed, maybe--but he ignores it, playing along with the music because he has to play along with this stupid fucking game, if he wants to stay here and learn anything useful. So he leans down, and he kisses her.
His mask is dark green, like moss. It matches the dark of his clothes, black and deep emerald and a paler green for contrast. Better clothes than he usually wears, but he still smells--and probably tastes like--wine. She'll get the force of it when he kisses her. He doesn't do anything to make it particularly nice. Chaste if a little heavy, utilitarian and firm. Here we are, conducting business. This fucking song.
nobody expects the nevarran twinquisition
She'd managed thus far with her revulsion at the taste of wine and spit from the party-goers she's kissed, but the sudden dissimilarity between whoever this is and who she expected puts her on edge. She tells herself it's because this man might be an impostor, the assassin wearing a glamour to place the blame on Riftwatch, that she slips a knife free of the strap around her thigh and presses it to his ribs. Their bodies are close enough that onlookers won't see the blade.
no subject
"It's the lord you want," he growls. "Not me. If it's the tone of this party you're complaining about."
Party has so seldom been said with such revulsion. Behind his mask, Nikos makes quick work of looking at her face--or what he can see of it, half-hidden by mask. She is Riftwatch. She has to be.
"Otherwise, fuck off."
There. Good.
no subject
Curling her fingers into his shirt front, she pulls him aside to a corner less populated by light and people. For all intents and purposes, it'll just look like they wanted a shadier corner to neck in.
"Who are you?" She demands. "And don't say Kostos because I know that's a lie."
no subject
Crumpling this shirt that he doesn't like would normally get a point. Manhandling would lose the point. Mistaking him for Kostos puts all of the remaining points in a piss bucket and kicks it out onto a druffalo pen that hasn't been mucked in weeks.
"Nikos," he says, and if it sounds like he hates being Nikos in this moment, that's because he does. "We get this a lot. Comes of having the same fucking face. Now let go of me before I push something sharp under your fingernails."
no subject
Athessa does let him go, by way of simply releasing her hold on his shirt and letting her hand hover in that position. Unsure of what the implication here is. But then she remembers that oh yeah, twins exist. Strangely, that's never the first conclusion anyone jumps to, is it?
She bursts out laughing, her uncertain hand finding purpose in smoothing down his shirt where she'd rumpled it.
"Wow, okay," she snorts. "I'm sorry I thought you were trying to frame Riftwatch or something by making yourself look like--"
no subject
Girl, please. Now he bats her hand away. Perfectly capable of smoothing his own shirt, thanks.
"Do you think he's so important, or only a convenient face. It's not a convenient face for me, if it matters. Which it doesn't seem to." Having straightened himself out as much as he wants to be straightened out, Nikos casts about for a drink. For his nerves. A small table with a tray of goblets stands off to one side, butting up against a large wooden pillar. A woodland fresco has been painted on it, a riot of fat grapes, lush leaves and twisted trysting animals, a whole group of leering faces to look down on the scene, as Nikos steps brusquely away from his new friend to grab a glass of wine for himself.
He doesn't offer one to her.
no subject
"A convenient face, clearly," she says. The knife in her hand isn't forgotten, but takes on new purpose as something to fidget with while she speaks.
"I didn't know he had a brother," there's a brief pause, in which she almost, almost decides against a playful jab. He probably won't find it as funny as her grin suggests she does.
"Or that his brother would be such a bad kisser."
no subject
Coming up without a glimpse of Caspar, he's forced to look back at Athessa. And her knife, which she's fucking with, idly. Nikos' mouth tightens.
"Is that yours?"
The knife. He nods at it, curtly.
no subject
"Uh, yeah," she says. Duh, her tone says. "It was strapped to my thigh, so...it'd be pretty weird if it wasn't mine."
no subject
Maybe it's the wine, but he smirks at her as he lifts the glass to take another drink. It's good wine. Nikos is glad for that, at least, and glad that there will be more when he finishes this one. There's not a lot, but there is that.
"My brother's here. Go and kiss him if you're so desperate for it." He gestures, with the wine glass, to the room at large.
no subject
She makes a face at the wine, and rolls her eyes at him. "You're the one who kissed me, smartass." And they were only following the rules of the party, anyway. She at least was having fun with it.
no subject
Only following the rules of the party does not necessarily mean have a good time, obviously. There are some things to be enjoyed, peripherally--the wine--but the rest of it is shit. Obviously.
Especially the obligatory physical contact. But especially the mask. Nikos scratches at his cheek, pushing his up his face slightly to make room.
"Keep any comparison to yourself. I'm trying to enjoy this."
off to kiss a girl bc boys are dumb
"I'd keep an eye on the drinks if I were you. Someone spat in one."
She walks away without waiting for him to respond.