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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.
wysteria, ota; comedy threadjacks welcome
Wysteria Poppell is not kissing anyone this evening, thank you very much. Not that she is opposed to the whole concept, of course. It seems like a perfectly delightful evening if what you're into is lightly transgressive anonymous liplocking and boring conversation mostly filled with double entendres in preparation for the former. However seeing as she is not on top of being fundamentally useless when it comes to thwarting an assassin - more or less only along for the sake of being able to talk less reputable Watch members through the door -, she may as well retire for the evening into comfort and quiet.
Which more or less means Wysteria's holed up with a cheese platter in a linen closet. Her feet are up on a basket of laundry. A bottle of wine is conveniently near at hand. Her mask has been pushed up to the top of her head so as not to impede on her consumption of food or drink. Best of all, there is a fat orange cat for company who has since tottered out of its nest of freshly washed bedsheets and tablecloths to be pet behind the ears.
There are worse ways to spend a party.
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She turns to address Wysteria, doing a parody of a nobleman's bow and accent. "Lady Poppell."
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"Oh. Ah, Miss--" squint "--Athessa. Did you, er..." She glances past her toward the closed door, clearly indicating the third party who is currently tapping on the door and saying something that can't quite be made out through the heavy wood. "I believe you may have lost something."
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He gets a chance to do just that for about five ticks before he's handed a mask and had the rules to some ridiculous kissing game explained.
Nope, this is not what he signed up for. Thankfully, there's enough people around that they largely ignore the boy with the cane, the carpeting swallowing up any sound of him attempting a hasty retreat to some corner where he won't be found until everything wraps.
Which brings him to a closet. With only a beat of trepidation, he opens the door, relieved to find there isn't some depraved couple trying to get up to more than what propriety would allow in public. There is, however, a young lady. Eating... cheese?
"What."
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To her credit (if one can afford such a thing), she at least hasn't dispensed with the glove on her left hand so there's at least a lack of incriminating rift shard glow to be seen in the narrow little room.
"Oh, in or out but don't just stand there. The cat will leave."
surprise i'm also here
Though he had really expected a moment to himself to sort out his inconvenient emotional response. Is this actually a surprise? The way this night is going, he should have expected it.
"I'm impressed you found an unoccupied closet. I was propositioned twice trying to find a discreet spot."
closet party!!!
Kaz steps in, leaving space for John, and immediately pulls his mask off. The lighting is dim, but he can't stand having his peripheral vision impeded.
"Only twice?" Ok he got asked only a fraction more, but still. He would've rather had zero.
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Thee cheese plate is passed up to Kaz so she can remove her feet from their make-do footstool and draw up her legs, stuffing the copious fall of her skirts in between her calves and thighs. It's room enough for exactly one of them to sit down shoulder to shoulder with her. The odd man out will simply have to take station at the door.
"Use that stacks of linens there as a cushion. I'm certain no one will mind. --You may return that now, sir. Thank you for your service."
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"Unless you've heard something I haven't," with a nod to Kaz. "No one's turned up an assassin."
And John's about lost his patience with the search.
"Though there's always hope the culprit found someone better to do and abandoned their goal."
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Annoyed, he holds the plate, pettily snatching a piece of cheese for himself. He isn't sad to hand it back to Wysteria once she's settled back in.
As John has claimed the stool, he leans into the corner, shoulders feeling constricted in the space, his cane snug between the wall and his thigh.
"Nothing. A bunch of pigeons and their dramatic gossip, so far." Ugh. Don't rich people have better things to do? "If they've somehow caught wind they're being scouted for, they might've changed their minds. If we haven't tipped our hands; it'll depend on how much they want blood and what it's worth."