[ota] nobody's gonna have an orgy in their mansion all over their nice furniture

[hassaran]

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.

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.

Comments

[murderbaby]

"Forgiven," he says, with a roll of his eyes. He recieves the kiss, and feels a little foolish, deepening it, but they have a part to play, here. His hand, gentle, finds the back of her neck. His lips meet hers. It's a soft kiss, barely deeper than a puddle, but it suits better for onlookers. Image is what matters more, in the end. A job well done will balm any failure of his pride.

[tender]

The descriptor that comes to mind is cool. Even when his hand settles against her neck, she has the impression of reaching across a great distance.

It will look right, she knows. Her fists tighten, gripping his tunic. If her hair weren't bound up in her usual, elaborate braids it would have been useful in blocking people's view. But Derrica had come here expecting a fight, not—

Whatever this is. Haphazard bonding exercise comes to mind as she turns them slightly, putting her back towards what is possibly the majority of the dancers. It's a faint attempt at privacy.

[murderbaby]

So they kiss, perhaps dispassionately but enough to satisfy the rules of the game, until the music ends. Mhavos makes sure they part slowly, if not lingeringly. Politely.

"I hope I did not weary you much," he says, a little wry. "This is not my area of expertise."

Ha.

[tender]

The whole thing reminds her a little bit of a handshake. Mostly, she's relieved that Mhavos comes through it joking. Dericca looks quickly around the room, just to be sure no one's squinting in suspicion at them, before she shakes her head in response.

"It's alright," she tells him. "It wasn't so bad."

Would describing it as a handshake aloud make this more or less strange? She decides against it, tipping her head towards the giddy swirl of people on the dance floor.

"You wouldn't believe how awful some of them are at kissing," Derrica confides. "I think that's partly why the wine they're serving is so strong."

[murderbaby]

He lets out a huff of laughter, a single soft breath. So far, he hasn't managed to embarrass himself too utterly. He can live with that.

"That would explain it," he says quietly. "I've never understood the point of these sort of functions, but they're not made for me."

[tender]

"It would be nice if it weren't so..."

Derrica trails off, trying to come up with some descriptor that wraps the whole of what she finds objectionable up neatly.

"Stiff?" She finishes, lips pursing. "I don't know. It feels contrived. Maybe not to them, but we're strangers."

Mostly sober strangers here to work. It hasn't necessarily stopped Derrica from appreciating the sweeter kisses she's received, but even those bring her to the same conclusion: this is a game that wasn't really made for them. She pushes her mask up slightly, trying to ease the space where it digs into her temples.