[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

[justashotaway]

Now she knows the song, now that the couples and trios around them have stopped in favor of an embrace. And the rules of the evening were clear: Kiss when cued. No claws. If she fails to comply, she fails in her mission, and that is unacceptable.

Matthias looks down at her as she looks up at him--tall, his mouth a curve that does not feel quite like a smile from him, the mask a flicker as he shifts toward her--and then they are kissing. The alternative is failure.

Laura knows from experience how to kiss, but she does not know how to avoid her cheek being poked by a man's mask, or how to keep her mask from poking him back. They were not the fashion in Cumberland, and they're an impediment now, even when she angles her head slightly, the hand on Matthias' arm moving to the nape of his neck in hopes of pulling him down just a little further toward her.

She focuses on the mission, on learning the song, on making this an acceptable demonstration of affection and thereby meeting the expectations of the host--but the only thing she can actually keep thinking about is what it feels like to have Matthias' lower lip caught between hers. The tip of his nose knocking awkwardly against hers. What his mouth tastes like. The way his hand has flattened against her spine. The smell of soap and magic and nerves and candle smoke--and most of all, the realization that keeps clawing its way up like darkspawn breaching the surface world, I do not want the music to end.

When it does, it's so some unfortunate soul can be dramatically revealed and ejected, to the sounds of laughter and a bit of applause. Laura hardly notices. She struggles with conversation at the best of times; right now, all she can manage is a breathless stare from behind a mask that feels like it might come alight by her cheeks and burn away.

[inkindled]

At one point Matthias had grinned, during the kiss. A grin of great self-consciousness before he'd realized, self-consciously, that grinning was ruining the kiss--only he was grinning because it was stupid, that his mask was poking her, just the way hers was poking his--it was stupid to be wearing a mask, and then, no, what's stupid is ruining a perfectly good kiss by grinning in the middle of it, are you an actual numpty, Matthias, and then her fingers were pressed in that soft valley at the back of his neck, and Matthias' whole form had reacted to that, following along with the pressure. And then he had forgotten all about masks and songs and parties, all of it was at the end of this tunnel, and the hooked feeling in his guts was getting worse, and also, better, letting him soar along--and all the while, kissing, until--

Breaking apart feels like clearing the surface of the water. A soft gasp, and then he feels stupid about it. There's color in his cheeks and his eyes are still shut, a moment longer. He makes them open. Laura is still there, very close--he could lean down and kiss her again, if he wanted--she's there, looking up at him, her eyes this liquid green behind her mask.

And right then he knows that he has to break the silence between them. It's as heavy as if there's something else there, between them, or someone else--and Matthias stumbles into a laugh. He almost covers his mouth to hide it--only then he'd have to let go of her, and he doesn't want to do that just yet.

"Wow," he says, instead. Which is stupid. Stupid. Keep going, keep going-- "That's-- We'll blend in, certainly. They won't throw us out. You're," shit, how does that sentence end, what does he say--lamely, he goes with, "good," and that sounds so bad that he actually winces behind his mask. "I mean, not like--in a weird way. Just. Yeah."

Be cool. Be cool, be cool, be cool, don't ruin this--not worse than it's already been ruined, at least--

[justashotaway]

She does not know what to say. Laura never knows what to say, but in this moment, it's different: she feels like she still hasn't taken a breath, even in the middle of inhaling. Everyone around them is going back to normal, or starting to, and she's still overwhelmingly aware of her every sense. She's holding Matthias' hand and watching his muddled smile, the scent and taste of him still inescapable.

Some part of her, the piece that can't stop her vigilance even when she wants to, is aware that they will have to dance or leave the area soon, but she doesn't care. She needs...something. She is not sure what, but something to make herself feel less like she might drown in this moment.

It's talking that truly ruins it, and it isn't Matthias' fault, and it happens anyway. When he says she's good, he does not mean it the way others have--worth the money--but her stomach still clenches at the sound of it.

"I--" It's hardly more than a breath, and nothing follows it. What explanation is there? Especially at an Orlesian-style party, where anyone might hear her speak. There are no words for it, anyway, this overwhelming desire to kiss him again or possibly throw up, whatever hazy sense it is that makes her arms feel too light and her throat close around her breath. She wants to kiss him again, and the longer she stands before him in her borrowed gown and looks at his jawline, the more world-ending it feels.

She shakes her head once, trying to clear it, and lets her hand slip free of his. This is--she only wants one thing, and that is to be alone with her claws until she does not feel this way anymore. Whatever this way is, this mix of shame and yearning and overwhelming self-consciousness. She needs to go. She needs to be somewhere that doesn't require her to feel anything. Worming away from Matthias, she turns and pushes her way through the other partygoers, breaking into a run as soon as there's room for it.

[inkindled]

The moment sours right in front of him. One minute they're close and then Laura is looking at him strangely--and Matthias almost says something then, starts to apologize--but the damage is done and Laura's hand is free of his and then she's going, leaving, pushing through the crowd around them.

"Hey," he calls, after her, and then more urgently, "Hey, wait, don't-- Laura! Sorry! Hey!"

The music doesn't do anything to disguise this commotion. Other dancers are turning to look--someone laughs, and Laura goes out a door, and Matthias goes after her, pushing aside the couples and trios, whose masks and formal attire now look a little nightmarish, a glittering wall hemming him in. Everything is wrong, and if he hadn't said anything, if it had just been a dance, and a kiss--

The hallway beyond the door is cool and dark, marble pillars and polished floor. Sconces lend their glow, patches of light amid the swathing shadows. There are people out here, laughing and kissing and talking. Matthias moves past them, trying to look without looking, to see if he can find Laura--but Laura isn't there. She's gone.

Dejected, Matthias slumps against one of the pillars and shoves his mask off his face. The skin beneath it feels soft and warm, and he rubs his wrist against his eyebrows, scowling. Then he shoves off and starts back down the hallway, his only goal finding some wine to soothe the sting of this moment. If he's stupid and clumsy enough to drive away a friend--a girl that he kissed--then he might as well get properly stupid.