oh, we dance in misery

[headandhand]

WHO: Open to all Dualizens!
WHAT: the Plague Memorial Masked Ball
WHERE: the Mayor's Mansion (central Dualis)
WHEN: the evening of November 16
WARNINGS: Visuals/discussion of disease and death in the setting. Anything else, please use appropriate warnings!

At 8 p.m. sharp, the lights inside and around the Mayor's Mansion turn up, and the doors are opened to the crowds that begin to trickle inside. All entrances are manned by Iterations, and all party-goers are scanned for both proper attire (formal and masked, mandatory) and weapons (absolutely forbidden) before being allowed entry.

Once inside, attendees are greeted to a spectacle of warmth and light and lavish decorations, all themed in white accented with gold and violet. Venture into the ballroom, and you'll see intricately carved ice sculptures in various representations of death, all laden with garlands of marigolds and violet chrysanthemums. At one end of the room, a rotating cast of musicians plays soft music in differing arrangements of strings and piano. Long tables at the other end of the ballroom are piled high with punch fountains and platters of delicious party foods, and a few bar stations serve beverages of the more adult variety to those of age.

Outside the main ballroom are seven smaller rooms, for more intimate conversations and quiet recovery from the main gala (or just skulking like a brooding weirdo, if that's your thing). Six of the rooms are decorated in monochrome blue, purple, green, orange, white, or violet, and the seventh room is pitch black with red accents.

Throughout the night, the mayor herself winds in and out of the crowds, shadowed by a pair of bodyguards. She is all smiles, greeting people with a friendly handshake and effusive words of thanks for attending the ball, but she never stays in one place long enough for a true conversation. This is a celebration of life and a remembrance of the dead, after all - not the time or place for talks of business or politics.

Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone! And remember - death eventually comes for everyone.

Comments

B - Food Critic

[helpdesk_hero]

[David sighs as he considers the food on the buffet before him, a bit less than impressed with the food before him. The chef inside is not amused.]

Wouldn't it be lovely if there was, I don't know, some reasonable canapés? Or at least diced fruit and vegetables?

[magneticfields]

[ Erik sips his drink and eyes up some puff pastries filled with... something. If it is mushrooms, he's fine. But he's not willing to risk it. ]

There's some crudité over there.

[ He gestures toward another table. And then realizes the puff pastry tarts are labeled "mushroom duxelle", and marked with a small K. ]

Excuse me. [ He asks one of the waiters and gestures toward the label. ] Does that stand for "kosher"?

[helpdesk_hero]

[The waiter seems a bit shocked to be stopped. Maybe that's rude here. But apparently the word Kosher does mean something because the person nods. And then scurries off. Apparently the bland white mask they were wearing was mostly holding back the face of someone that wanted out of the way. Fun. David moves forward and selects one of the tarts and takes a bite.]

Not bad at all. Of course, now I'm craving something very specific. My father did this mushroom duxelles ravioli that he cooked and put a drizzle of rosemary infused oil over. Must be, what, six or so years now since I've had some. Oh, I see some smoked salmon rolls, and I think that down there might be a spinach potato nest. I bet if we head over there, we'll find another lovely little K for you.

[magneticfields]

Your father sounds like quite the chef.

[ He smiles slightly at David's enthusiasm. ]

I can find it on my own, I'm sure. I do have some experience navigating these things. What about you? Do you have any particular reasons for your preferences or is it just pickiness.

[helpdesk_hero]

He is.

[And David smiles softly as he says that. It's been so long since he's seen his father. And, frankly, he misses the man more than he can ever properly put into words. When he went home he hoped to remember to see him again.]

It's definitely pickiness for me. And a careful diet. It's so easy to over eat at these things. But by choosing the right foods and getting a good range of tastes, it's easier to get the brain to agree that your stomach is full when it really is. The body craves many flavors and many things.

[magneticfields]

[ One of those old hurts that never truly went away, just hardened into a dull ache. Erik can barely remember what his parents looked like, sounded like, smelled like. The feel of their hands or the taste of their cooking. He still misses them. HE still wants to seek their counsel, share his joys and his pain and make them proud. He smiles back at David, glad at least he still has that.

He laughs at David's explanation. ]

Oh, come on. Where's your joie de vivre? You're what, 22? You don't go to a party like this every night. Have one some of the baked brie.

[helpdesk_hero]

Merely twenty. But wise enough to be distrusting of this place and what it offers with its party.

[So yes, he's not taking a diet break for baked brie. Especially when it look so... underwhelming. Instead he moves to get himself a selection of lighter foods, all lacking heavy amounts of dairy or protein. Vegetables are lighter and more filling.]

And glutting oneself while reminded of death seems... inappropriate.

[magneticfields]

If they're going to poison us, they'll do it as easily with a carrot stick a they do a chocolate tart.

[ Erik shrugs. ]

History is littered with disasters. I don't know why they choose to memorialize their extinction event in this way. I have no connection to these people and this party means nothing to me. We don't even know if they're telling the truth about any of it.

[ He chooses some lollipop lamp chops. ]

In some cultures, when somebody dies they have a party. To celebrate the life of their lost loved one. Like an Irish wake, or a jazz funeral. This doesn't strike me as that, though.