dualislogs | oh, we dance in misery

oh, we dance in misery

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Nah, it's a party, loosen up." She replies pretty flippantly.

Does she really think that? No, not honestly. But the worst thing you can do is let the people trying to torture you know you're on to it all. If someone's trying to kill you in a sneaky way, hoping you wont notice, she's found it best to play along like you're really oblivious to their actions, get the upper hand without letting them on. So it's just a party, morbid maybe but nothing suspicious going on, fun dress up party. Nothing concerning here, guys.

"Maybe you could use a stronger drink, then you won't be coming apart at the seams so much."

The man cheerfully, and he gets cheerful just to do this, flips her off. Don't tell him to loosen up, Miss Grumpy-Face. Still, he knows about torture. And except for her coming into this room, he's done a good job of hiding how much this night is killing him. He shouldn't have come but his brother had insisted and so here he was. And if he left early, Seifer would know. And judge him. Because Seifer knew the last time Nida was at a ball, he'd danced the night away. But that was another lifetime it seemed like.

"Can't drink. I'm an alcoholic," Nida answers, quite easily. Like he isn't expressing one of his greatest weaknesses. Being honest with it, he had learned, made it easier to keep himself away from the drink.

The gesture only earns a cheeky grin and shrug, she considers returning in kind but decides to just sip her drink again instead. Until he's answering, then she's lowering the drink a bit and pausing. Maybe it's a small-minded thought, but she wouldn't have pegged him as an alcoholic. She's literally only met him all of two times, counting now, but he seems so...put together. Weird.

"Well forget that idea. Still plenty of food, dancing if that's your thing. Lots of weird fucking sculptures to look at." She rattles off, and sets down her drink. It's a virgin drink, but it both doesn't look like it and she's not treating it like one, either. "Tons to keep from being a soggy piece of bread hiding in one of the rooms."

He's put together when he's sober and not grieving. He's... had issues with grief. A lot. Still, he's shocked that she doesn't just, you know, fuck with him in response. Would have thought that of her.

"I've been dancing all night," Nida shrugs. Because he's a dancer, and that's what he is. He adores dancing. Or used to. "And I'm not big on art. "I'm resting."

Hey, South is a fucked up bitch almost entirely through every bone and muscle and fiber of her being- but she's not so fucked up as to harp on an issue like that. Something you can't control, something you can only wrangle in the symptoms of or attempt to avoid. It's like a disease, an illness, it'd be like making fun of someone with cancer in her books.

Plus, she has some personal thoughts on it, personal history specifically. You don't play in the trenches of the UNSC with a bunch of other kids and not see at least a few turn to the bottle to quiet their demons. Then there's-

Nope. Different line of thought, change the channel, shut the door, fuck right off with that.

"Resting, of course." She does give a scoff at that, the hint of an almost teasing tone in her voice, "Here I thought you were brooding."

Perhaps he's not used to it being seen as a disease. Back home it hasn't been classified as such yet. So he turned to his other vices instead. Dance and games with men's hearts when he can get away with it.

"I don't brood. That's Squall. I dance. And my feet are sore. Is that so hard to believe?"

Edited 2019-11-29 22:56 (UTC)

"A little bit." She replies just to be an ass, gesturing to his feet then to her's, "I might've gotten out of wearing heels, but I'm pretty sure your shoes are still easier on the feet than mine, and I'm not bitching about being sore."

It's not true, it'd be pretty hard given her flats also have insoles in them and her feet are pretty cozy. Plus she hasn't done much dancing. Snooping, yes, being 'drunk' and aloof, yep, but not a lot of dancing up on people. Give her comfortable clothes and booze and decent music, maybe, but this? God. This is not her 'jam'.

"Oh come on, heels aren't bad if you get the shoes properly broken in first," Nida counters, with all the levelness of voice of a man who has clearly worn high heels before.

Listen, he's had an interesting life and he looked DAMN good in that dress.

"However, dancing requires a lot more use of the whole foot than mere walking or standing. It wears you out fast."

"Okay, first off, not fair you know how heels work, that's cheating." She juts a finger out at him, but her smile is more teasing than anything, no judgement cause shoes are shoes not genders, but it's still cheating- "Second, it sounds like a whole lot of excuses for not having enough stamina."

"It's hardly cheating that I look better in them than you do," Nida turns right back on her, grinning. Oh yes, he's going to take advantage of that knowledge. But the insult to his stamina is just too much.

"I've been dancing, constantly save for breaks for a sip of water, for two hours. I'd like to see you keep up with that."

"Whoa, hold on, you do not look better in heels than I do! Have you seen these legs? Stunning." She insists, gesturing to the slit in her dress like it's the most obvious thing ever.

"And that's nothing, I could do that in my sleep." She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, "That's nothing compared to even the lightest training days."

Oh really? Nida reaches down to pull up a pant leg. Oh yeah, his is shapely and muscled well. It's a VERY good leg that would look good in a skirt. Yep, that's how that works.

"I'd look better in that dress than you would. And clearly, missy, you don't dance."

"Look, I can almost agree that, like, most colors would look nice with your skintone- but I'm rocking this dress better than you ever could." She gestures wildly at the dress in question, like it's entirely obvious.

"And I dance, but military training is a lot more work than just dancing."

Well, at least that is something he can take as a compliment, whether she means it as such or not. And Nida? He just shrugs. He could be better in it he thinks.

"Trust me, I know. I was military."

It's....kind of a compliment, as close to one as she'll give him, anyways. But she still thinks she'd rock any outfit better than him, though truth is they'd probably both look great- no no, she's the best here, thanks.

"Yeah yeah, with your dragons and whatever." She sort of remembers bits of the conversation, hazily and vaguely, "Dancing isn't anywhere near as hard, or as fun."

Nida sighs and pushes to his feet, with unending amounts of grace. He just about prowls past her, smooth and confident. A predator.

"Believe what you want. But you clearly do not know."

Now, South is fairly sure she could move as smooth and graceful if she chose to. But really, she's too flashy and aggressive, chances are she couldn't. But it doesn't keep her from rolling her eyes, unimpressed.

"Nah, I know plenty. Had to do dancing as a kid thanks to my parents, joined the military- top military branches at that, the literal day after my birthday. I have an idea."

Nida scoffs as he rolls his shoulders and moves to the door of the room.

"At least you had parents. And CHOSE the military. Some people just have all the luck."

And with that he steps out into the main room, a smile back in place. Time to get back to the dancing.

She considers shuffling along with a rebuttal, an argument, but she stops short. South has honestly never considered her joining the UNSC was a choice. It was someone has to do something, someone had to step up and do anything and everything to stop the Covvies from destroying all of them. And while her mother was taken away when she was just a kid- she did have parents, at least one for her whole life.

South lets him leave in peace, watching a few seconds before narrowing her eyes. Well great. Now she has to sit and ponder on all this bullshit he's kicked up that she didn't even know was there.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

oh, we dance in misery

Re: same tho!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject