dualislogs | 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

"Everyone loves an excuse to have a party," she responds with a bitter twist in her voice. More like everyone loves a party as an excuse to prove how generous and harmless they are. Come join in our remembrance traditions, you're just as much of a citizen as us, drink the Kool-Aid, and trust us. Those were the paranoid thoughts Lorna had been having since the announcement of the little ball.

"Nice way to make us feel more connected to this place." And maybe more willing to comply with whatever shit they really wanted from them. Are those paranoia levels a little high? Hell yeah. Most of Lorna's life has involved running, hiding, and being screwed over by people. There's no reason to think it'll be any difference in this place, especially given all the little things that just didn't add up. Even if this place didn't have more than it's share of plot holes she still wouldn't trust it.

"If I want someone dead I'd prefer to do it myself," a smile tugs at the edges of her lips and she shakes her head. "But I wouldn't mind seeing if they could bring someone back from the dead." A few someone's actually. It'd been a shit year. A really shit year.

South hasn't considered that line of thought whatsoever, but if she did, it'd make so much sense.

But she has considered how so many things didn't add up right, all the fishiness of pretty much everything that's happened. None of it makes sense, and she's not liking it one bit.

"Probably what the intention is." She says instead, though, because she doesn't trust that most if not all of what they say is being listened to by someone. She just swallows up her paranoia and puts on the 'The Mayor is good, The Head is good, they're all good' act. "Kind of a welcoming party."

But she can openly agree to the rest, easily grinning as she nods, "Hey, I can get on that idea. I'd rather handle it myself, but it can be little easier in tight spots to have someone with, like, death touch or something."

South doesn't reply to bringing people back, because while she entirely, absolutely agrees- she's not going there on any level in any place, but especially with a stranger at this stupid ball.

"Welcome to this shit show, hope you enjoy our traditional death masquerade." The dryness in her tone is thick and lingers on every word. What a way to try to get people more comfortable. At least she can thank the Inner Circle for teaching her to be even more suspicious of grand gestures. It's about the only thing she can think of to thank them for, but hey ones better than zero.

"Least it's better than the pillow forts." Small favors, right? Lorna wasn't about to let the pillow fort NAPs go, not for a long time. If she hadn't been convinced there was something wrong with the Head before, then holding the NAPs there definitely made her think twice. Seeing a bunch of grown people in onesies was an experience she never knew she didn't want. It also left her wondering what those gatherings were really being used for. There's got to be a much more sinister motive behind having people you've kidnapped to 'help find a cure' (yeah, no, she doesn't believe that at all) meet up with each other and build pillow forts. There's a part of her that's wondering when her paranoia crossed the threshold to even be paranoid of pillow forts.

She shakes her head and then rolls a shoulder. "Knew of a few people with powers like that. Just seemed like it'd be annoying to have to touch someone to do anything." There's definitely a tactical disadvantage to having to get up close and personal to actually use an ability.

"Wait- pillow forts? " She's missed something here...

But, she fixates more on the second bit, giving a thoughtful hum, "Well...I personally like hands-on fighting. My brother's the sniper, I'd rather crush them with my boot than watch a bullet do it for me from a distance."

She doesn't intend to mention her brother whatsoever, but, there it goes.

"There were onesies too. For adults." That was the worst part. No, actually the worst part was that some of the adults here had actually worn the onesie. Not just worn it but enjoyed the experience. There was something messed up about that.

"Bullets don't really bother me," her tone is undeniably tinted with a degree of cockiness. She arches an eyebrow at the mention of the brother being a sniper though. Definitely leads her to being cautiously curious about what this woman may do for a living. "You and your brother work together or something?"

"What do you mean onsies? Like little baby clothes, or pajamas with feet?" Because if it's weird little baby shirts that button over a diaper, she'll pass. But footed PJs...

"Bullets don't bother me, I just prefer to do things more...hands on." She shrugs, then hesitates a second. Whoops, didn't mean to mention the brother part. Fuck. "Yea, we're soldiers. I'm a space marine in one of the best programs we have back home."

"I don't know. The full thing? One piece animal themed suit with feet and hoods," she says with a shrug. The entire thing had been off-putting. Maybe it just didn't fit her aesthetic.

"Space marine. Of course." Though her reaction does have a slight recoil to it. Military of any kind doesn't happen to be on her list of favorite things. No military or government organization has ever meant good news for her kind. So, she's immediately a bit more prickly at this information.

Alright, it's unlikely she'd go in public around everyone in a jammie set like that, but it's entirely possible she would've stolen one to wear in her dorm room.

She notices the reaction, and takes half a second to decide how to respond, aggressive and defensive or just let it roll off.

"Well, it's space marines or it's letting alien's destroy anyone and everyone in their way on their mission to wipe out all of humanity. So. And that's not even counting the people trying to kill fellow humans just to fuck the universe over." She shrugs, like it's no biggie.

"Humans killing humans. Not really surprising." There's a tinge of cynicism to her voice that stems from her own shit experiences. In some ways she's been forced to tone down her human disdain in this place. In other ways it still lingers and has moments where it gets to perk back up.

She arches her eyebrows curiously. "Aliens though, that's new. Guess it makes sense to go space marine under those circumstances."

South considers her for a long second with a hard gaze, but it's not about her, it's her own thoughts and considerations she's judging and deciding what to do with. She finally speaks up after a moment, shrugging slightly.

"Well. Yea. It was cower and hope someone saves you in time, or suit up and do the saving. My...someone I knew was killed by the Innies, lots of someones, and plenty of people by the aliens. I didn't really have much of a choice than to join as soon as possible, ya know? Too many people already died even before I was born, couldn't just sit back and do jackshit." She stops short of saying it was her mother, deciding to still keep that close to her and not share. Not yet. Probably not ever.

And! Sure! Alright! She enjoys her work, she loves the blood and mud and fighting and pride-! But it's not all shallow bragging points, how many innocent people have to die before it stops? How many is enough? What's the price before it's finished?!

oh, we dance in misery

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