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.

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"Sorry about that." He does not sound sorry, and his thumb is stroking the skin of Hank's throat the whole time - but it falters a little, just for a second, at Hank's next words.

He remembers that conversation as well.

"Really?" he says, like they're having a conversation about work or a new shop that just opened by the dormitory. Stuff that doesn't involve either of them naked. More than naked. "I think I like the sound of that."

And just to illustrate, he lets the skin around his thumb fade away to show silver chassis, an immediately different texture on the skin of his partner's throat. It feels a little different to Connor as well - sharper, somehow, without the affect of skin in the way.

"Bullshit you're sorry," he chuckles a little. He knows the mask is in the way, but he hopes Connor can feel his smile.

This feels good, though. Holding those nimble and elegant fingers, moving in time with the music, and he's finally more comfortable than he's been all night. His heart even finds a nice, steady beat, his temperature settling, his breath neat and managed. His stress levels falling to something very managable.

"I'll try to dress up for you again sometime but you gotta promise to be there that time, alright? We'll go to a movie or a fuckin' really nice restaurant. We're talking ones where they have great chefs and do the nice napkins, you know. That stuff." He's not classy, okay! But he wants Connor to have the very best. He also wants the effort to matter. Tonight it hasn't, but it seems like Connor's dead set on correcting that later.

Connor can't help himself feeling a little giddy, almost, like the sheer joy of being this close to Hank, holding onto him and being held onto, is swelling inside him. He's not used to that feeling yet, and he hopes he never is. He wants it to be this intense and surprising and satisfying for as long as possible. Hank's pulse against his hands makes a warm sort of rhythm that lulls him into a calm of his own.

He gives a soft laugh of his own at Hank's, and he's tempted to pull both their masks off just so he can kiss him. But maybe that wouldn't be proper. Besides, they have later on, alone, where Connor can take off everything he wants.

"I'll be there next time," he promises, and he still sounds apologetic. He wanted to be with Hank for this. Even if Connor hadn't known the significance of something like this, it had seemed important to Hank - and he understood it later, understands it better now that they're both here. "Anything you want. I promise."

His hand slips round the back of Hank's neck to hug him close.

He's trying, okay? Honestly, with all the pressure on them, he doesn't know if he'll have much more of a chance to have moments like these with Connor. That spiteful part of his brain tries to wander off, tries to remind him that he only has a few months for this. That he might end up with a replacement before Connor does, and he might not even realize it at first. That if they make it home, they might even spend the rest of their lives on the run, never able to quite afford a nice event again.

He bites down the thoughts, but for a few seconds he does hold Connor a little tighter. His smile fades slightly to something somber, wistful. But he doesn't voice those thoughts and he doesn't do anything to encourage Connor to dip into it like uncomfortably chilly water. He just has to drag his own damn self back out.

He can't say for sure what it is that makes Connor suspect where Hank's thoughts are going - it's not just the way Hank holds him more tightly in that moment, that in itself doesn't mean anything. But there's…something. In some way, Hank is thinking something bad, and Connor immediately hates it.

"Hank," he says softly. "I'm right here. I'm with you."

He doesn't know how to help, not yet - maybe never. But he's trying, and all he can do is keep trying.

"Sorry." He says, knowing that somehow the concern melted out of him, and even with the mask in the way manages a kiss to his ear.

"I just want more of this."

More chances for this, more like it. More not having to run. More moments that they can sit and casually be together. More time for him to just fuckin' be in love and have dogs and fuckin' live.

As usual a sense of somberness soaking into a moment of bliss. But it is something he wants to cling to.

"Don't apologise," he murmurs, shaking his head, hugging Hank to him with both arms so that they're not dancing so much as just wrapped around each other as they move to the music. He doesn't wish Hank was an android - but sometimes it occurs to him that if he were, this illness would be something easily fixed.

But things just aren't that simple for humans.

"We'll have more. Starting tonight, OK?" He pets the back of Hank's neck, and a grin sneaks into his voice as he says, "I'll make it up to you."

The impending doom certainly doesn't help. And, you know, the rainbow death theme. Honestly it's actually pretty good that he feels as good as he does thanks to Connor.

But holding him close does feel very good in the moment, and he finally grins again at the words. Yeah, it barely works as dancing, but it feels pretty fuckin' nice. And he can try to shut that crap up and finally bask in things feeling decent for five seconds.

"Alright but I'm still gonna be a grumpy shit until then." He pulls back enough to look at him. If there weren't a mask there, he'd lean their foreheads together.

"I wouldn't expect anything different," he retorts, barely holding back his amusement. He's grinning as Hank pulls back to look at him, his eyes crinkled as they look into Hank's. He's so tempted to pull their masks back. He even reaches up to run his fingers up Hank's cheek and along the very edge of the mask like he'd like nothing more than to pull it away.

But there's a long moment where Connor's happy to just look into Hank's eyes like he's never seen anything like them - not even his photographic memory is enough sometimes, and it's funny how that's happened. Sometimes he just likes to...look. Not for any reason, just to enjoy him. But it always seems like Hank likes to do the same thing.

"I gotta go soon," he says only when the timer in the corner of his mind starts to tick down low, twinging insistently, and he sounds genuinely sorry to be saying it. "Who knows, maybe Jane'll come out and go straight home. I can lock her in her room for the night."

That probably won't happen, but he can hope.

"Alright. I'll get out of here soon." He stops moving to take Connor's face in his hands, to rub his thumbs right under the rim of the mask along his cheeks. Those brown eyes tear him up. He's impressed how amazingly weaponized they are.

Right. Yeah. He should let him go.

"We both know that's probably not gonna happen. Seems to be our luck so far. It's fine... But I'm gonna ditch this fuckin' mask as soon as I'm out of here. I look like someone's fuckin' supervillain foe, Jesus Christ."

He automatically reaches up to cradle Hank's face in his hands as well, stroking his beard. For just a moment, he closes his eyes, as if by cutting off one of his senses he can more fully enjoy the sensation of it, and of Hank's hands on his own skin in turn.

"I'll let you take the mask off, sure," he says, although he has no idea how a mask and a villain might be connected. It's just one of those Hank things. "Leave the rest."

It's only a couple of hours, tops, it's really not that long, and he knows that logically, but that doesn't make it easier to let go with a quick, "See you later," or to turn his back on him to get to the other end of the hall, hoping against hope nobody happened to be paying attention to the store cupboards.

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oh, we dance in misery

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