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

He doesn't know how true it is, but it's nice to hear anyway. A bastard like him with a big soft heart; when he fails himself, he feels like he's failing everyone, and it turns into a shitty escalating cycle.

"Well, uh... You gonna be alright? Looks like you relived a lot in your head there." None of that admission looked easy.

"...And fuckin' seriously? You put Odin in a nursing home? Holy shit. What even happened with that?"

After a brief pause, Loki smiles and claps the man on the shoulder. "I'm always alright, Hank. Don't fret over me."

And that smile turns into a slightly proud smirk as he looks down slightly, nodding. "He shook it off and decided to stay in self-imposed exile. It seems he was through with his regency, forced or no. His...strength had been failing for some time, you see, and...he said he heard mother, calling him home." His tone turned wistful toward the last and he have a brief shake of his head. "It all turned out as he planned, I suppose."

"I fuckin' hope there's something after..." He mutters. "Not like this place. Something better."

Though perhaps that's not the best subject to bring up with someone who is dead. But Hank says it anyway. Should he admit his own? Or was this- Fuck it. He might as well say something.

"I uh... I lost my little boy three years ago. He was just six." He adds that in, because he knows he looks older than he is. Though that's the depression weighing on him, the burden of self precieved failure.

"Way smaller than I was at his age, but he had my uh-" He forces a smile and motions to the gap in his front teeth, "-that."

He looks down at his overly shined shoes. "God I know I fuckin' say that but I'd do anything to have him back. Even in a place like this." He wants to be with his boy, almost more than anything. Almost. He's been trying damn hard to make a new life with someone, but if he could have that too? God he hates that Dualis gave him that fucking hope. No one needed that.

Loki listens to this story that his clearly difficult for Hank to tell, and finds himself, albeit idly, wondering what this child of Hank's was like. He'd never, in his brief (for a Jotun) life entertained the thought of having children of his own. He was still barely more than a child himself, by the definitions of his people, and now, after everything, it seemed a moot topic to even broach, but Hank was not a young man, and it shouldn't come as a surprise to learn he had a son, and yet here he was, surprised and curious.

A slight smile, sympathetic but charmed, touched his lips and he reached out, patting Hank on the shoulder. "You will meet again, Hank, be sure of that." For himself, Loki was beginning to think perhaps this was his punishment, his hair shirt for all the wrong he'd done, but Hank deserved better. "Tell me about him."

Hank had so badly wanted to be with him again. If it weren't for having been presented with some hope in the world, through Connor, through seeing that androids and the humanity reflected in them could still be good, he probably would still want to. Because for three years? Cole was the last good thing he knew.

Grief is insidious. Hank had given his whole life to help others find justice in their grief. To find safety in their lives. But when Cole was gone? He found himself alone, and the more he realized his sadness inconvenienced others, the more he found it difficult to find faith in those others. It took someone aggressively caring about those around them, and someone caring about him, to pull him out of that.

Under the surface though, it's still there. Roiling and lingering.

"About this tall." He makes a motion around Cole's height. "Smiled a lot. Actually thought clowns were funny 'cause he was a little freak." He chuckles at that, grinning at some distant fucked up memory that he can't quite recall. Might have been an outdoor birthday party. Might have been a fair. It did end with a balloon animal that needed replacing after its head popped. "He liked to draw. Liked sports. He drew me pictures. Had a lot of action figures but I think he was more into hands on stuff. Kept leaving them out for the dog to chew up. Always had to tell him to put things away."

That's probably enough, because his chest hurts and he looks like he's borderline about to stumble over the words.

Grief is, indeed, insidious. Loki knows that as well. Grief at the loss of his self-worth, is identity, his home. He's had to say goodbye to the one person who always loved him, no matter what, and he's wrestled with the idea that he'd caused her death, however indirectly. For a while afterward, he'd wanted to watch the worlds burn, all of them, for taking everything from him. It was only in sacrifice he'd learned he'd never lost them.

He smiles to spite himself, to spite the pain at Hank's retelling. It's a bittersweet smile, and one he didn't think he'd ever have. He'll never have a son. He'll never have a young him to teach the intricacies of magic, to chastise and praise, to assure his is enough.

Yes, perhaps that was, indeed, enough of that. "And the drawing, did he take that after his father?" It was a round about question, asking about Hank without being direct.

Well, if Loki should ever be so lucky to take someone under his wing, Hank is at least pretty damn sure he'll do better in being an adoptive father than most of the assholes out there. Pay forward his experiences to someone else's benefit. But that's a conversation for a less dour, more private, mood appropriate setting.

But the question actually makes Hank laugh genuinely, wide and broad. "Oh hell, no. The only artistic thing about me is what some psychologist might read into my sticky notes."

And it's true. Take any book of his, and there's stickers with kitschy and catty remarks, or his own scrawled, sarcastic post-it notes. The occasional prideful thing. A Detroit reminder, there's no sports teams he's attached to here but he has a few beers he's become fond of.

"Gotta love 'em for the differences, too." And be damn happy they're good at something you're not.

Gotta love 'em for the differences, too, he said, and made it sound so simple. For all their simplicity and short lifespans, humans were capable of a clarity of vision that often clouded that of longer lived races. Gods, he was starting to sound like his brother. He shook his head.

"I suppose it's necessary, yes, but enough talk of what is lost, yes?" His task done, and accepted for all appearances, Loki stood, looking back to his friend. "Care to join a quest for a drink?"

"Oh fuck yeah, I'm sick of fuckin' standing around. I might as well grab another before getting the hell out of here," Hank says. Just one more, though, so he doesn't go home completely shitfaced.

Honestly, he doesn't even realize he's encountered a problem over half of women in any western population have run into. Set things up and get pretty just so their date can end up too busy.

Every guy needs occasional slaps of empathy, though.

oh, we dance in misery

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject