VALENTINES BALL

[thewatchers]

VALENTINES BALL

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February 14th is a day both famed and notorious for feats of love, passion and confession. And violence, as this year’s theme suggests - a 1920s speakeasy theme, initially based off the Valentines’ Day massacre of 1929 and toned down to be significantly more fun and less a dark reminder of bloodshed. While this year’s event has no predicted surprises like a daemon invasion in store, the Student Council has still chosen to hire extra security for the ball; bulky constructs in surprisingly well-tailored pinstripe suits and hats stand guard outside the entrances to the venue, impassively watching for any signs of trouble.

The ball itself is laid out similar to a 1920s club, with a large space for dancing, a stage for entertainment, and plenty of tables and chairs for sitting, dining, and chatting. Bars on both sides of the room provide a place to order and collect both food and drink, and the second storey of the venue has been put into use to provide quieter and more secluded places to sit.

A. Classy…? Cocktails
As ever, the Academy has provided a lavish and thematic spread of food for the occasion, with a few unique twists to fit the theme. The drinks of are particular note - aside from the usual range of both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks that Daybreak provides, many are tailor-made for the ball due to a collaboration between some of the alchemy and culinary classes in Daybreak (who were rather too eager to volunteer). Have you ever wondered what it’s like to drink cake or a steak? You’ll find plenty of experiments here, both savory and sweet, to facilitate that experience.

If that’s not to your tastes, some drinks are purely decorative, providing some unique visual or audio effects - you might find yourself sepia-toned or monochrome, chattering like an old-fashioned radio host or filled with an irrepressible urge to sing everything you say - among other things. Mercifully, everything wears off by the end of the night.

B. Changing Stages
While this ball is by no means illegal, there has at least been an attempt to capture the more ‘forbidden’ aspects of a speakeasy. As the night goes on, switches and buttons appear on the walls, and pressing them will make the room shift and change to reveal secret doors and elevators - partially mechanical tricks, but mostly through clever application of magic and mundane illusion. These exits from the room provide ample opportunity for attendees to stretch their legs and take a walk and a break from the rest of the party through mazelike, glittering hallways and smoke-hazy corridors that lead to balconies and small lounges looking out onto strange, abstract views. Walk far enough, and you might end up in a completely different part of the venue than you were before - though for the truly lost, the corridors will always bring you to someone you can ask for help sooner or later, or guide you out.

Well, eventually. It wouldn’t quite fit the theme of a speakeasy without a little bit of uncertainty, would it?

C. Nyeh, See?
For those who would rather indulge in the darker implications of the theme and have no patience for the other entertainment on offer, this maze of corridors offers one other attraction - enchanted guns and gear for laser tag. In strict adherence to the theme, all guns resemble the kind of weaponry that 1920s gangsters would be boasting - and no matter what you were wearing at the time, as soon as you attach a pendant to your clothing, you're immediately in magically-fitting suits any gangster would envy. They even give off the illusion of bleeding should you be 'shot' by one of these enchanted guns, though to avoid causing undue concern the illusory blood sparkles and shines different colours.

D. Shall We Dance?
No Valentines ball is complete without the opportunity to get close to someone you might enjoy the company of, after all. To fit with the speakeasy theme, music and entertainment has been provided - both stage performances from volunteers and a selection of recorded music from the era. And for those up on the second floor, a station has been provided for whatever you’d like to broadcast to the entire room. Whether you’re up on the stage, down on the dancefloor, or you simply want to set a little mood music for certain people to take a hint, there’s bound to be something to do.

Some of the spirits and other, benign creatures that inhabit Daybreak’s grounds have decided to invite themselves, finding the music and warmth too irresistible to refuse. As a result, masked figures dressed in the vague approximation of 1920s fashion can be spotted among the more solid attendants, and those who don’t have a dance partner might well find themselves being asked to dance regardless - and be given small gifts as a token of gratitude for the indulgence. Or they might just nudge you into dancing with someone new...

E. Wildcard
Anything else you’d want to do at the dance? Feel free to enjoy the night - it’s for everyone to indulge themselves, after all.

code bases by tricklet

Comments

[unpocoloco]

He draws a deep breath. His rib cage swells like he's got lungs, but the air goes nowhere.

"Do you ever feel stagnated? Like, you're stuck. And there's a little room to push out, to change things or make them better. But it's an elastic or-" He laughs ruefully, looking at the guitar in his hands. "-or plucked guitar strings. Eventually, it goes back."

He stops playing. His shoulders sag.

"I thought I was getting somewhere. Slowly, but somewhere. I thought I was getting better and, that... that I was done saying goodbye. Done with leaving people hurting or dead. But I haven't changed. I'm right where I was with all the same problems. And I can't tell if it's an undead thing, or a me thing, or just bad luck." He shakes his head.

[spelleton]

'Done with saying goodbye'. He thinks, but doesn't say, that he doesn't think there is such a thing. It's rare to have people who will be with you forever, whatever forever means to each individual.

"Occasionally, yes," he finally says, his voice contemplative. "In my recovery. I was frustrated that I seemed to be going backwards, or that I'd made no progress at all. That I was still weak to the same things, the same flaws, the same old wounds."

Frustration had been a slow, crawling thing for him. There had been numbness, horror, grief. All sorts of things. But it had bloomed, steadily, until the whole world seemed a tool to inconvenience him, until every little mistake seemed like the end.

"I wanted things to be simple, organized. Lines curving upwards, steadily, until there was nothing else to do or to be except the cleanest, most whole version of myself. But nothing that lives is so orderly as that."

His mouth quirks in a thin, dry smile.

"It took me a long time to accept how messy I was, and would continue to be. Despite my best efforts. All I could do was struggle not to be angry at myself for it."

[unpocoloco]

Logically he knows that everything ends. But right now, logic isn't exactly a friend.

He lifts his lowered gaze. He'd been afraid to be told that it was just the way things were. He'd wondered if he might just be told it's all him, something entirely unrelatable. But it's neither, and not even for the reasons he thought.

But nothing that lives is so orderly as that. He knows that smile there is for the irony of it, the status they share, dead but here.

"Even now?" He asks. "You hardly ever seem messy to me, amigo." Only sometimes, little moments, the times he seems most human. He looks back down, a lot on his mind he wants to say or explain. A lot of it's stuff that Ekkehardt already knows. He settles for saying, "I'm not very good at that. At- at liking myself. I can help out the kids sometimes, but I can't seem to help... me." He tugs the guitar closer to himself. "What do you do?"

[spelleton]

He shakes his head. "It's just well-disguised. I still have nightmares - I always will, I think - but there, nobody sees me sleep. I bury myself in work, to distract myself. I sit and stare out windows...Little things, when it gets too much." Sometimes they sneak up on him, and he doesn't even realise until later that's what he's been doing.

"Oh, I'm practical about it," he says, after a long moment. "The work I do helps someone. I have the ability to care for...to support someone else. I can take pride in the things I accomplish, knowing I've done well." It's all very utilitarian, in a way. But he takes pride in who he is, what he does, what he can do; he draws strength from it.

"Sometimes acknowledging the effect you have on others, the reality of the tasks you do, is a start. You have a skill for caring for other people, for example. A skill for music. For making people smile. I think that's something you can be honest with yourself about."

[unpocoloco]

It's illuminating. Not all in a good way. Ekkehardt keeps himself busy a lot. On the other hand, he also still manages to make time for lighter things, times spent out with friends.

He listens close, watching Ekkehardt's face. More than most things, he needs to learn this.

The truth is, he doesn't know honest he is about those things. He's caused a lot of hurt. And music was tangled up in it. It never feels like enough.

"I... I do. I do want to be those things." He's never felt like enough.

"I think, maybe, that's how I've been distracting myself. It's easier to help someone else. Sometimes I manage." Small steps, and then maybe he can believe like Ekkehardt does.

"You help me a lot," He points out then. "I'm sure you know. I always kind of thought I burdened you like that though." His mouth presses. He has to admit; "I think this is going to take me some time to work through."

[spelleton]

Ekkehardt always plays his cards close to his chest. That Héctor, who has a talent for reading people in an unguarded, genuine way, can't seem to see through him in many of his aspects - save for his most personally embarrassing one - is almost flattering.

He doesn't say that, however. It would reveal more about what he truly does than the man needs to know.

"You fall apart when you bring yourself into focus, and then you cram it all back inside when you move on to help someone else," he remarks, twirling the cigarette holder with deft movements, an idle motion that helps him think about what to say next.

"I think, more than anything else...you should allow yourself to be a little more selfish about what you want. Not in relation to others, not what you can offer them, but what you desire for yourself."

It feels strange to give that advice when he has shades of the same problem. But he supposes he'd be best qualified to give that advice in the first place.

I always kind of thought I burdened you. He taps Héctor with the cigarette holder when he voices that concern, a soft rap on the man's skull.

"Goose. If it was bothering me, I wouldn't spend time with you, would I? Surely you know enough about me by now to recognise that, as understanding as you are."

[unpocoloco]

He winces once because Ekkehardt's right. It's just, put like that, it sounds even worse. He doesn't even think to try and argue.

But the rest throws him.

"Self... ish...?" He repeats like it's a foreign word. He already figured he was rather selfish. He didn't see it as a good trait.

The cigarette holder taps his skull with a soft whap and sends him blinking, bewildered. He stares at Ekkehardt, unsure what to say. For all he's bad at reading Ekkehardt, for all the truths he can't find in himself, he's not actually sure how he missed that one. But it touches him, giving his phantom heart a squeeze.

A faint laugh slips and he sets the guitar aside. He moves. And he throws his boney arms around Ekkehardt.

"Gracias."