The differences between the courts are staggering to Fever - the house of Vespera feels moist and soggy in the summer heat, the air here could suffocate you if you allow it - the climate is much different than the arid and dry chokehold of her home. In this cotton-candy atmosphere, where the twilight makes you sticky-sweet, and the stars are rivaled in their twinkling by a pestilence of fireflies, Fever arrives to a festival - a ball - that she honestly had no business to attend in the first place.
Yet, like the insects that made their home in this lush and lolling landscape, Fever was attracted to the warmth and lights of Dusk Court. Flocks of fancy patrons mingled in the courtyard and within the artful halls, dressed appropriately for such a grand and fine event; meanwhile, Fever was unaware of a dress code - although she did choose to certainly rise to the occasion.
She was adorned with her regular fittings - jewelry and piercings a gilded display of gold that Solis himself would approve - and her mother's sheer face mask. In addition, she donned a veil that matches: it is sheer black and glitters like subtle starlight, it spills over her entire head, allowing the tines on her neck to break through. She wears it to provide even further protection as she is aware of the amount of nobles who usually litter these kinds of parties.
Attached to the last ivory quill in her crown-like spread, is a strand of diminutive jewels that are diamond like in nature and fitted into gold brackets; they ride the curve of her spine and connect to the bracelets that are always wrapped around the dock of her tail.
Last, but not least, the wild lengths of her untamable tail have been intricately braided into three-strand twists, some of these braids adorned with gilded loc-clasps, and arranged in a large and complex bun. The hair that falls from her crest is braided in the same exotic fashion; while smelling of foreign spices that suggest tobacco and cardamom, this chai incense blend would give away her alien status to this court.
The music in the ballroom did not speak to Fever; usually she could not resist dancing as it was her second nature to display herself like a peacock, and yet, it felt stagnant while lovers and others smooched on their cheeks and spun around in circles. Besides, Fever knew better than to make a fool of herself in the midst of such exalted company - and heaven forbid, someone might recognize her from her days of servitude.
No thank you.
So instead, Fever sauntered to the balcony where a few spectators visited, admiring the skies, quietly speaking to one another. The mare stands with her back to the party, a look of unamusement on her obscured face as she wonders why she went through the trouble of attending.
Perhaps she was just always on the hunt for trouble.
Perhaps she had a fickle, fleeting hope that she would find her mother amongst the beautifully decorated ladies.
you shine in this pitch darkness
that is the butterfly effect
He felt pitiful. An absolute wreck of a man. What the hell was Syn thinking - encouraging him to come to an event that would be held in such high regards as the Queen of Dusk's first 'official' event. Further more, a MASQUERADE BALL?! He was the definition of an antisocial hermit. He didn't interact with ANYONE, beyond his best friend, and now he was expected to attend a Ball. With lots of people. . . lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of people. It would be suffocating. it would be dastardly, horrible, disgusting. He did not want it. He wanted to hide away in the safety, the shelter of his work shop. While the others mingled like princesses and dukes on parade, he could be completing his most recent runic array! Instead, he was putting together a costume.
Masquerade ball indeed. Naturally, his best friend would demand he be in costume as well, which meant he was now working on carefully stenciling runes into the leather face mask, and transcribing the runes along the bottom of his cloak - a project he'd been working on for the last few weeks since Absynthe had decided he would be required to attend. The pastel and onyx mage finally turned to the mirror, staring at the mix match of colors his long mane displayed, pinks, and blues, ivory and ebony. It would be hidden beneath his cloak soon enough. But first thing first. He slid the mask carefully over his face, carefully focusing his magic on one rune, simply 'stick' that would hold it into place. The rune flared up, activating and he allowed his telekinetic abilities to drop, the mask now adhered to his face.
It was a simple thing, all things considered, white and covering only half of his face, leaving the other half distinctly open, those pastel freckles standing out against the pale fur of his base pelt color. That would change shortly. His mix match eyes remained bright, with the pink one staring out from beneath the mask, the blue one left on the open side of his face. The mask itself was simple compared to his rather flamboyant coloring, the sleek white extending out, where the edges flared away from his face in a shape that was distinctly that of a butterfly wing. The wing itself was where the simple look transformed into tiny drops of gems, clear quartz crystals that refracted the light - that were utilized more for their engraving properties. Again his magic flared up as each crystal had the rune inscribed upon it activated. "Obscure", "Disinterest", "Overlook" various runes meant to do what his normal cloak usually did - obscure his identity. Particularly since he was limited in his means of obscuring himself.
As he watched the image in the mirror start to distort, until it was hard for even he to find himself in the reflection, he deemed the job well done, his long mane now more non-descript in color, and his sleek draconic-like horns extending out, the bands and dangling gems replaced with silver and quartz crystal, allowing those horns to be on display, rather than obscured beneath his cloak this time. With his hair carefully pulled up and back, half hanging over his mask, and otherwise threatening to descend into chaos, he decided it was as decent as he would get.
Finally the cloak was slid over his shoulders, deep, rich, a velveteen black (that would likely make Alecto weep in envy - Savannah had allowed Absynthe to pick it out after all, so the quality was top notch this time). Along the edge, the runes had been activated a week prior, and now as it settled over his body, fog was being released from the ends of the cloak, produced by the rune that created the affect all along the edge. He stood before the mirror, straightening edges, as his long, leonine tail twitched, slipping from the shorter than he was used to cloak, and half coiling around his hip, small crystals braided into the mess of pastel and onyx colors visible in the long tail hair strands at the end of the lengthy tail.
It was finally at this point that he allowed himself to leave - to make his way from his little shop in Denocte, all the way to Terrastella, where he was already frowning as he entered the room. To many people, far too many people. The crowded around as if they're identity was only worth how many may recognize them. He practically bolted upstairs in a whoosh of black fabric and fog as he ascended to the balconies, his expression distinctly displeased, despite his cloaked face (after all his runes had been more based on obscuring his appearance, not hiding his feelings). He moved through the less dense crowds, fog trailing behind him from the edges of the cloak, as the Phantom like costume settled smoothly upon his shoulders once more. His gaze scans faces, searching out the familiar face of his best friend before finally sighing and merely approaching the edge of the balcony - hardly giving the painted (and fairly exotic in appearance) mare a glance as he passed by her to lean against the railing, and glare hard down at the group below. "Should have risked the ire, and chosen not to attend. This event is nothing more than a charade for the wealthy to flaunt their worth." He realized, speaking softly to himself with a shake of his head, and clearly disturbed by the realization.
"What a stupid event, I cannot fathom why others would find it entertaining, much less a 'must be there' event." He briefly cuts his gaze to the exotic mare who smelled of spices, sharp and borderline unpleasant to his nose, as if daring her to contradict him, before his gaze slid away from her again. He had been speaking to himself anyway. But already he was attempting to decipher the proper amount of time he would need to attend before he could safely make his get away.
"Speech" Thoughts
@Fever Notes: Have an odd little mage <3
Beneath her veil, Fever is aware of a shadowy and obscure shape hovering in her peripheral. She is not inclined to move, perfectly content being statue-still in the thick of the cotton-candy air. Nonetheless, she listens to the soft foot-falls of this stranger, and unknown to them, her eyes slide in their sockets, her gaze stretching the very corners of her web of sight to try and get a glimpse.
Every single time she is disappointed with what she sees. This figure was just a few inches taller than her, and with that information, she immediately knew it wasn't her small and fragile mother.
Perhaps it was the violins singing in the background a song that sounded forlorn, but she couldn't help but feel miserable with the realization that she would probably not find her crippled better-half here. It made her shoulders slump slightly, her face fixed in an apathetic and passive expression.
Yet, with the voice of the stranger finally reaching her ears, her brow crooks into small amusement. There is subtle delight in knowing she isn't the only one upset at the this event - thinking it is absolutely unnecessary and mostly a wild parade of nobles flaunting their wealth. While she understands this ball is to honor the Dusk Court's patron goddess - Vespera - Fever holds no attachment to this deity. She doesn't care for this court, or it's people, or its new Queen.
She is simply here to drink and try to find what is most precious to her.
The spiced mare turns her face finally, and though obscured, her and the stranger meet eyes very briefly. She can read the apprehension in his voice, the irritability at his place here. She scoffs quietly, a half-smile attempting to curl up her lips though her cloudy mood has dampened her usually charming nature. "By all means -" she purrs quietly, "don't let me interrupt your bitter monologue."
She turns back to the sky, quietly watching the stars, reading the ones she is familiar with: the ones that could guide her home. "This party may blow, but at least the night is clear - the stars are beautiful tonight."
you shine in this pitch darkness
that is the butterfly effect
Savannah was the sort that when it came down to it, he didn't much care about how another's evening came up. Didn't have the social graces to truly be allowed into such events anyways [how Absynthe had convinced him to attend was still a mystery to him. Should any one inquire, he would simply claim he was forced under duress. Anyone well enough aware of how his best friend behaved, let alone thought; would only be able to agree with his explanation anyway.] So he'd made his way to the balcony, where there were far fewer bodies pressing against one another as if the social construct of personal space had been removed from their vocabulary. The display was alarmingly distasteful. Back home, their would have been quite the word to assign to such unkempt behaviors, from both the male and female parties involved. This was how reputations got ruined.
He in large part ignored the female to the side of him, his dual-colored gaze pausing only long enough to judge her worth in threat to his peace. While those spines, sharp and likely deadly; were certainly something to keep a close eye upon, she certainly didn't seem the sort to disturb him. Perhaps, if he disturbed her, she would even leave. This event was stupid, anyways. Disgusting displays of wealth, and power, and social status. Cattle brought in to auction for the highest bidder, or rather, future wives for bidding. Was the queen of this land really so foolish to assume this event would be for merriment. The wealthy were practically laughing in her place.
Then the fellow (sorry, dame) at his side turned, and he was forced to meet her gaze. Blue and Pink eyes narrow in dismay at the attention, and her scoff doesn't do much to lighten his mood. Her purr is met on deaf ears, as he instead scoffs in return, his tone one of drawling skepticism, "Bitter? I was aiming for revulsion. I shall have to practice my tone usage at a later date. He responded, his gaze once more drawing out from the balcony. At her casual words of the sky, he pauses to turn his attention upward, at the unfamiliar stars that dance across the heavens. Constellations he isn't familiar with. Where once the sky was a map, an entire spectrum of knowledge his mind could pick apart, now it is a reminder of how far from home he was. "I may find more beauty in them if there were but one constellation I am familiar with. The hassles of crossing dimensions and worlds, alike. But I cannot deny that the setting is not nearly as atrocious as the bodies out on the dance floor attempting to fornicate with out actually partaking in coitus." The mage responds, briefly sneering a disgusted look towards the numerous couples practically throwing themselves at each other.
Oh, wait, this dame was talking to him. He should probably properly acknowledge that. He turns briefly towards her, tilting his head, this time his gaze properly taking in her decorations, the veil 'guising her face, at least loosely. "Savannah Derynn, my name" He finally offers, the faintest dip of his head. He provides no other information, however. What's the point. Too much information could lead others back to him, back into hidey-hole of a workshop, interrupting his normal hermit-like lifestyle of solitary mage work, "You shall have to forgive me for the fact this is not my preference of scenery, nor occasions. I've been . . . forced into attendance by a well meaning friend, who feels as if the hermit lifestyle is unsuited for everyone, despite my objections." It really wasn't fair that he had to be here . . . He had projects back home that he really could be working on instead.
"Speech" Thoughts
@Fever Notes: Have an odd little mage <3
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