The Beaumont Ball [Player Event][CLOSED]

[LuckyBlackCat]

Micah nodded back, shuffling away from the mess as he watched Gao disappear into the crowd. As insistent as the Sheikah had been that he take a rest, Micah couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that he was imposing on an already overworked fellow staff member. And what if his dawdling irked the head chef? What if the boss took out his frustration not just on him, but on the rest of the cooks? How would he even explain this whole fiasco?

So lost was he in thoughts of what to say, and of worst case scenarios, that the huge tankard of steaming hot cocoa he found promptly pushed into his hands took him by surprise. "Oh!" Already, the warmth and the spiced aroma began to soothe him. "Smells great! You didn't have to, but... Again, thank you for everything!"

His eyebrows arched as Gao informed him he had permission to take a quick break. Between the sheer workload and the boss' complete lack of patience, that was just as unexpected as the cocoa. Gao had to have quite the knack for negotiation. Either that or his jovial presence simply put people at ease.

"Take it easy, bud. Tonight isn't a punishment, it's an opportunity and I know damn well you're fully capable of seizing it by the horns."

A subtle smile tugged at Micah's mouth. "Will do. As in, will do both."

Sipping the beverage, savouring its comforting heat, Micah turned towards the balcony as Gao resumed his duties. Already, the music began to distort, Wizzrobe-costumed figures gathering and raising their wands to summon forth special effects. Whatever his Sheikahn friend had done, did this mean he'd have time to watch the upcoming show he'd been told about?


Although Carmine kept up the rhythm his deft pinions coaxed from the strings, at the whisper behind him, he spared a glance over his shoulder. A Sheikah clad in a golden fox costume sat directly behind him, dual swords at his waist, three black-tipped tails draped over the stool, a crafty glint in his scarlet eyes. Had Carmine not been in the know, the air of quiet cunning the man projected would have been somewhat unsettling, but he gave the fox a conspiratorial nod before turning his attention back to the ballroom.

The plan was underway.

His gaze travelled back to Raemi, who despite the initial blunder, had mustered the confidence to grip the hand of the white-haired youth who'd returned, even finding it in herself to gently pull him forward and guide him into the beginning of a dance. Her fins flared wide, those mesmerising colours on full display. The corners of Carmine's eyes pulled into a smile. Warmth rose through him at the sight of her casting her worries aside, enjoying the evening and the company of a dance partner - along with the faintest tinge of something bittersweet. What, exactly? Not that he cared to examine it. She was happy, and that was what mattered.

He focused instead on the cue the fox's appearance had provided. Every so often, he'd slip in a delayed beat, a note a fraction too high or too low, a minor chord instead of the expected major. The melody distorted into an eerie ambiance as the other musicians all around did the same. A tremor ran through the floor along with the vibrations from the orchestra. A chill gust picked up. Shadows shifted and slithered in the corners.

Moments later, the hall plunged into darkness, preceding a theatrically sinister laugh that rang through the entirety of the space. The show had begun in earnest.

And what a show it was. Speeding up his strumming to a frantic pace, Carmine watched the newly-restored light reveal shadows flitting around in all directions like a swarm of Keese, heralding the arrival of the performance's star. A third dragon, crystals glistening with the purple taint of corruption all along her black costume, waltzed and spun past the guests, cackling as she left illusions of raging snowstorms in her wake. Carmine's elation soured for a second. As impressive as the effect was, he'd seen enough of those to last a lifetime.

That wasn't the only thing making his talons curl. The key moment was about to begin. A moment that would be crucial to get exactly right. As soon as the horn blared, Carmine launched into a much more upbeat tempo befitting of a hero's dramatic entrance, making sure it melded seamlessly with the frenetic swell of the music all around. Never before had he poured so much passion and energy into his playing as when the fox sped past him in a blur of gold, leaping from the balcony and launching into the dance of combat. Light erupted with every sword strike against the dragon's crystalline form, contrasting with bursts of dark scale fragments, until the final blow sent her slumping into his arms. Streams of sparkles from each "wound" washed away the Malice, leaving her in a pristine white dress adorned with brilliant cyan gems.

Naydra was purified.

Applause filled the ballroom. Carmine puffed up his chest. He'd done it. He'd successfully contributed to something as grand as tonight's epic tale. He held in a chuckle as he imagined how his brothers would respond if only they knew. The last of his jitters trickled away like the dragon's taint as he used the pause to stretch the cramps out of his wingtips, before starting on the slower melody that would accompany the night's final dance.


When the lights winked out and confused murmurs filled the room, Claria maintained her composure. She, along with the other security staff, had been briefed as to the night's event. Sadly, their duties meant they wouldn't get to fully enjoy it in the same way as everyone else. There was no telling whether someone would take advantage of the distraction to cause trouble. She snaked her tail over her shoulder, stretching an arm out in front of her, brightening her lights just enough to watch for any unusual movement. The fins over her earholes lifted. She spread her feet wide, one firmly placed in front of the other, as she kept alert for vibrations in the ground other than what could be expected.

Slowly, the darkness lifted to reveal the opening dance, but Claria's senses remained finely tuned. Her attention shifted away from the corrupted dragon, no matter how commanding her presence, towards another seemingly Malice-infested likeness so lifelike her instincts kicked in, her torso subtly swivelling, her back leg bending as if she braced herself for combat. Sable had gone all out with her glamour. Not only had the bartender taken on a demonic appearance, eyes covering much of her clawed, fanged form, blade tattoos rotating over one side of her face, her afterimages no longer reflected her, but displayed a multitude of silhouettes. A Rito much like herself, several Hylians and Sheikah sporting unusual clothing and gear... and a Zora whose body glittered with luminous patches, similar to Claria's own.

Less than a second later, Sable and the afterimages reverted. Claria studied her a moment longer. Had that been a reference to... something she wasn't aware of? A folktale of some kind?

As the main spectacle unfolded, Claria kept scanning the ballroom, although she caught snippets of the mock battle. An awe-inspiring one at that, between the choreographed swordplay and the expertly crafted illusions. One didn't grow up in Zora's Domain without developing at least some appreciation for dance, theatre, poetry, and other such art forms. Even if the culture of perfectionism surrounding them wore on her nerves, and she personally found that the simpler and less polished arts went underappreciated despite having just as much merit, an elaborate display like this one was certainly something to admire.

A round of applause went up at Naydra's simultaneous saving and defeat. Claria tapped her fingers against her glass, a much more subdued response than that of the rest of the crowd, but still one that made her appreciation clear. Once it died down, she sidled closer to Sable. "I couldn't help noticing that show of your own you put on. That form you took... and those silhouettes. Did they represent anyone in particular?" Out of all of them, it had been the glowing Zora who'd intrigued her the most. Did Sable have ties to her people?

"Claria, I..." Ariadne's bewildered voice drew Claria's attention back. Her friend had... made Gao think he was a horse? A rarely-heard sound rumbled in her throat. A shade of a laugh. Yes, the three had met for the first time at a stable. Yes, she recalled Gao had smelled rather ripe, but so would anyone who'd travelled long-distance on foot in warm weather. Had the initial meeting stuck with him? Or did he frequent stables on a regular basis?

She leaned in as Ariadne continued, her features softening further at the apprentice's newfound happiness. "I'm glad for you. That you found the friendly community you deserve. As for visiting, I'm sure I can arrange something sometime soon. When would..."

It was just Ariadne's luck that the kid from the Yuletide festival - Ciel's brother - immediately took interest and inquired further, his cubic costume clanking with his approach. Claria folded her arms. "That," she made clear, "is for Ariadne to tell on her own terms." However, her lips remained quirked at the corners. What was it about children that was so aggravating yet endearing at the same time? "Although if you are up for letting on more..." Her eyes glinted as they flicked towards Ariadne. "I'd be interested to hear it."

[Emily]

"I couldn't help noticing that show of your own you put on. That form you took... and those silhouettes. Did they represent anyone in particular?"

Pale golden eyes settled on Claria. For a moment, a profound weariness only acquired through prolonged hardship reflected in those eyes, before they refocused on the scene in front of her, on the pleasant, helpful Zora she had only met in unfortunate circumstances before this one. The Zora who seemed so easily to connect with others despite carrying her own problems, her own traumatic memories and circumstances. Enviable. Sable wasn't entirely certain how best to formulate a way to talk about these things, the best way to convey.

She took a breath. The tattoo spun. "Yes," she began. An unbidden, almost embarrassed smile appeared. "I admit, I didn't expect anyone would see it. I occasionally... I guess you could say I pay respects to things that happened a long time ago. All of my shadows were real people, though until a few moments ago I feared they might be lost entirely except in my memory.

"I imagine you're curious about the Zora? It's funny, other than appearance, you don't seem to be anything alike. He-" she paused, as the red-haired Hylian seemed to have some minor crisis, splitting both the young Beaumont's and Claria's attention away from her. She looked to her afterimages, knowing them all by name, even if they themselves were but pale imitations of those they had briefly represented. Under her breath, she finished the sentence. "He was viciously cruel."

She smirked at the admission of budding affection, or was it more, between the Hylian and some girl in Kakariko Village. It seemed to be an eternal cycle, didn't it? Childish minds turning toward noble ambition, young love becoming deep affection. She looked at the smooth, glassy surface of a one of the drinks on the bar. The clear water's surface reflects growth, if only one listens and reflects.

Turning to fix up some of the drinks, she watched the proceedings out of the corner of her eye. The young Beaumont was so forward, the young Zora so chivalrous. Ariadne, as she was called, seemed too inexperienced for her age, even as young as she was. Or maybe that was just the lens through which she had been forced to see the world.

Even now, she saw the Hylian's face turn approximately the same shade of red as her hair. The bubbling panic, the lack of confidence. She began to wonder if there would be any response at all, even as Claria expressed her own interest in the tea.

"I don't know!" the young woman exclaimed. Sable smirked. What was the term? Disaster lesbian? "There hasn't been any k-kissing or anything-" Ooh, how scandalous, a stutter! "like that. We just, we hang out at her house or go on walks and we talk a lot. I don't even know if she likes me like that, it's probably nothing. But yeah, you know, it's cool. It'd be great for you to come out to Kakariko and hang out and see what it's like. There's lots of really good food out there as well."

Sable drained her own glass, grimaced at the heat and strength of the hard whiskey, the evoked flavours she had become so accustomed to mixing into her feelings of the past. She turned once more to look out at the assembled people, so similar yet so different from what she had expected from her life. It was amazing how someone could be surrounded by so many people, but feel so strangely isolated.

[Chaosome]

In another life, perhaps Arcade had been a nobleman himself, he clearly understood the little steps of high society. How everything, in its own way, was a test. Even something as simple as greetings or a dance was, on a certain level, a measuring of wits. How one could carry themselves in such situations spoke more than one would think about how they could carry themselves in business or in interpersonal connection. It was a science in and of itself, albeit one that held little savor to the Rito. It did, however, provide for an amusing diversion from his usual work from time to time.

Such as now.

Arcade kept his gaze even with the Lady Beaumont's, a small bemused smile of his own resting on his features. As expected of the nobles and the whimsical, the young woman was taking his measure. Not just within the dance that grew more fanciful as it stretched on, but with her gaze as well. The wordless question of 'who are you?' was not one that could simply be answered by name and station, nor would it be answered by elaborate footwork. No, that was for the convenience of proximity. The eyes were the window to one's soul, many said, and one could certainly read a lot from one's gaze. Whether it was true or purely poetry, it was a curiosity to Arcade. Something had drawn her to him.

What he knew of Lady Ciel Beaumont was not much. Passing rumours and hearsay that could very well be as true as they could be false. What he could easily believe is in the Lady's flights of fancy and wistful whims. Eccentricity was the flavour of many nobles, but not in the way of Ciel. And so it was easy enough to tell what she wasn't after. It wasn't purely a social visit, hardly a courting type, and while the man would hardly put it past her, he doubted it was merely to pull a prank upon someone — though in all likelihood, the little incident of drinks earlier in the night had her fingerprints all over it.

No, he wagered, it was was something more simple, more primal. Something that the two disparate souls shared in relative common. She wanted to know. Something about him caught her interest for the moment. What it was however eluded him. Perhaps it was just as mysterious to her as it was to him. But what the young woman could glean from the Rito's gaze was much, if the soul could truly be seen thusly. Even still, the bird's golden gaze sparkled with curiosity that belayed his even manners, just as she was trying to understand what made Arcade tick, he was doing the same to her.

A spin, during which Arcade clasped her hand tighter to not let her fall, where his thumb brushed the back of her hand. She was warm, not in the way that a person normally was, but in the way water on a spring day was. A twirl that pulled her back into his arms, dipping down dramatically with their chests close enough that it was simple to feel one another's heartbeat. Steady, rhythmic, but with no irregularity despite the feverish performance before and the daring dance now. Now he was curious. Now he was wondering 'who are you?'.

As Ciel pulled close once more, at the tale end of their dance, something else became all the more apparent to him. The thrum of magic, something Arcade knew all too well thanks to his work, didn't so much dance around the woman as it did flow like a river. From curious to fascinating. No longer simply a preponderance of 'who' but now of 'what' as well. Arcade's gaze pinched up as he smiled. "A most enlightening dance, your Ladyship. I wonder what aught you've learned from this little conversation. I would be most delighted to have a follow up when time permits. But it seems you've grown weary from your exertions, and while I would not deign to sway you one way or another, should you desire a break before you're inevitably required for the festivities once more, perhaps now would be as good of a time as any?"

No matter how many questions and theories he had to test in his head, Arcade knew there was a time and a place. He didn't doubt that their paths would cross again at some point, she had piqued his interest now, after all.

[LuckyBlackCat]

Although Claria gave Ariadne a subtle knowing smile, she didn't press any further, flustered and crimson-faced as her friend already was. "I'll gladly come along and visit as soon as is best for both of us," she replied. During that one brief stay there for Depths purposes, she'd been mostly focused on Zonai Survey Team matters, but this would be a chance to truly appreciate the place and all it had to offer, as well as witness how well Ariadne was fitting in. "That way you'll be the one showing me around. Is there any time in the near future that would work for you?"

While it heartened her that Ariadne's experiences brought her joy, it appeared many of Sable's had not, a soul-deep exhaustion flickering through the Rito's whimsical facade, telling of the kind of loss and letdown that wore at a person over the years like water at a rock. Yet Sable wished to hold on to them, revive them even if only for the briefest of moments. Claria recalled a similar illusory effect she'd witnessed back in Lanayru, rasping words from the painted lips of the one who'd conjured scenes from a time long gone by. I am sure you, Claria, know perhaps better than most that the past does not simply stay in the past. We carry it with us, always."

Sable, it seemed, also knew that better than most.

"Someone once said that it's important to acknowledge the past... that it serves as our foundations," Claria told her. As uncomfortable as the idea of it not being so easy to cast aside had made her back then, as much as she'd pushed back, she supposed it had more than a grain of truth to it, for better or for worse.

"And I'll admit, I did wonder about the Zora." She sipped from the flute, cautious of delving too deep into a painful subject for Sable. She held out her free arm, the spots beneath the crystal accessories flaring for a second. "A given, considering the markings. Can't say he's anyone I recognise though, and don't blame you if you'd rather not say much about him. He doesn't sound worth it anyway."

The way Sable had spoken of the figures in the shadows... Were they even still around? Were they lost to time, or simply lost to her? People did have a tendency to drift apart, or reveal less than pleasant sides of themselves.

What Claria could relate to most of all was the bartender's palpable isolation in a crowd, looking out over the merriment and mingling yet not quite part of it, the counter a barrier between her and the others. They'd both taken on jobs here that made such unavoidable, but something about Sable's weary gaze at the ballroom's occupants hinted her to be just as accustomed to that as she was.

"Until a few moments ago..." Claria repeated. "If you don't mind saying, what did you mean by that? Did something give you the idea?"

[AmJanky]

Axel

The Zora had looked startled at first, as if she hadn't expected him to be there, or her attention had been wholly elsewhere. She did seem to do a slight perimeter check before speaking, he didn't blame her for that one. For a second he was afraid he'd interrupted something, but what followed was a quip of her own.
Asking him to let her take the lead was perhaps the best thing that happened to him all evening, there were many people that were better dancers than him.

"Please." He said as he felt a little tug, or a push, towards her when she took his hand. The wings on her costume and fins of her body unfurled and in the light she truly looked like the great fairies of yore. Around them she conjured dollops and washes of what looked like swirling inks in water, she made a garden that even produced a waft of warm flowery scents.

Axel got so lost in the mirage and the calming fragrances she put on, he didn't fully notice the change in the music.

Collin

Mabel was too good for her own sake, giving her wishslate to someone else - who would possibly give away their one chance to have any wish granted? And then she bought them all raffle tickets too - but maybe that one was to sooner be rid of the seller.
When the awful green-clad manchild had finally stopped being all sparkles and kooloo-limpah's in their vicinity he turned to answer the question Mabel had posed.

"Would a dance with me be good enough, though?" He had rolled his eyes at her question, comfortably shielded by the shadows of his mask, even so he'd still comfortably do it in her face too. It wouldn't even be the first time they'd dance, but a ditty around a campfire was a far cry from an actual ballroom. There was so much more potential in a space this big with this many people.

Potential that Axel had been slyly prodded towards. For what it was still worth, the Zora girl turned out to be a true professional and Collin had misjudged her by her demeanor. What was it with the truly skilled that would carry themselves with such woefully misplaced disquietude?

"I did think that would play out dif-" He wasn't allowed to get any further in that sentence, whatever his intentions may have been were lost to the music turning a slight threatening note.

The things and stuff, reminding himself of his nephew's words, Collin looked to see if he could find Ashley in the crowd. He wasn't at the fountain any more - he had been in a tizzy about the night, and the boy was a terrible liar, Ashley had known something the rest didn't. Keeping his mouth shut had him acting like Collin found him with his hand in the cookiejar and his face full of crumbs. He didn't find the figure he was looking for, not before the lights went out and a laughter boomed through the hall, he did find others standing behind the mystery bartender.

What they were was muddled by distance.

Ashley

Ashley wasn't able to resist an excited little trill as Alyson covered everything - and mostly herself - with more glitter. "One can only strive to make everything better with glitter," make things better with glitter he had.

"Alyson, sweetheart, darling, dear," He continued, beaming still that she would take the costume he had made to her specifications to such a high level with all the finery and finishing touches she had added herself, "My sister has been the least of my worries, and I hers - I have been a slave to my own poor time management and a muse as fickle as Hylia herself."

When then the music started sounding dissonant Ashley had a semblance of what to expect. It had been planned and he had been made privy of a few details. And while he had promised himself he wouldn't cry, at this point of the night he was beyond even wanting to cry and would choose good ol' hysterics.
Before he could take Alyson up on her excitedly wanting to join the people already dancing, the lights went out. He found himself instinctively checking where his sister and uncle were, he wasn't to get far in that. A booming melodious laugh sounded through the ballroom and there she was, flitting in and out of a purple streak she left anywhere. He couldn't do much more than just repeat his wish in the back of his head while he followed the streaks and figure within, and tried his hardest to enjoy what Lady Ciel put on, even his hysteria could wait.

Ciel was the fourth wearing one - or rather two - of his creations, and truth be told he wasn't as proud of the one that was on show on Ciel as he was of what he had made for Alyson. Even though the carpenter had come after the Lady Beaumont with her request... He knew he had taken on too much at the time.

He repeated the wish he'd written on the first slate fervently in his head.

The thought of a hero's costume and the specifications Alyson had given him were so inspiring he couldn't help but say yes to that dress. Alyson deserved it, she deserved to have an amazing night, looking as baller as she did. She truly was a hero in his eyes, always working herself to the bone, always on and ready to help anyone in need. Even if it felt proportionally marginal, he could give something back to her at that moment.

One of the other designs had to bite the bullet; and to the Godesses, it wasn't gonna be Alyson's, it was gonna be the dress that had to bite the bullet anyway.

Lady Ciel's purple and black dress had thus been a rush job and Ashley had to ask for help, he had to grovel and beg at Ventest to be taught how to use their dreaded treddle. He felt like it was a student-project, he had to learn all over how to sew a dress, how to work that infernal machine and how to design for it. He had to admit to the Ventest way for it. He hated the process, he hated the turnout, he hated that he had to resort to what he didn't want to be to get everything done in time, he hated that Cece had chided and laughed at him for even wanting to do it all by hand. She hadn't been allowed to see the second dress, she could fall into a gap in the earth and live the rest of her existence in the dark with the mushrooms she loved so much for all he cared, Cece had been nothing but a means to an end.

His wish once more echoed through his mind.

Much like Alyson's Feyranger outfit, the black and purple dress had secrets, it was an outer layer that hid the reveal underneath, strategic fluff and lace to hide secondary layers. The real secret being that the construction wasn't just made to be torn away, but sadly made with the posiblity to disintegrate at any second - even before the grand moment.

Still- the second dress the Young Lady Beaumont wore; that was craftmanship, that was handwork, finished minutes before the deadline. It was the dress that broke him, if the reveal would go any different than was planned, he'd never forgive himself. And he'd never live down Cece's further chides.

Through his mind he pleaded; Do not rip that dress before it's time.

Axel

Their dance was put to a pause when the lights went out, momentarily shook out of the entrancing show the Zora put on. The garden - her mirage - he had found himself in was suddenly gone and he found himself standing in the dark still holding on to the Zora's arm.

As he slowly regained a semblance of cognisance Axel was kind of thrown in the middle of a battle against a figurative dragon - a far cry from the calming ink-garden he had found himself in moments earlier.

The scenes were in such stark contrast, it took him a while to catch up with the streaks, the chiming candelabras and glasses, and the music then turning a heroic note while a keaton-clad hero struck down the malice-laden dragon to reveal the sparkling blue and white of a happy healthy Naydra.

What struck Axel wasn't the bombastic nature of the whole thing - or the theming of the Beaumont family's costumes. What struck him was the main theme of the night having been Blupees.

"Did she just bleed rupees?" He asked to the sky in general, a stupified frown stuck on his face for a couple of seconds. Before he shrugged it off and turned back to the Fairy Zora, who he wasn't about to leave hanging for a second time, not even for something that should probably be more of an epiphany than it had been for him at that moment.
"Tangents seem to be the theme for our meeting... And while we're on no subject in particular, I still have no idea what to call you, besides - you know - a really good dancer." A sweet, soft smile returning to his face.

Collin

Collin looked entirely nonplussed, but applauded the show nonetheless, a little distracted by trying to futilely get a better view of what the bartender had been up to.
While the third Beaumont Dragon picked her partner, the dancefloor started to flood with couples. His niece looked evermore expectant at him. He couldn't get very far in making up an excuse - his neckhairs standing on end when a mechanical whirring and clicking drew closer - the excuse presented itself.

Collin knew the image of Malanya, hardly anything to be called scrawny, a very hands on fellow, as it were. This particular Malanya, however, was a specimen to behold. The mask he wore was hardly big enough on the shoulders that carried it and he missed the strange whirry otherworldly movements, but the noises were there.

This Malanya may have inquired the two about the casting of their votes, he may have been carrying a tray of drinks and he may very well have been part of the staff for those two reasons. But - and this to Collin was a weird thing to be thinking about Malanya - his body language betrayed other reasons for him to be where he was. And though the mask covered the man behind it, it aimed at Mabel in particular.

There was no time for Malanya to react, there was a lift in the weight of the tray on his hand, there was a "Let me just take that from you." And a swoosh.
And there went the Gerudo's Phantom King for the night into the night. Carrying the tray of drinks in one hand, blowing a kiss with the other. "Take a breather, darling. Have a dance with her, I'll make sure your shift is covered!"

Ashley

When the malice dragon was slain and the true Naydra reborn - the third dragon completing the Beaumont family costumes - Ashley's anxiety for the night was slain with it. His worst fear hadn't happened, and perhaps that was a testament to his skill - good luck to anyone willing to try and convince him of that, though. The woeful disquietude and his hatred for the process a constant enough companion through the whole learning period at Ventest to colour the opinion he had formed on the black dress.
He was glad he'd stood his ground - he didn't worry about the rest of the evening - he didn't have to. The white dress was solid work, Ventest and Cece be damned. With every slash the black dress endured Ashley felt vindicated and a smile grew on his face.

When the lights came back and Lady Ciel had chosen her dance partner - ironically the one dressed in the Malice-suit - he could finally in earnest shake the evening's woes and beamed once again at Alyson. Before they would settle into the dancing crowd, he felt she needed to hear why he'd felt compelled to take on Alyson's request above all else, "Have I ever told you I am beyond chuffed to call you a friend?"

"You truly are a hero to many, and you really do make the world sparkle. Everything about the clothes you're wearing tonight just reflects who you are to me as well, making them for you has been a true honor to me." He had taken her hand and made a reverent bow.

He inhaled, theatrically wiping his bottom eyelids carefully with nary the tips of a finger, as he got up from his bow, "And now before I can truly start crying, let's give the rest of the world a taste of that glitter!" Quickly regaining his normal level of confidence, he pulled her up the dancefloor and into a dance.

[El]

RAEMI

How perfectly sweet he was. Raemi bit back a goofy grin, pleased more than she was relieved that the Sheikah so eagerly played along. It was one thing to daydream of such things, but reality was altogether a different stage: the sensations therein made the figments of her imagination pale in comparison.

As the young man leaned into her warmth - and the enveloping embrace of her magic - the Zora found herself so glad that she had found her courage, not once, but twice: though admittedly the second introduction was more a battle with swells of spited pride than nerves. A little comment Carmie had made many moons ago flitted through her mind, proudly tooted but no less well-meant, 'If you never try, you never know.'

She giggled. She felt her face flush too, but ah well - the lights would hide it, right?

Well, turns out they did more than just that!

The performance which swiftly unfolded before and around them, was one Raemi had been vaguely informed on given she was one of the Ball's hired staff. Many of the details had been withheld however - despite how many colleagues had prompted for more - and in truth she was glad to be in the dark, both metaphorically and now quite literally. The show was grand and loud and riveting, full of sparkles and flare and drama, hitting highs after swooping lows. And while it was clear to Raemi's trained eye that the young Lady Beaumont was no professional dancer, she nonetheless possessed an almost ethereal grace. Her natural agility and its elegant buoyancy was a marvel to behold, scarcely outshone by the beautiful costumes which adorned her in turn. Novice though Ciel was, every ounce of her spirit went into her performance: and that was arguably the most important part of it all.

Many breathless gasps later, Raemi was keen to punctuate the end of the show with a raucous applause of her own-... only to realise she could not.

The Sheikah was still holding her.

His grip wasn't firm by any means - it did not restrict her. But as soon as the Zora began to shift, intention becoming movement, that instinct instead halted at the acknowledgement of their still shared warmth. She found she did not wish to pull away, and most certainly not be the one to initiate it! ...And so she did not.

"Did she just bleed rupees?" She caught him mutter, but before she could truly ponder his curious statement - a perspective she hadn't even considered as literal! - his attention shifted back to HER.

Ah, she was blushing again. Why was she blushing? Moons above, had she truly been that starved of attention...?

"Tangents seem to be the theme for our meeting... And while we're on no subject in particular, I still have no idea what to call you, besides - you know - a really good dancer." The stranger in their shared grasp smiled, and Raemi felt her heart turn to goop. Tickling, nervous, delightfully electric goop.

Yet... as her lips parted of their own volition, already beginning to form the first syllable of her given name... She halted. A realisation had struck her and it was visible in the way her golden gaze flashed. Then there came a small but spreading smile, mischief curling her features and softly trilling the bells that adorned her.

"Nor I you." Raemi quipped, tasting a swell of courage that felt foreign upon her tongue. But the rush of its burn was invigorating. Continuing to ride the unexpected high, she resumed with a lilting voice full of melodic play, "But is that not the allure of a masquerade?"

With renewed currents, asway and twirling, she pulled him back into the embrace of their dance. Feet glided between parted legs, arms and elbows tangled only to slide on through and free for fingers to entwine and shoulders to brush, chests to then press close. Raemi giggled. Conscious of how close her veiled lips were to the stranger's ear, she hushed low the volume of her voice and added in an ardent tease, "I hope that mystery helps you remember me."

The Midnight Dance, with its sultry hues and flirtatious strings, melodies that swooned and warm candlelight that flickered: what a fairytale, to be here in this moment. If she couldn't hear her own heart race, feel the breath of the Sheikah upon her cheek and the robotic arm wrapped about her waist, she'd think it all far too surreal to ever be a memory in the making.

She wondered then, briefly, if Carmie was watching. Her gaze flashed upwards to the orchestral gallery.

...And that wonder came with a quickly sobering rush of realisation. A cold splash of fright that almost made her shiver in horror. ...Had she really said that? HER?! TO A MAN SHE'D JUST MET?! ...But the words were gone and heard and now their dance was winding down: sand through an hourglass near empty.

Disguising a soft swallow, Raemi urged her composure to return so they could finish with comfortable ease. Yet it was no small feat to puppet a grown man, and her tickling nerves had made her all the more aware of every brushing touch and meeting gaze. Thankfully the tension did not succeed in turning her stiff and unbearably rigid, though it was clear by the burning of her usually pearlescent scales and the avoidance of his eyes that something had changed. Shifted.

She wanted to crawl under a table and whimper.

But... nerves be damned, and later swelling regrets come as they may, this was nice. No, not just nice. It was incredibly pleasant. She'd never openly confessed as much to Carmie (though she wondered if he had ever twigged on, given her habits regarding him), but physical touch was of great comfort to her. It healed something in her. Soothed her. Warmed her bruised and tender heart with a relief tender. This man was a stranger but he was sweet and gentle, and easily endearing enough for Raemi to trick herself into thinking there was some connection here, no matter how fleeting - that was irrelevant.

Yes, it was good she did not share her name. Reality was too cruel, she would not allow it to mar this memory.

With the last turn of their softly swirling dance, Raemi allowed their intertwined fingers - scales upon mechanics - to linger as they parted. Forwards she leaned, gently pressing a kiss upon the Sheikah's cheek. Though two layers of masks were sure to filter out much of the sensation, the sentiment was blatant. "Thank you."

[Emily]

"Someone once said that it's important to acknowledge the past... that it serves as our foundations," Claria said. Sable nodded, though a particularly sharp-eyed individual might see a pained glint pass through her eye. "And I'll admit, I did wonder about the Zora."

They drank in unison, Claria from her non-alcoholic Blupee and Sable from a perfectly alcoholic one. She felt her vision starting to soften, the heaviness beginning to set into her mind. It was for the best if they were going to be talking about heavier subjects. She wasn't entirely sure how to put these things into words anyway- historically, when she had been Sable, it was so much easier to navigate social situations. Though she had learned from those experiences and memories, grown and become more comfortable doing these things herself, it was difficult to know how to explain it "A given,", the Zora continued, "considering the markings. Can't say he's anyone I recognise though, and don't blame you if you'd rather not say much about him. He doesn't sound worth it anyway."

She smiled in spite of herself. Looked up and directly into Claria's eyes again, the first time since the initial comment about the past. Settled into a comfortable, confident stance and spoke. "His name was Xane, or is Xane, I suppose. Until I saw you at the Roost a couple months ago, he was the only deep sea Zora I had met. I was in the middle of a crisis, I suppose you could say, and ended up somewhere I had never been before. When everyone else ignored me, he... I don't know why I'm defending him. He used me, and I used him, and I guess that's as far as I really should be thinking about it."

Tactfully, Claria respected the end of that subject. Sable had bailed before getting too far into it, fortunately. Though the memories were... difficult to parse, they were very real. Castle Town, the Gem and Enchanting Shop. Xane, Faye, C̵̡̥̹̝͔̃͌͋̾ȟ̴̨̹̣͔̠͙̳̗̬̣̝͇̳̺͌̅̕̕r̸̛̲̣͙̲̜͈̉̔̎̕ͅi̴̮̣̹̜̘̞̤͂́̏̈͘͜͝s̴̜̖̗͙̮̲̘̬̿̑͛̈́̄̄̏̽̈́̄̚̕t̸̨̡̢̟̖͍͓͓̗͑̑̋̔͆̊́̓̽̏̊̃̊͠ị̴̺̫͖̲̱̰̻̣̱̀̌͂a̶̢̡̟̜̤̠͙̝̺̟̦̋̾̄̽n̷̨̧͈̙̱̜̞̺͌͒̽̈́͆̄͂̋̅̚ͅ, Quetzal, Faelinn, and Franklin, the Curiosity Shop Guy.

"Until a few moments ago..." Claria repeated her earlier statement. Sable was amused at the thought of this stoic warrior Zora being a reporter, like the one who had recently interviewed her for the Lucky Clover Gazette. "If you don't mind saying, what did you mean by that? Did something give you the idea?"

"I don't know how interested you are," came out without preparation, ultimately out of character. She shook her head, looked out across the floor again. It had been really quite easy at first, to inhabit this role and play this part, to inhabit something she had worn so easily earlier in life. But it unsettled her, shook the foundations of what she was comfortable playing in, when there was a bioluminescent Zora and she had seen... they had only met briefly, near the end. Or had they? Either way, she supposed it was entirely possible it wasn't actually him. The worlds couldn't just connect like that, it wasn't possible.

She shrugged, the alcohol winning out against her inhibitions. "I'll try to keep it brief. I- or I used to- travel to a different reality while sleeping. For most of my life, I didn't sleep in the way most people do, where you skip time and the only thing in the middle is a nebulous dream. I would wake up and live a full day of a different life, an alternate Hyrule, fully cognisant and in control of myself, though not in control over the reality of the world, like what I've read and heard about lucid dreams.

"As you might imagine, it made things very confusing. I was able to learn a lot because I had full days, but I would get things mixed up in both worlds. Said a lot of strange things and made a lot of people very nervous. It really messed me up on this side, I actually changed a lot of things about myself because I liked that version better." She laughed, then realised she had been speaking too long. "Uh, to answer your question though, the people reflected in my images here were all from that reality, and this," she gestured to her appearance, "was who I was there. And I was confused because I saw someone here, tonight, who looks exactly like someone from that place, though he's older. I suppose I am, too."

The silence hung between them for what seemed like an eternity, though Sable knew it had only been a second or two. The mixture of alcohol and pure embarrassment from making a total ass of herself in front of someone who seemed very nice, even if they didn't know each other- and in this form, as well- caused time to stretch uncontrollably.

"Bro." Ariadne was standing there, having grabbed another Naydra's Wisdom. She took a sip, bright wide eyes darting between Sable and Claria. Sable had never met a skull kid in the other world, but she had heard of them. One in particular had been exceptionally important to the city she had lived in. Ariadne's costume and generally invasive behaviour made Sable wonder if she wasn't the only one who had been dipping back and forth- as far as she knew, nothing like this lived here. Then again, the antlers and strange green suit didn't fit with the rest of the theme. So it was probably just a close coincidence and she was reading too much into it.

The Hylian continued, a slight smile on her face, "maybe I don't have it so bad after all." Sable suddenly realised she was trying not to laugh. The audacity! Ariadne turned to the younger Beaumont. "I think you're right, little robo-guy. I'll go ask Ana if she'll be my girlfriend when I get back to Kakariko. And Claria," she placed a hand on the Zora's shoulder. "Literally anytime is good. I've got lessons during the day, but it's all on a volunteer basis, so when you're able to show up, I can just ask for a few days off to show you around."

Sable narrowed her eyes, doing her best to harm the Hylian with her glare. It didn't work, but she also hadn't really expected it to. She looked out over the dancefloor once more, just to see who she could see. While she didn't see who she was watching for, she did see Alyson being dragged out there by Ashley. It was a delight to see Alyson having some fun tonight. The poor woman worked so hard all the time, and was one of the dearest friends Sable could have asked for. When they'd met in Gerudo Town, she had been particularly alone, and despite her caution and off-putting nature at that time, Alyson had accepted her fully.

[El]

CIEL

Well, what a charmer he was! Dapper not just in presentation, but suave in his mannerisms. He played along almost a little too well, Ciel suspected, an aftertaste that lingered after every smooth turn and pleasing word even as her fatigue began to show in the cracks. The Rito wasn't simply just confident, or considerate. The spark in his own eyes as they regarded her in much the same way she did him, betrayed a calculating intellect that tickled her amusement.

She wondered, briefly, what his true motive for being here was. Did a man like him attend a grand and indulgent event like this, just because of a passing fancy...?

But well, it was of no matter, Ciel wasn't one to scrutinise a joy too harshly: especially when she was still enjoying its fruit. Pried as she had - and still did - there was nothing violent about his temperament. Malevolence was not the colour of his core.

Though... there was something. An instinctive reflex - mayhaps even a flinch - which raised the hairs on the back of her neck, whenever they drew just a little too close or lingered a beat too long. Initially, she'd thought it mere excitement on her part. But no. Malice in his heart there was not, but Malice in his past there had been - traces which clung to him like a perfume. It didn't originate from his costume either. Didn't originate from him at all. He'd never worn it, but he'd most certainly been exposed to a lot of it.

The lady's eyes flashed, regarding him once more. Gold met gold.

He looked perfectly sane.

Perfectly healthy. (As far as a masquerade could reveal, at least.)

However their bout was at its end, a lull in the persuasive strings and woodwinds prompting a matter of eloquent propriety. Their dance finished. Unfortunate, but not wholly unwelcome - loathe as Ciel was to admit her own defeat. It wasn't as if she'd gotten nothing out of this encounter, and if the smile upon his beak was anything to go by... he agreed.

Gracefully accepting his offer, the lady bowed her head and swept low into a finalising curtsy. But as the hands which at first flowed with the descent of movement then arose, she plucked from her bosom a neatly folded handkerchief. Wordlessly, but with a delightfully devious smile sweet on her lips, she presented it to the Rito.

On a surface level it was an unremarkable gift. The cotton was fine - clearly of high quality - but basic in its usual cream-white colour. Its edges were delicately hemmed, but minimal in their decoration. There was, however, a sextuple-ferned rupee and two cursive initials - C.B - beautifully embroidered in one far corner. Its cyan thread glistened in the dimmed lights of the ballroom.

There was magic in it. Not just any magic, but a trace. A droplet of Ciel's own essence instilled within the weave. Though currently it appeared inactive - dormant.

Tie a handkerchief embroidered with the likeness of an exquisite, sextuple-ferned rupee to your window at night,
And if glitters blue come the passing of three moons at most The Blue Fairy will alight,
Upon your sill to deliver your words to the dead,
And if earnest and true, their words back to you still.

Maybe he hadn't heard the rumour passed between the mouths of the desperate and enthralled, but it'd be no matter to discern as much himself given his own keen intellect. With this handkerchief, he could summon her.

With that, Ciel turned and left.

ARTHUR

A huff of pride bloomed the little robot's chest, puffing it up as he did a terribly poor job of hiding his grin, despite the shadows of his upward-propped mask. Of course wherever he went his input would reap results! Productive ones at that! The swamp-witch thanked him for his wise guidance and Arthur delighted in its effects.

The bartender however-... was a most peculiar case. Much to his frustration he appeared to be the only one lost in the fog of her riddles, as the trio of adults wove a web of conversation above his head. Something serious was being discussed - he could glean that much. Awkwardly, Arthur took another long and obnoxiously loud slurp of his smoothie: almost choking on it with a cough when he caught the murderous glare the pretty lady then gave the witch. The witch did not appear to notice. Or maybe she just didn't care...?

Perhaps this was one of those moments where - as his sister so eloquently put it - was ripe for a 'tactical retreat'. Bold and brave as he undoubtedly was, one should be wise enough to know when they've entered depths beyond their comprehension: and to not know or worse yet be unable to know how to know the unknown, was to thus-.. hmn. Whatever.

After a prompt, passing little fullbody vibration brought on by a dastardly-violent brainfreeze, Arthur downed the remainder of the glass and gently placed it back on the bar - careful enough to demand both hands. "Thank you, Pretty Miss. That was delectytable."

The boy turned then to very neatly bow to his present company, one arm - stiff with his bulky costume, but no less practiced in its gesture  - crossed over his chest. "Please enjoy the-" THUNK. The heavy bulk of his mask helmet snapped down and shut again. Arthur cleared his throat, ignoring how it echoed against his ears. "-p-Please enjoy the rest of your night, ladies." 

As he waddled away with a creak and grind of handpainted geometry, he startled upon seeing an Octorok jolt from its crouch behind the corner of the bar.

"...Oh it's you." Arthur sighed, after a long moment of awkward pause.

The beast wiggled with a trilling laugh. "Always a pleasure to be in your company, Young Master!" And upwards Traysi bounced, taking the unexpected face-to-face meeting in her stride: even as she watched the boy's eyes narrow into scathing slits. Ouch. Always so suspicious of her, this one was! It wasn't as if all those articles featuring his sister were wrong.

"If you report anything on what the ladies said there, I will have your company destroyed."

"Oh I would never!" She gasped. "Clearly that was all very private gossip I mean, a talk and sight meant only for budding friends!"

Arthur huffed. "Well, I guess I can help you out by giving you an interview with me instead." He decided, out of the magnanimity of his big and still growing heart. Journalism was an important facet of a healthy society after all, and it wouldn't reflect well on his family to deny her any fresh content to print after inviting her here. Hands upon his hips he gave the journalist a curt nod.  The decision was made and final, and the pictobox-wielding octorok laughed again ...in awkward dismay.

CIEL

Settled now upon a plush chair bordering the perimeter of the ballroom, Ciel dabbed a napkin against her neck. Sweat had begun to bud and it gave her the ick. Worse yet, it was a touch more colourful than usual: leaving stains of ruby and mauve upon the thick cotton, as if she'd crushed berries below its touch. She glared down at the blossoming mess, frowning as it glittered back at her. This would prove an issue for her beautiful white dress.

"A drink for your repose, my lady?"

An olive-skinned brunette had manifested before her, the waitress now presenting a tray full of rich, jewel hues and shimmering glass. After a moment of thought, Ciel indeed rose a hand but to pen a sparkling message instead:

A STRONG one please, darling
Make it sharp and bitter

With a pause the waitress looked down at her bounty, but whatever she observed there it was not up to the task. "As you desire. I shall be back shortly, my lady." After a prompt nod the smart blupee departed, swiftly approaching Sable's bar for the request as she wove with grace around the bustling crowds which hindered her duty.

Ciel sighed as she watched her go.

Not for any real reason really. Just-... because.

Reclining into the support of her chair, another wistful breath escaped the young lady as her eyes drifted across the ball at large. Given the way much of the staff was collecting in the far corner, it appeared the voting process for the King of the Ball was nearing its completion. Which meant, she would need to nominate her Queen very soon. A daunting task, albeit daunting for all the very right - and incredibly fun - reasons. As a whole Ciel was delighted with the efforts many of the attendees had demonstrated in their outfits: even the poorly made ones were charming in their own right. She had scouted half the masses earlier, during her masquerade as a courtyard butler, but seeing them at dance and in play made them shine all the brighter.

There was only one sad, little, unbearingly UNfun thing in the way: a rule. A singular rule. Her parents had very firmly requested (i.e ordered) her to NOT - under any circumstances! - peep at the results for the King beforehand. While she was free to let bias sway her opinions as it undoubtedly could and likely would, she was not to spread her plottings any further than that.

A dreadful rule really. Ciel sighed thrice. What spoilsports.

Regardless, in the midst of her admiring observations, she discovered she could not find her pink-haired fox. It was a little alarming really, but her job as his boss was at its end - she held no responsibility for his further actions. Who she DID discover was, delightfully, Ashley! Her precious and wonderfully skilled tailor! The grin which leapt to her lips was natural, though it faltered upon noticing the details of his current situation.

He was having fun.

Not that such a state was a problem in itself - far from it, he deserved every reward he could reap! - but there was such a thing as too much fun, no? The way he regarded his companion reeked and overflowed with open affection: even from all the way over here it was blatant how much he adored the glittering Feyranger on his arm. Why did his face animate so? What words were his lips singing?

A fourth sigh escaped the lady Naydra.

Jealousy was a common companion, but she did wish it'd become at least a little more palatable, if it was determined to visit her so often. Swallowing a small huff of bitter dejection, Ciel pursed her lips and resumed dabbing away her perspiration, leaning forwards now (with careful attention to her cumbersome headdress with all its crystal jewels and fur-lined scales), to press at a hairline wound upon her naked, slender calf. A scarcely discernible papercut at this point of its healing, but still fierce in its sting nonetheless.

It had been worth it though. She'd always wanted to go out with a bang.

[Sav'saaba]

Mabel

A promise was a promise. As much as she had bristled at the moment supreme of the performance that the ball's attendees were all treated to, she had pledged to her twin to not be upset at whatever would happen this evening. Not even in his stead. Especially not in his stead.
The mounting indignation Mabel had felt watching the dress be shredded to ribbons, she dispersed by taking a deep breath and releasing it quietly through her teeth, and then downed the remainder of the cocktail her uncle had pushed into her grasp in one go. She figured she would find out shortly if this would not turn out to be one of her more sagacious life choices. This stuff was strong. Stronger than anything she had partaken in before. 

Ashley had worked so hard. But just on what, had been a secret to everybody. Even to her. For a little while.

The attic the twins shared between themselves, partitioned into their own respective halves by a bookcase that was as tall as it was wide, had been a cluttered chaos the weeks prior to the Beaumont ball. While this was not something uncommon and Mabel had often needed to clear even her own desk and bed of stashes of materials before, she had found what the clutter had consisted of oddly out of character for her brother.
While it was mostly, as usual, fabrics and thread and buttons and pins and thimbles and scissors, it was the fabrics' colour -or rather the lack of- that had Mabel twig to something dodgy going on.
It did not take long for her brother to spill the beans of what he was up to after she had pressed him on the matter in such a way that had left no room for denial, just like he had when he had nudged her about moonlighting at the inn.
Neither of them could keep something secret from the other for very long, except for birthday presents.
Most of the time, anyway.

A towering and very broad-shouldered Malanya who had been serving drinks, if the tray he was holding was anything to go by, joined them after the performance had ended, and it struck Mabel as odd that this server was thematically quite different from the rest of the party's staff.
The Horse God? She knew it only from a picture book with kid-friendly tales that dad had often read to them before bedtime. In that particular story, an unkind boy that mistreated animals was served his comeuppance by Malanya turning him into a blupee. It had been one of hers and Ashley's favorites. The book was probably gathering dust on a shelf of the attic's bookcase.

Obscured by the long-faced mask, the young mage could not hope to discern the person's visage, although there was a warmth to his low rumble of a voice that she found strangely pulling. Mabel wasn't given much time to process that inkling of something, because her uncle saw fit to abandon her then and there after relieving the Horse God of its not-so-godly drink-serving duty.

How many times would that tally to?

Time after time, it had turned out she could indeed handle herself without the training wheels, in spite of her  assumptions. From starting a campfire, and right up to that first half-dazed bokoblin that her uncle conveniently "forgot" to bring his sword for. Oopsie, oh dear, how silly!

But this time, a dance with a complete stranger? That was something completely out of her wheelhouse.
Hadn't she told Collin just now that she didn't know the steps?

"UncleCollin!" she hissed through her teeth in a desperate plea to not leave her alone with a stranger who looked like he could break her, but it was to no avail. She watched Collin's back disappear into the crowd. 

Dinraaldammit.

Turning around to face the bulky man, the young mage presented him with a vibrant smile. This was probably as awkward for him as it was for her, so maybe if she feigned carefree confidence, he would be put at ease.

"Oh, never mind my uncle. I can totally understand if you don't want to dance. I mean, I'm dressed like something that crawled out from behind the cupboard, all legs and carapace," she joked to bring levity to the situation they had just been thrust into by Collin the Conniving.

"I was actually planning to vote for my brother. He tailored our outfits from scratch! We're twins, just like these giant bug monsters slain by the Hero of Time from the ancient legends," she professed with a swell of pride, and twirled around her axis, the train buttcape billowing behind her with the movement.

"Unless monster ladies are your cup of tea?" she heard herself ask, and with a subtle tilt of her head she extended her hand towards Malanya in open invitation.

This was the effect of the alcohol kicking in. It definitely had to be.

[El]

GAO

Did... she not recognise him...?

Though in hindsight, perhaps it was incredibly self-absorbed of him to even think that a possibility to begin with. Their first meeting might've been dramatic, but it had also been their only meeting: a mere speck on the timeline of their lives. While Gao rarely interacted with civilisation - and so every shared moment was intensified in memory - he doubted this young, sociable lady was the same. She must've done a lot since then. Met many. Seen much. Shared even more. Why would she remember him, let alone recognise him like this...?

Feeling his face sear with shame, Gao was glad for his obnoxiously large mask. Still, his teeth gritted and his throat swelled with an awkward lump he struggled to clear discreetly. Yet, given the way he caught Mabel's companion eying him, maybe his attempts had been in vain anyway.

Shit.

Turning rigid and increasingly tense - instinctively priming for a fight or flight scenario - he almost swiped out at the Phantom King when he seized the platter of drinks. Instead (thankfully) he just jerked, a strangled noise echoing from his throat as if a leash had snapped tight around it. Nostrils flared and a bracing sigh following, Malanya did naught but watch the dapper gentleman meander off into the crowds with smug strides.

This could be trouble, he frowned. Though the Beaumonts felt far from strict (let alone ruthless), impersonating a member of their staff on a day like today was not-... a safe choice. For a fleeting second Gao debated informing security, as a preventative measure. Even without the signature sky-blue handkerchief which identified all personnel, the stranger clearly had the confidence (and charismatic gall) to be unhindered by such a detail if it proved an obstacle. He didn't seem too problematic, but maybe if he went back to Claria at least and-

"Oh, never mind my uncle."

Gao's eyes flashed back to Mabel, and with a twist in his gut he grimaced. He'd gotten so caught up in the well-intentioned(?) robbery that he'd forgotten to attend to the companion left behind. Alone. With a stranger. In the middle of all this loud and colourful chaos. Despite all her sparkle and beautiful shimmer, she was evidently uncomfortable. Gao had left the silence for her to fill and she rose to the challenge with a whirlwind of jokes and stories and even an inviting quip.

The Sheikah's mouth parted only to close again. A swell of distaste had surged in his chest when her first jests demeaned how gorgeous she looked tonight, but the way she so quickly turned on the joke to instead bloom with pride and praise of the work... left him floundering for a foothold.

"Unless monsters ladies are your cup of tea?" Mabel extended a hand.

That broke Gao's troubled frown, a rumbling laugh splitting his grimace into a wide grin. It was unseen but surely felt, the bass of his amusement shaking his bared chest and the jangling plethora of gold he'd been forced to wear. "I actually study monster ladies for a living," He confessed, tickled by how easily that truth left him - that was rare. "Or, well, monsters. ...Not specifically ladies." Don't make it weird Gao. Why'd you make it weird? 

Clearing his throat and the withering whisper of a voice along with it, he raised his now emptied hand to gently grasp hers. His palms were calloused and broad, and unnecessarily delicate in their touch. Careful. Almost as if it was barely there at all.

How strange, that such small hands were capable of so much power.

His heart squeezed.

"I'm more used to singing sea shanties and stomping around campfires like a maimed Lynel, but if you'd still have me in spite of all that, Miss, I'd be honoured." Another - bashful this time - chuckle later, Malanya inclined his head: a soft little knock of painted, warm wood against her knuckles. Their size difference made the bow a little awkward, but the intent of replacing a proper courtesy kiss was obvious nonetheless.

No, he wasn't used to this. Everything about his decorum was rough around the edges - clumsy. Not for lack of (primal) grace, but from lack of experience. ...Like a bear bumbling over a new circus trick. His hulking frame and scar-riddled musculature was accustomed to brutality - and protection - not delicate gestures. But he tried regardless. She deserved that much at least.

"I'm 'fraid I won't have long to spare though until I'm needed back outside." Gao warned, straightening back upright. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to spare a few moments, reasoning away the impulsive desire with how much of a hypocrite it'd make him to do otherwise - considering the lecture he'd not long given Micah on taking a rest. Plus, it'd do something horrible to him turning his back on her again. Not when she was left here alone.

"But..." Malanya hesitated over his next words, attention drifting to the surrounding crowds while a playfulness crept into his voice. Eventually he glanced down at his feet and their straw sandals, toes scrunching as if already feeling a chill. "May I most humbly request that, when it's my time to go, you don't freeze me some new boots...? I'm not wearing much protection this time."

He guffawed with gusto this time, the Lurelin lilt to his gruff but warm voice more evident than usual. Gently, he gave her hand a tug. If not now then it'd be never - the seconds were already ticking by.

[LuckyBlackCat]

Before Alyson could join her friend on the dance floor, the lights winked out. A spine-chilling laugh echoed through the ballroom, which gradually became visible to reveal a black-and-purple streak darting among flitting shadows. Lady Ciel, clad in a black satin dress that swirled around her legs, adorned at the bodice with gleaming purple gems. Alyson was no expert on fashion, but even she recognised the costume as a work of true craftsmanship. "Did you make that?" she whispered to Ashley, voice eloquent with awe. "You've outdone yourself!"

Ashley didn't seem to agree, expression strained, eyes glistening with repressed tears. The reason became clear as soon as the music shifted and a valiant vulpine swordsman entered the scene, three tails streaming behind him as he hacked the dress to rags in bursts of lights. Alyson gulped her drink a little faster than she should, the decimation of Ashley's hard work blurring before her. The pit of her stomach clenched and burned. What was it with painstakingly crafted things getting destroyed in an instant? Thinking about it, what was it with standard heroic tales always playing out the same way, the hero defeating the villain, but the aftermath of the fiend's actions rarely if ever shown, as if their defeat conveniently sent everything back to normal?

"What a waste."

She raised her free hand to her mouth. Had she just said that out loud? She could only hope Lady Ciel hadn't heard it over the music. She swigged more of the cocktail to calm her indignation, only to fuel it instead as if she'd poured it over a fire.

What was there even to celebrate anyway? How much good was the so-called reconstruction really doing? Even if her wish came true, would that really help matters in any meaningful way?

She glanced at Ashley, his relieved smile catching her by surprise. And then it hit her. As she looked from her own elaborate dress coat to Ciel's new stark white attire, the similarities became painfully obvious. "Oh. Another transforming costume, huh?" Her face flushed hot beneath the mask. She should have known. "That's... That's actually pretty neat!"

And just as the outer, corrupted layer of the dress had been torn away, the lens of unease that had tainted the show for her vanished, allowing her to appreciate the finale. Rupees of various colours sprang up seemingly from nowhere, glittering under warm lights. Elaborate illusions, or had Ciel somehow produced real, solid ones, just like Blupees were said to when struck?

Draining the drink and setting down the flute on a nearby table, Alyson cheered and clapped, all too aware of how hypocritical her applause must seem to anyone who'd overhead her rash comment. What a time to have let those thoughts creep in. With her somewhat tense grin in place once more, she cast Ashley a look to let him know the praise was in no small part for his contribution to the show. Those behind the scenes deserved it just as much as those who took centre stage.

Warmth spread through her as Ashley offered praise of his own, although a frisson of underlying discomfort soured it. Was she really the hero he viewed her as? Or was she still in many ways that damaged child who'd arrived in Hateno all those years ago, who'd needed Mellani's sleeping tonics to ward off the night terrors? Was her travelling just as much a matter of running from the past as building a better future?

Ugh. Maybe such a strong drink had been a mistake.

"Aw, that... That means a great deal to me." As Ashley took her hand, she raised the wand into the air with her free one. "I'll do my best to live up to that! You're the one who makes the world sparkle, though... quite literally, with those amazing costumes!" Placing the wand back at her belt, she gestured to his costume, then to Mabel who conversed with Gao on the dance floor, appearing not to recognise him yet. Her smile grew with knowing, coming a little more easily to her now.

She was a Feyranger. Someone meant to banish negativity, not harbour it.

"And now before I can truly start crying, let's give the rest of the world a taste of that glitter!"

"Yep! There is, after all, plenty to go round!" As she whirled onto the dancefloor with him, lingering leaves fluttered from her ruffles. "Between the two of us, let's make the world sparkle even more!" Swept up in the motions, she resolved to enjoy the night's final dance.

As soon as the song reached its end, she would seek out Tingle and purchase that ticket, right before finding Mabel to confirm that Ashley and everyone else in the little group had one.


Extradimensional travel while sleeping? Claria couldn't help giving an incredulous tilt of her head as she listened, wondering if it was the alcohol talking. Had Sable's adventures been mere vivid dreams that had left an impression on her? Or... was there something to her claims? As strange as the concept sounded, a Depths delver like herself couldn't entirely dismiss the idea of a mirror world. Nor was she one to invalidate someone's struggles.

"You know, I've heard theories about parallel dimensions," she replied. "For instance, some believe the Depths, if not a former ocean, once were one such world. And for better or for worse, that sounds like quite the impactful experience." Whether it had been real or not, it had clearly been one of the things to shape Sable into who she was today.

Ariadne piped up, breaking the awkward silence that ensued, her confidence restored as she resolved to confess her feelings to the girl she'd met. It seemed the Beaumont boy's curiosity had in fact been just what she'd needed. "Go for it," Claria encouraged. "I hope it all goes smoothly, and I look forward to meeting her." The visit to Kakariko would indeed be possible soon, Ariadne's schedule much more flexible and forgiving than it had been in Zora's Domain as she explained. "As soon as I'm able, then."

Glimpsing the turn in Sable's expression, Claria looked over. She pressed her lips together, the fins on her arms and tail bristling as she sidled closer to Ariadne in a protective gesture. Sable's earlier friendliness towards Ariadne had, for some reason, soured into a glare as cold and sharp as an ice arrow. Did the bartender envy her for her blossoming romance, given what she'd revealed about Xane? Or did Ariadne remind her of someone else she'd had an unpleasant experience with in her other life, now the subject of that world had arisen?

Claria worried at the inside of her cheek with a sharp tooth. Understanding seeped in too late that maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't have asked so many questions.

An instant later, however, Sable's gaze drifted back towards the dance floor. Arthur took that as his cue to make his exit, his farewell muffled and echoing under his helmet, yet his bow graceful despite the blocky costume.

"Please enjoy the rest of your night, ladies."

Claria let herself relax slightly at his defusing of the sudden tension. "Thank you, and same to you. Try not to get up to too much mischief, alright?" She watched him totter and clunk away, saddened that matters had grown heavy enough to drive a child from their midst. A sure sign that it was best to leave off of the topic, for the sake of everyone involved.

"Anyway." She turned back to Ariadne. "Before said rest of the night's over, how about we purchase raffle tickets?" Even if, as a staff member, she couldn't fully take part in the event, this was still an option.


Despite the nagging feeling that he was slacking off, that he should return to the kitchen at once, Micah stayed put as the spectacle unfolded. A highly different one to the shows at festivals back home. Reenactments of battles and other feats of bravery were common in those, but while they exuded raw energy, this had a certain finesse, elegant dance-like moves comprising the fight between "Naydra" and the fox-tailed swordsman. Not that they lacked power, flashes of light and shards of crystal bursting like fireworks from each strike.

Fingers curling tighter around the mug, Micah winced. Choreographed as the battle was, he fervently hoped Lady Ciel wasn't really getting hurt.

Her laughter, nonetheless, continued to peal through the ballroom, right up until the final blow that melted the rest of her taint away. Shimmers cascaded over her form, turning her costume brilliant white, illuminating once-inky rivers and coalescing them into rupees. The purification was complete.

Even though his concern for Lady Ciel had yet to fully fade, a smile lit up Micah's features as, setting the now-empty cup down, he joined in with the applause that rose up on the Count and Countess' cue. He'd thank Gao for this opportunity once he returned. Of course, he wasn't about to let down the guests or test the head chef's apparent newfound patience by stretching out the break any longer.

He grabbed the mug and shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing as he glimpsed telltale shamanic attire earlier than he'd expected. There stood Gao in the crowd, gripping the hand of a dance partner, evidently having taken his own advice. Micah's ribs loosened as remaining worries abated. So Gao wasn't overworking himself in his stead after all, having carved out some leisure time of his own. Giving him a quick wave and a grateful grin, Micah left the ballroom behind him to resume his kitchen duties.

[Emily]

"You know, I've heard theories about parallel dimensions," Sable shrugged, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Claria was sweet, and certainly well meaning. She wondered, perhaps for the first time, why she had set up the homage at all. As soon as someone had asked about it, she had realised this was not something she was really ready to confront or talk about in a real way. The flippant response of the gingerbread witch had only proven it. But it was hardly the first time she had faced an embarrassing situation.

"For instance, some believe the Depths, if not a former ocean, once were one such world. And for better or for worse, that sounds like quite the impactful experience."

"True enough."

Fortunately, as Claria's attention was taken by some other matters-

"Go for it, I hope it all goes smoothly, and I look forward to meeting her."

Ariadne tilted her head to the side, the rustling grasses sound echoing again. When she laughed, the rustle turned into the melodic clacking of wooden chimes against one another. "It's only right to introduce her to the family, after all."

And then, just as suddenly, she slouched, head down, despair clouding around her. "Oh noooooooooo," she exclaimed. "What if my parents wanted me to get with one of those stableboys and didn't realise I was into girls?"

"Please enjoy the rest of your night, ladies."

Wait no, she thought without speech, fortunately having enough wherewithal to not actually say what she was thinking in the moment. Give me more advice, wise young robot. But thank god for Claria, the Zora was well-aware of her wild swings even if they were so much more intense in this form than they usually were, and had a distraction ready to go. "Anyway." She turned back to Ariadne. "Before said rest of the night's over, how about we purchase raffle tickets?"

"Ah!" Ariadne's head snapped up, red and gold eyes wide, full of manic excitement. "Lets do it! I'll race you there-" she took off in a run.

-as her attention was also taken back to her duties. Sable leaned in to listen to the waitress, nodded, and began working. She knelt below the cabinet, grabbing a couple bottles of The Good Stuff^TM and a few random-seeming ingredients here and there. Her mind was working at a clip heretofore unseen among gods or mortal beings, she was doing alchemy with alcohol.

Dry gin mixed with various herbs and a spritz of lemon, with a voltfruit for an extra kick. From her super secret research, she grabbed a small skewer and impaled some chopped peppers before dipping it in the drink. In a separate, coated glass, she poured a mixture of tequila, sugar, some basic syrups, and dropped a chillshroom into the bottom. To coat the interior and rim of the glass, she used finely-ground blue rupee mixed with powdered armoranth and honey-crystallised muddlebud, allowing the wetness of the rim to 'stick' the powder mix.

As she was ferociously mixing, one of her phantoms began walking across the floor to Naydra, passing through a few people who danced in between them. Sable grabbed the glasses just as her phantom began a theatrical curtsy before Lady CiCi, and swapped. Her last real trick of the night, showing reverence to yet another dragon, a drink in each hand.

"My, my," she said, straightening back up. "You've put on a magnificent show here tonight, my love." She sat delicately on the arm of Ciel's chair, drinks still in hand. "I've thought a lot about our previous meeting, and I owe you an apology. You were in my establishment, and I let my pride get the better of me. But in my thinking, I wondered what kind of a drink you would really enjoy. I brought you your very strong, very bitter drink-" she held up the first drink, "and also something I came up with especially for you.

"And you should know," she said with a grin, "If you do this again, you'll be dancing with me."

[Sav'saaba]

Mabel

A monster researcher? What an odd thing for him to attend a soiree then, Mabel considered. And not even as an esteemed guest, but as someone plodding in the dour trenches of hospitality, up until mere moments before.
Yet for that matter, what business did her hayseed self, the nutrient-rich Hateno soil still metaphorically caked behind the ears, have at a nobles' ball?

The minutiae of it were not important enough to explore, not now that the man had taken hold of her extended hand in acceptance. Despite his hard and dry physique, one that was not even won through tilling a field all day (otherwise Hateno would have been a hub of husky hoe-wielders...), he had done so so gingerly, as though she herself was made of intricate and fragile sugar-work, like the blupee decoration of that first drink from earlier. That muttered and bashful addendum to his comment about monster ladies telegraphed to her that he was as much out of his comfort zone as she, and she did her best not to show her amused endearment as she glanced up at him. What if he would take her smirk of relief the wrong way!

With a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes, she listened to what she could only interpret as a waggish, premature apology for inexperience with ballroom dancing, and the tension in her shoulders eased, her hand resting comfortably in his warm and considerably -no, much- larger one.

So, no intricate steps to follow and risk messing up then? Mabel was ab-so-lu-te-ly on board with that, she decided with a modicum of playfulness. But just as she was trying to recall the words to the one sea shanty she knew, Malanya bent down towards her, the mask brushing the knuckles of her hand ever so slightly with the tender gesture straight out of a romance novel set pre-Calamity (her favorites!).

A tremble of a breath left her, and she momentarily was at a loss for more than just the shanty's lyrics. Frankly, she did not remember much of anything right then and there, especially not if her face had been feeling so hot before.

"That sounds like a great time. I would be delighted," she told the hulking Horse God, patron saint of foolish fillies.

Foolish filly, thy name is Mabel! Though not so foolish as to not be aware that it was all a flighty fantasy, this entire night. Just like the stories in her books were.

She knew that.

This giant of a man in the image of Malanya was just humoring a shaky foal first trying its legs.

She knew that, too.

What she did not know, however, was his name. For Hylia's sake. But it would not take long for him to clue her in to who it was beneath the mask.

One beat, another, as the pieces to the puzzle began to fit into one another, and she clasped a hand to her mouth and giggled with delighted surprise. He was the man from the Yuletide near-collision, had to be!

...She had not learned his name back then, either.

"Having to leave before midnight strikes..." she muttered, a pensive look on her face before she lit up once more and giggled: "I'd ask for your slipper, but your fairy godmother would probably be cross if you returned with only the one."

With a joyous squeal, she let herself be pulled towards the dance floor, and once there among the swaying couples, guided one of his hands to her lower back, while his other was to lightly support her own. Her remaining hand snaked up his arm, coming to rest on a chiseled bicep.

For the duration of this next song, she would be Malanya's most ardent devotee.

[El]

CIEL

A shift of shadows perked Ciel to attention, glancing up just as the bartender swooped into a dramatic curtsy before her. A giggle of delighted surprise softened into something a touch more-... sultry, when the distance was closed in a more intimate manner. Sable even had the gall to punctuate her arrival with a flirtatious suggestion.

CiCi's eyes narrowed, twinkling gold. Without shame or restraint, they swept up and down the woman, drinking in her 'costume' properly for the first time tonight. It was a peculiar but appealing choice: a hybrid of some sort? Imaginative. No doubt the illusion took some serious skill to craft as well.

Make sure to make time for me earlier then,
MissBossBabe

-Spun a glittering finger, while a sly grin curled Ciel's glossed lips.

I'm passionately impatient.

With another little laugh she straightened upright to pour her attention across the two offered drinks. One was evidently the fruits of her request. ...But it wasn't the one she reached for. After abandoning a stained handkerchief upon her lap, Ciel delicately seized the colder concoction, a purring hum of curiosity rising unbidden as she swirled its contents. A twitch of her nose informed her of several different ingredients at play within - none of which she'd seen combined before. Certainly not in this manner.

The lady reclined backwards and drank a deep, lingering gulp. She savoured its frosty tickle and sharp sweetness with a blissful close of her eyes. Despite the ornate mask she donned, it was evident she was satisfied.

I won't lie and say I forgot all about that night,

Arose more cursive script, disintegrating like crumbling sugar as she penned the next - after a second, idle sip.

But if I held a grudge,
I wouldn't have invited you here tonight.

She paused then, a slight - almost coy - tilt to her chin as she added with gleaming teeth:

...Not that I don't appreciate your gestures.
I'm always open to some flattery - and bribery.

Ciel's laugh was a bit more hearty that time, strong enough to chime the glass crystals that adorned her hair and were spun around her throat. She'd never even entertained the idea of sharing a dance with Sable before. The Rito was so absorbed in her work and building her business that it hadn't even seemed a possibility really, especially given their initial clash of personalities. ...But it wasn't an unpleasant image.

Regardless, time was running out.

Sinking deep into thought once more, Ciel's gaze wandered across the swirling crowds. Idly, her tongue traced the sugared rim of her glass, savouring the palatable tickle amidst all her distraction.

Originally the Wizzrobe had been at the top of her list. The Zora fellow she'd set up in discourse with the Malice Mage, after sensing a similarity between their energies most deviously clever indeed. There was a depth to his outfit few came close to. A layering of intricate details that told a story with more questions than answers. Ciel enjoyed the mystery of it. A mystery the Zora himself appeared to find habitual - private, as he kept himself throughout the night.

The next to spark upon Ciel's radar had been the Feyranger herself. While originally her outfit - though well-tailored - was nothing extraordinary, the transformation was thoroughly entertaining. She'd spied the spectacle during her masquerade as a butler and it'd taken much of her restraint not to voice her reaction. The combination of flourishing frills upon crisp, sweeping lines, accented by sparkle and mechanics was a visual feast. Ciel had a particular softspot for Alyson's theme of choice, but she also had a softspot for the dance partner she'd sequestered.

Lastly, was a choice that hadn't even been considered until very recently. It had been easy to miss it amongst the beautiful chaos of the colourful crowd, with all their delightfully gaudy outfits and intricate designs. It was by sheer coincidence that Ciel's eyes landed upon the young woman: a flick of jealous disdain casting her eyes away from her favoured tailor and his dearest friend, to instead land on a lady at the bar. A lady who was in flustered conversation with one of the hired guards. Contrary to most, her outfit was intentionally rough. Weathered. Haggard, even. And despite the familiarity that niggled at the edges of her heart, Ciel was unable to place a named identity to her creation. It was creative and bizarre, with an understated genius that was either entirely accidental or the result of many late nights.

And that's without even giving credit to Ashley himself! Or his darling sister, Mabel. Both of whom were gleaming jewels of the ball, with their peculiar carapaces and wondrous bustles. Though Ciel did wonder if she'd be perhaps too bias if she chose either of them - especially the former. Much like how, regardless of how much she enjoyed the Malice Mage's courageous outfit as well - and the Rito himself even more so - she had already shared her favour with him.

A most troubling quandary indeed. Choosing one flower amongst a whole garden was a rather cruel task.

--------

GAO

Gao wondered if he was the only one irked by nerves. For a moment there, he thought he'd felt Mabel tremble - a breath skipped - but as brief as it was, and as quickly as she recovered, he'd begun to doubt if it'd happened at all. Not that she wasn't endearing. She'd been quick with her words and even quicker with her actions back at Yuletide too.

The novelty of being likened to a glitzed-up pauper on her grand debut, rumbled forth a deep laugh from the burly Sheikah. It was bizarre to imagine 'gifting' this beautiful young woman a stinky, straw sandal. Though in reality, he'd seen far less scrupulous items exchanged in the ceremonies of monsterkin courtship. Fortunately he hadn't fallen that far.

Nonetheless her joyous squeal as he pulled her onto the dancefloor was music to his ears. Grin wide and gleaming something fierce, he drank in that bubble of excitement, relieved beyond measure that the confession of his identity didn't have an adverse effect. Far from it, she guided his hands to all the appropriate places, leaving the man to wonder if she'd even be able to hear the sensuous music over the pounding of his heart.

Not that he'd let such a minor detail hold him back. At worst they could use it as an instructive beat to keep tempo to!

Her invitation and open consent were made obvious enough, and so Gao seized it - seized her - while time still allowed, tightening his grasp with a keener fervour, and pulling her much closer. She was noticeably cooler than him to the touch: a fact that would've troubled him, if he hadn't already been told that he ran hotter than most. Besides, he'd have her warmed up in no time. Mischief glinted across his sharp teeth: the dimpled corners just about perceptible behind the edges of his narrow, equine mask.

Given his hulking physique and bold behaviour, there was little issue at all in carving a central vacancy upon the ballroom floor. Gao didn't even think anything of it - of the parting couples and startled looks - his attention too wrapped up in his partner. He catered to her to the best of his ability, matching the length of their strides and testing the power of his movements until he discovered a comfortable balance. His movements may not have been complex, but they were undoubtedly sure-footed - confident, despite all odds. As the song wore on and fell deaf upon his ears, the last of his rigidity melted away with it. Perhaps... too much of it.

While Gao was more than happy to lead - Mabel permitting - to some he was arguably several strokes above the appropriate level of energy for a midnight ball. The man did not waltz, he blazed. Where they missed some beats or risked a trip, he swiftly swept into a dramatic embellishment of improvisation. They spun and pounced and he laughed with gusto. Sure enough, he was a Lurelin man through and through. Sandy shores and spiced rum were a more suitable match for Gao's interpretation of a dance than the Beaumont's romantic magic.

Yet, as a touch of sweat began to speckle his painted chest and his skin thrummed like a furnace... there, up above, pulsed the signal.

He didn't notice it at first, as absorbed as he was. But as the music shifted and the last of the lights began to dim even further, the growing shadows and increasing silence caught his attention soon enough. The breath caught in his throat and audibly he groaned with annoyance.

So that was it then.

Twirling their prance into a slowing halt, Gao sighed out a hushed apology. His regret was palpable and shamelessly honest. One last time he pressed her slender hand to the warm wood of his mouth, grumbling under his breath. But he wasn't so uncouth that he didn't know the proper way to bid goodbye, "Thank you for your time, Miss Mabel. I'll remember this.

"Fondly."

And so Malanya left, his hurried strides immediately absorbed by the tides of the crowd. Just as he was gone from sight, a spotlight - stark and blinding - shot down upon Mabel, highlighting her in a beam of signalling victory.

The votes were in. 

[El]

EVENT POST

The night was closing. Subdued as the sultry hues of purples and candlelight lustres already were, when darkness began to thicken it sighed away the last of the twinkling flames. It was a gentle touch - not abrupt. One constellation after another the decorative sky would fizzle into obscurity, the topazes extinguished. A stillness would shudder one last time through the great swathes of dyed silk which crowned the bordering columns, slices of sunset sky which faded into shadow. The fragrance of swirling puffshroom essence and swift violet thickened, warmed by the bustle below: a heady mixture of tranquility, of contented peace that once blazed bright.

"Ladies and gentlefolk," Boomed the jovial voice of the Countess, as a sweet lullaby of strings tiptoed in the rafters.

A trio of dragons and a little robot had taken up central stage upon the foot of the grandiose, forking staircase of pale marble. Scales and beads and crystals and metallic paint shimmered in the last of the dying lights. Behind and about the Beaumonts stepped forth a collection of Blupee-masked waiters, ushering aside the darkest of the shadows by way of stained glass candlelight which dangled forth from tall fronds of metal filigree. "It is with our most bittersweet pleasure, that tonight draws to its end.

"But-!"

A dramatic clap of symbols and a trilling boom of drums, sparked to life a powerful downwards bolt of light - highlighting the solitary Mabel. The Countess's smile grew, though it was no match for the proud grin of her husband beside her. "Let us bid you all goodnight with the fondest memory yet. Come forth, Miss Mabel, KING of the Ball!"

As a silken glove beckoned the young mage forwards - tailed by an ardent spotlight - her family began a round of applause which soon infected the crowd as a whole. A few whistles joined the raucous applause, a cluster of children proving especially energetic in cheers that shrilled. Countess Dinraal gently bid the Hateno lass to join her at her right, praising her below her breath in sweet whispers about how beautiful she looked tonight - how well earned her title was.

"And of course," Boomed then the Count, chest puffed up proud and a half-quaffed drink still in one hand. "Where there is a King, there shall be a Queen!"

A second clash of chiming metal and thundering drums announced another beam to blaze like a falling star straight down towards Ariadne. "Come hither, Miss Ariadne!" He encouraged, a touch impatient in his infectious excitement. Despite the heavy mask he donned, the twinkle to his eye was bold and bright. "You have earned the favour of our dearest daughter, Ciel. With her vote, you are the QUEEN of the Ball!"

Beside him CiCi herself quietly smiled, a tension to her pressed lips communicating how hard she was working to compose herself. Once Ariadne made it up onto the pearled steps she'd curtsy towards her with a whisper of a giggle. In her glittering hands were two plush, cyan satin pillows: bearing the weight of a pair of exquisite diadems, their swooping curves constructed of shimmering silverwork and bejewelled with all manner of precious colours. No doubt just one of them would fetch a great fortune.

It was little Arthur himself though who had the honour of crowning their midnight monarchy. A duty which he took most seriously, with an almost soldiering rigidity in his stride and a perfectly straight spine. Both Mabel and Ariadne would have to take turns ducking down low, of course, so that Arthur could reach. But even with some evident stretching the youngling Viscount was undeterred, placing as carefully as he could - balancing really - the diadems upon their heads. ...There was a high chance the new owners would need to adjust their positions themselves.

"Before they have their pick of the draw however, let us first move onto the matter of our Remarkable Raffle!" The Countess continued, rounding off another surge of vigorous applause to instead nod at a nearby shadow.

The man in all his skintight green bounded forwards with giddish glee, his swollen cheeks as red as the short-shorts which did nothing to alleviate the chafing of his rubbered thighs. He giggled, lyrically, proudly presenting a cylindrical device with a crank handle on one end and a massive bloom of a trumpet horn on the other. Within the rotating chamber countless tiny octorok balloons rattled and squeaked, tossed and turned by the crank of the handle which Tingle eagerly pummelled in mischievous glee. Above him the horn blared, a spritely, energised tune of stormy melody which the balcony orchestra echoed in turn.

"And the third prizeeee..." Count Farosh began, ogling the bingo-box as a white painted ball finally rattled through the chosen pipe. A mechanised suction drew it up and up further still! Whizzing it through a complex network of snaking bends with a hissing wheeze. "The winner of an all-inclusive week-long trip to the brand new, Goflam's Secret Hot Spring Resort isssss..."

UP into the mouth of the horn popped out the painted balloon! And pop it literally did! A burst of confetti exploding from the bursting rubber, leaving a stray raffle ticket to flutter into the Count's outstretched palm. "Number 87! Miss-... HA!" He turned a blinding grin upon the Ball's Queen. "Miss Ariadne!!! Congratulations on 3rd prize in the raffle too!"

There was of course more applause. But no sooner had the Count handed the ticket back to Ariadne (a noticeably shinier duplicate of her original, shimmering with a haze of magic), was Tingle at it again! Turn, turn and turn he cranked the handle! Trumpets bellowed and pianos cackled, woodwinds and accordions whistling in accord.

"And the second prize..." Resumed the Count. "The winner of 2 years of business investment or a fully paid scholarship at the Academy of Magic iiiiiiss..."

THWWWUP!! Up shot a blue painted balloon this time, whistling up the pipes before exploding in more rosy confetti. "Mr Collin!!!" A silvered beam of light highlighted the Phantom Ganon, the Count shooting him his signature blazing grin from across the vast ballroom. "Congratulations Sir on winning the second prize!" This time, rather than handing the ticket over directly, it was passed over to a delivering waiter.

"Now, for the first and final prize of them all...!" Count Farosh continued, watching with humoured concern as Tingle huffed and puffed - with extra gusto! - through the next draw. The tension built. The time dragged on. The notes spun by the orchestra stretched longer still. "The winner of our exceptionally rare, magical artifact: the Blupee Paw Pendant...." 

It was a violet balloon this time, and it wailed out an extra-loud pop as it burst from the horn. "Miss Alyson!!! Congratulations on winning first prize, young lady!" Handing off the last ticket to a second waiter, the Count encouraged another round of applause: clapping with vigour as he met eyes with the Feyranger beside his daughter's favoured tailor.

"And now, for the final conclusion of our conclusions!" Laughed the Countess.

With a motion of a hand a space was promptly cleared upon the ballroom floor, staff gently ushering the crowd to part and as a result reveal a circular spread of runes delicately painted upon the marble tile. They had not been there before... though they certainly were now! A silvery ink swirled in ancient cursive, at first subtle but soon stark, as with each second a heat appeared to build within, illuminating each precise stroke. It glittered. Radiated. Shone brighter still. The orchestra above sung of delighted trepidation, fluttering chords and anxious winds dancing about the spell as it unfolded.

After a blinding flash of light, there was the fountain.

The fairy fountain - from the courtyard.

Water still gushed from its ornate petalled tiers, glittering as it cascaded across a floor of rainbow slates. And there too was 'Malanya' - in the flesh! - looking most certainly very wet but completely unhindered nonetheless. He strode forwards in a clatter of golden bangles, stepping out of the waters to hand both Mabel and Ariadne two dainty fishing rods. Yes. Fishing rods. Though there were no hooks upon the silvered strings, but what appeared to be tiny magnets instead.

"Cast away, our Midnight King and Queen!" Both the Count and Countess now bellowed, leaning into the dramatics with a swooping gesture of outstretched arms and a shared laugh. "Catch us two more wishes to grant!"

Remarkably - despite the vast array of colours within the pool - both rods seized blue slates! Reeling in the lines (with some extra encouragement and instruction from both Malanya and Construct Arthur where needed), the rupee-chiselled slates were delivered to the dragons. One of them - Naydra - seemed especially tickled, rushing a hand to her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her laugh. There was a mischievous glint to her eyes as she regarded her parents' expressions, giddy with how awful this could potentially look for them. No doubt at least one paper would call this whole show rigged.

The wedded Beaumonts took it all in stride and good humour however, laughing at how the stars had aligned. Clearly some things were fated! "Mr Ashley and Miss Alyson!" They announced, on beat to the blaze of two fresh pillars of light illuminating the tailor and tailored: the stamps upon the back of their hands shining with a light of their own. "Congratulations to you both! And of course, once more to our beautiful King and Queen! All four of your wishes shall be granted in due time, so please make sure to tell us all when the curtains fall!"

With that the last tide of applause rushed in and crashed upon the shores of a closing Ball. No doubt many hands were stinging by this point, feet and joints aching alike. Bellies would be full. Adrenaline likely still raced. But though some still longed for more magic, memories unfinished meeting an abrupt end... the Beaumont Estate was bidding goodbye to its colourful guests.

"Thank you all for attending!" Beamed Count and Countess, while Ciel and Arthur applauded beside them: one was clearly managing the pleased courtesy far easier, given the lack of chunky and hollow appendages to hinder the effort. "May you all have a magical night and an even more magical life."

Not that their guests were rudely urged off the grounds! Far from it, the assembled crowds were free to take their time drinking in the last of the fading atmosphere as the first subtle hues of dawn bled into the starry sky. Within the estate illumination was restored, filling up the grand hall with snapping crackles of topaz and flame to reveal every corner and crevice with stark clarity. All doors and gates were swung wide open, encouraging an easy departure. While the last of the drinks were offered as goodbye gifts: bundled food items from the banquet spreads given too, if accepted upon staff request. (Despite their grand shows, wastefulness was not in the Beaumonts' nature!)

For logistical reasons, raffle winnings and wish granting details can be fulfilled 'off-screen'! I am more than happy to continue writing the Beaumonts throughout this last round however, if anyone wants to interact with them.