#thread: masquerade

It feels a little weird, hanging out with her best friend and not being able to tell her things.

She loves Daniel, with all of her heart, she’d die for him, really, but it genuinely feels like she’s going to die if she doesn’t get to talk to Noelle about this soon. She could talk to Parker, but he keeps being coy about why he “tried meddling and he’s never going to try it again”, so he wouldn’t want to hear it, anyway. Besides, she knows it’s not her place to tell anyone until Noah and Daniel are ready, and even then—

She’s their biggest fan. She is. She’s wanted to throw up every time she caught Daniel looking at Noah with those puppy-dog eyes and now she sees Noah humming and smiling to himself throughout the apartment after seeing him the first time after the summer come home drunk as all fucking hell, but she also knows that Daniel — as much as he doesn’t love That Fucker as much as he so obviously loves Noah — probably does love That Fucker. At least a little bit, despite Sam hating the very idea.

And Noah — well, fuck. Isabelle’s always been his endgame, hasn’t she? Daniel, at the very least, knows there’s no future with That Fucker now, can begin to move on, but Sam is worried for him, a little bit, because Noah’s always had a one-track mind, and though she loves this for them, it’s also hard to think about Noah suddenly forgetting who he thinks his future really is.

It’s why she used grabbing her and Noelle drinks as an excuse to get a grip — she cannot look for the boys, she refuses to, because then she’ll be looking at them all night and completely give them away. She takes a deep breath and walks back to Noelle, handing her a drink, raising an eyebrow as she looks around. “I forgot how loud and obnoxious frat parties immediately get,” she says, taking a sip out of her cup. “Though there doesn’t seem to be any non-consensual groping yet, so that’s good.”

Dmitri knows he’s probably overreacting, but after the previous night’s confessions and all — it just feels a little weird to be showing up to Noah’s ex-girlfriend’s party.

And, sure, she’s hosting it with her new hot, rich and successful boyfriend, but Dmitri can’t imagine someone looking at Noah and choosing anyone over him — he couldn’t do it, after all — so he’s a little worried this might bring up — complicated feelings, for the both of them.

And it’s not his place, he guesses. They never really talked about what they are. Dmitri made it clear he didn’t want to share Noah, and Noah had agreed, but does that really mean anything if they don’t slap a label on it? What are they right now? And, most importantly, is Noah going to be okay?

Heartbreak is still heartbreak. Seeing Elliot on campus still makes his heart feel some kind of way, sometimes. He can’t imagine it won’t do something similar for Noah, seeing Isabelle again.

He licks his lips as they approach the front lawn of the house, which is already crawling with people. The door to the house is open, the music blaring from inside, and a masked Zorro runs past them screaming incoherently. He looks around at the house — it’s fucking huge, what the fuck — then looks back at Noah, who is in complete Red Hood get-up. He looks fucking hot, of course, but it’s worrying Dmitri a little that he can’t get a read on his expression at all now.

He reaches out and smoothes the costume on Noah uselessly. “Should we have a safe word?” he wonders out loud. “Like, if you say ‘pink poodle’, it means ‘I don’t want to be here anymore let’s leave’?”

Zach’s never nervous before big events like these.

It’s not a confidence thing — though maybe it is a little bit of a confidence thing — it’s just a familiarity thing. He’s been attending large gatherings longer than he has memories, and even in those, he sometimes remembers Isabelle somewhere in there, too. It’s only fitting that they’re now hosting one themselves, for the first time, as a couple. Or, a fake couple. A fake couple that no one knows is fake, but a couple nevertheless. It’s fine, it makes sense.

He’s adjusting his hair in the mirror, along with the mask Isabelle had picked out for him, and glances over at the second costume of the night — he’ll only be in this get-up for all of five minutes before he switches over into the Green Arrow costume, which Christian begged him to be in, and hopefully remain anonymous for the rest of this event. It’ll be nice to have a night to himself — he doesn’t begrudge the people who seek his attention; when they do, Zach figures they usually need it, but tonight? Tonight, he’ll have some time to actually listen, see what everyone is feeling and thinking and not have to worry about feeling and thinking the same thing.

He turns from the mirror and walks towards his bathroom door, knocking softly. He can already hear the music blaring downstairs, and some of his brothers yelling as they open the doors officially. The party started, really, an hour ago, but people only start trickling in now, and when he glances outside his window for a second, the house’s front lawn is starting to fill up with a crowd of people walking inside, a lot of them holding paper bags which Zach presumes is filled with alcohol despite them being very clear about providing the alcohol themselves.

People.

He knocks on the door again, smiling. “Babe,” he calls out to Isabelle, glancing at the clock. “I don’t know how else to tell you it doesn’t matter what shade of lipstick you put on, you’re still going to look stunning.” He walks over to his bed and sits on it, waiting patiently. “Besides,” he calls out. “People are starting to arrive, and if you want them to notice how hot you look, we’d better get down there now before they’re distracted by their own inebriation, you know?”

happy birthday, @argent-noir (2/2)

tseng’s “costume” & yuffie’s kamon. 

She’s not sure if it’s obligation to her heart, her father, or to Tseng; but when she recalls that they’re in town for the village’s **masquerade, **she knows she’s going, and that her bodyguard, or whatever he is, is coming with.

It’s nearly the time to show respect to the ancestors, but before that they must celebrate. If Yuffie has learned anything from Godo, it is that they are similar in this regard--they both enjoy a good excuse to dance and laugh and forget, for just one moment, the pain of the past.

Tseng will always dress in the same suit--that she knows, but she thinks this is an occasion worth dressing for, and she’ll change her appearance, just this once. She wants to come a surprise, tells him to collect her from the pagoda when it’s time-- they’ll come in together. She knows that it’s a _challenge, _because she’s noticed that he’s never wandered the streets of Wutai alone, but she also knows that he was a Turk: he can sneak by unnoticed, if he truly wishes.

Her aunts and maidens dress her, black silk wrapped around an ivory frame. She’s picked this kamon so they can match clothing, the golden obi to resemble the honey of his eyes. It’s enough to make her flush, the mere thought that she is quite literally wrapping herself in his memorium.

The moon is high and party at a slow buzz-- she’s never liked to be early, knows he’ll think little of her if she’s too late. She’s starting to pick up on details, she thinks, the longer he’s around. Maybe he’s good for her.

“Okay, so maybe technically we weren’t actually invited to this masquerade ball.”

Trinidad walked down the darkened street past manors and stately houses, fallen leaves crunching underfoot.  She wore a long black dress that glittered in the moonlight -- a rare sight, certainly, as she almost never wore anything with a skirt.  The dress was paired with a corset of black and gold brocade and a Venetian mask of fine gold filigree.  She was already in her halfway form, wings folded at her back and glittering with a decorative drape of fine golden chains.

“But still, I think I can get us in easy enough,” she continued, grinning. “And besides, it’ll be fun.  I’ve never crashed a party this fancy before.”

heldentum

The grocery list he’s holding had been written by a scientist;; it’s difficult to make out the messy handwriting but he supposes it’s not important to bring exactly what is listed there -- it’s just to complete the picture of his undercover identity. So maybe it’s tomatoes instead of potatoes but the Soldier grabs the latter one anyway, placing it in his cart before he looks up briefly. Rogers has to be here sooner rather than later -- he knows his daily routine, he’d observed him for almost a week before he’d tried to complete his mission----

tried. He hadn’t been able to kill Rogers. The most valuable asset of HYDRA had failed his very first mission. With ruined metal arm and more broken bones than ever he’d been able to escape Captain America because HYDRA’s supreme rule is to remain hidden in the dark, to stay a ghost everyone thinks is already dead. Even the Soldier’s corpse would tell too much secrets to allow that.

Afterwards he’d been put in cryo sleep for two weeks, the shortest amount of time he’d ever spent there: HYDRA had come up with a new plan. If Captain America couldn’t be killed by their most dangerous weapon then they needed to trick him, to spin a net of lies and fake relationships since that is something Steve Rogers is prone for: to trust friends easily, to never expect a close friend to harm him. HYDRA just needs an agent to become his friend. The Soldier doesn’t know why they chose him and not one of the Widows who are better in interpersonal communication and masquerade. Maybe because Steve Rogers knows a former Widow and could see through these tricks. Maybe it’s because of the Soldier’s appearance. He doesn’t know why but HYDRA shaved him and cut his hair, teaching him how to style it so it looked like something they did back in the 30s and 40s. The Soldier is curious but he doesn’t ask. He’s not allowed to ask and he knows that. 

Once he knew his mission, HYDRA started to teach him how to act and behave like a normal human being. It took him three months to train his facial expression into something other people expect to see when talking to you. He also learned to play the piano because HYDRA developed an undercover identity for him that required this skill.  It’s likely that he won’t ever need these abilities again but he didn’t mention that, either. He was just happy that they didn’t put him into the chair, probably because he needed to remember everything his false identity represented. 

xbadania

Anyone who was anyone was here, a get together with a twist, nobody knew who they were talking to.That was, if everyone followed the rules and altered their appearance, but being that as it were, he knew more than anyone that rules were meant to be broken. How odd was it that he might be the only one following them? Giovanni was dressed up as Victorian as he could, an embroidered mask on his face to match the white and gold outfit, two colors he rarely, if ever, wore. The goal was to look like someone else, and Giovanni did. He even refused to slick his hair back in his usual fashion, letting his bangs curve above his brow and flow off to the side, the only feature Giovanni had that would give him away was his silver eyes, but there was no changing that.

Those silver eyes searched the room, looking for someone he could recognize, someone he knew, and he couldn't be happier at who he found. The white hair turning grey at the roots was a dead give away. But despite knowing who the man was, he had his identity to keep.

He walked up to the "stranger" and hooked his right arm in front of him, hooking his left arm behind him and bowing. With his almost perfect false Kalosian accent, he spoke.