not_a_goddamn_princess | MASQUERADE PARTY, 33 Apocalypse Ave, Friday Evening

Party night. The best of nights. An ornate sign on 33 Apocalypse’s door invited all to knock and make themselves known.

The space inside was bigger than it looked from the outside, stretched and displaced by magic. The wallpaper was green and textured, hinting at the English countryside. On one side of the room sat a significant bar offering food and drinks, while the other gave ample space to sit. A large Jenga tower held prominence in a corner.

It was easy to miss it, though, in favor of the little streams of water that ran across furniture and floor. Tiny glass gondolas, animated by magic, made their way back and forth across each stream. The gondolas were real, though the water itself was an illusion. It called attention to the ceiling, doubly enchanted: both to draw all cigarette smoke to itself so it wouldn’t blow in anyone’s face, but also to mimic the starry sky above Venice.

You could watch the stars twinkle, or see the occasional cloud go by. Magical fireflies added to the illusion, dancing through the air like tiny lights. If you listened closely, you could hear the sea rolling in across an invisible beach. Even the air smelled faintly of it: the sea, warm food and good wine.

Welcome to Eliot and Margo’s pad, people. They’d make damn sure you had a good time.

[ocd up, come party!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Thank you! That's incredibly thoughtful." Eliot would even be good and not bogart said wine himself, after the party wound down. "For cocktails, I've prepared Venetian spritzers, a Greek 'evil eye' themed concoction with blue curacao and cream, and our signature for the night, Death in the Afternoon, which is a blend of champagne and absinthe. And of course, we have wines for those who prefer it, mostly Italian vintages to suit the theme."

Hannibal nodded. "I tend to prefer wine myself, but I don't often get a chance to have good absinthe. And as it is the signature, why not?"

“Excellent choice. Hallucinogenic or non?”

Hannibal chuckled. "Non-hallucinogenic, please. The alcohol will be enough."

"For some," Eliot agreed easily, and headed for the bar to prepare the drink, waving for Hannibal to follow along if he liked. "But I find it's nice to provide options.

Hannibal nodded, following. "I have nothing against those options, but I prefer not to myself. Does your option involve more wormwood than usual, or something else?"

"Nothing so botanical," Eliot said. "Just a simple enchantment. Brightens the colors, makes the lights dance. A nice gentle trip."

Hannibal nodded in interest. "I can see where that would be interesting. I prefer to be more in control of my faculties, but I can appreciate" manipulate "other people's use of them."

Hannibal should maybe not find out just how much Eliot relied on chemicals to get him through the average day, huh.

“To each their own,” he said easily. He finished Hannibal’s drink and presented it with a flourish. “Enjoy.”

"Thank you." Hannibal bowed and took it, then drank. "Mm. Very interesting. Not flavors I might usually choose, but you've done an excellent job."

“I know, but thank you,” Eliot said. “I have a . . . passion for libations.”

"Everybody should have passions and pursue them," Hannibal said approvingly. "Which came first, the libations or the magic? Or is magic less of a passion and more of a tool?"

“Magic first,” Eliot said. “Then booze to cope while I learned how magic really works. It’s far more complicated and likely to blow up on you than it seems in the stories. But then, the best things always are.”

"Definitely," Hannibal agreed. "If they were simple, they'd be boring. Is magic purely a learned thing in your world, then, or does it also involve an innate talent? I've known people from a number of different worlds, and it seems to vary."

“A little of both, really. The popular theory is that magic springs from great trauma, but that might just be how we all make ourselves feel better at night.”

"Hm. A very interesting theory, whether it's true or not," Hannibal said. "Are there people that deliberately traumatize themselves to get more magic?"

“Probably?” Eliot shrugged idly. “I don’t know any personally — frankly the world does a great job of fucking us up all on its own, no extra effort necessary.”

"You would think so," Hannibal agreed. And yet, people. "But there is no accounting for what some people will do."

“True,” Eliot allowed. “I once knew of a man who gave himself extra fingers to be able to cast more powerfully. And he replaced his head with a bunch of moths. People will do pretty much anything.”

"I can understand the extra fingers," Hannibal mused, "but the moths sound impractical and undesirable for any number of reasons."

“Not if your main goal is obscuring your identity and making people shit themselves in terror,” Eliot said.

Hannibal thought about it and shrugged. "In that case, I can think of more terrifying things that still leave you with a functional face and better able to blend in in a crowd."

“Yeah, he literally called himself ‘The Beast’ and ran around terrorizing a magical kingdom for like. Half a century. I don’t think subtlety was one of his major goals.” He pulled out his flask and took a long sip. The Beast had been responsible for several of the deaths Eliot had experienced, after all.

“Also the moths could like. Turn back into his face when he needed them to? I guess. I didn’t really ask for many details.”

"That does sound better," Hannibal conceded. He shrugged. "Clearly it worked for him, but let's say it isn't the approach I might have taken."

Moths, honestly.

“I should certainly hope not. But as you said, people do weird shit.”

Re: Arrive and Say Hi

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