Margo Hanson (
not_a_goddamn_princess) wrote2021-10-22 01:59 pm
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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!]
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!]
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He grimaced and made grabby hands at the liquor. "Any of that really strong? I hate talking about this shocking stuff."
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“Polish vodka. 96% alcohol by volume. Strongest non magical shit I know of.”
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He took a sip, and handed Miguel the glass.
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He filled the tumbler and downed it with a grimace, then did it again. Then waited a few seconds until he could feel it start to work. He poured another glass and sipped at this one as he spoke, keeping up enough of a buzz that, combined with the times he'd told this story before, muted it a bit.
"So, I was a dick, right? I mean, I kind of still am, but - a bigger one. Trying to build superspies for the nasty megacorp. Boss decided on human trials. Wouldn't listen we weren't ready. It was...bad. Super shocked...fucked up."
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Eliot was definitely not thinking about how he and Margo had experienced his own fucked up failure at jacking up their power. . . .
He was definitely tucking his flask away again though. Just in case.
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“. . . Well shit.”
At least Eliot had been allowed to come about his various addictions the regular way.
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It was Marvel. So, so many things.
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There was a reason magicians in Eliot’s world usually only used illusion magic on themselves. And why healing magic wasn’t anywhere near as miraculous as it was always portrayed to be in media.
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He nodded. "So, all those ways you could think of for it to go wrong, do any of them involve a jealous coworker and about fifty percent spider DNA?"
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