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

“Jesus,” Eliot said. “How many of these fear-beasts are there?”

"Erm, all kinds of...of monsters and influenced people and cursed things. The actual Fears, they're usually sort of organised into fourteen. Though they really are interconnected, not completely independent of each other. Like...it was explained to me as like colours. Distinct, but not...not separate, if that makes sense."

“It does, actually.” Of course Eliot knew color theory. In another life he’d be a full blown artiste. “So you’ve got your Eye. Which one are the photos for, again?”

"The Stranger," Jon answered. "The unknown and uncanny. Clowns and masks and...and mannequins." Jon swallowed and shook his head. "There's a creature called the NotThem. It...it eats someone, and it takes their life. Doesn't look or, or sound like them, but...they make you believe it's them. All your memories, all everything is them now instead of the original. Except...except one person, who remembers. And analog things, like," he held up the photograph, "like polaroids, or...or cassette tapes."

“So . . . one random person gets to run around yelling ‘oh my god that’s not really Margo’ and sounding insane? Jesus.”

"Exactly," Jon agreed. He rubbed his face. "God, Melanie...she...she didn't even know Sasha, really. She just thought we were...I was...gaslighting her or something, and I thought she was...was losing it."

He sighed. "So I just thought, anyway...Probably it won't happen here, but...but there's no telling, so just in case, it couldn't hurt, could it?" He waved the picture vaguely.

“I guess not,” Eliot agreed. “You do know there are many other ways to have someone not be themselves that don’t involve magic poloroids though, right?”

Oh shit, and now he was thinking about Mike.

Jon managed a barely-there laugh. "So many," he agreed quietly. Was he even really Jonathan Sims these days? "But at least this is something I can do."

“Well. Congratulations on that, then. I think we need drinks.”

"I would definitely not say no," Jon agreed.

"Good lad. What's your poison? Did I ask you that already?"

Look, after awhile he lost track.

"I don't think so," Jon said. "But, um. I'm not really too fussy? I like fruity things a bit."

"Fruity things." Eliot nodded. "I've got just the thing." He led the way over to the bar and started mixing up at Mati.

If anyone needed a bit of luck magic and a symbolic barrier to the evil eye, it was Jon.

Jon would absolutely not say no to either of those.

...of course, if it were too much barrier to the evil eye, it might make him catatonic until it wore off, but what was a little dissociative state between friends?

"All right."

Eliot had never made someone go catatonic with a beverage. It'd be a fun experiment for them both.

He finished the drink, including the clever little concentric circles on the top, and presented it to him.

"There you go. Like a little blue creamsicle."

"Oh, it's..." It was a giant eye. Jon was totally eyeing Eliot to try and tell if that was intentional or not.

Of course, Jon wasn't exactly the best at reading people, so it was a bit of a fruitless endeavour. He gave in and drank. "Oh, it's good!" Sorry for sounding surprised, Eliot.

"Of course it is. I'm a practically a professional."

Eliot maybe looked a touch smug, yes.

"It's very, um." It was a little tingly, actually. Though that could have just been the alcohol. Maybe. Jon drank a little more. Huh. "Um. What's in it?"

Wait, should he ask that? It was good, did it matter? Was there a reason he shouldn't ask?

“Blue curaçao, vodka, lemonade, some cream. A little bit of luck, and a blueberry garnish,” Eliot said. “Seemed like it would suit you.”

Jon drank a bit more. "Not...not just because it looks like..." Well, it didn't look like much of anything now. Was it supposed to?

"I...what was I saying?"

Eliot frowned. “I know you barely weigh anything, but I wouldn’t have pegged you for a lightweight.”

Oh, Jon was definitely a lightweight! Though not usually quite this bad, no.

"What's...?" He frowned and kept drinking. What had he been saying? Had he had a question?

". . . Okay. Let's sit you down and get you some water," Eliot decided.

This was somewhat disconcerting, yes.

"Mm," Jon agreed. He blinked at Eliot. Eliot looked worried. Jon smiled. "Why?"

MASQUERADE PARTY, 33 Apocalypse Ave, Friday Evening

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