not_a_goddamn_princess | MASQUERADE PARTY, 33 Apocalypse Ave, Friday Evening

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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!]

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If it were anywhere else, Amaya might have considerable second thoughts about attending some fancy party where magic was likely to be involved, but this was Fandom, so that made it plenty different enough that she supposed she wouldn't feel too uncomfortable or wind up spending all evening rolling her eyes straight out of her head. And since she really only had the one fancy dress, she briefly considered actually finding herself something new, then she staunchly reminded herself that she was not here to impress anyone...no one at all!....so she was sticking with the one fancy dress she had that miraculously didn't even have any oil or soot on it.

Though, despite previous claims about not wanting to impress anyone, she'd spent a good few days whipping up a metal mask to match in her shop that week, which she'd just put the finishing touches on that day, actually, and that she was pretty proud of and might be a little put out if no one wound up being even a little impressed by it.

Oh, hey. Someone she didn’t know, go team Welcome Party. “Hey there,” she greeted, and didn’t say a word about the Oktoberfestian dress. She was growing as a person, or something. “Welcome to the party!”

There wasn't even any scorches or burns on it, either! This was as fancy as Amaya got over here, Margo. She could have shown up in her work clothes and boots, too, you know!

And to the greeting, she gave a small nod that tried desperately to mask (HA!) the fact that this whole thing made her just a wee bit uncomfortable, and probably didn't do a very good job.

"Thanks," she said. "It...should be an interesting one. You're one of the hosts?"

“Got that right. I’m High Queen Margo the Destroyer,” Margo greeted, holding out a hand with a grin on her face. “Margo for short.”

Ahhhh, zards. Fancy dress and magic and now royalty, too?

She should have just stayed in her workshop, she'd never done well with the whole royalty thing, and now she wasn't sur eif she was expected to shake that offered hand or kiss it.

But, since she never really did care for that last thing, Margo was definitely getting a very firm and confident handshake after all.

"Well," she said, "pleased to meet you, Your Highness. Amaya Blackstone the....Blacksmith. So I suppose if you're planning on destroying anything tonight, maybe there's a good chance I can see about what can be done to fix it..."

“Blacksmith,” Margo echoed, looking speculative. “Huh. Always good to have a blacksmith in your rolodex, I’ve found. You got a specialty? Like axes or swords or something?”

Okay, now? Margo was speaking more Amaya's language, and it was hard for her to not perk up at the prospect of another person around here who could appreciate the work she did. "I'll admit most of my work around here's been in axes," what between Rosa Diaz and the Devil's Nest, "but I work in all sorts of weaponry. If you get the chance, you can swing by my shop, see what I've got to offer, you'll see what I mean. I've also got a solid foundry, so if you need a quick order or a bulk order, I've got you covered there as well."

Her own look went a little speculative now, too, tilting her head at Margo. "Are you a weapons gal?"

“Think of me as more like an interested weapons novice,” Margo said thoughtfully. “I just kind of always liked the look of axes, you know?”

One day she’d get her own double axes and call them her Sorrows and they would be her favorite things in all the universe bar Eliot.

"Hey," said Amaya encouragingly. "We've all got to start somewhere, right? And as a good friend of mine always say, 'what kind of woman doesn't have an axe?' If you're interested, I can definitely show you around a few different ones to see if there's any in particular you might like the look of, I do custom work, too, and I love working on a good axe. Swords are probably my favorite; you can't beat a good sword, but there's a lot to be said about a nice hefty axe, too. Just something about that curve, the power, theforce behind it."

“You know, with a sales pitch like that? I gotta drop by yours sometime,” Margo said, her eyes full of interest. . . for axes.

No, seriously.

Amaya made axes sound hot.

Oh, come, now, the axes didn't need Amaya for that!

But she did have a tendancy to be completely oblivious to the level at which her sheer passion for weaponry could reach at times.

And she was looking pleased as punch herself, as this party was already shaping up to be an incredibly successful one, and by that, she meant a spectacular marketing opportunity!

"I'd love to see you swing," alright, that one was probably a little forced, "by. I'm pretty much in the shop at all hours when I'm not teaching my classes."

She'd fit right in in Fillory. And Eliot's time in that land had given him an appreciation for a good old fashioned fancy dress, even if he was a little disappointed it didn't have more glamor to it.

The mask, though, the mask was plenty glamour enough.

"My darling," he greeted with a smile. "Where did you get that fantastic mask?"

And how could Amaya not square her shoulders and preen just a little with contentment and pride that the mask she'd spent the last few days working on was having the effect she was hoping it would.

"Well!" she said. "I'm glad you asked! Local shop, if you'd believe it, straight from the island's very own blacksmith! She does fine work, you know, well beyond just weapons and armor, though you can't go wrong turning to her if you're in need of that sort of thing, either!"

Amaya? No issues whatsoever with being her own hypeman. None!

Eliot could respect the hell out of that.

"A local blacksmith, eh?" he asked. "You know, my wife is a knife-maker's daughter. I've learned to appreciate a high quality blade. I don't suppose you have their business card?"

"Why, as a matter of fact," said Amaya, her hands going to her sides, "I've got one right--"

But her hands found the smooth velvet of her current skirt rather than the deep pockets of her usual one. "Ah, zards, I forgot! No blasted pockets in these bloody fancy dresses! I've been meaning to fix all that, but I wear this so rarely, it keeps just slipping my mind--

"Err," she said, blinking a little as if realizing she'd sort of rambled into a complaint just a bit there. "Well, I usually do, but I don't have one on me today. It's a small town, though, you really can't miss it. Over on Unicorn Avenue, right between the police station and the butcher."

Which meant there was a great pig joke in there, if anyone other than Amaya herself ever wanted to actually make it.

"They must enjoy the best bacon. . . ." Eliot said faintly, because how could he resist. "Ah, if you like? I know a few tailoring spells, and that skirt has plenty of fabric to tuck a pocket or two into."

Any points that Eliot had instantly earned by bringing up the bacon began to falter with the offer, although Amaya tried to tell herself it was probably just meant as a genuine offer, but...

Magicians, and all...

Really couldn't trust 'em as far as you could throw 'em, more often than not, and a magic spell for pockets was a good way to waltz yourself right into finding invisible what-nots snapping at your fingers every time you dropped your hand in, or holes to bottomless voids showing up at the least convenient time...

"Ahhh, well," she hedged a little, "no need for anything like that. Nothing a few minutes with the old needle and thread can't take care of, and it's no matter at this point anyway, unless you plan on magicking up the business cards in there as well, and, at that point, might as well just skip the pockets while you're at it."

Eliot wasn't quite sure where he'd lost her there, but figured it wouldn't be too difficult to win her back.

"Suit yourself," he said easily. "Now . . . would you care for something to drink?"

You grew up around Llewdor and Serenia and Daventry, and you just developed a natural hesitancy to accept any help from magic. It was guaranteed to be far more trouble than it was worth!

But he was not wrong about winning her back.

"It's a party, isn't it?" Amaya answered with a grin.

Assuming, of course, he meant proper drink drinks, and we weren't about to head into potions territory, or anything like that.

Potions were available upon request, but not to be foisted on the wary.

“Cocktail? Wine? What’s your preference?”

"Well, I mostly just stick to ales and meads more often than not," Amaya admitted. "I generally keep it pretty simple, but I'm not....too adverse to trying something new every once in a while."

Eliot nodded. "So . . . a little bit sweet and maybe carbonated," he mused. "Our signature for the night involves absinthe and champagne with a bit of simple syrup, it might be to your taste."

And he was already planning to skip asking if she wanted the hallucinogenic version.

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MASQUERADE PARTY, 33 Apocalypse Ave, Friday Evening

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