Here We Are Now, Entertain Us

R

hiannon had long been a creature of the night, a time when she felt most creative, most aligned with the unseen that existed beyond all mortals. Somehow, and for some reason, on this night, Rhiannon had come to the king’s ball. She had no interest in royal matters or even in politics, as it seemed like an enormous waste of time and energy. No wolf, no matter the title he chose to bestow upon himself, could own the earth or the forests, nor could they truly control the wolves they looked down upon as their citizens. Rhiannon would have no part in that, but a ball that lured wolves from all over their island home? This was an occasion not to be missed.


The castle was haunting -- or, more precisely, it was more than a little haunted, of this, Rhiannon was certain. She could not begin to guess the history within these walls -- the happiness, the sorrow, the blood spilled, the chaos and the control. It gave Rhiannon an uneasy feeling, though the fae could only imagine the atrocities these silent stone walls had witnessed. If the others knew the place's dark secrets, they did not speak of them aloud. Instead, they danced. They conversed. They could allow themselves to feel important here.


From where she stood, on the outskirts of the crowds exchanging pleasantries, smiles, and laughs, Rhiannon did what she loved best: she merely observed. Her senses were wild that evening, absorbing every sight, every smell. It was fascinating to see all of these creatures masquerading, seemingly without a care, as if the darkness of the night could be cast away by a handful of candles and the facade of merriment.


The wolfess, clad in her hazy pewter coat and a mask resembling a crow’s sharp features, had been looking at the others’ masks; many looked as if they had been crafted by children. Rhiannon was proud of her own creation, made from the sleek ebony feathers of her favorite corvid. Her vivid violet sights seemed to shine even brighter against the inky blackness of the mask. From across the cavernous banquet hall, she spied a particularly interesting mask, one that, at first glance, could have been mistaken for an actual skull. Most intriguing. But upon closer inspection, it was only carved to look like one.


@Creature

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

Oh, how he hated every passing second.

The intermingled scents of far too many participants within the Palace walls was enough to keep the male on edge, his fur risen into a 'ridge' along his spine with bristled disinterest whenever any attempted to engage an interaction. Why was the Mercenary even at the ball? Ah, right. Because you have a mission to carry out later on. Be patient. He thinks to himself with a low chuff before lowering his gaze to the pristine floors beneath his paws, lip raising with slight disgust.

While others had opted for beauty and power to be displayed through their masquerade creations, Creature seemed to have taken a different route. From afar, his mask appeared to have simply been carved to replicate a wolf skull, but closer inspection would be quick to show that such was not true. The beast had spent hours the previous day utilizing his knives to carve intricate runes into the bone, staining it with a streak of blood down the center muzzle. The perfect display of exactly who he was; The Beast.

It's the boring of a damsel's lavender gaze that draws hellfire from the floor, allowing those gleaming irises to settle on the features of a crow. He can't help but arch a brow behind the mask covering his handsome features. He himself countered the pewters of the stranger's pelage and even her mentality—Although he did not know such yet. A cursed liver and onyx villain incapable of departing from systematic hate and cannibalism.

@Rhiannon

manip + code: clae

R

hiannon did not mind that she had been caught observing the masked stranger as his garnet sights settled upon her eyes as the rest of her visage remained hidden. Not one for timidity, Rhiannon stepped across the room as if the old castle belonged to her, head carried high.


When she was close enough to be heard over the clamor of the crowd, her voice was perhaps deeper than one would expect of the rather average sized girl: "To me, to my house, you shall all come after your deaths.” A mysterious smile appeared on her slender smile as she recited an ancient verse about a god older than even the fading castle they stood within. It was a quote she had heard when she was just a pup, a memory that had been lost to her recollections until seeing the macabre mask.


Her head dipped in a respectful nod following her uninvited recitation. ”You appear as Donn, the dark god, in the flesh. He is ruler of the dead.” She still cherished the deities of her mother’s mothers. Memories of her past were bittersweet, at best, but she dismissed that darkness from the present.


Indicating his mask with a gesture of her pale muzzle, she offered rare praise: ”Well crafted. Do you come here often?” At this, she smirked, obviously joking. It was not often that she interacted with males in any positive regard. But today was different, was it not? As this was not a celebration of Samhain, the night in which the veil between the living and the dead was less defined, his costume seemed an odd choice. But it was a choice that Rhiannon appreciated.


@Creature

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

No sooner had the corvid-masked damsel been acknowledged did she make her approach, leading a brow to arch with further interest. Did the male enjoy women? No. Quite honestly, he'd never met one he did like and wasn't all too certain that now would be such a time for change. This was a deeply rooted anger, basking in past trauma The Beast refused to acknowledge. A problem for another time, if you will.

The octave in which the stranger spoke was lower than what Creature had expected. Yet, he was too distracted by the phrase rolling off of Rhiannon's tongue to be upset about the approach. Quite the contrary; He was very interested. That didn't stop his ridge from bristling though, the white ticked onyx rising along his spine.

Further explanation taunts his curiosity. "There are far too many who look to the light for answers. Sometimes the darkness holds that which we seek." He muses in a blunt monotone that's laced with a foreign accent, r's rolling off of his tongue. Not rude, simply cautious. It's a simple retort to the statement of presenting as The God of Death. How terribly ironic considering his title...

The joke is enough to withdraw a deep chuckle and hellfire irises pass over the many faces within the crowds of the ball. "If I came here often, I'd be sneaking off to the prison cells for a quick snack. Not drowning in the scents of naivety and lust." It comes off harsher than intended and the male soon clears his throat.

"Apologies. Not many engage with the likes of me, especially not those of.. your.. sex." He almost seems awkward in his manner, a deeply complex beast who found social cues hard to give... and even harder to read. Oh boy, this is a train wreck. He thinks to himself once more before stretching out his limbs, vertebrae in his neck popping as they release tension.

"Your mask is that of a crow, yes? Some say they represent the ancient plagues which came to pass. Are you a medic?" The cannibal inquires with a cock of his skull.

manip + code: clae

T

win ears pricked forward as the brute spoke: "There are far too many who look to the light for answers. Sometimes the darkness holds that which we seek." His voice was steady and forthright, and the silvery femme noted distinct difference in his dialect from most that she encountered.


Her stare was intense and overtly interested, watchful of the other’s unspoken cues: ”Without darkness there can be no light. We creatures of the night strike a balance with..” Her voice tapered off into silence, head nodding to gesture toward the revelers: fools and their king, and who could tell the difference? ”I have no words, truly, for this -- they call it grandeur, honorable, but it seems like a child’s game of imagination to me.”


The male then spoke of his disdain for the debauchery surrounding them, while a mention of a potentially off-putting dietary habit slipped, whether conscious or otherwise. Rhiannon did not ask and the stranger continued. "Apologies. Not many engage with the likes of me, especially not those of.. your.. sex." This clue was obvious to Rhiannon, who simply laughed to herself at the randomness of life. ”Good. Then our company is well suited. As you have professed, the smell of all of this -- of self-righteousness and conceit are unavoidable.”


"Your mask is that of a crow, yes? Some say they represent the ancient plagues which came to pass. Are you a medic?" She murmured, ”A medic? Hm…” She appeared thoughtful for a moment or two before responding with a smile and statement, both of which were intentionally vague: ”Something of the sort.” She added, should he still be listening: ”Crows are also viewed as messengers between the realm of the living to the world beyond.”


@Creature

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck