The Masque is the Thing
by Anne Fraser, Jean Hontz and Amanda Rush
Part 1
@ Copyright 2005 All rights reserved
In early March 2005 the following invitations arrived by special messenger( No, it wasn't an owl):
TO:
Fingula NaBrusaich
Raymond Arthur Griffin
Lady Adele Celestine Blakesley
Julian Lysander Valkanas
Major Trevor Tregellas StCyr
Tagd O'Scloaidhe
Nimue du Lac, Lady of the Lake, Last High Priestess of Avalon
We are pleased to extend to
you and a guest an invitation to the Centennial Masquerade Ball for Magic Users.
The event shall take place on the evening of March Twenty-Seventh, Two Thousand
and Five. The location is the Grand Ballroom at the Bauer Il Palazzo in Venice.
You can arrive either by the Grand Canal, or turn yourself widdershins 720
degrees, and say "I wish to be fuzzled!"
Sincerely,
The Coterie of Thaumaturgy
Bridget Bishop, Presiding Chair
Post script - After the debacle of the 1905 Masque, roman candles shall
henceforth be banned at this and all subsequential events.
The Night of the Masque:
At the Quai - the Paris residence of Julian Vyse/Vaurien and Nimue, Lady of the Lake:
Nimue was becoming very fond of the dressing table in her suite adjoining Julian's. It was large and Edwardian, which meant not too many frills in the smooth cherry stain and a lovely, large, etched mirror. She smiled into the mirror as she brushed out her long, soft red hair, and then pulled it up into a sleek up do. She turned her head slightly, and then turned to the other direction, to make sure that everything was in place. She stood, and her long black satin gown slithered into place. She spun again, to examine the back (or, lack thereof) of her dress. The back of the dress begun just a fraction above indecency. She imagined the feeling of Julian's hands on her bare back as they danced, and felt herself tingle inside. Picking up the black feathered and jewelled mask and her tiny purse which contained the invitation, she turned and headed to Julian's room. She assumed he should be ready, considering that the mirror was covered and there wasn't much by way of distraction.
He was standing near his chest of drawers, his back towards her, examining something in his hands. She appreciated the look of his long legs and very nice derriere currently thinly covered with pearl grey trousers, nicely tight. When he turned at the rustle of her dress, he smiled. She liked the fire that lit his eyes.
She laughed then. He was wearing a white silk shirt with a white lace jabot rather than a cravat. The jabot had just the right amount of ruffles to be defiantly masculine. He swept her into his arms and said, "Well, one of us ought to wear ruffles. There are no ruffles hidden in that dress. Not much of anything hidden in that dress."
"You like it?" She asked him coyly. "I wore it just for you."
He leaned over to brush his nose against the side of her neck. And whisper into her ear, "I adore it. I adore you."
Then he stood back and directed her to turn for him so he had the full effect of the dress. "Goddess, I ought wear a sword. I shall have to fight to defend your virtue."
She laughed at him. "Gone millennia ago."
"Oh, no, indeed, Nimue. Oh, no indeed."
He held out a small box then, to her. "I've gotten you something. If you decide not to wear it now I will not mind a bit. But when I saw it, well, I thought of you."
She took it and opened the box. Inside was a small hairpin. Diamonds sparkled. It was delicate, consisting of a central hairpin which separated into six fine gold wires each ending in a diamond. It would look as if she had a small group of brilliant white droplets in her hair.
"Julian," She gasped. "It's beautiful. I'd be a fool not to love it." She drew the pin out of the box gingerly, and carefully arranged it in her hair.
While she looked at it in the mirror, he'd turned to draw on a black velvet frock coat, sadly covering that magnificent ass of his. His masque was black silk, zorro style.
"We're going to cause a stir, you and I." She said to him.
"That's the plan. So, shall you say the magic words, or shall I?" He offered his arm like a gentleman.
"Oh, I am old fashioned girl at heart." She slipped her arm through the nook in his elbow. "I like to let the men drive."<>
With his other arm, Julian grabbed up Nimue by the waist, as if to waltz. He spun her about twice, and said "We wish to be fuzzled!"
And at Fairlawn:
Michael's eyes lit up when he saw Mary come down the stairs, ready for their evening at the Ball. She wore a short, open jacket of the kind often called bolero, in black, over a sleeveless shell and long, elegant, straight skirt both in watered green silk. She had opted for low heels--she was a nurse, on her feet all day, stilettos were not kind to the tendons. Her brown hair, vanity dyed to hide the grey, was done up in a simple bun, and she carried a small black evening bag. She wore a green silk domino mask.
"You look wonderful," said her husband, coming forward to kiss her.
"So do you," Mary replied. Michael also wore green watered silk--his waistcoat, tie and matching mask. Otherwise, he wore a black dinner jacket tux ensemble. "We should dress up more often."
"Whoa, Mom and Dad!" The twins, Guy in their wake, had come to investigate the novel notion of parents going out on a date.
"You approve?" Michael asked with a grin.
"You both look very elegant," said Guy.
"Have fun," said Vivain, enviously.
"You'll get asked out again," Mary assured her. "You'll see. It will pass. You behave yourselves now. Don't wait up."
"Ready?" Michael asked. She nodded. He held her, turned them both solemnly around the required number of times, and spoke the words of the spell.
Before Galen could even laugh at the word "fuzzled", they were gone.
Back at the Quai, before a trip to Valley Mansion to pick up her date:
Adele, who had no problems with mirrors, turned in front of hers one more time. She frowned at herself, critically. Would he like it? The dress wasn't vermillion. But it was a rich garnet colour, satin rather than some heavier fabric. It was incredibly simple of line and had few decorations for a ball gown of its time. It was indeed empire-waisted, making Adele look even bustier than normal. "Goddess, I'll pop out!" she laughed.
She smoothed the front of the dress and examined it all once again. There was a narrow ribbon of embroidery that began at one shoulder, crossed at her waist and continued on down to the hem. It was done in gold thread as if filigree. Tiny flowers twinkled along the the filigree, their petals formed of seed pearls.
She wore a choker of pearls around her neck and drop pearl earrings. She'd left her hair down entirely and it fell to her butt in a cascade of dark curls. She'd used two pearl combs to hold it back from her face. Her makeup was subtle, but for the garnet lipstick that matched her gown.
She drew on long white gloves, slipped her feet into a pair of black patent low heeled shoes, and decided she was almost ready. Would he think she looked too old-fashioned? She'd seen Nimue's dress. Well, too late to change her mind now.
She picked up a swan's head half mask, took a deep breath and transported herself to Alex's front porch. One of these days she'd remember to get with Michael to attune the Cliff Road wards to be not quite so alarmed when she did that.
She rang the bell at Valley Mansion.
Alex himself answered the door, and Adele had to take a deep breath. He wore a beautifully tailored dinner jacket suit in the exact shade of his eyes, with a vest in some subtly shimmering material that picked up ambient background colours. Instead of a tie, he had an intricately worked clasp at his throat. His hair--that beautiful black hair that would look rather odd in dreads--had been smoothed and tamed into place. He wore a plain black mask, and was holding one hand behind his back.
"For you," he said, after they'd kissed. It was a wrist corsage. A rose.
"Oh," said Adele, so pleased he was delighted. "It's lovely." As he was putting it on her wrist she took a deep breath. If a vampire's hands could get sweaty his would have. That breath did, uhm, interesting things to her décolletage. For what felt like a very long time he considered bending over and kissing those beckoning ....
"Can't get the clasp?" she asked.
He forced his, er, mind, back to current matters and finally secured the corsage about her wrist.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Ready," he said, meeting her eyes.
She stepped into his arms. "I know, this is utterly silly," she laughed. They whirled around, she whispered the word and they disappeared.
And at the, uhm, Ray Griffin's House on Cliff Road:
Ray had grumbled and complained, but the invitation was impossible to refuse, and Estella had really wanted to see him dressed up. He had given in, hoping to cheer her up after her recent shock, and so they were going to the Ball. He, of course, was all in black, and it's not easy to find a formal wear shirt in black. He'd found one, all the same. He wore a variation on the popular frock coat, though not in velvet, and also had jewellery at his throat rather than a tie, although in his case it was a diamond clasp. A matching diamond stud sat in his ear in place of the usual small gold hoop. He wore, naturally, a black mask.
Estella had on a long, slightly 30ish-looking gown, one of those ones with hanging flounces and what not. It had feathers around the armholes, neck and hemline, and she wore a falcon mask. She was going as Andrei. Ray had laughed himself almost sick when he'd seen her--she hadn't told him. They were still grinning when he spun them and spoke "I wish to be fuzzled."
And at the London flat of a certain international man of mystery:
Trevor Raine... No Trevor StCyr.. was examining himself in a mirror as well. He wore the usual tux made by bespoke tailor on Savile Row. Good God, a masque. Normal balls were bad enough.
He'd briefly toyed with the idea of inviting Lana to go with him, but he hated formal affairs so much he decided he'd just go, have the requisite dance with Adele - being around her was never a good idea - and then the dance with, what was her name? Oh, Maggie. Did he know her? That was it. Several whiskeys, two dances, and out the bloody door.
Fuzzled indeed. Good God.
His mask was a a simple black harlequin.
At a duplex apartment in Fletcherville, Maine:
Maggie, who hated formal gowns, had taken Adele's advice. She wore a black tailcoat, a very frilly and lacy tuxedo shirt, and tight black, form-fitting pants, with stilettos. She wasn't a nurse, and her tendons could take it. She could always whip up a pair of pumps later, anyway. In lieu of a mask, she had a top hat with a veil, like the one Nicole had worn in that stupid movie about the Moulin Rouge where nobody in it was actually French.
She found herself thinking about Trevor Raine. Did she really want to meet him? He seemed hostile to redheads (her own flaming tresses hung freely down her back under the top hat) and not very friendly. But, for Adele's sake (she was getting rather fond of the girl, like a silly kid sister), she would go and give the man one dance. And then find more congenial company.
She turned and said the words.