The Grand Ball.

[catch]

The smooth steps up the pedestal were worn away by countless generations of feet, so that the barest hint of what had been carved there remained only as small channels where the deeper lines had been cut, by craftsmen far more skilled than what the Golden City could now boast, forefathers that had been given true vision, true artistry. The rich marble was cast in a spider's tortuous webs, creatures that melded the two species, man and arachnid, wrought in terrible and glorious forms until it culminated, on the surface, as a fat, grotesque woman with four arms and two legs, each hand holding aloft precious artifacts now long lost or desecrated, and not even the pristine marble could hide all the red, tell-tale stains that gathered in those delicately-carved lines.

Catch was led up these steps, and the giggling, drunk-drugged girl came with him, too lost in the revelry to know any better, where the Crooked Man waited. He, too, was a shadow of what had once been, the slightest hint of what could have been. But he reeked of bad meat, and his skin hung in fatty folds where he had lost vast amounts of weight, and he looked at Catch with a mixture of terror and contempt. He knew. Catch turned his head, to look at the girl who was now waving to a crowd too absorbed in itself to notice. She did not know.

The priest's mouth worked, and his foul smell was intensified as fatty sweat rolled down his gluttonous rolls. He had been fat, once, but knowledge had put the fear in him. Catch knew he would not speak the words, and he stood there with his head bowed, his chin touching the silver collar around his neck, and he watched the Fat Man as he shook and stuttered, his eyes growing more and more wild as something twitched under the man's skin. That proved too much for him, and when he spoke, at first none of the bacchanal crowd heard him.

"Siub Nfas'nn suggoth yo-lossha amsdus..."

Everyone sparkled, everyone shone. Their brilliance cut into his fevered eyes like knives, every facet of color, known and unknown, in this world and the next, until Catch had to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes, to stop them from screaming at him, to stop the dizzying tastes on his tongue. He regretted the candies. He regretted coming. He took his hands away just long enough to peer at the grace of Lamai and Thadius, the beauty of Drache and this black and gold man who spoke to her, and he caught a whimper in his throat.

"I want to go," he said, petulant and knowing he was being so, inwardly cringing at his rudeness. He looked again, and his heart caught in his throat as the masked man pulled his face away, revealing nothing but a black hole underneath.

[Lamai]

It was James that noticed the gold-coated companions. His surprise was honest, but he managed to keep it away from Lamai. It was easier done since she was ignoring him. His hands came from behind his back even as Catch grumbled about wanting to leave.

"We can go, Catch." James felt worlds better about leaving if the Baron's personal companions were there. Still, his hands were moving once he'd caught the eye of one of his superiors.

Lady Lamai was dancing with a dangerous man. The man at his side was one of the Lady's patients. He had been directed to take care of the man and would return shortly.

"Come along, Catch. Lady Lamai will be fine.." James was uttering, seeing Catch's eyeing of Thadius. "Let's get you home." James reached for Catch's shoulder with the intent of guiding him off of the dance floor and away from trouble.

[Tolleson]

Perhaps one of the last guests to arrive and more than fashionably late, Genny gingerly and with the utmost caution began to exit the coach. Lacking a footman, the driver had come round to aid her. A simple carriage had brought her, only lavish enough to ensure that the dupioni silk wouldn't pick up the mud of a farmer's wagon. The fabric of her gown was a fine, well crafted material that lacked the sheen and luster of the other ladies. In appearance alone it was rather plain, a warm, off-white color just a few shades paler than her skin.

After a near week of isolated work, hundreds of finger pricks, and finding a fair price on some rather fine but overlooked fabric; she'd managed to create an entirely new dress long enough to be worn in proper society. Her shoulders seemed to barely, yet effortlessly hold up the wide neck of the dress, creating an off the shoulder appearance, more feminine than anything she'd worn in Myrken prior to Descant's Ball. Around her waist was a simple Alice Blue colored sash, embroidered with white, its tails trailing behind her barely dusting the ground, just an inch longer than the gown itself. Embroidered along the hem of the gown was an inch wide pattern of delicate red and blue roses on a filigree vine of a vibrant green to match her eyes. Nearly fifty small silver buttons ran down the center of her back, stopping just below her waist to hold the entire ensemble together. And to top it off, around her thin neck was clasped a simple silver chain, as it draped around her it defined her delicate collar bone.

As she stepped from the foothold to the ground her hair, large and small ringlets alike, bounced in unison. The red locks had been carefully pulled back from her face, twisted up on either side and pinned to create a simple crown in which several small white flowers had been snugly fastened and from which the cascade of red curls flowed, the furthest reaching the small of her back.

Once out of the carriage her eyes would wander and find the door, hoping to slip in silently and unannounced. Especially because she was so late already.

[Dulcie]

But Genny wasn't the only late comer to the ball, there was Fred as well, who was lingering outside the building, waiting for her friend. They had planned to come together after all hadn't they? So there she was, leaned against the wall in all her borrowed finery, waiting on Genny and picking at her fingernails idly. At the sound of the carriage she looked up, curious to see who it was that was arriving now and she'd smile a bit when she saw the other girl there. It was good to know that she wouldn't have to go in there all by herself and she'd push up from the wall to take a few tentative steps in her big dress towards the entrance and to Genny. She wouldn't even try to manage the stairs again, that had been trouble enough the first time.

The young woman looked downright uncomfortable in the dress that she had picked from the horrible selection that Des had sent up to her and she shifted a little, plucking at bits of the bodice here and there where she felt that it clung too much to her figure, giving her a distinctly womanly look that she rarely acknowledged that she had. The dress itself was black with a bodice that was both too tight and too low for Fred's preferences, though it suited the style at the time, with big bell sleeves edged in gold that revealed a good portion of her tanned and well toned arms, giving her a somewhat less delicate appearance than occured at first glance. The skirt itself was embroidered with an intricate pattern of gold and she found it difficult to move in the delicate gold shoes she wore as she waited on Genny.

Des had spared no details in what he had provided for her to borrow and a necklace with an onyx pendant hung about her neck and matching earrings had been clipped to her ears, however with no female help about to help her get ready for the event her hair was another story indeed. She had attempted to put it up at one point and the results had been mostly disasterous and so she had opted for just leaving it down. To her credit it had been washed and fluffed out a bit, her black, somewhat wavy hair hung to about her shoulders loosely.

"I was worried that you weren't coming." She said a little nervously as she looked at Genny. "Des told me that you were upset because you thought I was making eyes at someone you liked, but I don't even know who the person was that he was talking about." Oh Gods this sounded horribly immature. "I wasn't though, I don't even really like anyone.. I mean, maybe Des a little, but I certainly don't -love- him." a comment certainly said for a reason before she'd put her usual smile back on. "Oh but that doesn't matter anyhow, you're here and you'll come in with me right? I don't want to go in there all by myself. Everyone looks so elegant and I've tripped over my feet the whole way here. You did promise you'd help me." Another grin for Genny as she waited there at the top of the stairs.

[Raven]

Sarcyn would still be fighting with his collar, trying not to choke upon it's gaudy nature. Whoever had recommended he wear such a get-up was going to have hell to pay if he survived this encounter. There certainly was a lot of people in attendance, a great deal of people the mercenary had not had the pleasure of meeting, it made him just a little bit edgy. Wary steel hued eyes would stop their darting about as Dulcie would lean in to tease him.

"I'm glad you think so. I feel stupid and this bleeding shirt..."

A grunt of frustration and he'd admit defeat, so be it. He'd just get strangled to death and they could emblazon -that- upon his tombstone. The teasing was reassuring though, he can't look that bad if she was going to be making fun of him, well, unless the innkeeper was more malicious than he had given her credit for. The dragon-lady's grin would warrant a grin and a wave of his free hand, his eyes barely glazing over when Drache and Dulcie had their little chat.

Thankfully that'd be over soon and then he'd be watching her get up to her usual tricks. Mostly he'd be amused that even away from her tavern she'd still fuss and worry over everyone she knew. That didn't stop him from being a smidgen frustrated that even when -they- were supposed to be out having a good time she was getting stressed about everyone playing nice. Oh well, she'd hardly be who she was if she didn't act the way she did.

"As you command, M'lady!" A grin at her command, there was very little point arguing the fact that -he- was supposed to be asking -her- to dance. Sarcyn would acquiesce to her desire, if it would help her enjoy the Ball it most well be her wish. Forced into motion, he'd guide her out to where people already twirled about and he'd adjust his stance so that he could drape one arm about her, resting his hand within the small of her back and clasp her hand within the other.

"Don't expect nothin' fancy, mind."

He didn't have much experience with all of this high society fancy ball dancing and such, but at the very least he wasn't going to be tripping all over his own feet. Sarcyn would've been a failure as a swordsman if he didn't have some ingrained grace and sense of timing.

[Dulcie]

If Dulcie knew anything about the social graces that were expected for someone when it came to ballroom dancing it certainly didn't show. She apparently had no problem being the asker of the dance rather than the askee, and at his little comment about being commanded she would just grin, indeed relaxing just a little. The mercenary was somewhat disarming and it was comforting for her to know that she was around someone who could more than likely handle themselves if things happened to go awry, which by the sight of things was a very real possibility.

"Anything fancy and I think I'd be liable to lose my footing. I'm not the world's best dancer." She confessed with a bit of a smile as she looked back at him as they made their way to the dance floor. She under estimated her own talents just a little however as she found herself fitting easily into the space he made for her as his arm came to rest along the her back, her own hands finding their place upon his shoulder and in his hand. Her own smaller hand was somewhat calloused, the little hint of reality and hard work that had otherwise hidden itself by the fancy dress of the event. It was a reminder perhaps to them both that Dulcie was still very much Dulcie even if she was all dressed up.

As they found their place in time with the dance she found that she moved easily with him, they were well matched dancing partners, both able to keep with the time and the rhythm, but clearly neither seemed inclined to try anything more difficult than the most basic dance steps required. This suited Dulcie just fine and for a moment or two with her gaze resting on his she forgot about the concern she had for the other people who were on the dance floor. It was a temporary respite.

She couldn't quite place the man who was dancing with Lamai, the silver mask throwing off her recognition, but there was something in the very pit of her stomach that made her feel that there was just something not -right- about the pairing, something familiar and unsettling, but as they moved about the floor she was comforted by the fact that she could then see Christolf and his men. Surely no harm would come to Lamai with them around. And then there was Catch and the way he was moving and for a moment it was all she could do to not rush over and try to help him out of the ball herself. James seemed very capable and yet he hadn't known the addled man for as long as she and some of the others had, and she found his distress thoroughly distracting. She had let her gaze drift then, watching them even as they danced and it would take her remembering that she was here with someone else that brought her attention back to Sarcyn, though she was listening ever so carefully through the music for the sounds of Catch and where he was.

[Vanidor]

It was perhaps wrong to think that Christoph himself had magical ability. Oh, there was certainly something about him that put all but the most hostile (or narrowminded) at ease. An almost palpable aura of non-violence, perhaps? He certainly seemed that way, the man did not even bear the ceremonial knife common to those who had assumed such lofty status within his home nation. It was said, and known to some, that his father had been quite the powerful magus however. Some even said that such power seeped down the line like a cancer that ruined the very soul of the wielder.

Christoph was about to respond to the Bard when one of the golden-hued warriors stepped besides him. No words were passed betwix the two, though there was certainly an understanding. The one in gold moved away confidently, angling to take James' place besides the Baroness. Then, a slight smile and pallid eyes once more focused upon the hosts of this evenings revelry.

"Do I detect a trace of the south in your voice Master Descant? My wife suggested that you were, most recently, from distant Razasan? I fear most of my countrymen, myself included, are no longer allowed access to the city. Even for the sake of diplomacy." This brought a wry smile to the his features, certainly. "Perhaps, if you are headed that way again, I could call upon you to make a delivery for me? Some simple correspondence with a teacher I sometimes miss"

His eyes then darted towards the Dragon-Lady, the smile shifting slightly in the process. It was less sarcastic, certainly. Razasan was a sore spot with the Ambassador. "You are most certainly radiant in your power, Madam Sgarsiath. Perhaps one day you shall allow me the honour of being regaled with your story. To have acquired such luxury," Here his hand motioned towards her, slender fingers motioning to the very items she bore upon her, " and accouterments... I can only presume fascinating tales."

All this mild conversation, but his eye seemed to flick from the two, to the man in gold stationed upon the far wall. That one was observing the Companion who had slid over to assume James' position, as that one seemed to be attempting to escort another from the Hall. Ah. It was most certainly... 'just another evening in Myrken'

[Tolleson]

"Yes," her voice was timid and soft, but above all genuinely apologetic, "I am sorry." She tried to smile slightly but it came off a little forced, her shame for the things she'd said pulling at the corners of her mouth.

To her driver she waved, dismissing him, then returning her attentions to Winifred, "I think I may have... I didn't mean to, well I... the Red went straight to my head and... well, I, Descant was there and... you 'making eyes' wasn't it at all and I'm sure I owe him an apology" Her hands held one another and seemed to be fumbling as much as her words, anxiety and nerves making her fidget as her eyes wandered over the lavishly decorated building. Finally her eyes would come to rest on her friend a true smile breaking free, perhaps laughing at herself for it all. "Lady Lamai's companion, James, had asked me... but I couldn't very well let you go alone," chuckling she had to look away to monitor her feet as they took to the steps. Lifting her gown ever so slightly so each carefully watched and deliberate step could be made until Genny would at last be beside Winifred. The two stood just outside the main entrance, summer blossoming all around them and the air drifting out from the illuminated edifice even sweeter than the warm summer night.

"My lady," she smirked, but also inquired as if she were a gentleman, hoping that her friend had forgiven her for disappearing the last few days; taking her arm gently and circling it with her own until they could walk arm in arm at the elbows.

[catch]

The fingers that touched Catch's shoulder, that sought to guide him smartly away from the crowds, the pretties and handsomes, they burned as surely as iron brands, and Catch's flesh spasmed, rejected, roared against it and stuffed his ears with their slimy, ugly crawling. The madman's flesh, too, was burning hot to the touch, a fever that had lurked and pounced on the unwary, here and now, filled with people.

No one in the city was celebrating, now. Their screams, their pained, animal howls, echoed off the curling, opalescent spirals, but even the throats of millions of slaves and revelers alike couldn't drown out the voice of the Fat Man. With each passing moment they became louder and louder, until it filled the ears and bored into the brain, and caused men and woman to beat their heads against the gold-plated walls to rid themselves of it, to roll on the copper-gemmed streets like wild beasts, to claw out their eyes from their truth, their doom.

Only Catch watched them all, and he felt a stirring sadness in his gut. The girl next to him shrieked and sobbed, and had fallen to her knees long ago, and her eyes ran in viscous, molten paths, that burned trails into her flesh until her bones glistened under the dying sun. The Fat Man was the most fortunate. He simply was no longer there, the words still spilling from a mouth who's lips did not close, who's jaws swung wider and wider until the bones popped and split, eyes wild and blank and unseeing the curve of the sky above.

Catch remembered nothing, only bits of pieces, vague feeling of swiping at James with nails far too blunt to do much damage, but slapping at him, nonetheless, and of dashing onto the dance-floor, gauze and cloth flipping against him like laughing clouds.

The man's face was a blank, black hole, and he held it in his hand and laughed at the Sky Lady, leaned in close, and threading tentacles stretched out for her eyes, her mouth, creeping from the dark like a mass of licking, seeking tongues.

From the Fat Man's gaping, open mouth, the very tips of massive, furry, prong-like legs began writhing their way, stretching the man's lips back gently until they ripped the flesh, widening it's portal into a cruel, bloodied smile. These things, these grossly proportioned spider's legs, it was impossible that such a man could hold the sheer size of the beast that was now trying to curl it's way, wetly, from such a small orifice. And still the words came, impossibly loud, and Catch touched the crouched girl at his side, and faced the Spider as it struggled with it's mortal vessel.

His large hands, so finely-clad in silver filigree and frilled silk, those hands that could be so clever, shoved at the Sky lady, none-too gently. There was no time to be gentle, not with the Faceless and the creeping, terrible, writhing tongues that sought her.

Catch opened his mouth, and silver fog roiled from between his teeth, over his tongue, thick as dense smoke, and even the foul air could not diminish it. He felt wetness on his cheeks, and he knew that he bled it from his eyes, that it stood out in great, sweating drops from his body. The girl at his side no longer moved; the shrieking of millions in agony hung on the air, and only Catch could hear it. He uttered one pure, single note, like bells striking stone, and he sang the song that ended the world.

And those hands sought that aristocratic neck, his thumbs jamming in just the right spot, where jugular and windpipe carried their precious, needful burdens. Catch opened his mouth, and silver smoke hissed between the empty, black spots between his teeth.

There was a Golden City in his blank eyes, roofed in black, where the skeletons of a priest and a girl lay, and the rotting smell of lavender and death.

[Dulcie]

"Oh don't worry about it. I got it all sorted out with Des." Fred said with a smile as she looked back over at the flustered Genny who was stumbling over her apologies. "I'm just glad that everything's all fine between us." At the mention of James however the other girl will lift an eyebrow and grin again. "Well is that so? I could have managed to come on my own you know if you were that keen on it. Though I imagine he'd have to escort Lamai, you never see the two without each other." That left Fred with a bit of wonder about how exactly courting would work between the pair with Lamai and James nearly always attached at the hip, but she wouldn't voice that to her friend.

With that arm and title offered she'd smile and hook her own arm about her friend's using her other hand to try to balance her skirt so that she could manage to step forward with Genny, taking a few teetering steps as she tried to navigate skirts and shoes. Somehow it felt like she had gotten the losing end of the deal she had made with Descant.

[Suede]

The most important thing the tailor knew about arriving was how to make the proper entrance. Did you want to slide in with the masses, make a display, be fashionably late? Tonight he had initially debated making a rather large show of his presence, but Catch had provided far to convenient an opportunity for him to not take advantage of it. Down the stairs he drifted through those still milling at the door, most failing even to catch his attention with the sudden scuffle beginning on the dance floor. Nevermind this slight man, there's a duke here, a fight, and a dragon lady.

He was surprisingly subdued in his dress considering the opportunity, having forgone the chance for unnecessary flare in favor of a depressingly cliche black. He never wore black, but there was the dark leather vest cinched tight over a white-collared shirt which offered the only color to his attire, and covering his belt from prying eyes. Atop both sat a rather oily black coat which hung nearly to his ankles, brushing against the heels of matching soft-soled shoes.

There was an amused smirk in his eyes as a cane slid out the end of one sleeve, fingers catching the grip before it could strike the floor. The snake slithering into the room split then, and a half dozen couples who had been trailing in behind the tailor split away into the crowd, eager to take in the merriment as the tailor sauntered his way along the side of the dance floor, cane twirling in one hand. A wink here, a smile there to those who looked his way, perhaps a lecherous leer for the ladies. More than a few grumbles had emerged as he was recognized. Beware the chocolatier tailor. Oh you've made him sound so very bland, Glenn.

His destination seemed to be the refreshment table, though his eyes were drifting to eagerly watch and see what type of trouble Catch would cause.

[Drache]

Without any sort of protest from the Bard, Drache would happily continue chatting with Christoph, though it was obvious and expected that he had other things to attend to once the business of formalities was observed.

The power that swirled around him didn't so much make her complacent as curious, the strength of it alone enough to keep her alert. Magic in this world had its own unique flavour, and she hadn't been here long enough to puzzle it all out yet. Wherever it was coming from it seemed to her to be under his command, and that was enough for her.

Her gaze followed Christoph's mute companion as the Baron himself turned to address Descant. Interesting. Yet it was the sarcasm that drew her back in. She was extremely uninformed about the political hullabaloo of this place, though if the dark looks aimed at the gold-garbed Baron and his men or muttered comments about Thessilaneans she'd picked up in the bar were anything to go by, she was sure it was all quite fascinating.

When his attention has directed at her once more she offered a gracious nod of her horns and a subtle shifting designed to flourish all her jewels. Being recognized for skill and wealth all in the same breath? He was lucky she didn't start purring, even if she did recognize it all as simple niceties. "You presume correctly, and I would treasure the opportunity to ssspeak further. Your own hissstory is bound to be jussst as intriguing. I'm cccertain you have plenty of people to greet, not leassst of which your ssstunning mate, but perhapsss later in the evening you would be generousss enough to gift a half-dragon with a danccce?"

Funny how it was so easy to ask the Baron but the Bard was a whole different story. Somewhere during the conversation one of her wings had unfurled slightly and tucked gently behind Des's back. Was she trying to get his attention? Was she letting him know she hadn't forgotten about him? Was she attempting some sort of comfort him in response to the Baron's comment about Rasazan? Dragons, you never knew, did you.

And suddenly, something was happening on the dance floor and she straightened up to have a look.

[Raven]

Descant would barely have time to complete his silent inspection before the Ambassador would return his attention. Had he really spent so much time in the south that it had rubbed off on his accent? What a scary thought! Of course, he'd smile most amiably at the inquiry, seemingly taking no offense at being asked to perform such a mundane task as mail delivery.

"Why, yes. I've recently spent a few years down there. I've heard of the...troubles." Of course he had, he wouldn't be much of a bard if he didn't have his ear to the ground when it came to such potential goldmines of information and future tales for his craft. "I'd be more than happy to help you out. I believe my companion, Drache, was planning a trip to Razasan in future so I'm sure it wouldn't be any inconvience to tag a long?"

A questioning look would be shot to Drache, she had mentioned something about wanting him to look after her estate while she did travel but surely someone else she could trust could be found before then. She might even find the bard's presence in the distant Capital to be of even more use than it had been so far within Myrken Wood.

A questioning look that would only grow in intensity as Drache would be asking the Baron to join her in dance later on in the night. She had -doubted- that he would want to dance with her, but here she was asking someone way above the bard's lowly station to partake of the festivities. If he were anywhere else, he might actually look offended. Luckily for him, he was in the presence of someone who caused him to revert to all the tricks of the trade he'd learnt plying his trade amongst the upper echelons of society.

Drache's gesture would have only added to the confusion. He would love to question her about quite a few things now, but it seemed that things had already started to conspire against him as some sort of ruckus was breaking out. The bard was quite happy to place a sizeable sum on the fact that Catch was likely in the middle of it. As far as he was concerned, with the madman it was only a matter of time. He just hoped that the fellow wouldn't set off a riot. Especially when things had been going so well and he still had unresolved promises to keep.

[Tolleson]

Unresolved promises, she had a few of those too. She had hoped Descant had forgiven her, but it was hardly at the forefront of her mind as she walked with Winifred. They had made it inside at the very least. It was then that she recognized the tailor who seemed to snake his way past them quick as lightening. Which was probably normal speed compared to the two awkward slugs that Winifred and Genny were, hanging on one another for balance, for support both morally and literally.

Making light of Winifred's observations she simply smiled, "and give up such a lovely date?" She was clearly becoming more comfortable, at ease knowing she had an ally at her side.

Taking note of her companions difficulty she grinned, "Don't worry... I'm liable to trip and fall just because... We'll go slow." And so they'd start off into the main hall, of course they had been there but a moment when Myrken's bawdy nature seemed to come out with a group of people huddling around a tussle. It took a moment of gawking before the realization came and she turned to face Fred, worry in her face, "Its Catch." Was more of an explanation needed?

[Raven]

Sarcyn could only grin back at her own admission when it came to dancing. What a fine pair they'd make! At least there'd be something to be said for mediocrity, neither of them would be making a spectacle of themselves. Which suited the mercenary just fine, he was quite happy to glide under everybody's radar. It's the nail sticking out that gets hammered.

It would appear that Dulcie was far more adept at holding onto the mercenary's attention than he was at hers. Of course that would be easily explainable since he wasn't as emotionally invested in any of the other participants of the ball. He'd barely met a lot of the others and the few he had certainly struck him as being able to hold their own should it come to it.

Like all things temporary, the moment would quickly end where he held her attention and she'd be glancing about and he could almost feel the tension flow back into her especially when she caught sight of Catch and James. A wry smile to twist his lips when her focus came back upon him. There'd be a string of teasing words just waiting to be said when there'd be a flurry of activity once more, interrupting whatever he had been about to say.

Instead he'd slow his dance with Dulcie and unentangle himself. While he did not yet know the participants that had started causing all the row, he'd more than likely be correct in figuring that his companion would want to stick her nose in to find out what was going on.

That said, he wasn't about to go dashing off to throw himself into whatever trouble had erupted. He'd leave that to others. No, he'd stay right with Dulcie. Shadowing her every movement. Left hand would already be working at the knots about his sword's hilt. Not a lot of point having a sword if he wasn't able to use it if trouble warranted it.