sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

Transformation was no longer some great mystery or magic to Margaery any longer. While she had expected some form of gift, she had expected her clothes to change into an elaborate gown complete with crown. Others seemed to understand what they were supposed to be, but for Margaery, it was another bit of mockery at her expense, something to do with who she was once.

There was at least wine and food, the sort that she had slowly come to look forward to over the years. It was the only time such things were available and she had come to miss the taste of champagne, though she never had it before coming to the village before (strangely.)

With a full plate and a well placed seat, she was able to look out on the whole of the gathering and see what the Observers had chosen for each of them. She raised her glass, "I suppose we should toast? To our absent hosts?" It was said with a bit of mockery, as much amusement as she could muster.

Wynonna wasn't one to look a gift horse- or gift black moto-style jeans, oversized "Drinks Well With Others" sweatshirt and strappy black boots- in the mouth. The only complaint she has is, upon seeing the feast, wishing she'd opted for those much looser-fitting scrub pants instead of the snug-fitting jeans that had come wrapped up in a red ribbon bow.

When the light starts to fade, and she finds herself rubbing at her eyes, she also feels... warm and fuzzy. Literally. Maybe that's why she doesn't complain too much- especially after getting the eyefull of what some other people are wearing. She feels like she's gotten off pretty light here.

The costume is a green hooded onesie, the top half of which is covered in yarn pom-pom "florets." There is a matching purse, shaped like a grocery store price tag, marking her as "Organic broccoli, 1.99/lb."

She appreciates that it's at least not sexy broccoli. A lifetime of Canadian Halloweens has taught her to never buy the skimpy costume if she doesn't want frostbite.

Edited 2018-10-31 02:20 (UTC)

Until the sun had gone down, Cougar had been very happy to wear his long-sleeved henley, the jeans, his boots, and best of all, a fresh hat. He'd milled around and found himself food to pick at, noticing the corn around them had grown much too fast, but of all the things that happen here, he's learning that it's not so outside of the normal for it to happen.

What he's not expecting is when the sun goes down, his clothes vanish, in a snap. Suddenly, instead of wearing something that he likes very much, Cougar finds himself the hunted, and he's only glad it seems to be big and warm enough to give him some protection. He keeps the hood up, not just because of the warmth, but to keep himself protected.

It's also a good challenge. After all, this is an opportunity to have to try and hear who's coming behind him without a look. Standing there, wielding an ear of corn from where he'd been inspecting it, he turns on the set of footsteps he hears, wielding a vegetable a little more like a weapon.

Not very threatening, no, but still, good enough.

"Don't shoot," he deadpans, a deer stuck in headlights, wielding corn. It could be worse. He could be dressed as a dead deer after a run-in with a truck.

For most people when the sun goes down, it seems like they're not as happy. For Vasquez, his clothes had been modern and strange, what with the fuzzy beige sweater and the denim jeans, though he did like the embossed and heavy belt that had gone with it.

When the sun had set and people reappeared in his vision in costumes, he's only got half his vision. At least, until he pushes the patch aside, his eyes brimming with delight at the fact that he's wearing a coat that's as beautiful as he's only seen in fancy stores and boots that he could see himself wearing always.

He's not sure what he's supposed to be, especially not with the patch, but trailing his fingers over the bandanna in his hair and the hat, he digs out a cigarette as he laughs, deep and warm, shaking his head as he goes to get himself a drink.

Smoke, a drink, and great clothes? "This is my kind of party," he tells the people nearest him, adjusting his hat and smirking with pride.

Edited 2018-10-31 01:45 (UTC)

It hadn't surprised him to find a bundle of clothes when he woke up this morning; he's been here long enough to know what their hosts seem to find amusing. And he's also been here long enough to know that their hosts don't tend to give them things without some kind of strings attached. Still, he's curious about what those strings are this time (maybe one day he'll get over that), and he wants to find out about this corn field next to the inn.

So he puts on his new clothes (sweater, jeans, and sturdy boots, not exactly his typical style but ones he'll be glad enough for soon enough, and all in black, so that much is the same at least) and heads over to the inn. Which is where he's pleased to discover not only the generous spread but the presence of rum, which is probably the one thing he misses most from his life before (sorry, Emma).

Later that evening, after the sun sets, he's not so pleased to discover his new costume. He gets it, kind of, but doesn't find it particularly amusing. Especially annoying is the presence of something stuck to the seat of his pants so it looks like it's biting him in the ass. It's not like he wanted to be able to sit down or anything, hosts.

He'll just have to hope the rum can erase the memory of this.

Beverly has been a resident long enough to know that these feasts don't often come with no strings attached. She might wish they did, but the Observers very rarely play nice. The corn field likewise has her mildly uncomfortable. Suspicious might be describing her feelings a little harshly. The sentiment is the same though. She isn't entirely jaded enough not to enjoy the festivities, luckily. The hope is that no one will end up hurt by the end.

Still, she tries to enjoy herself, flitting around and being as social as she can be. As always, she will happily greet people she knows and sit down for part of the meal with them. "I shouldn't be surprised by the overnight corn field by this point," she says with a light laugh.

Later, when her vision blurs a bit, she knows something is going to change. When it does, she's pleasantly surprised not to have to immediately worry about anyone's safety. She also likes the assortment of costumes, even if some look worse than others, and hers is definitely one of the not good ones. She's trying to ignore the cinnamon labeled spice jar that is her costume. For those costumes that aren't as easy to recognize, or might not be for someone whose modern time is Earth's 24th century, she isn't above asking, "All right, I give up. What's your costume?"

Edited 2018-10-31 02:02 (UTC)

Vanille definitely hasn't been here long enough to be too suspicious of grand feasts like this. Even if she had, that's more Fang's thing than Vanille's. The cheerful redhead is more than happy to be the life of the party if anyone can stand being around her for long enough. She enjoys the feast, chatting up anyone nearby, and even her costume doesn't seem to get her down too much. At least at first. She's mostly confused by it, having no idea about the concept of Halloween, let alone any of the costume references. At least the large red and black suit is warm enough for the night.

She does, however, take the opportunity to walk up to anyone unsuspecting, particularly if she knows them. "Do you understand the change in dress? Because I don't."

Her puppy Raine comes with her, happily running around or playing fetch or generally being an adorable ball of merle-colored energy for most of the evening. Eventually, she ends up cradling him in her arms, the puppy having exhausted himself, though he's still happy to wag his stump of a tail at anyone who comes over for pets.

Edited 2018-10-31 02:09 (UTC)

Waking up to new clothes, nice as they were with the henley and jeans, his heavy duty boots and even gloves, it is suspicious. Just about as much as he side eyes the suddenly tall and ripe and what the hell was with that? But whatever. There's food and it's late and really what else is there to do?

So inevitably while he didn't ask himself what might go wrong, he learned sooner than later.

Boots suddenly giving way to taller boots with stilettos as he feels the swish of of petticoats against his bare thighs. Glancing down, twisting to get a look at himself in the micromini, corset like top and... He laughs, the sound loud and booming as he realized he is definitely a fairly hairy, definitely slutty with the lack of length on that skirt Snow White.

Loving the costume, loving how it makes him feel honestly, Bob throws himself into the party, seeking out those he knows and making a general nuisance with those he doesn't as he struts through the party, enjoying the food and the company. Come say hi! Come dance! Maybe be careful how close you get.

The problem he has is that he can't submerge himself in the green, regrow his body, and he feels weak. That said it's an "I'm feeling stronger" evening. He's made himself a cane instead of his crutch, keeping it in the little hollow that he's made his...home so to speak in the absence of a swamp.

Imagine his surprise upon waking up that he has a gift. A pair of slacks and a shirt.

He spent most of the day staring at it before growling to himself and putting it on. Dressing, in clothing is weird. It shouldn't be. But...this... Surprisingly the shirt that he wore fit well and even with the moss and damp that made up him it still managed to...add to it somehow.

Hm.

He arrives after the transformation of the gusts and his red eyes go wide. It's probably not as weird as seeing a tree man wearing clothing - real clothes - but-

"...Ah. I guess I was one of the lucky ones."

New clothes aren't something to sneeze at, here, Tony doesn't think anything of the gift, especially when it's all comfortingly familiar. Jeans, long sleeved Band T-shirt, converse, belt. He felt more himself than he had in the three piece suit he'd found not that long ago. Comfortable in his skin, curious of the invitation and, well. Festivities? Can't hurt to check those out now, can it?

The cornfield gets a cursory once over because he's pretty sure that wasn't there the day before and generally corn doesn't grow overnight. Generally. He's trying to take this place in stride.

Free food is plentiful and for once? His mood is fairly high. Most of his projects have been knocked out, most of the bigger plans are well into the design stage and people seem to be bracing for winter. It's enough to take a weight off his shoulders, leave him lighter, brighter even as the sun goes down.

It makes the change all the more startling, he supposes, when one moment he's comfortable, drinking some kind of mulled cider before he's sucked into a catsuit- something like the old flightsuits, popped up on stilts and his hands have claws. What. The. Fuck.

Harvest Feast
Parties are not Alex's natural habitat, and it shows.

For one thing, when he first gets to the cornfield and the harvest feast, it's the corn he goes to first, muttering to himself about what could have caused it to grow this fast.

The food gets his attention next, though he doesn't actually touch any of it, let alone eat it. The first chance he gets to approach someone who has been eating, he skips the small talk and goes right to: "are you feeling any different right now compared to before you ate?"

His grandmother gave him very specific instructions about giant feasts that pop up in the middle of overnight-grown plantlife. Those instructions were run, but that doesn't really seem like it's going to do anything for anyone here. So he goes to his fallback: observe everything.

Masquerade

As the light fades, Alex finds himself rubbing at his eyes. There's a spike of panic for a moment as his vision fades- it's way too similar to the incident with the cockatrice, albeit not quite as painful as his eyes beginning to petrify. He holds his glasses by one arm and rubs at his eyes with the other until his sight comes back.

Seeing the others around him (once he puts the glasses back on), his eyes widen, and he immediately looks down- finding that he's still in the bland, business-casual clothing he'd found at the foot of his bed is both a bit of a relief and a little bit like being left out of an in-joke.

Still, he isn't having to learn to walk in heels in a cornfield, so for that he's thankful. That is one thing his family training hasn't prepared him for (thank God).

Bull loves the idea of more food and he dresses quickly in the clothes provided. Another pair of his favourite cut of the warm wool pants, a nice pair of boots and even some of the rope harness that Qunari seem to favour. This pair of pants is cut a little better and sits a little nicer on him than his last pair and he is happy to give that one a break. He checks on his beer before he leaves, there is no way it is ready to bring just yet and that is a pity, but hopefully, someone else brought stuff.

Once it gets dark and his costume is changed to what can best be described as a giant bedsheet he swears. He had already started to like those pants. Hanging from his belt is a stuffed toy, a three-headed dog. He picks it up and stares at it.

"What the hell is this?"

Feast:

Investigation had yielded some knowledge: he'd found a home that was unoccupied, had aired it, and had begun sleeping there despite not knowing what to think of what was inside said home. Finding a bundle at the foot of his bed, then, had been startling at the least, especially with no evidence of passage - but the clothing inside..!

He had felt palpably relieved to pull on the knee-length dishdasha, its sleeves coming to his wrists. He'd have to slit the sides for the sake of movement, but that could come later. The boots felt snug and comfortable on his feet, and the grey pants beneath had a suitable weight, unlike the oddly-coloured ones he'd arrived in. But most welcome had been the ghutrah and iqal. At last, he could cover his head with something more suitable than the odd hat that had been in his bag.

Feeling more like himself than he had in far too long, Altaïr had decided to attend this harvest feast to see what others would do, and to see what the food would be like. Before he left his little chosen home, though, he took the bow that the whole thing had been tied in and carried it with him. Perhaps he'd find a way to arrange it as a proper sash around his waist.

Masquerade:

The moment of blurriness caught him by surprise, enough that he reflexively tried to look around -- but by then, it was over, and he was fine, though things around him had... changed.

As he looked down at himself, he saw that even he had changed. The clothing that was simple and suitable before had become... "Ornate" was too light a word. There were layers - layers atop layers, and collars that stood out broadly. There was a weight across one shoulder and a length of cloth draping over his entire left arm. He could feel a hood over his head - and at least that felt appropriate, but the heavy belt around his waist had him looking down in confusion to see--

The sigil?!

The curse Altaïr gave was far from the almost-proper 'Al'ama' he'd been heard muttering a few times so far. This outfit was anything but subtle. It all but proclaimed in a public square that he was an Assassin. Now he just had to hope there were no Templars in attendance. And perhaps curse the name of whatever Assassin thought this was appropriate.

It would have been easy to stay away, try to watch things from a distance, but while she wasn't completely sold on all these people she didn't know - not completely sold on being human either - it would be a good opportunity to observe, and in this case she could learn more if she were there.

The new clothes provided were appreciated over her navy scrubs. Clothes in general were a new concept, but otherwise it was cold. So, she'll arrive in the new outfit; boot-cut jeans, long-sleeved flannel shirt with white and navy stripes.

Harvest

7 hangs out on the edge of the festivities, looking over the food but not eating yet, although her stomach hurts and eventually she'll need to partake, but for now ... For now she just watches.

Perhaps you can get her to eat or drink something? Or try to share in the merriment? Perhaps you stare back.

Masquarade

At some point later in the night, she finds herself blinking, as if she'd gotten something in her optic - no, eyes - she rubs her palm against her eyes, one then the other, and looks out over the festivities once more. She finds them changed, with bright and colorful decor the likes of which seen.

7 notices, the moment after, that she herself is changed as well; the jeans and shirt are replaced with a long and flowing white gown, with long bell sleeves and a simple cord cinched at the waist. She's startled byt he change, by the way it happened without any notice at the time, and she's immediately on edge again. It may take her a little extra coaxing to loosen up and join in with the fun. Are other people having fun?

Edited 2018-11-01 03:19 (UTC)

Today is, I think, the most perfect day for a weirdo magical soiree. You may be saying, of course it is, Liv, it's Halloween, but no. That's not what I mean— Okay, it is, but it isn't—

I have had, um. Five shots? I don't remember.

But the point, the POINT, is that I can. I can do shots. And that's what I need to do today, and thank you to our weirdo magical overlords for providing for us lowly peons down below. Amen.

Coulda done without the outfit switcheroo, though. In my opinion, it's a little on the nose, if you know what I mean. Because I'm a zombie, and I was in a sweater and now I'm reaping souls. Figuratively. The souls reaping part. Not the zombie part. I'm always a zombie.

Get it?

Ravi was a zombie, too, but he's gone. Just me and Major kickin' it zombie style, awwwww yeah. HOLLA.

"Hey," I say now, to whoever is happening by. "I kill people. Me. I do." I lift my glass of vodka in salute.

Edited 2018-11-01 06:05 (UTC)

Hawke is a curious person so it takes literally nothing more than a what's that? moment to get her to go anywhere. There's food. So much food. This is the happiest she's been since she got there. She piled up a plate for herself and munched happily, looking around at the strange little event going on. They had festivals and the like where she's from, but it's not exactly what she's used to. This doesn't seem so bad. So much for that 'things are worse than they seem!' talk. She hums and wanders about.

This does not prepare her for when she started to feel colder for some reason, and she's had magic used on her before, but when she looks down, she's in something she would never be caught wearing. Hawke never showed this much skin. Her mother convinced her to go to a ball once or twice, and it was awkward beyond belief. Hawke is used to wearing armor or regular clothes. This white atrocity was hugging every curve of her body and stopped pretty high on her leg, but what really bothered her was its evident implication. The legs and bracers were indications of what should have been armor, but it's this fuzzy weak material instead.

She's appalled, still chewing, but it's aggressive chewing now. "What the fuck is this? This isn't armor! It barely covers me!"

There is a difference between being resigned and being realistic. The balance can be tricky, even when you've got experience stepping between the two. God knows Karen's had plenty enough with both, but funnily enough, it took going back home, at least mentally, for her to find a better distinction when it comes to this place.

She's at this party, even though they still creep her out a little and probably always will, and even though when the sun dipped past the horizon, the change of her outfit from lazy to lux was more than a little unsettling. Missing out on the food, the drink, the brief break from hardship, has begun to seem more pointlessly stubborn than even she can justify. On the bright side, at least she isn't dressed as broccoli.

She is, however, suddenly in heels in the middle of a corn field. Taking them off means the freezing of her feet, snuggly wool socks having switched to flimsy silk stockings, and leaving them on means walking on her toes all night to keep from sinking into the dirt. She considered breaking off the heels but couldn't bring herself to mangle anything so clearly expensive, even if they serve absolutely zero purpose in a place like this. Besides, it's easy enough to pop back home and, just now, reemerge through the corn stalks, massive skirt held up in both hands, hiking boots tromping solidly beneath.

The warmer clothes Natasha had found at the foot of her bed had been welcome, as the nights get colder and colder. It's not freezing just yet, but it will be soon, if the current weather is any indication, and she's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or a gift alien. Whatever. Along those lines, she also doesn't see any harm in following those instructions on the note, either, at least no more than usual, and she's never been able to resist surprises, which is why she turns up in the corn field later on, wearing her new duds along with the black leather jacket she'd liberated from the supplies.

It's nice, seeing everyone out here like this; interesting, to people watch, and Natasha takes every opportunity to meet new people as well as watch them interact with each other, building the web of connections in her head word by word. But of course, a magic cornfield can't just be that, and as the light fades from the sky, somewhere in a dreamy state of thought, Natasha opens her eyes to find the dark jeans and silk top gone, replaced by something fortunately just as warm and comfy. Checking out the pouches and flipping the metal hilt of the lightsaber over in her hands, Natasha shrugs and offers a friendly nod to the person nearest her. "Guess I should be grateful I'm not half-naked like some of our friends out there." It's true. They've gotta be freezing. Thigh high socks do nothing against 40-degree weather.

[Tommy doesn't waste too much time contemplating the nature of the sudden corn field-shaped addition to the village. Weird shit happens sometimes, and it's still a bit disorienting to be forced into moving so slowly all the time.

And he is absolutely not turning his nose up at new clothes. Real clothes, not those hideous scrubs - a green-and-white striped sweater, jeans, and bright orange running shoes. The idea that the clothes may be a trap doesn't even occur to Tommy - he's so used to being able to outrun basically any problem he might encounter. No, all Tommy notices is a great party, one he is all too happy to mingle around - until the scene shifts, and he finds himself dressed in a very puffy, very sparkly, very pink dress, complete with tall crown and star-topped scepter.

Tommy looks the opposite of happy - he's horrified.]

What the hell is this?! Get it off me!!

Druitt is, by and large, not exactly the most inclined to go to parties. He's hardly about to complain about receiving of clothes, mind, but that alone is hardly enough to have him tearing off at the first mention of a party. The mention of a corn field on the other hand... that has him pausing for a moment. Largely because he's pretty sure there hadn't been one, earlier.

On the other hand, the fact that he lives at the Inn makes it easy to check, and when it turns out that there is a corn field sitting pretty next to the Inn he does the mental equivalent of a shrug and makes his way through to the center of the field. For the most part, he tends to stick to the sidelines, but he offers polite nods to anyone who comes near and is willing enough to engage in conversation besides.

When the transformation hits, on the other hand, that's when all hell begins to break loose. While Druitt is aware that his clothes have changed, when he makes as if to see what his outfit has become his attention is snared by a very familiar flash of blond from out of the corner of his air. Without even thinking about it, he turns, only for it to appear again in the corner of his eye.

It's then that he realizes that what he's seeing his hair. His hair, styled as it had been nearly a century ago, although in a color that is very distinctly not the one his hair had been, when last he'd had it. And between that and the outfit he's wearing, it's not hard at all to guess who he's meant to be.

"Wonderful."

By the tone of his voice, he's distinctly displeased by this turn of events, and the fact there's likely not much that can be done about it.

harvest feast

Finnick and Annie are used to the feasts now. Used to the fact that (most of the time) they're not the same traps that they would be in the Games. And today, the invitation came with new clothes, clothes in colors and styles that they like, that suit them instead of the stark white and bright red that the Gamemakers have associated with them.

As the two of them make their way down to the village, they're both wearing their new clothes. Finnick's got comfortable boots, light colored pants, a button-down shirt, and a blue scarf looped once around his neck with the ends dangling over his shoulders. It's a good look on him, and he knows it, and it shows in his smile and his confidence as he wanders over to one of the tables and liberates a garland of fall leaves that he wraps around his head like a crown.

"There. Ready for a Harvest Festival now."

He's a victor; there's a darkness in the joke that only Annie would get, but joke aside, he likes the ornament. It's a little ridiculous and a little over the top, but it amuses him, so he keeps it on as he helps himself to cider.

masquerade

There's little surprise that there's a twist. While the Gamemakers here only rarely use the feasts as a way to lure people together, they've often had some sort of trick in play, and it usually goes like this: do what we tell you and you'll be rewarded. To someone from Panem, it's a familiar bargain. If anything, it's a change to be offered a reward for doing something instead of punishment for refusing.

He still hasn't stopped expecting punishment.

They hadn't been asked for much today, simply to go to the party. When Finnick's vision blurs, he wonders briefly if this is the doing of the Gamemakers ... and quickly finds that it is, because in the waning light, he looks around to see that almost everything has changed. The cornucopias (which he still hates) and baskets, wheat-sheaves and leaves have been replaced by elegant vases and tall, colorful roses, the cups with wine glasses, the table settings with sleek silver and black opulence.

"What?" he murmurs, and it's only then that he realizes that he, too, has changed.

The outfits of people all around have changed, and many of them look like they're supposed to be dressed as something, some sort of costume. But Finnick can't tell what his clothes represent, and he can't tell what some of the others are, either.

"About how many of these outfits make sense to you?" he asks, holding up his black and white striped arm.

[ Harvest Feast ]
Though Ty had his misgivings about putting on clothes that had seemingly appeared next to his bed without ever having waking him up, he wasn't going to complain about getting warmer clothing. Even if the sweater was a bit much, he shrugged it on under his peacoat, more than happy to find food in the cornfield.

A bit aptly, he was shoving a good amount of baked goods onto a plate, since it seemed like no one else was being shy about eating the food.

"Hey, do you mind passing me some of those?" Ty asked, gesturing over to thick slices of what he hoped were apple cakes.

[ Masquerade ]
It had taken him a few seconds after his vision had cleared, that he was wearing the outfit from the Thriller music video, though after a quick survey of the crowd, he thought he had gotten one of the better costumes. At the sound of someone approaching, he held up a hand.

"Before you ask, no I can't do the dance but I'm more than willing to sing the song if you are willing to supply the drinks."

[ Choose Your Own Adventure! ]

Costume Part 1 When his vision cleared, Jake found himself dressed as a a hunter, though he's not sure that's what he would choose to wear if he had to hunt anything but maybe Disney animals.

He's not letting it slow him down, even if he's worried he's never getting his neon pink Petunias hoodie back again, and he's trying to enjoy himself. A few drinks. Definitely a lot of food. Seeking out those he knows, mostly to see how they ended up dressed.

Of course, he has a bad habit of turning to quick, hitting people with his bow or cape. "Oops. Whoa. Sorry. Not used to... space issues with my clothes." Not that he thinks to put the bow down.

Costume Part 2

Later on in the party, if people see Jake there's a good chance he is not as they remember. He's definitely gone from the hunter to the hunted, not sure he's as comfortable without the cape and all to remove the stark lines of what is a clingy bodysuit. A soft and comfy bodysuit, but one nonetheless.

He's had a bit more to drink, and he's kind of dopey and in a pretty good mood, and has gotten to that point of drunk of complimenting everyone.

"That is the cutest thing. Awwwww. So awesome. You look perfect."

He may or may not be right.

Phryne is no stranger to masquerade balls. True, she hasn't had a whole lot of time or occasion to attend one of late, much less the chance to enjoy a party that doesn't end up being derailed by a murder at some point, but the idea is one that she's perfectly alright. Having her clothes change as if by magic... that is a little harder to wrap her mind around.

Although the fact that it seems to have happened to very nearly everyone does help a little. As does the fact that her own outfit (and the crown that has come with it) seems to be one of the less unfortunate ones. Even if she can't entirely say it's the most accurate of choices.

Still, she wears it with the same confidence she would anything else as she makes the rounds, often with a drink in hand, although she's careful to not get too drunk just yet. And wherever she happens to go, there's a nod and polite smile for the people she passes, and perhaps a bit of conversation besides, should whoever she's happened to pass by feel up for it.

BEFORE MIDNIGHT

Wanda had been in the village long enough to know that their captors were both cruel and benevolent. It was infuriating and more often than not, it made her frustration at the situation grow. She read the note and after getting an unhealthy torrent of emotions under control, she slipped into the new outfit and headed towards the inn. Wanda wasn't usually this tense but Clint's disappearance was weighing on her and it wasn't really getting much better. The best she could do was not think about it.

She arrived in a dark green sweat dress and a pair of matching long socks. Her boots were dark brown and her long hair was tied up into a lose ponytail that made it hang at the center of her back. Her expression was passive as she walked through the cute little set up, grabbing herself something to eat and drink before retreating to the edge of the party.

Wanda wasn't really in a party mood but it made her happy to see people enjoying themselves.

AFTER MIDNIGHT

It wasn't all that surprising that there was a change but Wanda found it unsettling as she suddenly ended up in a long black dress with a witches hat on her head. She ran two fingers experimentally around the brim of the hat before deciding that it could be worse... like some of the others she's seen at the masque.

Her mouth curved into a smile and she laughed, even though she didn't really want to. It felt like she should be sad but this was really nice. It was stupid and silly and distracting and Wanda couldn't help but appreciate the levity.

Some of the costumes were very ridiculous.

She knew hers. The Wicked Witch of the West, Clint's kids had made her watch the movie after she'd claimed to never have seen it. She didn't really mind being the bad guy though she thought the costume was an interesting choice.

After finally loosening up some, Wanda joined the party and grabbed herself something more to drink. She looked over at the nearest person and smiled though the gesture didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Nice costume." Alternatively, she might comment on the lack of costume.

Edited 2018-11-05 18:03 (UTC)

Margaery Tyrell | Saints and Sinners (Gray Scrubs) | OTA

Wynonna Earp | Harvest and/or Masquerade | OTA (Red Scrubs)

Cougar Alvarez | OTA | Navy

Vasquez | OTA | Red

Killian Jones | Saints & Sinners (black scrubs) | ota

beverly crusher | feast/masquerade | ota | team white