[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

[sixthiteration]

WHERE: Corn field next to the inn
WHEN: 31 October, all day and night
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Please warn as appropriate in your subject lines
NOTES: Please make sure you have read and understand the event details! If you have questions, drop them here. RECOMMENDED BUT NOT REQUIRED: Put your SCRUBS COLOR in your OTA subject line for folks doing bingo. Time your OTA for the harvest feast, the masquerade, or both. Costume matches and details for folks who did not get matched are here.

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This morning, our intrepid villagers awoke to a surprise of the nicer kind: A bundle of clothing left at the foot of their bed, tied with a bow. There is also a note: Put on your new outfit and join the festivities in the corn field next to the inn.

You may be thinking, what corn field next to the inn? The one that sprung up fully-mature overnight, of course.

In the middle of the field, villagers will find an autumn feast: Tables piled with harvest time food and drink, warm and rustic decorations, the day's sunshine fending off any chill in the air.

Tuck in and enjoy, villagers, but take note: Things often look different in the dark, and you might be one of them.

Comments

[cryptoherpetology]

Alex has just enough social tact not to laugh- mostly because the sudden change in wardrobe and what looks like a safety hazard for the other man seems much more pressing than any comedy that a mermaid costume, shell bra and all, might present.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Taking a simple knife from the tool shed had been one of the first things he'd done upon getting here. It was clearly designed more as a tool than a weapon, but it would make do for either.

Right now, it just needs to slice some fabric- neoprene, by the looks of it, and he's sharpened it enough he has no doubts about its ability to do so. He flips it around in his hand with practiced ease, offering the hilt to Cael as he holds it by the tip of the blade.

"I'm not sure if I should be relieved or insulted that no one saw fit to re-dress me."

[cannily]

"Really, my plight doesn't ease the decision," he asks, gratefully taking up the knife. His usual seems to be gone with the tunic--everything practical replaced with the decorative, the thematic. Perhaps he's meant to defend himself with the pearl-laden pins tucking up all of his hair.

Which is really more exposure than he'd like, of the old burn scars on his shoulders. A peek from his collar is one thing, and he at least makes the choice of exposure at the hot springs--before he quite starts on the tail, he plucks at the braid and pin of his hair, shaking it out over his back. It might cut the cold, some.

"Thank you," he adds preemptively, taking up the blade and then taking up the man's hand, steadying himself as he finds his feet in the fins and starts to slice them free. "If this mess rips out all of my leg hair, please don't judge any small screams too harshly."

[cryptoherpetology]

"It's fine. My fiancee told me having her legs waxed as a 'form of torture'," he says, imitating Shelby's Australian accent when repeating her words.

"And I've seen her wrestle a lindworm to the ground without hestitation. No depilatory judgement here," he promises, raising his hands, empty palms facing forward in placation, fingers splayed.

"Let me know if you- uh, need a hand with anything."

[cannily]

The lindworm's an apt mention, the way he's hacking into slippery smooth scales and shedding a skin. There's little hesitation, even dragging a knife up the shape of his own calf. It's a bit of a diamond, elongated greatly at the top. "Wrestling's what some people called it," he says, something of the story apparently existing between the worlds.

Shedding skins, transformation, they'd been a part of Glasdant's history from its start, and part of Vilksir for all the longer. "I'm sure it's more expedient than playing a game of naked chicken with a serpent."

Finished with the outline, he hands back the knife, and can't quite get the best angle on the piece. "Give that a tug then, if you're familiar with the concept," he adds, indicating the pointed bit of material.

[cryptoherpetology]

"No, she really did. It's eyes had been partially petrified and it-" he starts to try to explain, stops, and decides not to bother. If he starts talking too much about Shelby, he'll just be reminded of how much he misses her, so he reaches for the fabric and starts to pull, helping Cael out of fishtail.

"I'm Alex, by the way. And I can't say I was expecting to help anyone out of a mermaid tail tonight, but I wasn't expecting any of this."

[cannily]

"Well Alex, I--" Cael cuts off, lips rolling in as the material definitely takes some hair with it. In the lingering burn he exhales, slow and through his teeth.

"I'm Cael, and I didn't much expect to be cutting myself out of anything, thank you."

Testing his bared feet on the soil, it's more cold than full of sharp stones or spurs. It's a bracing chill, more familiar than uncomfortable this early in the night. Cael looks from his feet back to Alex, narrowing in on the tale. "You can hardly start such a story and leave me hanging on petrified eyes," he points out.

[cryptoherpetology]

"Oh. Someone put a cockatrice in my backyard to try and kill me," he explains, far too casually than that sentence should ever be uttered. "Luckily for me, we have a very well stocked first aid kit in the house. Including the proper antivenom, unicorn water and bilberry jam to create the antidote in time."

That had been a very, ah. Complicated night. But at least the cockatrice had been the perfect distraction to keep his family from killing his girlfriend, and vice versa.