The Masquerade Ball Event Closed

Hugh cared little to make an appearance anywhere these days. All his mind had found time to deal with where Ana, quidditch and Ana. Sadly the Gryffindor girl had been absent from the school for several months now and with no word back to him. A slow, growing annoyance had built inside of him. Little care for others in his house or other was now left inside his body. It might have even been seen as a miracle that he showed up for the regular quidditch practice sessions. There was something he admittedly liked about his captain, Kyle DeRook, a directness that kept him focused on the upcoming games and made him willing to learn and improve.

With how much he had grown in the single previous year at this school and the news revealed to him of his personal heritage, he did not feel as if he had information to spare where he still had to dwell on. His young mind trapped in a large body he felt himself forced to move on in an ever turning world. No time to dwindle on the past, especially when you look so much like an adult already. He reached out for his right cheek, his fingers gently rubbing the whiskers covering it. There was no stopping them. One night he had been furiously cutting them away with his wand. Only after a few close calls he had decided it had been hopeless. By now they had grown out thick and unkempt, as if someone had rubbed a balloon on there and caused them to stand almost horizontally stretched.

Now he was making his way towards the ballroom. The reason why completely escaping his thinking, but somehow he felt drawn (three mentions...) to the place. Perhaps he actually did miss some interactions with his fellow students. Maybe there'd be some who understood? Oh and maybe Nico would be there, or Alan. he realized he had little to name as close companions. Of course he knew his teammates, but they had hardly said anything but a word or two outside of a quidditch related meeting. Now by the doors he already found a boy and girl outside. His eyes rolled as he passed by the assumed blossoming of a romance. Was that his captain? It did not really surprise him, DeRook must have become a popular student by taking on the position. A stab to his guts reminded him of his feelings for Ana. With a deep groan he moved on into the room.

He had not reminded himself of the memo to bring a mask. Nor a fancy suit. All he ever wore was his red and battered sweater. Woolen threads sprouting from all sides with reattached and modified sleeves and collar added to it. Looking over the mess that was Hogwarts, he eyed the crowd and cringed towards the music. What had he brought himself into...

The conspiracy and chaos occurring beyond the scope of the pair of pumpkin punks evaded George entirely. Giants, as suspicious as they were, did not interest them - they were too tall, and looked like adults. It made it difficult to relate to them. That, and they were scary.

But the girl he'd come to tell off for ripping off his friend's look was scary, too. The plump orange gourd the girl was standing inside let her head peek out the top, her chapped lips spread into a snarl that mirrored the frayed edge of George's burlap mask. Still, through the hole in the sack, @Mari Haynes could see an impish smile. She may have been fuming, but the boy didn't have a care in the world. Oblivious to the very real danger that had crept into the ball... and to the danger the girl disguised as a pumpkin posed to him. The way she pulled her lips back to show teeth, snarling like a wolf as she pulled her jaw open and reared back to snap at him. It made him laugh.

But then those fangs really hit, and they went clean through his dress shirt like butter. The girl's teeth served her much better than those dry, chapped lips did. His laugh halted suddenly, replaced by a pained yelp. It was over in a second, but the pain lingered in the wound even after he'd pushed the girl off of him, reaching up to press his hand to the bite-mark. It just barely broke flesh, but the stinging was agony, and those sunken impressions of the girl's teeth stayed to mark pits in the muscles of his shoulder. He felt the mark she left and took in a sharp breath of pain and disbelief, staring at her wide-eyed...

...And then he started laughing again.

"What the heck?! Owww!" He groans, rubbing his shoulder. It hurt - it really hurt. But he was no baby _{(unlike the boy pumpkin)} and knew very well that big boys don't cry. And big boys don't ruin all the effort they put into their costume -- outfit -- just a few minutes deep into the party. They just shake it off. His fingers twitched, rolling his shoulder and stretching his arm, feeling just how much of a sting he was carrying. It burned! Burned, burned, burned. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Easy-peasy. "You know - that drink over there is supposed to always be your favorite flavor. Now it's going to taste like me forever!"

His grimace turned into a more genuine smile, despite the feral appearance of the girl in front of him. It was easy to feel better if you acted like you felt better. He'd seen that effect in action many times when compelling @Jake Morris not to tell on him when the roughhousing became too rough for the precious little pumpkin man.

The pain seemed to fade entirely as he spotted that beacon of beefy second-year wading in among the pods of pipsqueaks that were engaging in their own chaos around the ballroom. Who was that absolute lighthouse of a man? Totally unmasked, and on his face - my god. A pair of mutton chops that could beat out every sheep in Scotland. It looked gross. But also so, so cool. He must be a half-giant, like the other George had met before. The sudden strike of admiration hit him like lightning, numbing the pain of his shoulder. Which was bleeding, now. It was easily hidden under a strip of mangled burlap extracted from the neck of the young lad's mask.

"Bloody hell! Get a load of that mammoth," George hissed to Mari. He raised his hand to point at @Hugh Lowe. What at first was an enemy became an ally, when a new adversary entered the fray. An older kid. An older kid with big sideburns. "He hasn't got a mask on -- who is that?"

"Also, I'm George, do you want to dance? Do you think he wants to dance? I need a partner."

Interacting with: @Zahid al-Benghazi ibn Masoud, @Elliot Price & @Hjørdis Jensen

Zahid's note on his earlier musical interests was almost completely overshadowed by the girl who had just approached Caradoc and his colleagues. His head lifting to meet her gaze, his face had a hard time not looking impressed. it was quite clear to Doc that this girl was not any of the students he regularly would have seen here in the castle of Hogwarts. So she must have come with the Ilvermorny bunch, he reasoned rather quickly from the split second she entered the scene.

Between Deathmote's incident and the terrible music, Caradoc had certainly been hoping to himself this night would not get any worse than these events usually happen to be. But here this lassie was to ruin his hopes and dreams for the day. He eyed his colleagues with a groan. "I see..."

He straightened his back and looked back to the trio of female professors back in the room. She was no longer there. Perhaps there was something else going on elsewhere he figured. He shook his head and placed a hand on Zahid's shoulder. "I guess I will see you fine gentlemen later? Unless any of you wishes to accompany me here." Whatever they decided, Caradoc would nod over to the girl and follow her towards the door. On his way he mindlessly rubbed the light stubble that was now shadowing the lines on his face from under the mask. He bumped into a woman by the door, clearly also on her way out. He recognised her hair and stature from before, the mask hid fairly little of her features as well.

"Nora." he smiled. "A pleasure to see-" he eyed the giantess he had been following out and reminded himself of the task at hand. he pointed to where he was heading. "Fighting on the grounds. Apparently our own students are kicking the Americans' arses out in the fields. I better go check it out." he sighed a little under his breath as he nodded towards her and smiled faintly, not even realising he was still wearing the ridiculous mask. As his footsteps echoed through the hall he took notice and removed the cover from his face, shaking his head whilst chuckling. Dressing up was always a ridiculous thing.

Interacting with @Andrew Vance

Heather Ruby is open for interactions.

Interacting as approved dNPC Iris Fields

Iris smiled and was about to say more as Teiki talked again. This amicable conversation pleased her. The room was still too uncomfortably warm. She sighed slightly— though not in a bad way. Then something went utterly wrong.

Iris heard Tieki talk but it seemed drowned out, like someone was talking in a can. She shook her head slightly as to clear her ears out. As she shook it the room began to spin. She leaned against the wall for support. The wall seemed to fall beneath her. Iris struggled to stay upright as everything around her was moving. What was going on?

The room was too hot. The music was too loud. There were too many people. It was all too much. Iris squeezed her eyes shut as she attempted to eliminate the dizziness. Teiki continued to talk and Iris attempted to smile to show she was still listening. She shuddered slightly even though it was all to hot in there. She crossed her arms to steady herself with no avail.

The moving stopped as soon as it started—and Teiki’s voice came back into focus. “I, something is wrong. I...” Iris’ voice failed her as the room began to twirl again. She closed her eyes again but when she opened them the room was shifting back and forth. Her body decided the room was too much. “Get help!” Iris managed those two words before she collapsed.

The room began to darken until there was no light left. The empty abyss welcomed her. Iris’ consciousness drifted away into nothingness.

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Astrea initially had no desire to attend the Masquerade ball, really.

When it was announced, she was, quite frankly, not interested in owling her parents to send over items. Yet somehow the Lady Chou and Lord Neptune had gotten word of the event within a week or so and owled over a package with both of the family owls.

Until the night before during the 'sleepover', the satin-wrapped box had remained on top of her chest unopened, the perfectly tied pale pink ribbon mocking her. When was the last time she wore this outfit again? Ah yes, for an evening dinner with the Uesagi's, accompanied by the Moons and her own family, a few years ago in Japan. Thinking back on it, the most memorable moments of said dinner was befriending the Uesagi heir and the scent of lavender perfume that drifted over the entire dining room.

The Slytherin physically couldn't comprehend the reason why her family would want her to attend the ball. Maybe one part of it was to make new connections, but she would hold an air of false anonymity and interact with those 'tainted' with Sparkless blood. It didn't make sense. Regardless of whatever nonsense used as an excuse, her parents had taken the event as a time to properly show off their successor to the next generation by offering her up in lace and dress, to the next generation excluded from their idea of purity. Yet again she was used as a token, a shiny crown jewel meant to signify how beautiful their family line was. A heretic part of her felt appalled at the thought, but the rest of her obediently raised soul knew it was what was expected. It was what generations and centuries of fellow heirs went through. So she shall swallow those thoughts and take it, regardless of what her rebellious dark thoughts believed.

Even the trek upstairs and down the winding halls of Hogwarts towards the ballroom felt suspisious, phantom feelings of accusing looks given to her by the paintings as if they knew her inner thoughts of insurrection. No matter, it wasn't as if they could call her out physically, being trapped in frames bound to the wall as they were. Coming in with a blaze of flaming glory, little miss princess of an heiress is here to take the spotlight.

As she walked in, her dress swaying with every step and dragging cape swirling around her, the blueblood could feel attentions being drawn, could feel eyes on her. The sense of dread that had taken her during her trip to the ballroom melted away as she shouldered on the visage of the perfect pureblood princess she was raised to become.

She felt like a flickering flame lit upon a candlewick of white lace and calm ataraxia, drawing curious moths clad in masked interest. Her mask appeared relatively plain compared to the perse grey eyes peeking out and sooty eyelashes, their colour matching her thick twist of ebony hair. To add even more contrast, her actual dress and cloak caused the Asian pureblood to appear more an ethereal being, or perhaps a ghostly spirit than the small human she was. The press of her pale stockings and steady gait of her heels felt familiar to her in a way that was akin to slipping on an old glove. She had squirted a tasteful amount of white jasmine perfume upon her as well, knowing for a fact that the heady mixture of other scents would soon ruin the pleasant aura she had created for herself. Since the beginning of the year, she hadn't clothed herself in such garments, which was understandable considering that at Hogwarts there was no real reason to decorate herself the way she had been raised into.

Perhaps there might have been a hint of self-consciousness blooming in another's mindset from the sheer number of gazes she attracted by merely passing by, but she felt no such embarrassment. She was far too used to the setting provided, the ballroom elaborately dressed up in a manner that was befitting of one of the family's frequent hosted formals, with guests from all around the world that were somehow linked to the main Four Bloodlines in some way, business or blood-wise.

Yet a part of her knew that a large part of the stares directed toward her was due to her apparel, which was quite certainly on the higher end of the spectrum that night and merged comfortably with the poshness of the area surrounding. And don't forget the chilling feeling of her general aura that seemed to drape around her just as much as her cape did, the sense of dreadful interest that filled the entire family like a second skin.

There were so many people at the ball, it seemed suffocating. She hadn't even been there for a few minutes and already she felt distaste at the number of people- other children- that were gathered everywhere like ants to honey. There was no want for her to go up to the dancing floor just yet, and sitting down didn't attract her either. So the heiress took herself forward and around others to near the refreshment table, where large amounts of finger foods, small 'everything drink' glasses and hors d'oeuvres sat ready and waiting. Though most of the smaller, fancier foodstuffs were familiar to her, there were still plenty of options to choose from, the variety filling up the entire table.

With a look of blank-faced discomfort, slender fingers retrieved a tall crystal glass of everything-drink, the drink turning pale and fizzy with her handling. Astrea blanked for a second as she stared down at the drink in her hands, a feeling of distaste quickly welling up in her as her subconscious called for sparkling white grape juice, the go-to offered drink for minors in attendance of finer celebrations. Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the ball, the splendour and wonderful effort put into attire that slipped her back into her place as heiress. Or perhaps it was the familiar feeling of fine silk and lace upon her body, the scratch of her cape against milky shoulders.

Either way, it was her own fault that the drink had filled with the bubbling mock-champagne. Astrea grimaced inwardly as she accepted this self-disgrace, turning around to face the crowded floors and chandeliered rooming. Raising the glass of everything-drink to her lips idly, she was suddenly surprised when the expected taste of familiar juice did not crash over her tastebuds and remind her of older times. Instead, the drink had turned icy cold as it was raised up, chilling the pads of her fingers with the moment and delivering a sweet liquidy sikhye that reminded her years of celebrating Chuseok with family ties, of red lanterns of luck and intricate hanbok. What a pleasant surprise. The corners of her lips quirked up as the taste of pine nuts and malted rice starch dissolved on her tongue, a much better substitute of everything drink than sparkling juice.

With the addition of the drink, Astrea held the default pose of the resting self-assured pureblood princess she was, back straight and eyes uninterested as she sipped tastefully. Her cape wrapped loosely around the hem of her dress like a protective hand.