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 Posted: Thu Sep 07, 2006 10:00 pm
Students are not required to attend, but it's a generally good idea to do so. This is a formal event. Men and women must wear costumes (any student who does not have one can find one in from the maids. Yes, it's used, but beggars can't be choosers). Sources of fancy-dress costumes can be found here. Got it? Good. Mingle!
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Posted: Mon Sep 18, 2006 7:56 am
The headmistress pushed open the doors, the pale blue light of the gas lamps lighting the large room in dim fashion. Inside, the theme of a Midsummer's Night Dream was starting to come to life, she of course, dressed as the very night that one of Shakespeare's finest plays took place in.
A small orchestra had assembled, and had started to tune up in a corner of the large, castle-like room.
And the headmistress kept watch by the door, waiting for the students to appear.
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Posted: Fri Sep 29, 2006 1:56 pm
La lune trop bleme pose un diademe sur tes cheveux roux
La lune trop rousse de gloire eclabousse ton jupon plein d'trous
La lune trop pale caresse l'opale de tes yeux blases
Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur brise.
Romantic, beautific, fantastic -- all of this could describe the waltz which had led Beau to the actual dance. The waltz in which he had swirled lazily through the halls, humming to himself, lyrics to a song he had learned as a child. Twirl, swirl, pause and then again - the other way, slow and sweet. Perfect. Arms extended, encircling the slender waist of his mystery partner whom only he could see. Slow, and a dip, supporting the lower back of this incredible dancer, this humble flesh and bone who moved so well it couldn't be real. Hence it wasn't.
The stairways up to la butte
Can make the wreched sigh
While windmill wings of the moulin
shelter you and I
His eyes were closed, lashes meeting in the dearest of kisses, too enchanted by themselves to part as he cascaded down the hall, footsteps light as air, not noticing whom he passed, not noticing what eyes had lit upon him. Tap two three, slow and swirl. He could see exactly what they looked like, the full passion of their lips, the way their eyes sparkled in the moonlight he saw, he created, soft and magical. This was the stuff of fairy tales, and it made his heart flutter.
Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux
Petite mandigotte je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main
Je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine
J'oublie mon chagrin
Je sens sur tes levres une odeur de fievre de gosse mal nourri
Et sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse qui m'aneantit
His own lips pursed, pressing against those of his cherub, whose soft arms held a pallor which women only dreamed of having. No make-up on that perfect skin to make it show, just a pale essence that was borderline translucent. Skin that made his heart flutter - too bad he could never truly kiss it, for then he would have to deal with it's fluidity and the void it left in his reality. Stupid reality - always ruining things.
Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux
Et voila qu'elle trotte la lune qui flotte, la princesse aussi
La da da da da da da da da da
Mes reves epanouis
Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux
Reality, always sneaking right up on him to inform him that he was only dreaming. Dreaming. Fantasizing. Wishing. Hoping. Praying.
Colliding head on with the closed door of the dance hall. Beau felt his body slowly floating towards the ground, and in his mind, he was only half-way down before he collided with the floor, his eyes opening, lips parting in a sharp cry of surprise and he wondered if there would be a bruise. Oh bother. Wincing, he sat up, a hand moving to the back of his head. There would most certainly be a nasty bump. Maybe a concussion? Oh bother oh bother. Where was the ice? Was there such a thing anywhere close by? He attempted to stand, but felt mildly woosy, and sat back down.
"Uhm...hello?" he said softly, miserably, pathetically, "Man down?"
[Lyrics - "Complainte de la Butte" by Rufus Wainwright]
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Posted: Sun Oct 01, 2006 12:20 pm
((*snerk* Oh, Mercy. What will we do with you?))
Hearing the commotion outside the hall where the dance was taking place, the Headmistress popped her head out of the door, a look of confusion arranging itself upon her features.
"Are you all right?" There a man lay on the floor, appearing very much like the new librarian the Board of Regents had sent. Upon closer inspection, she found that it was indeed him. And he lay on the floor, the room probably spinning for him. Digging into her reticule, the headmistress pulled out smelling salts, waving them under his nostrils.
Would it do the trick?
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Posted: Sun Oct 08, 2006 9:11 am
Dress whispering Kat hurried to the ballroom, where she heard the dance was being held. Holding the polished oak handle, she cracked open the door, and pressed her eye to the sliver of light. It seemed that many had not arrived at the ball still, and she felt vunerable walking into the room withought a throng of people to cover her. She had never really been to a formal dance event before and the lack of festivities rather dissapointed her. Ah well, more would be coming soon. Heaving hard at the resisting door, she walked into the ballroom.
Kat wore a painted green and rose mask, her gown was emerald green stripes alternating with a canvas tan, while her sash was a dusty rose color. Lavendar ribbons laced up the back of her dress where gossamer translucent looking wings fell from the back of the gown. Tonight she was masquerading as one of the court's faeries and she intended to have a good time. She would not let certain disagreeable roomate get in the way.
Right away Kat spotted the tall angular figure of the headmistress. But what was she doing? She seemed to bending over a moaning lump of...human? An accident on the dance floor already. Her shoes clicking on the polished wood floor she moved closer to investigate and maybe make out the person who was lying prostrate on the floor in the guise of getting punch from the food table.
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Posted: Sat Oct 14, 2006 7:56 pm
"It burns! It burns!" he squealed as he clapped his hand over his delicate nostrils. What an offensive sensation! My God! That woman should be...oh ... something something something. That was exactly what she should be. What was that anyway? His hand began to move back and forth, fanning him in a fashion reminiscent of old spinsters who had just gotten a nasty case of the vapors.
His eyes were watering, and he sniffed a bit, blinking rapidly in order to subdue the tears. He prayed that they wouldn't spill down his cheeks, because then he would look just ridiculous. But spill they did, and one couldn't help but think of a crying child upon looking at him.
"I'm all right. Really, I am. I just didn't happen to notice that there was...uhm...well...I think I walked into an inanimate object...don't worry, I have a habit of doing those sort of things. I do. I have many awful habits, but I'm sure you're not interested in any of them. Besides, I'd hate to make a bad first impression, but I'm sure I already have, what with me crying here like a little sissy la la and all. I'm not a mama's boy, rest assured. Well, maybe I am. I never really bothered to give it a thought. And then again, wouldn't I have to know the true definition of what a mother's boy is before I could classify myself as one? And would I even want it to be known if I was one. Wouldn't I just rather classify myself there and have nobody know at all? I mean it really isn't something that one would want to spread about like a wildfire, is it? But then again, one man's insult is another man's compliment. Am I right? Well, no. Maybe I'm not. It's probably best not to answer that at all and just pretend I never said it. Maybe we're better off if we think I didn't say one word at all. Could we just ignore me for a bit until I get myself together? Sometimes I wish I could ignore me for the first few minutes of every morning before I've put myself together because I just look simply atrocious. Really. I look ridiculous. You wouldn't even recognize me as the put together young man you see before you. You'd think I was some awful villainous beastie. You would say to yourself, 'That can't be good Mister Beau Baudelaire! It must be some scandalous vagabond cluttering up my nice clean University. Out Damn Spot! Out I say!' and then you'd kick me right out of the University yourself with your smashing new shoes. My gosh! Those shoes are simply splendid. Good taste. Good taste m'dear. Did you know I'm Beau Baudelaire, or was that information new to you when I just told you moments ago. Well. In case it was new, I am indeed Beau Baudelaire, and I am your humble librarian here to lead you and whoever else wants on many literary journeys for those who are not faint of heart or mind. And who might you be if you don't mind me asking? The school nurse? If you are, I suggest you never use those smelly things again. They really give one quite the headache."
His voice stopped, and his eyes became rather large and round, peering up into her face as if her silence were most uncalled for and perhaps even rude despite the fact that he had only just stopped speaking himself.
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Posted: Sun Oct 15, 2006 10:36 am
Removing the smelling salts, the quite confused face on the headmistress' face said it all.
"Mister Baudelaire, if you cannot act in a suitable manner for the ball, may I suggest that you leave at once, under my authourity. And in case you question it, I am the headmistress of this educational establishment. Additionally, I will need to speak to you tomorrow morning. In my office. You may not be as familiar with me, but I assure you, I demand respect."
The headmistress stood, her arms crossed, her chin tucked in, and it was obvious that she wasn't very happy. One might even confuse her for a sullen child at a party, not the thirty-five year old woman that stood before them that evening.
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Posted: Sun Oct 15, 2006 1:17 pm
Kat couldn't help laughing descreetly at the performance, and of course the animated talking of the librarian to be. What an absolutely, well for lack of a better word, amusing, start to the ball. Taking a deep breath to compose herself-in case another fit of giggles were to overcome her- Kat walked to where the headmistress and the librarian stood. Or sat, in the case of the librarian.
"Hello Miss." She said in the direction of the headmistress, and curtsied slightly. "Hello Mister Baudelaire." She again curtsied. She felt her cheek twitching slightly in the need to smile (or laugh for god's sake) at the crumpled, wide-eyed teacher on the floor. "Mister Baudelaire. Would you like to get off the floor. You look quite...distressed. There is and armchair in the corner that you could rest in to compose yourself." She extended a hand to the form on the floor in the case that he might need help up, in his...state. She could feel her cheek twitching again and she barely swallowed back a fit of giggles.
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Posted: Mon Oct 16, 2006 11:02 am
Beau Baudelaire went wide-eyed with disbelief. Had he said something wrong?
"Did I say something wrong?"
He wanted to make sure, so he figured the best way to do so would be by asking. He could run over the thoughts in his head, rethink the conversation as much as he liked, but of course he didn't think he had said anything wrong at all, much of less something that required a visit to an office when he would rather be reading a book, sleeping, or...whatever else it was that teenage girls found so fascinating. He'd always wanted to look into that, having never been a teenage girl himself, and what better time to start than tomorrow morning?
He could begin by sleeping in late, like most teenagers do, and then he could follow it up with a bit of preening in front of the mirror. It was always best to start a new route with a bit of familiar territory? Right? Well, perhaps. But oh well. His hands flipped a bit against the floor, like fish out of water, gasping for breath in a land of air.
"Oh come now, " he chided, "Don't you dare pout at me young lady. This is a ball, where one is supposed to roll with the punch. And I do believe there is some punch right on over there you know. Really, I think strict and overbearing doesn't suit you at all -- I know deep down you're a smiler. I bet you're even ticklish. Not that I'm about to tickle you. I'm really not in the mood to tickle anyone at the moment. Has that ever happened to you? Not being in the mood to do something but having to do it anyway? Well, I'll tell you right now, I am about to do something about it. I am going to put my foot down at this very moment and let you know that I will not tickle you! I refuse to! You could beg and plead with me to tickle you, and I will not lay a finger on you! You hear me! No tickling of you Miss Frownyface!"
His head turned at the hand hovering near his cheekbones, and he took it, coming slowly to his feet. "A hand, for me? How sweet of you. I already have two of my own, but really, one can never turn down a third - especially when it's meant to be helping. Right? Of course. Now how might you be dear?"
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Posted: Mon Oct 16, 2006 8:28 pm
Grinding her teeth, her eyes narrowing, and her voice lowering half an octave. "Mr Baudelaire, do not start with me. Furthermore, do not patronise me. Please behave yourself and please remove yourself from the doorway."
The pout disappeared, but the disapproving look didn't.
"Oh, and Mr Baudelaire? You will call me by my name. And in case you didn't notice, my name is Miss Lindalle. Do you understand?"
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Posted: Wed Oct 18, 2006 3:28 pm
Larisha wasn't the one to dress up for balls. But here she was, strutting down the halls- which is all she could do in those wretched formal shoes- making a fool of herself in a gown. She fought down the urge to scratch her back where a loose thread kept sliding down the dress. Honestly, who came up with the idea of skirts and corsets and all that foolishness?
It was probably her sister. Tara was the perpetrator behind the attempt at transforming Larisha into a lady, and snuck the darned dress cleverly under her heavy literary articles. Ironically, one such book was A Midsummer Night's Dream, a tale which always made her smile in a confused state of cheerfulness. Because it was one of her favorite stories, she decided to give it proper respect by coming to a ball based on it. And heck, if she was going to dress up, why not be the star of the show?
Tara, the fashion expert, picked an auburn skirt sewn to a brunneous blouse. The skirt had no design- except for the fact that it closed over her feet and literally swept the floor- while the shirt was inlaid with leaf and stem patterns. The blouse had flared sleeves reaching 3/4 to her wrists, covering another blouse which was white, also flared, and draped across her palms. Even though her back had a plain ribbon tying it together, Tara had given her a dark orange cape to cover it with. So, being an obediant sister, Larisha tied it at her collar and pulled it around her. Overall, the whole thing was kinda hot, but once she was back in her room she would be ready to take it all of and jump in the shower.
For now, though, she was Hermia, striding down the halls as if she were in a forest, looking out the windows in an effort to find the way out. It didn't take long until she made it to the door- straining to hold it open because her shoes hindered her balance- and bumped into a dark blue-ish figure. She was pushed back from the force, but quickly recovered and looked up to see a disgruntled woman.
"Oh... err... sorry... ma'am?" she muttered, a bit confused on etiquitte since she had never exersized it at home.
This would be a long night.
[D, please tell me if this needs editing.]
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Posted: Fri Oct 20, 2006 8:39 pm
((It's fine, Tor.))
Softening just a little, Miss Lindalle moved out of the way.
"Welcome, Hermia or Helena? Or how about your real name, Miss...?""
It would be prudent to see how the student reacted.
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Posted: Tue Oct 31, 2006 3:00 pm
Phew. Larisha almost reached up to wipe her forehead, but, realizing her costume was too constricting, let her arm fall limply by her side as she let out an uncomfortable cough. Who was Hermia, anyway-- oh, right. This was about the book. She looked down at her dress, chuckled, then snapped her head up. This, in turn, caused the braid lining her back to whiplash, stunning her for a couple of seconds.
Without any more discomforting hesitation she blurted, "I'm Larisha." Externally she was smiling like mad, while her inner voice was mauling her. She must've looked so dumb at that moment... but wait! Larisha wasn't the kind of girl to care about what adults thought of her! She calmly lifted her hands to her hips- with a bit of effort, considering the costume- and angled her head to the side. "My sister made this costume... I'm supposed to be Hermia. You've read the book?"
Duh. Seconds later she realized the headmistress had to've known the book for the theme of the ball to be based on it, but she dismissed the thought and awaited a response.
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Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2006 10:27 am
"I think you mean play, Larisha." For once, the Headmistress was gentle, correcting the youth in her errancy. "You look a bit uncomfortable. If you feel the need to go back to your room to change into something less so, you may. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll return to my post."
A smile formed on Merryn's lips, and she glided back to the door, preparing to meet the students who had started to arrive.
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Posted: Mon Nov 06, 2006 6:29 pm
Book. Play. Whatever. Couldn't this lady just make some obvious assumptions and stop pestering children? Sheesh. Larisha, though very uncomfortable, refused to leave the room. Hey, what's the point in being a teenager if you're not going to be stubborn? Instead, she winked in Kat's direction, then left her to wonder what that meant.
Larisha hurried to get herself in a chair, pushing past twirling couples- almost knocking over a pair, who gave her a glare she wouldn't meet- and sighed as she finally got to a near-empty table with only a boy reading at the opposite end. As she finally sat herself down she realized- with slight dismay- that he was reading the play. Larisha guessed he had no idea what was going on around him.
'If it's written down, it's a book! Lord, that lady...' she thought, slightly reprimanding herself after realizing she sounded arrogant. But wasn't there a quote she heard somewhere, 'Arrogance is Bliss'?
Or something like that.
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