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Nessy

Pendour slipped through the crowd with her usual grace, only held up a little by the new train on her dress. Not wanting to trip anyone, and still a little unsure of what to make of the hints of shades and hauntings at the corner of her vision, she stuck near the walls of the room and focused on the art.

There were many beautiful things, but she found herself itching to know the stories behind them. There were no little plaques here, talking about cultures and artists, like the ones she'd gotten used to in Destiny City and beyond. The closest thing to a hint of origin she could find was a Saturn symbol here or there.

It was then that she saw another girl, one in a butterfly mask, staring intensely at a broken necklace. Pendour had never been the best at reading faces, and all the masks didn't really help, but she could tell that she was focused, could tell that she looked maybe sad.

She took a few steps towards her, nodded towards the necklace, and said softly, "This one's a pretty one."

VALKYRIE

One champagne.

Two champagne.

Three champagne. Four.

Valkyrie wasn't trying to get sloshed, but her heart felt light and free and so did her hand. As soon as she finished one skinny flute of the sparkling drink she picked up another. When she started to feel buzzed she remembered that Zach had kissed her in the Astrarium under the stars and chalked it up to that.

At some point she ended up in the Gallery, craning over the relics on display with more curiosity than interest. She managed not to touch most of them - until the necklace that looked like it was made out of black glass. She stopped, reached out to caress one of the raptor claws with the pad of her index finger. Touch so light it almost wasn't a touch at all.

"This was mine," she murmured to herself, thinking, cheeks flushed with booze under the mask. That didn't make sense. Probably it was just Vulcan-made and it looked like something that had once belonged to me.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vanessa noticed a woman standing nearby, staring at her.

But that didn't make sense either.

The woman was herself.

She blinked and put down her flute of champagne.

"I'm a little drunk, I think," she said, to no one in particular but also to Herself.

"A little," Herself said, smiling.

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes and turned a little on the spot to wave at Nessy and Mori, requesting their attention, gesturing at the shade of the woman standing nearby.

"Do you see me?" she asked them, a little too loudly, and the shade nodded. The way her hair caught the light, Vanessa saw that it was just a bit more brown than auburn, cheekbones just a little more round.

But it can't be.

The Wayfarer {Hvergelmir}

Hvergelmir rarely drank alcohol, and had no particular tolerance built up whatsoever, but she was still surprised that, as she began to drink, her relationship with strict reality felt like it -- softened, a little. The crowds around her seemed thick with more people, or afterimages of the people there, and once or twice she swore she saw . . . well, herself, for lack of a better word. But not herself. Dressed differently. Maybe a little different in the face, the hair, it had been hard to tell -- but a different sort of posture, almost. A strange echo of herself.

That wasn't possible. Was it the wine? Or was it this place?

Her roommate, at least, was real and recognizable when she approached. Solidly human, refreshingly familiar -- and nervous though the other girl was, it was nice to see her testing her footing in the waters of a big occasion like this. Surrounded by so many people, some of them surely knights like the two of them. Daring the wider world they lived and operated in.

That, at least, was a good thing.

Hvergelmir clasped the masked Angel's free hand with her own, offering a gentle squeeze.

"I don't know this place, either -- or this knight. But the gallery, it seems -- ghostlike, somehow. Dreamlike. Like we might not be fully here, or like . . . I don't know, like the gallery itself might also be a piece of history on display? It's like there are . . . echoes of people. I don't know. Maybe it's the wine. Are you feeling alright?"

The Wayfarer studied The Angel for any signs of distress, or ill health, anything to see how well she was holding up in the odd circumstances they'd been so abruptly transported to.

The Outsider (Camlann)

The Outsider held up his flute of sparkly golden champagne and contemplated it for a long moment. "I manage," he said, "though I see why you would doubt it." In the Outsider's studied opinion, whatever mystical force had taken his less-than-exciting outfit and made it... whatever this was... had maybe leaned a little too hard into any crimes he might or might not have committed in the now-distant past. He'd take it; it'd be inconvenient and rude to unmask himself during a masquerade party.

He returned the stranger's studying stare. Stranger? Maybe, but the Outsider didn't often find himself reminded of others. Part of losing much of one's memory was the loss of all those little tics that one'd recognized in friends and family before. And if there was something about his shape and posture that had been familiar before, his voice amplified it. Staring did him no good, and didn't provide him any more motes of recognition. Instead, he turned his attention out to the gallery.

"I used to spend much time in places like this," he said. "Not so much lately. Does it seem to you as if things are... missing?" After parting from the Angel, he'd been briefly seized by a disorienting sense of--something. Anger. Something about the gallery angered him, like... there ought to have been something here that wasn't. Like he'd come for something, only to find it abruptly missing beneath his hand. "My name is--" He cut himself off, remembering the debacle of Hvergelmir's name. No. He was not repeating that with his own damn name.

Notably displeased, heavily sardonic: "--The Outsider." The Outsider looked up at the man with two wine glasses. "And what do you call yourself this evening?"

Mori/ Ananke

Ananke smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Nessy.” Orange eyes widening a bit as Nessy explained her interest in jewelry. “Ah, I completely understand Probably because I like to make clothing and other things myself. It's not just aesthetics but someone wore these items once. It’s interesting to think about.”

“Magic… memories…” Ananke brought her hand to her mouth thinking for a second. “I wonder… if…” It was then she noticed another person talking to the two of them. She could only tilt her head at the weird question that the new woman had asked them.

“Ah… yes? Are you feeling alright though? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Nessy

“Oh, you like textiles?” Asked Pendour, her soft smile going a bit wider in a way that wasn’t any bit party formality. “I always love the finished product, but fabric and wire is a little bit stiff for me. I need watercolors, or digital, maybe, something more forgiving.”

Although thinking about it, her wonder was half water but half stone. She might need to learn the practical artistry of the most solid mediums of all, the heaviest, if she wanted to fix things, then.

It was a voice that pulled her out of her musings, not the wave. Her mask was fun, but it had her vision limited even more than usual. Once she turned, though, it was obvious that someone was there. Two people, really. She saw the shade, half there, beside her, too. Pendour pursed her lips. Mori seemed confident, but she wasn’t as sure what was happening.

“What’s your real question?” She asked, soft. Gentle. “I see you, but I often see ghosts, too.” She reached out both of her hands, palms up, enough for two people to hold if they were there. “If I can touch you I think that would be a better hint of things.”