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Resilience

"An interesting looking letter that had an invitation inside," he answered simply, eyes still on the telescope as he answered. It really was a thing of beauty, he thought, and he couldn't help the smallest of smiles that his lips curved up into the longer he looked. He gave a sidelong glance at Observer then, as she spoke in stilted words, and his brow went up as she seemed to get lost in her own thoughts. An inevitability, perhaps, when looking at things of this nature.

So he turned back to the telescope and quietly admired for a long moment...maybe a bit too long for his comfort. He turned to her and gently nudged her with his elbow.

"Observer?"

In Step/Adorea

She was grateful for small favours, on this occasion one came in the form of her now 'royal' companion who had elected to conveniently ignore the bizarre name that had escaped from her lips. Evidently her own tongue had been wild with abandon, choosing to speak on her behalf before she had an opportunity to think. Given that she knew what her name was, she was beginning to suspect that not everything was quite as it seemed.

She afforded another half glance towards the puzzling behaviour of the denizens nearby. Had they been subject to the same mischief? Had there been something in the air, unseen perhaps, that toyed with them and wove tricks and treats into both conversation and dance? It might explain the behaviour of some and though she was far from versed in this, it brought some odd form of comfort. At least she knew they might not be insane, she hadn't stumbled upon a crazed corner of the universe and found herself stuck, something else played games with them... That bit however, remained disconcerting.

"Convenient," she agreed and gave a nod.

What a surprise she would have been in for if she had come to realise what he was. She'd been warned, yet without real exposure to how dangerous her new foes were, she remained as naive as the day she were born. In time she would no doubt receive those valuable lessons and whether they were extreme or muted remained to be seen, but this red prince would continue to have his oddities explained by the only facts and observations she had to her hands - he was just one of those guys; and more importantly, he was proving to be pleasant company.

'In Step' as she was now to be known, had to appreciate how easily others found it to navigate crowds. No sooner had they determined that they would inspect these artifacts, than she found herself facing them.

The reasons for her reaction wouldn't be immediately clear as she regarded some of those in her line of sight, but her lips had twisted into something that appeared to be unimpressed. Was it disdain, or was it something else? His question came to her aid, temporarily knocking her out of whatever reverie she might have entered, though it was only to open up another can of worms.

...In Step wasn't one for dishonesty.

"I was expecting more," she admitted as she stole a fleeting glance towards the mask that adorned his face, shrouding all but a glimpse of a mouth from view. "They're so ordinary."

What had she been expecting though? She couldn't lie to herself, for all she had seen, she had been expecting something momentous and yet all she could see were jewels, caskets and other items that she would have found elsewhere. There was nothing wonderous about them, nothing that sparked familiarity or curiosity in her. Those she had first glimpsed hadn't made an impression but maybe as they explored and examined each plaque she might find something to give her a reason to feel something. That being said, she also hadn't necessarily been pointed in the direction of some of the more unique items on display; how someone could miss a gigantic tapestry and some of the more extravagant robes would be a question for another time.

"Maybe," She paused briefly to collect what few thoughts she had on the subject. "Heirlooms are always personal," she said finally, sounding a little more sure of herself as she did so. "There's a reason they're artifacts after all," she nodded slowly and cleared her throat, raising a gloved hand to motion to the plaques. "Maybe it would make more sense if there's a story behind them?" she hazarded.

Did he understand them?

Did he feel any connection with them, grasp what their purpose or significance was?

The Red Prince clearly had more experience with this than she did and if there were any indication that he grasped the significance of a particular piece then she would jump on it. For now though, she was scarcely able to read him, such were his mannerisms that she couldn't quite discern if he was here by choice or if he had been obligated to attend; he certainly carried himself in a way that implied a measure of malcontent.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

A ball of light floated down from the glass ceiling above, growing in size and shape until it resembled a girl. And then, Genevieve Degrasse touched her dainty feet to the ground, her hands folded in prayer and pressed to her lips. She stared pointedly at Chauvet, and then her two companions, her nose wrinkled. "I thought we discussed this," she said to Chauvet, unfolding her hands. "You're not supposed to bother the guests with your...little details. This is a party. You're supposed to help them enjoy themselves."

At first, Chauvet froze, staring down at the small lady. Then, looking over at Mistress Material, she set the line of her jaw and shook her head.

"No, it was you telling me I had to lie to a bunch of people just because it looked better," Chauvet snapped. She started to shimmy out of the fur cloak, struggling with the way the sleeves snagged on her arms. "I could have just gone home, found the thing you needed or whatever, and it would have been fine."

"Put that back on," Genevieve warned lowly, rushing over. She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice, smoothing out fur with her opaque fingers. In this light she looked startlingly normal, just like she'd been alive the whole time. "What, you want to look like a failure? In front of a bunch of your peers? Your friends? I worked so hard to make this a beautiful day for you, and you're being a jerk because you couldn't hold up your end of it. I mean, honestly, how hard is it to just glow up a little bit? Why can't you just be stronger?"

"I don't want to lie to anyone about how strong I am anymore," Chauvet sighed, taking a step away from the ancestor, pain in her gaze. Genevieve reached for her again, and Chauvet took another step back--it helped that she had nearly a foot over the girl. And in the light of the gallery, with the glow and the glimmer gone from her ghostly figure, Genevieve looked even younger, more fragile. Less a woman, more a startled teen with grasping hands. "...I don't want to pretend everything is fine anymore. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't help, Goose--Gold--Grove--"

"Genevieve," the girl hissed, finally getting her hands on scoopfuls of fur cloak. She couldn't readily re-clothe Chauvet, so she began to just ball the cloak up and mush it against her bicep, like she could get Chauvet to cover up by osmosis. "My name is Genevieve Degrasse, and I am the Small Lady of the Gallerie, and your ancestor, and y--you have to listen to me!"

But Chauvet shook her head. "No one else can say their name right now. Rules of the ball. You can stop lying."

Genevieve stared. Chauvet started to tear up.

"I can't say it, but you know what your name really is. I know you know."

Genevieve shook her head, small hands balled into fists. "No--no. I-I am the curator of this gallery, and--I'm so strong, stronger than you. I know the histories of the Chauvets before you, and all the stories in this room. Ginger Cantaloupe was a baby, and she was so incredibly stupid that she fell into a trap and died and everyone thought she was the worst knight ever." Cracks mottled Genevieve's skin, bleeding light, but she didn't flicker. Couldn't flicker, perhaps.

Chauvet's expression wrinkled, and she shook her head again. It was so terribly like her cousin, to wrap herself in a story like it was armor and cling to it to her last breath. "Winnie, no one ever thought that. The people who knew you--they said you were brave."

This time Chauvet stepped forward, reaching out for the girl. "I'm sorry--that I didn't come up here sooner to tell you that. Whatever happened, it--it wasn't your fault. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Genevieve froze, crying eyes wide with disbelief. Chauvet's hand almost touched her cheek, but just shy of contact, she slapped Chauvet across the face, glaring daggers. "This is my gallery, you can't just talk to me like that, Ka--" She began, but before she could finish, she blinked away, whisked to somewhere else. It was only fitting--after all, violence of any kind would not be tolerated on Chauvet.

Chauvet Page stared blankly at the empty space where 'Genevieve' had been, and then out to gallery. Between the assembled faces, it was impossible to know who had come to the ball from earth and who had been summoned from the Cauldron, who was living and who was dead.

Red-faced and blemished, Chauvet bolted for the stairs leading to the private office, leaving the fur cloak fluttering behind.

Mori

“Um yes… I sew clothes for myself and my pets.” Blinking she tilted her head. “Ah, so you’re an artist. I only do basic drawings for my designs myself, so I think that’s amazing.” Ananke the twirled her hair embarrassed.

“…Eh? There are actually ghosts around?”

[Captain]

Captain settled around Sissy's shoulders, purring with his paw draped proprietorially over her breast as they made their way through the gallery, looking at this or that artefact. He wanted to catalogue them badly, but all he could manage for the moment was observing. There was a familiar scent of brimstone and moondust on the air, which told him that Smokestack either was there, or had been, so that was a bit promising...but Captain remained plastered where he was.

And then he spotted the little s**t, standing with some broad near a pedestal that had some ******** claw thing. "Sissy, you see that little s**t in the fancy pants? That's mine. Let's go say hi." Captain's mouth was open, tasting the air - it was definitely Smokestack: no one else had that spicy, just been on fire taste! But who was the broad next to him?

"Don't know the dame, but that kid's mine." The Mauvian gently thumped Sissy's boob with his fluffy paw to get her to mush those last few feet onwards. "Let's gooooo~"

Mistress Material (Sedna)

Oh. Well. Then.

Miss couldn't do much but just stare as the scene unfolded. She kept silent, watching the exchange between Chauvet and her cousin like a heated tennis match where the ball bounced back and forth. What could she do or say? This was clearly something that needed to be addressed between the two---

Except when the girl, who, yes, looked less like a ghost, and more like what Chauvet had described, reeled to slap the knight, Miss stiffened, brows knitting as she frowned. The woman looked like she was about to do something, except the girl disappeared shortly after.

She blinked, and before she could fully process it, her hand was empty as Chauvet disappeared from her side and in a flurry of skirts up the stairs.

Ah...

For a moment, she paused, waiting to see if Chauvet's friend would do anything---perhaps she was more qualified to check on the knight instead except---Miss shook her head. That was a silly reason. She was concerned, and there was nothing like seeing something done yourself. Miss knelt to scoop up the fur cloak Chauvet had been wearing, transferring it to one arm, and then took to follow after the woman.

She was greeted by a closed door though, and after a moment, Miss knocked.

"It's me." She said to the door, but after wasn't sure what else to say. Wasn't sure if there was anything else to say, so she lapsed into silence as she waited.

The Red Prince

The Red Prince watched eir company through lidded eyes. Ey looked to her, then to the artifact, parted lips as if to comment, then shut them again with no further noise. "Ordinary," ey echoed, bemused. Elex would have thought the same — passed them over like so much ubiquitous archaeology chaff. Any historical museum had its share of sherds, paintings, and jewelry. Any of those were incorrectly explained, poorly identified, or too boring to hold attendee attention for longer than the few seconds it took the human brain to map out an image for the artifact. What were these but more of the same?

Eir demeanor grew more serious as he stepped in contact range of the pedestal. "I don't understand people like you anymore. People who look at these these things and find them wanting. People who arrest them at face value." A hand touched the very edge of the haphazard pedestal. There, on it, was a jumble of junk so easily appraised as worthless without context. It lay there as abandoned as the glove bracelet that sat at the bottom of the fallen Academy for a thousand years, that survived its total destruction, that lay even longer undisturbed by agent or youma. It was worthless until ey assigned it worth. Until ey salvaged the Kholat Syakhl out of it. The claw perched on its barstool may well be the bracelet's metaphorical twin.

That hand moved with em, tracing the perimeter until the pedestal and accompanying artifact stood between In Step and The Red Prince. "Does that attitude dethrone them?" A second hand framed the first and ey watched her quizzically.

Ey drew a breath, shoulders pressed forward, body leaned but limber, suspended in that dewey place of listening, where crowd noise was as distant as the stars. "Do you remember what you said about anonymity? That it frees people to do what makes them uncomfortable?

"Try it. Right now. Test your boundaries. If these pieces disappoint you, take one. Depose one. Surprise yourself with your boldness." Surprise me.



Huginn

"Wherever we want," he answered to the dame in tow. The feathers, the shock, the breathlessness — like he was teaching her again, like her life just came off pause. All it took was this pomp and delirium and the smallest promise to see back in time. To look grief in the eye and spit.

Which was, decidedly, part of the plan. Huginn led as he looked out over the crowd, where some began to feel familiar — a pair stood, staring straight at him, and he remembered of a girl's arm in his hand. Not Porsha's, but someone who was younger. Someone fretful and damaged and eager to make an impression. Eager to be used, so he committed… What? The name left before he could apply breath to it, and this interstellar maiden and her antlered friend were abandoned with the almost-memory.

"We're going upstairs," he called over shoulder at Jägerin. "We'll get as much champagne as we can, ven we're going upstairs. All we need is a balcony and a lighter and vis place will get brilliant."

Passing a waiter, Huginn swiped a pair of champagne flutes for themselves. Only 38 more to go, he wagered.