[ME] [SE] paper faces on parade

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Squeezing Astaroth's hand in return - and tracking the way his eyes linger on the chocolate covered cherries - Danta lets out a warm laugh and snags them both a glass of spiced wine as they choose a tree to lurk against and ensure they don't cause any trouble too soon. It's still relatively early on in the proceedings, and the Maverick suspects the crowd will only become more intense and rowdy as the night goes on. For now, though, it's quite comfortable.

"Here," Danta says with a smile beneath his mask, offering Asta a sip from his wineglass, which he's lovingly grabbed a straw to plonk into the glass. "I'll make sure we grab enough of the desserts to take back to the Grounds with us. Unless you want me to try and be creative and figure out how to feed you cherries through that muzzle?" He chuckles.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

regions of moonlight and chaos

Her eyes were trained on the multitudes as she ate one of the alluring hot dog and bacon bits, content with the combining of flavors as others reeled and danced around. Humming a little under her breath, and contemplating who to go bother, she hadn’t thought she’d be a “victim” until there was a sudden “boo” in her ear.

Instead of whipping around immediately, she took one of the daggers from her shin and promptly held it in place as she turned. Only to see Iskra and his…dog-eaten robe. Sighing, and rather deadpan, she shook her head. “Wow – what a great way to get yourself stabbed.” Keeping hold of the knife, she snagged another snack she’d hidden in her pockets, some cheese biscuit assortment thing. “Was that your big plan for tonight?”

the honeybee

// day breaks sorrow //

The spiced wine smells sweet the second it reaches his nose and he takes it from his lover with a free hand, flashing him a grateful smile when the straw is plunked into it. At the very least he wouldn’t go completely without while wearing the muzzle to keep himself on the straight and narrow. “Thank you, darling.” He hums, leaning in to steal the sip from the glass.

It’s sweet and spicy in the way that nutmeg with the hint of ginger tends to be, but it warms him as well. Letting his dark gaze linger on Danta’s face, he shifts to run his free hand along Danta’s side, up to his shoulder to smooth the half cape he wears so beautifully. “It is already dehumanizing to have to sip through a straw. I think I would rather wait to devour the sweets without having to deal with the sticky repercussions.” He muses, before he’s tilting his head and shooting Danta a more amused grin. “Though I do not doubt your creativity. You have a very unique brand of it that I relish in.”

Astaroth

// and i still feel the edge of this cold knife //

The haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate

Melita's response is less than he had hoped, and he rolls his eyes alongside her sigh as she turns to him. "You don't have to stab everything y'know," he says, as if it's obvious and she's being completely absurd. "This is a party Mel," and while he isn't saying she shouldn't have brought the daggers, this is Caido after all, he's just saying she doesn't need to whip them out at the first hint of something.

His 'brow sketches up as her dagger remains steadfast in her hand, cheese bite in the other, procured from a pocket like she had to smuggle it to her mouth. "Was I supposed to come with a plan? I thought I'd just show up and see where the night leads." A smile flutters in, the slightest shake of his head produced. "Do you want me to get you a plate or is the lint seasoning intentional?"

Iskra

I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, I shake it off

Theea

True is false, who is who?

 Flora ’s arms are already around me before I can say anything, and I melt into the hug without hesitation. Her warmth, her scent like sweet wine and mischief, the way she just knows—it all hits me at once, and I’m stunned by how relieved I am. I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t overstep. I belong here.

I hug her back tightly, grinning behind my mirror mask. You look show-stoppingly stunning, I tell her breathlessly, pulling back just enough to see the gold gleam of her mask, the way her curls catch the lanternlight like fire. ”You look like the a raven melted into the absolutely hottest woman at the party.”

Then I turn to Nikandr and laugh, a bright thing tumbling out of me like it couldn’t be held in. ”And you—positively ghastly,” I declare, voice full of affection. ”In the best way. I feel like I should be asking if you've come to steal my soul or just my drink.”

I open my mouth to explain how I know Niki—how he was the first person I met here, how kind he was when I was lost and overwhelmed—but Flora’s voice is already cutting in, stage-whispering about someone named Astaroth.

I glance over instinctively.

And—oh.

I don’t know who he is, but he’s tall, scarred, and somehow manages to wear menace like it’s formalwear. There's an intensity to him I can feel from here. My pulse skips a little. I’ve never actually spoken to an ancient before, not knowingly. But if Flora likes him, he must be alright.

Before I can say a word, she’s already gliding off again.

Wait.

She knows Bassian? I blink, watching her throw herself at him like they’ve been best friends forever. I make a mental note to absolutely ask her about that later.

Turning back to Nikandr, I soften. ”I’m really glad to see you,” I tell him honestly. ”I’ve been so busy trying to find my footing, I’ve hardly caught my breath with meeting people, let alone seen anyone I know. Have you been well?” It’s not just polite—it’s genuine. I want to know.

curl of lip, swirl of gown

regions of moonlight and chaos

If Iskra couldn’t see her eyes roll from beneath the mask, he could probably at least feel the disdain. “Excuse me, we stabbed Pierce at the last pool party,” she used for an example, matter-of-factly, finishing off the cheese biscuit and brushing her hands together. “And why not?” Sometimes violence was the only justifiable answer, in a world according to Melita.

Brow arching at the notions of a lack of a plan, she shrugged thereafter; she hadn’t procured any either – though that was her usual purview. Already beginning to circle the snack table again, not unlike a shark biding its time around a school of fish, she eyed an assortment of cookies, pondering over the particulars. “Eh, no. I suppose not.” She had another insult to fling, but choked it back. “I’m good,” waving away the offer, before her fingers snagged at a chocolate chip one. “Maybe I’ll go terrorize someone.”

the honeybee

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

Content to join the rest of the King’s End crew as they make their arrival via Skyship, the Flood’s outfit is one that’s made up of dark navy hues, with light flickering across waves of gradients that seem to make up the variety of ocean waves and their foam. Quite pleased with the look, it’s paired with a mask that looks very similar to that – dark, not enough to hide the scar on his cheek, but enough that it frames the silver of his eyes with practiced ease, like they’re the clouds that frame the sky across a stormy sea.

Flashing a smile to Colt with a nod, he parts from their little trio, spying Melita in the distance as she talks with Iskra and offers them an easy nod, before the scanning of the crowd draws to Flora alongside someone he assumes to be Nikandr and a woman he’d seen at the gathering for Ronin and Remi’s anniversary party before his soon to be step-daughter is wandering off. Not thinking much of it and waving to all the others he knows, he makes his way through the crowd to find a space that’s open between Theea and Niki. “Long time no see.” He hums softly, flashing a lopsided smile from the scar that bisects his cheek to Niki, before he looks over to Theea with a touch more politeness and easy charisma. “Hey, I’m Sunjata. I hope I’m not intruding.”

---

Sunjata is making his costume here: [SE] Now or Never

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

last couple of months kinda been a disaster

Easily convinced to join Colt on the trip to the Greatwood for the party, even if he was woefully unprepared and had to snag an outfit from the docks before they’d departed, the courtesan arrives in what he can only assume to be as close to Ludo’s Finest as he could manage. Though, admittedly with a touch of Frey added in from how sheer the fabric that makes the rags are. Not unlike an Ancient in their midst, the courtesan doesn’t wear a shirt beneath it, leaving the tattoos along his back, hips, and arms fully visible where they delve below the line of his pants.

He admires the shifting colors of the leaves, the way the light from the lanterns play against the trunks of trees and the boughs overhead as they trail further in and when the party fully opens up before him, he’s distracted by the music and the people mingling enough to realize Colt has asked him a question. “Yeah.” He agrees warmly, following after her as they go to snag a drink. He sips from the flute of blackberry champagne, only to realize that Colt has left him to talk to someone he doesn’t recognize beneath the mask or outfit, which leaves him to mingle on his own he assumes.

Downing most of it, he nods toward Alys with a smile, looking over to spy Theea with his Archon and not wanting to interrupt. So he swivels his attention to anyone else who might be alone for the moment when he settles on a short, dark haired stranger, with an outfit that’s stunning. Making his way to her side, he flashes her a smile beneath the somewhat ornate, charcoal mask to match the rags worn on his shoulders. “Hey. I love your outfit.” He hums, lifting his glass in a little toast to Ashetta as he settles in with the ease of someone familiar with gatherings while also being mostly alone.

---

Thorn didn't do his SEs!

Hawthorn

tell all my friends i'm asleep if they ask ya

The haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate

"Yeah but the Family is gone now," he points out, intending it to be a reassurance, because it is for him. He had not been plagued with nearly the same amount of work as Melita had for trying to thwart the violet aliens, so perhaps he's more inclined to slip back into the ease of their absence than someone used to hoisting daggers over their shoulders at every potential creak of their encroaching presence. As for why not, he chuckles, "well because sometimes you'll regret hurting what you stab." He points one small finger towards his chest, case in point.

Not quite believing she doesn't want a plate as she continues to pilfer her own pockets, so he makes a note to to himself to grab her one when he rustles up one for himself. Perhaps while she's off causing whatever mayhem, which is normal on any night, but he suspects is extra desired tonight of all nights. "What about him?" Iskra nods towards where Hawthorn has slipped past, truly the first sap Iskra set eyes on. "Go invisible and flip his cloak up over his head?" While she did, he'd gather food and drink, because watching Mel work is certainly a show.

Iskra

I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, I shake it off

Ashetta

burning glances turning heads

 The cider’s going fast. Too fast, maybe, but I can already feel the warmth blooming in my cheeks and chest—just enough to settle the trembling in my fingers. The shots helped. They always do. And gods, I’m still a damn lightweight. You’d think after all this time and all the bottles, my body would’ve learned something, but noooo. One shot, two, and two thirds of a cider and I’m already floating just a little. Light enough to vanish. To scatter back into the dark like a storm that passed too close. Like I always do.

I breathe through it. In. Out. The dress clings to my ribs when I do, snug and unforgiving, and a few stray sparks shiver down my spine—remnants of nerves, of instinct, of the part of me that never learned how to be still in a crowd. I sweep one off my shoulder like it’s lint, feigning calm even as my pulse stutters.

Then Hawthorn is there.

I don’t recognize him. Masked, bare-chested, draped in scandal and confidence like he was born in it. Tattoos curl along his skin like a story told in sin and heat, and for a tense moment I wonder if I’m supposed to recognize him. I don’t. And from the way he smiles and lifts his glass like we’re just two strangers at a party, I don’t think he knows me either.

Thank the fucking gods.

My brows lift, surprised but amused, and I offer him a smile—carefully measured, something between warm and wicked. There’s a flicker of static in the air between us, and I pretend like it isn’t mine. The sharp scent of ozone is gone as fast as it came. Gods damned magic always betrays every feeling.

“Thank you,” I say smoothly anyways, lifting my cider in answer. “And yours is bound to please more than just Ludo tonight, I imagine.”

I let my gaze sweep over him again—assessing—and take another drink before adding, “So, what inspired your look? Divine devotion, or just a well-timed wardrobe mishap?”

stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you

Koa

Koa? Not the biggest fan of masquerades. I know, I know, it seems like he should be - it's a party with absurd costumes and great vibes and good drinks, but our lad's a wee bit of a control freak, and the idea that he's surrounded by people he cannot recognize sets his teeth on edge. Still, he's determined to enjoy himself, and the drink in his hand is doing solid work toward settling his nerves.

Not that it's stopped him from committing fully. Koa's mothman costume is a pretty solid affair, the black velvet poncho and antennae'd hood doing a great job of obscuring his appearance and keeping him warm. Add to that the white full-face mask and he's all but unrecognizable to those who do not know him well, who likely could still pick the soldier out by his uniquely bouncy gait. A gait that is on full, unconscious display as he makes his way toward a certain trio, grinning underneath his mask.

An attentive soldier and observer of body language, he's already been able to recognize a few figures despite the masks that obscure their their faces, but Koa doesn't need any help to recognize the triplets. Calypso's sheer, golden ensemble does little to disguise his cousin's flame, and he assumes by deduction that the tall man beside her is Vesper, who aside from being a little aggro and real into Mateo's face Koa knows nothing of at all. And then there's Nova, somehow managing to sparkle despite the black dress code, her iridescence drawing Koa like a mothman to a flame.

Seeing the girls eyeing the drink table, Koa decides to take some initiative. Putting down his empty cup he snags two bottles of cider, then strides toward where the trio hovers, his identity all but concealed. "Ladies!" the young man declares brightly, voice rendered slightly muffled by the mask that hides his mouth, "You're without drinks and dance partners! Please, let me remedy at least one of these two crimes." He extends the bottles with a flourish, winking from behind his mask. Now that he's committed to this game he's finding himself quite amused.

Maybe maybe there is some fun to be found masquerades after all.

---

Costume thread: [SE] En esta casa no existen fantasmas, son puros recuerdos

Let's fall in love for the night
And forget in the morning

I can do this all day.

He might have been dressed in an abysmal imitation of the mischievous herald - if people thought it was a single yard of black fabric held together with a few stitches of thread, they would be completely correct - but the sunshine smile was a dead giveaway. Even his green eyes were like a neon nametag broadcasting his identity from behind the poorly cut strip of black cloth. But Zavien wasn't here to go anonymous or show off his stellar sewing skills, he was here to enjoy his time with Lena and maybe catch up with some friends in a moment away from the never ending city improvement plans.

Leaning in conspiratorially to her whisper, he nodded his head, that characteristic smile curling on his lips. "Extremely. There's nothing to lift or fix here." He flashed her a playful look, squeezing her hand as they passed through the glowing canopy and into the singing atmosphere of the party.

The question is barely leaving her lips before he's guiding them towards the impressive display of foods and other sustenance. "Oh. I think we need cider first, because once I get you on that dance floor, I don't think we're coming off." His eyes glittered through the black of his mask, lifting her hand to his lips like some dashing suitor who planned to sweep her off her feet in the twinkle of the lights. "If I have anything to say about it, my mysterious lady, I'll be twirling you until the end of the night." Zavien may be a clutz in just about every way imaginable, but fighting and dancing happened to be his strong suits, and he planned on taking advantage of his undiminishable joy and every free moment they had.

---

Outfit made in [SE] rags to riches

Zavien

Thalassa

The problem
with wearing a dress

She slips in like smoke over water, easing through the crowd in a quiet moment of anonymity. Her identity isn't hard to guess from the scaled blue-black tail peeking out from beneath her midnight cloak or the glistening black horns curling from her dark curtain of hair, but the silver and black swirling mask is just enough to let her pretend like she isn't Thal, like she hasn't been struggling for weeks, like she'd rather be most other places than a giant public gathering. Instead, she's just a nameless individual with no past who looks stunning in a gauzy black gown trailing in the leaves behind her.

It only lasts while she doesn't recognize anyone, so she keeps her icy blue gaze fixed forward. There's no dramatic sway to her hips or alluring looks to draw in the people around her, just a quiet jingle from the delicate silver chains coiling through her hair and horns, an ethereal ghost twisting gracefully through the crowds like a shadow at the edge of their vision.

Thal pauses at the food table, a glass of something that smells strong and spiced vanishing from sight to be replaced empty, before then being followed by another that she keeps tucked beneath her cloak. Snagging a few of the white chocolate snacks, she moves to the edge of the tree line and makes her way around towards a familiar muzzle. She knows that this season has been hard for Asta, but it's still surprising to see the accessory and she notices a few people giving him a wide berth. Whether it's from the muzzle or the scars on full display through his chains is anyone's guess. Maybe it's the straw.

When Dantalion looks away for a moment, she appears beside Astaroth like a flicker of darkness, slightly behind him so she's mostly out of view. "Just blink if you need saving." She tries to infuse the words with some humor, but like everything else this season, it's dampened with the burden of other heavier emotions. There's still a small glint of something familiar in her eyes - perhaps amusement or concern.

---

Costume made in [SE] opinions I will try and rewrite

is that it clashes
with a sword.

Nova

Happiness and confidence

Turning her head to look at Calypso's golden figure, she lets out a shimmering giggle. "Of course!" But just as she turns to lead the way, a masked man is stepping into their path, proffering bottles of cider. Her steps come up short but her smile doesn't disappear, more intrigued than scared of the ridiculous outfit that has antennae(?) - and always happy to accept free drinks.

She doesn't immediately recognize Koa, but as she leans forward to give a giggling "Sure!" there's something familiar about the golden gaze. Nova tilts her head, the light catching the various colors around the sparkling blue of her eyes as she looks intently at the visible features, trying to recall the voice that curls like music and alcohol. It's only when she's nearly touching her nose to his - yes, she's on her toes - that she finally gets it, another sparkling giggle bursting from her lip-glossed smile. "Koa?! Is that you?! What's with your costume?" She reaches a hand forward to extend the fabric, doing her best not to laugh too much as she looks closer at the strange choice he's made.

are the prettiest things you can wear