It’s Halloween at Muse Academy (in blog time), and the ball is about to begin. The food, the decorations, the music… how can we describe them? We can’t! You’ll have to do that before anything else can happen. A little scene-setting, please!
Patience, Please
This site is under reconstruction and will look strange for a while. We regret the inconvenience.
I perch in the rafters, looking down at the candle lit ball below. I wait. For someone else to arrive.
((I sent the GAPAs my costume picture. Could you show it? I might have used my Dad’s address by accident.))
((Yes! It started!))
I enter the great ball room, but nobody else is there. I munch on a scone and wait…
((SFTDP))((GAPAs can delete the first one, if they wish))
All around the hall there are carved pumpkins-Jack-o-lanterns- floating in water, with candles on their heads. The ceiling is either absent, or enchanted to show the outside weather. The tables are set with huge quantities of all different types of food and drink, from candy corn to cider to some nasty smelling dead bird. I would have to try that one. There had been no music when I entered, but now an old tune was starting to play. Someone else would have to identify it for me, I had eyes only for the roast fowl.
I step tentatively into the ballroom, the first to walk through the doors. It is a darkly lit ballroom, magnificently adorned with floating candles that bob about the ceiling, cobwebs and giant spiders, decoratively carved pumpkins in every corner, and a long table of succulent treats lining the far wall. A stage trussed in black and lit with a slight orange light is in the back, complete with microphones and fixings for a band. A sign by the door in the corner, carved from black wood, points upward with the words, Pumpkin Patch Ahead. The starry midnight outside is spangled with bright stars that shine a pale light through the windows.
I am wearing a full-skirted, black and red gown that runs in a striped pattern down my slender form, with a cape of black that wraps decoratively around my thin white shoulders. A large black hat with red trim and big red and black feathers is perched upon my long brown curls. I wear a plain black mask with sharp wings across the side of my face. I look mysterious amongst the bright lights of the candles.
I allow the kindly wungs to check my musical instrument, take a goblet of butterbeer and a few candy corn and sit in a comfortable black armchair, waiting for someone else to arrive.
I stomp into the room, which is still rather empty. Looking around at the buffet table piled with food, the dance floor piled with emptiness, and the atmosphere piled with music, I growl. “Where are the mortals?”
I arrive a little early. The Ball Room is huge, The food looks delicious. There is some interesting music playing. I seem to have arrived first for once. I go over to the food area to see what foods they have. There are so many, it’s hard to chose from the multiple snacks available. And then it hit me: the only drink they had was water from the water fountain. NOOOO!
But seriously, who forgot the drinks?
((Can we participate if we haven’t sent in a costume??))
Yes! I’m so happy! I don’t want to put up a description everyone will hate, so I’ll let everyone else decide what the ball looks like.
((GAPAs, not sure if you’ll allow this gravatar for the ball, it’s not me, so……Maybe? It is Nimueh.))
I glide into the ball room, and all heads turn to look, mesmerized by my beauty. I chuckle quietly; this is going to be fun. I make my way over to the refreshments, but am disappointed to find nothing stronger than butterbeer. *sigh* I had so been looking forward to a nice glass of wine to moisten my parched throat. Oh well, this will have to do. I pour myself a goblet of the liquid and glide over to a shadowy corner, from which I can observe the ball.
Humans. My sensors tell me there are humans about, an inferior species. I must find them and destroy them. Only Daleks are pure, only Daleks can survive, all others must die.
I [glide? roll? slide?] into a large, high ceilinged room. It is full of what must be humans, all dressed in the most peculiar of outfits.
“Exterminate. Exterminate,” I say, shooting out beams to cleanse the room of parasites.
Oh, no you don’t! *throws exploding servbots at Dalek*
Servebots: AUGH! MISS TRONNE!! DX
((I have a sneaking suspicion I know who you are.
))
As I begin extermination, one of the oddly dressed humans throws exploding servbots at me. If I were human, I would laugh at her pitiful attempts to stop me. As if they could do me any harm. “Exterminate. Exterminate.” I vaporize the offending ‘bots, then turn toward the offender. “Exterminate.”
((And I think know who YOU are.
))
Fortunately, the necklace I wear gives me special abilities.
“Life Aura, Activate!”
A light purple protective aura forms around me. It is strong enough to absorb and receive power from the Dalek’s death rays.
“I would suggest you not try to attack me. I don’t want to have to create a dimensional area.”
((while AJAR was wrong about whether y’all should know anything about megaman, he was right to say that you should at least search on google or some other search engine on anything you see that you don’t understand, because it helps keep things flowing better when “people” like who is playing the Dalek, [whom I suspect to be AJAR {which probaly gives me away but whatever}]. Wow, quite a mouth full. ))
((I think I know who you are.
))
I step into the ballroom, only to see Dalek shooting at us! I throw pies, calling upon the strength of Kokopelli!
I glide in just behind a large robot, which does not appear to be very friendly, as the first thing it does is begin shooting out beams. I’m rather thankful I’m behind it, but the beams fizzle out before they go anywhere, probably countered by some sort of anti-trouble something. My beautiful black cape, shimmering with blue, flows behind my black dress, hanging to the floor and also dragging very slightly. My black mask covers my face perfectly, and it’s so cunningly designed. Thin little extensions stick out a short way, clinging to my face and curling around in a spiral, recalling antennae. For I am the butterfly, the soaring mariposa. None rival my beauty.
BUGGERS MUST DIE!
Hi, everyone! I originally used this name on an old Alter Ego thread. So, what day does the ball start?
((Mazer- the ball has started already.))
I finish off the cooked bird I have now identified as a “Puffin Puff”. It was delectable. I lick my lips, and pull out a handkerchief to wipe my greasy fingers. I put it away, and stride to the center of the ballroom.
“Would anybody care to dance?”
((I’ll send in a picture soon, and set up my gravatar. I’m a boy, in case you didn’t know.))
A man (boy) strides into the centre of the ballroom.
“Would anybody care to dance?” he asks.
My lips curve, slowly, into a smile. I step out from my shadowed corner, handing my empty goblet to a waiting wung.
“I’ll dance,” I say.
((Sorry, I have no idea how to roleplay dances. You’ll have to lead.))
((Can’t say I really have any idea, either. In RL, I’ve danced a grand total of…..one time. XD ))
The Phantom accepts my offer. He takes my hand and we turn to the music; other couples and lone dancers soon filter onto the floor, joining in the festivities.
((Yeah, ^^^^suckage at its best. XD I’m bad at RPing at the best of times…..))
((Meh. Not so bad. I’m sure I’ll do worse.
))
As we dance, more dancers join in. We have broken the ice, and the party has begun. Someone else had attempted to dance with me, but was just too late. I would dance with her next, I thought, but no sooner had this entered my mind when the mask slipped from the girl, and her identity was revealed. She made several exclamations about pastry, (perhaps she was commenting on the one in her hand?) and began to cry, but soon recovered. She would probably return in new attire soon.
I returned my attention to my dance partner. “So,” I ask, “what do you say we move this dance out of the nesties?”
“Sorry?” I say, when my dance partner asks me a question. “I’m not sure I catch your meaning….”
Seeing there are enough people in the ballroom now, I swoop down from the rafters, and grab a puffin puff in my claws. I fly back up to the rafters.
((I am using someone’s borrowed email address))
I walk slowly into the ballroom so as not to trip over my long crushed red velvet dress. My parchment-paper cloak rustles pleasantly as I make my way over to the food table, which is piled high with all sorts of delectable food items. Just as my hand reaches out to grab a pastry, someone calls out, “Would anyone care to dance?” I walk over to him and say, “I would!”
((I’ll send in my picture soon.))
Never mind, I think. I cram the pastry into my mouth and revel in the deliciousness of it. Unable to think of anything productive to do, I call out to the girl who just entered, saying, “I like your mask!” I touch the tip of the tall quill pen tucked into my thick braided bun and smile. My inkwell earring jangle musically in my ears.
CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE. *cries* *gets better* *gets really angry again* Poop.
((Aww! It’s only the first day! You should make a new character. I won’t tell.
))
((Feel free to get a new one, that’s perfectly acceptable.))
I walk in, carefully adjusting the silk ribbons of my mask. I am wearing a navy blue dress and, of couse, my mask.
((I’m going to start providing the music, even though it’ll give away my identity straight off. I don’t mind.
))
I grab my cello, rosin my bow and neatly stroll onto the stage. I sit down in a chair on the stage, take out the Unfinished Symphony by Schubert, and with a small breath I begin to play. The lonely notes waft gently across the ballroom, giving the dancers something to swirl to. The dark melody overtakes the room, setting the atmosphere of fright and chaos for our delight.
((If anyone wants to join me, that would be lovely. You should also listen to the piece, it’s very well written.))
Excellent. The ball has proceeded as planned. I stride into the ballroom, which is dimly lit by candlelight.
((Yes! The ball has started!))
I walk into the ballroom slowly, to find myself in the center of a large, magnificent space, which is only occupied by a few people. I am wearing a long, white gown and a glittering gold mask with beautiful feathers emerging from both ends of the sparkling object.
An eerie tune echoes through the room from a cello in a nearby corner. Even though the piece causes a frightening shiver down my spine, I find myself drawn more and more to to the sound. “Would anyone like to dance?” I ask.
I cartwheel into the room, the candlelight sparkling off of my costume and making me appear to be a dancer clad in flickering flames. My costume is made up of orange, purple, green, and black sequins, rhinestones, gauze, and a mask of very dark purple feathers, ribbons, and rhinestones fluttering in the breeze.
I hear deliciously dark music wafting from the stage, and do a few pirouettes, then stop myself. This is not a performance, it is a ball, and if I dance as my feet demand I must, then I shall dance with a partner.
“Who would like to dance?” I inquire.
“Of course, I would love to.” I reply. (Just curious, but even though I don’t mind, how does the whole female-male dancing thing work? I’m female, as you have probably guessed.) I take Orchid Columbine’s hand and we swing into the middle of the floor.
((Well, as was pointed out by the GAPAs–Robert in particular, I believe–at last year’s ball, there are technically way more students enrolled at MA than post on the ‘blog. Cyber students, if you will. There are as many males as you want there to be, although dancing with another girl is perfectly acceptable, as well.))
SFTDP
((Sorry, I just realized that your inquiry was directed to anybody, not just me. I had just asked if anyone liked to dance, and seeing how I have basically already set us up together, perhaps we should just get on with it…if you don’t mind.))
((Sure, let’s dance anyway. It may be the best dance either of us have ever experienced. You never really know, do you?))
((*whacks hand against head multiple times* Oh well, I’m off to find a new costume.))
((Wait, what just happened? Did my mask just slip or not? I could have sworn it did.))
((Yes, it did. But the software has a quirk, that your unmoderated post regardless of being on the same computer, is not visible if you change your email address.))
I arrive at the ballroom to see a few people standing around or dancing in the middle of the floor. I walk over to the refreshments table to see if there are any non-taken males yet, and see a girl crying because her mask has slipped. “Arr, don’t ye worry about it, missy,” I say in my best pirate-ese. “I like your costume. It reminds me of one of the original Muses. And those pastries look good…”
“Arr,” I add, belatedly. Note to self: work on accent.
((Don’t expect me to speak in pirate-ese for all the ball. I may, and I may not, depending on how much effort I’m feeling like putting into my disguise.
And costume-wise, I’m wearing pretty much traditional pirate gear, with a skirt.))
I enter the ball.
This should be fun.
I find a comfy chair near the snack table. Yes!
There was cake.
“Yes, they have.”
The Raven costume looks at me, surprised. Perhaps I blend to well with this seat. I decide to walk around the room.
I look up at the enchanted ceiling and see the beautiful full moon. Even my plain white shirt glows in the moonlight. The jack-o’-lanterns are absolutely terrifying, and suddenly I want pumpkin pie. When I get to the table, I see The Count of Monte Cristo costume talking to the Raven. I feel a little left out.
With a piece of pie in hand, I attempt to find someone to talk to, or dare-I-say, dance with.
I stepped into the ballroom and looked around. This was definitely going to be fun. My costume would probably attract a little bit of attention, but I didn’t care.
((I will have to complete my costume (as it is also my actual Halloween costume) before I send in a picture of it.))
((Why does that name sound familiar???????))
((If you’ve ever read Watchmen or taken a Rorschach inkblot test, it should sound familiar.))
((Never read (or watched) Watchmen, don’t think I’ve actually taken an inkblot test, but…..probably read about it in psychology.))
After my escape from the ‘bots one of the humans launched at me, I took temporary refuge outside of the ball. But I am a Dalek, I know no fear, only hatred, so I soon return to the ball. There are now many more of those inferior humans, milling all over the place in the center of the room.
“Levitate,” I say, and I begin to rise above the crowd.
“Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate.”
((Hehe, this is fun…….))
((Umm…Orchid Columbine? Do you still want to dance or are you gone to find something else to wear…)
In the meantime, I try to avoid Dalek’s attacks over the floor. (Unsuccessfully, I may add.)
((Well, everyone knows who I am now, so I suppose I’ll find a new costume. I can probably dance with you later, though, if it comes up.))
Seeing at least one couple has begun dancing, I swoop down, and see a person dressed as a raven.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask. “I mean, we both have wings.”
((I’m the third from the top, and a boy.))
I sift in through the shadow of a greek ionic pillar. One would think such a colorful costume would attract a bit more attention, but the party was already a swirl of color… in fact, someone was floating above the dancing crowd. A little smile sat upon my lips, as I lean on the pillar next to me. Why are Museblog dances always this crazy?
((Kefka is a character from final fantasy 6, all those who don’t know him. A picture can probably be found on google.))
The candlelight glistens on my green silk dress and necklace of silver leaves as I make my way into the ballroom. Holding my silver mask up to my face with my left hand, I make sure not to let it slip, especially since my circlet feels a bit too low at the moment. With a wave of my right hand, I Glamour it farther up. It’ll still feel too low, but at least it’ll look right! As an afterthought, I make my mask float just in front of my face. Now I won’t have to worry about dropping it when I go to dance with someone.
There’s a mirror right near me, so I check to make sure it’s working, then decide to Glamour my eyes green to match my dress. There. Finished, I think, just about to turn when I notice someone standing behind me.
“Good evening,” I say, surveying en. “You’re L, I see. Good choice. And… happy birthday, by the way.” I wink. ((It’s actual Halloween in ball time, right?))
I peer in from behind a pillar, unsure if my presence will be a shock to some. Brushing my white blonde hair out of my eyes, I step a dainty foot onto the floor. My white-blue dress swishes as I tentatively make my way over to The Faerie Queene. I wonder if anyone can guess who I am… I haven’t been here in such awhile…
“Evening, friend. I do love your necklace.”
((I can guess! But I won’t say…))
The dances are moving quickly. I pull out Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue”, setting it gently on the stage in front of me. I try to be graceful. My hat covers my bright blue eyes as I dive into another piece. The dancers respond enthusiastically to this change of music. The drastically dramatic music overtakes the entire room, and the dancing becomes stronger. I enjoy watching them as my heart pours through the instrument and out into the crowd, and I steal their emotions into my music as only a bandit can.
I walk into the ball, slightly nervous. I realize that this is my first ball and that, due to the costumes, I won’t recognize anyone. I try to take a determined step but almost trip on my hem. At least it’s not caked in 6 inches of mud…
I grin as I jetè in, my long tutu trailing after my as I leap through the air. My long skirted, black-and-blue-and-green-and-purple tutu. I am also wearing a blue siken mask, tightly fitting to my face. I smile. This will be an enjoyable ball.
I run into the ballroom all sweaty because I was late. I noticed the punch bowl, and I ran over and drank the whole bowl. After I was done scarfing down all the snacks, I walked to the middle of the room and said,”Would anyone care to dance with me?”
I would love to! Especially since our costumes are a rather, err, strange match.
Sliding gently on the stage a watch curiously as the Bandit plays faster and faster. I glance down at the music. Aha! An idea. I dash off in search of my trumpet. The last thing I notice before I leave is the confused look on the Bandit’s face.
I flutter into the ball, my wings streaming out behind me in a glory of red, orange and gold. My costume is a red, gold, orange, black, and purple dress swirled in the most fantastical patterns, with two huge pheonix wings sprouting from my back. My mask is made up of red and gold sequins glued together so closely that they appear to be melded into one giant sequin, with a simple purple ribbon to tie it behind me. I also wear a circlet made of golden and red wire twisted in vaguely Celtic knot designs. I am a pheonix, fire of the ball.
((I just sent in my picture. I hope it will be up soon!))
I finished adjusting my costume. I sprayed myself with death-scented perfume. Just a tad, I didn’t want to be unbearable. I entered the ballroom. People smiled at my beautiful face and elegant cobweb dress, and I smiled back. Then they recoiled in horror as they caught the stench of death and noticed my rotting corpse legs, and I laughed at the foolish mortals. I moved over to the buffet tables and helped myself to a pumpkin pie. I felt I would really enjoy myself. After all, I was the Norse Queen of the Dead.
((14.1.1.1.1.1)) “Eh, never mind. Bad reference to this place called MuseBlog. Now excuse me, justice is waiting to be served, and over near the snack table, too. How fitting.”
I whirl away from Nimueh, and sweep over to another Winged beast, apparently a demon. This little piglet had hogged all the refreshments. This would not do. I removed my blade from it’s sheath, and ram the butt of its hilt into the offender’s stomach. The beast regurgitates all the food and drink, and I spoon it back onto the trays, identifying and separating it as best I can. Satisfied, I take a slimy Puffin Puff and munch it, then swallow it, wipe my fingers, and dash back to my partner.
“…You know,” She says, “The wungs could easily have brought in new food…”
“It was no trouble, honestly. Justice usually isn’t my thing, but I hate a hog as much as the next man.”
((I’m a guy.))
I look up from the ground where I was “searching” for someone to talk to.
I smirk, “Why, thank you. I quite like your costume, but I am wondering how that mask seems to be just an inch away from your head…” I reach over to touch it, but she quickly pulls away.
I am a little shocked by this, but I respect her privacy.
“Would you care to dance?” I plan to inspect the mask further if she will dance with me.
I curtsy. “I’d love to, thank you very much!” A slow waltz starts to play, and we move out onto the dance floor. I notice him staring at my mask and laugh. “No strings. It’s supernatural… like shinigami, you know?” I wink again. I seem to be doing that a lot tonight.
((A picture will be coming soon.))
“Avast!” I shout down from my perch above the window. I let down a steel rope, praying it didn’t crash into anything. I don’t suppose it did, because I heard no sounds of destruction. Good. I made sure my gloves were snug on my hands, then slid down the rope. I landed behind a potted plant, and adjusted my goggles. Not a very complicated mask, but only to the unobservant onlooker. If you examined them closely, you could see the little buttons and knobs. They could locate ghosts and chocolate. I reminded myself to say another thank you for my Coontz friend who made them for me.
((I have a rather steampunk appearance.))
I walked into the hall, looking like I had stepped out of a Jane Austen movie. My dress was white, and it fluttered ever so elegantly against the ground. My mask was also plain white, except for the sapphires lining the eye holes. There were some fantastic costumes here. I sat on a chair by the side of the dance floor, quietly munching and watching the dancers and people coming in.
((A menu, for all of you who want to know what you’re eating:
Menu
Food
Eclairs
Fondue fountain with various fruits for dipping
Pumpkin tarts/pies
Apple tarts/pies
Bombe
Wung Buttons
Roast Pig
Bobbing Apples
Candy
Pumpkin seeds
Pasta salad
Treacle Tarts
Caramel apples
Meringues
Kolulourakia
Spanakopita
Baked pumpkin goods
Scones
Cranberry things
Wild rice
Cookies
Stuffing
Puffin Puffs
Drink:
Hot apple cider
Bengal Spice hot tea (very spicy and sweet)
Limeade
Lattes
Hot Chocolate
Bunny Cider
Egils mix
Butterbeer
Fire wine
Sparkling cider
Yes, the song has changed, it is now Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue”. I love this song
((38–Oh, gosh, I’m dense. I get it…..Move it out of the nested comments. Wow, I’m slow. Dratted school. I blame school. XD ))
“I’m more a fan of revenge, myself, but who on earth would want to consume regurgitated food stuffs? I think I’d rather starve.”
I admire everyone else’s costumes. Some were fancy, some elegant, some scary, and some creepy. I gravitated toward the elegant ones; they looked like they had some aristocratic personalities.
((May I send a picture of myself wearing this costume? I’ve had paren’ts permission for pictures in the past, and it truly is a fabulous costume…))
I do wonder if anyone would ask a lost little dead girl to dance…
((Errg! Curse you Pheonix Rising!!!!!!!! The Phoenix is my symbol!!! I am (almost) always in a phoenix/fire costume & I don’t care who knows it!!))
(( OK done with venting… who cares… I am who I am))
I flowed into the hall, with a trailing gown of oranges, reds, yellows, and the slightest hint of blue and purple. I had constructed a platform, hidden underneath my dress, that, by pushing out air levitated me above the floor. The contacts I was wearing were a pair of those high tech ones that allowed me to control my board. I wore an simple headpiece, made of 3 beautiful feathers stuck in a elegant bun (in a messy sort of way.) and a golden circlet. I made no attempt to conceal my face at all. And the best thing of it all was the necklace, a constantly swirling gem of fire, that contained the life force (different from spirit) of a phoenix that chose to move on but could only do so by removing his life force. Telling my board to head into the middle of the crowd, I officially entered the party…
“What’s with all this silly dancing? Why would these dumb mortals waste their time with such frivolous things? Bah, I’ll be seeing them all soon enough.” I grumble over to the drinks table, but when I don’t find anything good I pull out some Ogden’s Old instead.
((the idea for this came from a dress we found in the costume cubboard at theatre last week))
I step somwhat aprehensively into the ballroom, teetering on my sparkly red stilletto slingbacks. My so-dark-blue-they’re-almost-black skinnyjeans come down past my ankles under my dress, blue and white gingham spaghetti strap (over a white T shirt). The length would probably be frowned upon if I were not wearing anything underneath. I meander over to the food table and pick up two pumpkin puffs, eating one and putting the other into my basket weave clutch purse. Sinking onto a pouf, I shake my messy french braids back behind my shoulder, wondering If anyone will ask me to dance.
((I will try to take a picture of the dress next time I’m at theatre, whitch will probably be on Monday))
I noticed a girl who looked like an undead Alice and walked over. “Hello,” I said ((Rorschach’s voice is often hoarse like that).
“Oh, hi!” she said, smiling. “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling through my mask.
I walk into the hall slowly, not quite yet sure if I belonged here. My dress is shades of red tinted with black. My mask is also red and black, but it is decorated with thorns around the outer edge.
((Picture will be coming soon!))
I walk over to the refreshments and grab a pumpkin tart. It’s a bit moist, but I eat it anyway, trying to resist the urge to shove the tart down my throat because it is so delicious.
Yes your picture will be coming soon so you leave up the one of Pierre. Smart.
And you just happen to know the name of her dog, which I don’t think is common knowledge of unrelated MBers. Smart.
Now if I could just remember which MBer knows her…..You wil be identified.
Yuppers, I do believe I know who you are. Just so you know.
Yeah I realized that afterward. Oops. Oh well.
I step into the ballroom, my dress billowing slightly as I walk.
My sleeveless gown is woven of spider silk, and at the hem it trails off into countless spiderweb strands trailing behind me. The top is V-necked, with a black widow spider pin emblazoned across the front. My hair is pinned up beneath a small black hat with a spider web veil trailing off to the side, secured by a spindly spider.
I smile as I am greeted by the kaleidoscope of costumes, and sit on a large, dark red chair in a corner to watch. I decide to wait for conversation and start spinning a web by pulling the silk from my fingertips. The wungs give me resigned looks, but do not try to stop me.
((I may not be able to post here as often as I would like, due to homework…))
Hey, Count of Monte Cristo, would you like to dance?
((Okay. I redid my costume. I still have my black, slightly clingy dress, sweeping down to the floor, and my cloak, but the cloak now resembles the wings of the butterfly which I hope is my gravatar, or if not it’s a turquoise cloak ending in black. I’m a Ulysses butterfly, in case you were wondering.))
Nobody seemed to have noticed me. More people were arriving steadily, so I strode out farther into the floor. Over to the refreshment table, most of the people were thereabouts. I was also somewhat hungry. There wouldn’t be nectar there, of course, but as I was only pretending to be a butterfly. I reached the table, and was about to select a scone when I caught sight of the meringues. Ah! I delicately picked one up, and began eating it. Another figure was just in front of me. I spoke, taking care with my voice. “This is wonderful, is it not?”
((That’s Rose’s Secret, unless she’s gone and somebody else is here.))
Ah well, at least there’s food. I take an eclair and some butterbeer, hoping I can watch my appetite.
The music is lovely. I wish I could play, but, alas, I play very ill.
I continue to stand awkwardly.
I dance with La Raven. The music is a beautiful, hauntingly slow piece.
A reply to coment 26:
_______________________________________
Once again, oh no you don’t!
“ANTI-GRAVITY DRIVE!” I yell, and my pendant glows a faint red color.
I aim waves of negative gravitons at the dalek, and laugh evilly as it crashes through the ceiling and into deep space. Unfortunately, I made a BIG hole in the ceiling and in the floor of the roof top garden. I use my anti-gravity drive attack to keep debris from raining down, and send the debris into deep space as well. Everyone glares at me.
“What? I got rid of the Dalek, didn’t I?”
Everyone keeps glaring.
“Okay,okay, I fix it. AREA REPAIR!”
The ceilng and the floor above it are fixed.
Now that I got rid of AJAR, let us continue! He is NOT going to ruin the ball again this year!
((Yup, you’re who I thought you were. Your comment about AJAR confirmed it…..Who, by the way, I definitely am not, never have been, and never will be. Will respond to comment later…..))
Nani?!
But, why were you acting like AJAR?
YOU DARE ACT LIKE AJAR?
YOU MUST DISAPPEAR !
Hey, what the… I didn’t type “disappear”!
Darn you, 4Kids, darn you to heck !
I’m going to hug you with a rusty pipe, you silly sillies !
HEY, CUT THAT OUT!
That’s it, I’m going to gift you!
GAAAAAAH!
(btw, the bold words are NOT mine.)
((Of course you’re not. Uh-huh. Sure.))
((Well, I’m not AJAR, whether you believe me, or not. For starters, I am very much a girl, and am only having a bit of fun by being a Dalek–they’re dreadfully amusing–and I’m certainly not trying to crash the ball and ruin it. Besides, as you yourself pointed out, my radiation beams I was shooting out (or whatever the heck kind of beams they are) fizzled before they succeeded in exterminating anyone, so it’s not like I’m truly doing any harm, just providing a bit of entertainment.
So, yeah, my intention definitely wasn’t to act like AJAR, either. meh. Whatever. I’ve probably given my identity away by now, for various reasons, but whatever….Not too worried. XD
Actually, I have to wonder how I could possibly be confused with AJAR, as I have yet to see him utilize grammar, punctuation, and capitalization all at the same time…..))
((Good point, sorry. Given AJAR’s previous actions, especially recently, it did seem like you might be. But I’m perfectly willing to believe you’re not.))
((It’s all right.))
((We can vouch for the fact that Dalek is not AJAR.))
NAAAANNNNIIII?!
Dalek is not AJAR?!
*grumbles incoherently*
((Told you. =P))
AJAR never stated en’s gender.
((Hasn’t he? Somewhere? Anywhere? Could’ve sworn en’d said somewhere that en was a male. Huh. I’m losing it.))
((Post 58 is my picture.))
I finish my pumpkin pie and look around. The people seemed to be mad at someone, and were looking up at the roof. I didn’t see anything, so I settled into my chair and watched people dance. I wouldn’t ask anyone to dance, for I was sure most people would be disturbed be having a random half-corpse woman walk up to them. No, if anyone could tolerate me, they would have to ask me themselves. Besides, I wanted to see who was brave enough to dare ask me.
I waltz gracefully up to Charon, a haunting smile playing on my purple-lipsticked mouth.
“Hello, dear! Fancy a dance? You really shouldn’t drink that, liquor from the Wizarding world is much stronger than normal stuffs… fabulous costume, by the way!”
((Teehee, I think I know who you are…))
Who wants to dance with me? I need a dance partner. BUGGERS MUST DIE!
Care to dance, Mr. Rackham? I do hope I’m not too clumsy.
It’s okay, being a war hero doesn’t exactly teach you the best moves either. Let’s dance the Bugger-Hop! Wait, does anyone except Ender and I know what that dance is?
The bugger hop? I’m afraid, my dear sir, that I am more acquainted with the quadrille.
Oh, dear. My clumsiness has loosened my mask. Terribly improper of me. Everyone ignore that, please.
I lurk in the shadows ’till darkness appears, scaling the walls and entering the building through an air duct at sundown. I follow the putrid smell of “puffin puffs” to the duct closest to the food, but run into Winged Night before I get there.
“I’m sorry, may I pass?” I ask. He replies, “Yes, I was just leaving. My dance partner has arrived.” As he left, I could have sworn he muttered, “These ducts sure are busy tonight.”
Using my grappling hook, I drop out of the duct; levitating inches off the ground. After standing, I unhook my grappling belt and tug my green bow tie. My dusty catsuit is engulfed by my spotless tuxedo. I slide next to Anne Bonney eating the pastries at the buffet.
“Ahoy lass, I savvy you’re looking for dance partner. You, me, dance floor?”…
I slide over anime style and wave my arms. “But I would like to dance with a secret agent!” X-)
(I really need to stop watching so much anime on YouTube.)
A boy drops out of nowhere and walks over to me. He asks me if I would like to dance. I smile at him. “Yarr, matey, I’d love to.”
Before we can step onto the dance floor, though, a girl in a manga-type costume slides over to us and grabs my dance partner’s arm. “I want to dance with a secret agent!” she says.
“Tough luck, missy. He asked me. Go dance with Dalek,” I say, drawing my cutlass. The girl squeals and hurries away.
“That’s how ye deal with interloping cosplayers!” I laugh. “Now, do ye know how to dance to this? I haven’t had much experience….”
((I like watching anime also, TC. But he did ask me….))
((Crap.))
Unfortunately, as we step onto the dance floor, my mask slips off. “Oops,” I whisper, going red. “I hope nobody noticed that.”
((Nobody is allowed to notice me. By order.))
*still waving arms anime style*
DARN YOU! I WANTED TO DANCE WITH HIM!
*does a quick dash and steals cutlass and snaps it in two*
YE SCURVY-RIDDEN, FIBER-LOADED, OFFSPRING OF A FEMINE SEA DOG! *pies with a coconut-creme pie that came out of nowhere*
*whistles innocently*
((Not sure why on earth you hate AJAR so much. You remind me of him quite a bit…..))
The girl in the manga outfit is still waving her arms, and shouting something about sea dogs and pies. I ignore her, and continue dancing with Mr. Secret Agent.
*eye twitches*
*whistles innocently*
*presses secret button*
*causes all the secret agent’s gadgets to go off at the same time*
Oh, and WHY do I hate AJAR? Nimueh said it for herself.
I glide over to the aristocrats, one of whom is Sapphire Dust. She asks, “Hey, Count of Monte Cristo, would you like to dance?”
“It would be a pleasure, Mademoiselle.” I respond.
((Cake it, I was going to be L but it’s already taken.))
I walk into the ballroom in my costume. I am wearing a long, flowing white robe. My blond hair hangs loose down my back, and contacts turn my eyes gray. Perched on my shoulder is a tiny owl, which I rented from Owls ‘R Us for the occasion.
((Ooh! Ooh! I think I know who you are! OK, I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now and stop telling people about my guesses…I just couldn’t resist!))
60 – I did ask the Winged Demon, but seeing as he (she?) hasn’t posted since, perhaps we could share a dance for now. What do you say? (Don’t worry Winged Demon, I haven’t forgotten about you! We can dance next if you want!)
Is L by any chance Mr. L?
One of the humans launched an anti-gravity beam at me, sending me hurtling through the ceiling of the room and into space. Finally, after many hours, the anti-gravity field wore off and I was in control of myself once again. These human were turning out to be much more innovative than I could have possibly imagine.
First, my direct assault was failing–I had yet to successfully exterminate even one of these puny humans; my laser beams repeatedly fizzled out, scant inches from my body, without making contact with the intended targets. There was some sort of unfamiliar forcefield in the room inhibiting my weaponry. Then, that one human…..she had power far beyond what she should. No human should be able to defeat a Dalek, even temporarily. She must be dealt with.
But first…..I am Dalek Sec. I must adapt. I will adapt. I will defeat these humans, but first I must watch and observe and plan…..
I. DON’T. THINK. SO.
You happen to be within range of my deep space null-void generators.
TACHYEON SIGNAL! NULL VOID GENERATORS! DISPOSE OF THAT DALEK! EVEN IF IT ISN’T AJAR!
*Dalek gets sucked into null void and ripped apart and eaten by the Null-Void Guardian Monsters*
NOW we don’t have to worry about HER.
((Heh. Sorry. No such luck. You’re not getting rid of me.))
Science fact:
If tachyons are theoretical faster than light particles, making them go backward in time. If you have a tachyon signal, then, the signal would arrive before you sent it.
No, not if I sent it far enough into the future first, because then it would arrive instantaneously. (sp?)
Yes, if you calculated exactly the time and sent in into the future, and then had it emit, it would arrive instantaneously. But tachyons can’t travel forward in time.
Grr. That last post wasn’t supposed to be a reply.
‘Oh dear, will no one dance with me?’ I fret after Charon ogles me with disdain. I saunter over to Dalek.
“Excuse me, sir, but might I have the pleasure of a dance? You look rather lost…”
As I stand at the edge of the room, plotting the demise of these inferior animals, one of them dares approach me.
“Excuse me, sir, but might I have the pleasure of a dance? You look rather lost….”
“Dance? Daleks do not dance. Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate.”
Unfortunately, as before, my weaponry failed me, but the human got the idea and hurried away.
Oh, and you’re a girl?
Daleks are male.
Don’t make me use my Reverberating-Instant-Final-Boss-Knock-Out-Hammer (RIFBKOH).
What?
That’s the best name I could think of.
((And since when can girls not dress up as a male creature for Hallowe’en? I don’t recall there being any rule that says that one must dress their gender at a Hallowe’en costume party.))
I scuttle away. ‘Dear me, he was a fright…’
((Oh Faerie Queene! Would you like to dance? If not, I think I will either discover a way to beat Dalek, or ask the Undead to dance.))
Don’t worry about Dalek. I have WAY many more tricks up my sleeve than AJAR, and even AJAR had more tricks up EN’s sleeves than you could imagine.
*wonders what is up with this chick and AJAR*
((The ball is not the place for this discussion. Take it to another thread, please, if it continues.))
((I shall do that. I apologize for disturbing the peace. *creeps away*))
I noticed a girl who was looking around for someone to dance with. Why not, I thought. I walked over to her and said, “Hello.”
“Oh, hello!” she said, smiling. “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling through my mask. She looked at me hesitantly and said, “Something wrong with your voice?”
“Hmm?” I said in a normal voice. “Oh, no, that’s part of my costume.”
((65 – Yeah, that could be a problem…))
((Huh? What could be a problem? I’m confused.))
((In Super Paper Mario, Mr. L was a hypnotized Luigi. He was bad enough like that, but at the end of the game, he became even worse.))
((I think it’s L from Death Note.))
((Yes, that is what I was going for with my avatar.))
hello th
ere. iam following myfishie.Hello, Delirium. I think I’ve seen other members of your family at the ball. Some are dancing, but that tall fellow in the hood just seems to want to stand in the shadows holding his book.
((Sorry ’bout that, L. I haven’t been here. Yes, I would like to dance.))
((Oh! Ignore that post below… v.v But I’m still serious about the Dalek thing…)))
((Did you see my post replying to an earlier post of yours? Want to continue?))
((I’m going to continue on…))
The Faerie costume seems to be in some kind of daze. I walk away and see an undead girl walking away from a strange costume. I examine it at a distance. It looks like an encasing that would most likely have something inside. I didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but it seems to be scaring many of the people here. That can not be allowed.
“Excuse me, I think you are scaring the people here. I understand that it is Halloween, but it’s not time for verbal abuse.”
“EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE.” It pulls out a a gas pipe attached to an ignition device. I dodge.
“EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE.”
“You are quite annoying.”
“EXTERMIN-” I block him out. There are several gadgets outside and presumably inside of the encasing. Where is it getting power?
((I’m sorry, but I think the whole Dalek thing is a little annoying… Can I please defeat it? If so, then the creature inside can continue with the ball, or the costume can be less “EXTERMINATE”-ey.))
((Maybe you could get the Dalek drunk on butterbeer and teach it to dance. Come to think of it, what do Daleks drink? Machine oil?))
No.
Wait! It’s being powered by… ONE OF AJAR”S X-EMERALDS?!
That boy is BAKA.
Only I can nullify the X-Emeralds.
Model Lumine! Mega-Merge!
Model Lumine: BIO-LINK ESTABLISHED. M.E.G.A. SYSTEM ONLINE.
*becomes Lumine*
Heh, heh, heh. You know what they say… If you can’t beat ’em…
*copies Dalek’s body and powers*
…COPY THEM AND USE THEIR OWN WEAPONS AGAINST THEM!
Mwahahahahahahahahahahaha!
And that brat Axel isn’t here to spoil my fun either.
MWAHAHAHA!
*fires all copied dalek weapons at Dalek*
TAKE THIS, FOOLISH MORTAL ROBOTIC BEING!
*destroys outer casing of dalek*
Mwahahaha!
As the song ends, I spy a new potential partner. I thank Nimueh, and bound across the dance floor to the snack table, pausing on the way to speak to a slightly senile looking person of an ambiguous sex, “My avalanche is running late, would you like to buy a twosome clock?”
Then I reach the tables, where a slightly skeletal lady is standing. The Niflheim Queen, I believe. I take her hand, and begin to dance.
My dance with the Phantom over, I decide it is time to deal with that pesky Dalek. While I can admire its desire to rid the world of what it believes an inferior species, there is a time and a place for revenge and world domination.
It said it needed to evolve to succeed, I will help it evolve, mutate its DNA so that it is mixed with humankind, thus awakening in it a conscience and emotions. I shall change it from a killing machine into a hybrid; show it that there is no honour in mindless massacre. It can be more than that; with proper planning, it could help me defeat Uther Pendragon and return magic to the Land of Albion. That tyrant has ruled long enough. It is past time that magic was returned to the land instead of feared and reviled. We shall rule together!!!!!
And, perhaps, after the transformation is complete, I shall get it drunk on butterbeer and teach it to dance.
((What say you to that, Dalek?))
((Uhhhh. Is there a reason this post hasn’t gotten moderated yet, when several more recent ones have? Did it slip through some sort of moderation queue loophole, by chance?))
((Oh, nevermind. Just as I say it, it gets moderated. Classic.
))
Halloween Ball.
Ball.
Halloween.
Now you’ve given me something to ponder.
Meanwhile,
Greetings to one and all.
Greetings, Master Baker. What exactly does “Halloween Ball” or ball or Halloween give you to ponder?
NANI?!
SINCE WHEN WERE YOU AN ADMIN?! O__________O
Aw, well.
Greetings to you too. ^_^’
He’s been an admin as long as Rebecca has, more or less.
((Hi! Happy belated birthday! (It was yesterday, right?)))
Oh, hello Master Baker!
I smile to myself, enjoying Paul Baker’s poem. Meanwhile, I await the return of the mysterious trumpeter…and not the swan.
The music I play shifts. It becomes a light, happy waltz. I play “Tales From the Vienna Woods,” a delightful tune by Strauss. The airy melody carries the ballroom away. I sway delightedly to the music. I could do this for hours…the thought of dancing is intriguing, but I doubt anyone would want to dance with me, so instead, I rather enjoy providing the entertainment.
I wave good bye to my dad and climb up the steps towards the ballroom. Having my first day at Muse Academy fall on a holiday is very lucky. I adjust my goggles and red wig and look over my khaki
Ghostbusters jumpsuit before walking inside.
I gaze at the decorations in amazement, especially the starry ceiling. Looking up to try and make out the constellations, I bump into a trench-coated man dressed as Rorschach from Watchmen.
“Great costume!” I say.
Beginning to lose hope in this dance, I tiptoe up to Phantom of Rock Opera.
“Hello there, would you dance with me? My last partner attempted to anihilate me… I would be ever so obliged, just for a song?”
I am prepared to spring away if en starts showing signs of unexpected aggression.
((I’m already dancing with you. Twice over, actually, I believe – first in post 50, then again in post 70. Of course, if you want to dance with someone else, that’s fine too…))
((I was dancing with someone else, but not really, so I rolled with it. But we can both back out of it, if you like?))
((Teehee, whoops. I’m used to scrolling down to the bottom and going back up to look for responses to the number that I posted… but that was the *old* MB, now we have the stupid nesties, they mess me up…))
A young corpse of a girl walks up to me, and asks me to dance, claiming her previous partner attempted to kill her. She seems apprehensive because of this, so as a joke, I whip out my sword. She jumps back.
“Just kidding. Sure!”
((Again, I suck at dance scenes))
I return briskly, and out of breath. Leaping up to the stage, trumpet in hand, I casually lean on the wall as I politely wait for the bandit to finish her tune, careful not to dent my instrument. In the mean time I just wait and enjoy the beautiful music.
“Some secret agents have that irresistible effect on people, Miss Anne. And no, I don’t know this dance, but let’s learn,” I say after Miss Caskett leaves, who’s grumbling about Dalek (again).
As we step onto the dance floor, Dalek’s drunken servo motors malfunction and en rams me. I guidingly nudge en in a new direction, which seems to have been the wrong direction, as en crashes through the door, out onto the fire escape.
*CRASH!* *BANG!* *BOING!* *BOING!* *THUD!*
The Dalek starts to repeat: “!ETANIMRETXE !ETANIMRETXE”
Turning back to my partner, who seems to have just adjusted her mask, I say “Hmm, that’s a drunk robot for ya, messed-up, ramming into people, and saying everything backwards. Now where were we? Oh yes, dancing. Since neither of us knows this one, how about we follow The Count of Monte Cristo. Surely he knows.”
I stare after Dalek. “Oh dear. We should probably get someone to take care of en…are there any engineers in disguise around here, do you think?” Then my partner suggests watching The Count to figure out how to dance. “That be a good idea, matey.”
We watch The Count, who is dancing with Sapphire Dust, and pick up the dance in a few moments. “This be fun!” I laugh as I twirl under the Agent’s arm.
((Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow up a minute, guys. I get that a little powerplaying of characters is necessary to keep any sort of a story line, but y’all are taking it just a wee bit far, don’t you think? That said, as it appears that y’all are sick of the Dalek personality, I don’t think Nimueh’s idea was half bad. So…..off to respond to her–though I’m not so sure about that whole getting me drunk on butterbeer thing, mind you. *glowers* ))
((Sorry about that. You’re right. (It was his idea. *nudges AMC*) Just ignore our posts about you, then.))
Okay, Okay, my idea of you crashing down the fire escape steps took the story a little far, sorry.
I just kind of continued with his comment.
The butterbeer drunken robot was Robert Coontz’s idea (73.1),
((‘sokay, I’m not mad. And I do realize that Robert was the one who suggested the getting me drunk on butterbeer thing. It’s just, if things are/were to go that route, I’d prefer to be the one who decides when and where. But no harm done. The glowering wasn’t me being seriously mad, it was just me being in Dalek-character. I hardly think a Dalek would be too keen on humans getting him drunk, y’know. XD Anyway……Yeah.))
((Well, we couldn’t very well have a Dalek exterminating Muse Academy, could we?))
((And whyever not? We’re incredibly resilient, y’know. Not even that pesky doctor can get rid of us. *sniffle* That show’s not going to be the same w/o DT, though. And only three more eps w/ him. One in November, 2 this Christmas. *sigh*))
((Look, Dalek, a ball is a place for people to just dance and have fun and enjoy themselves, not try to keep from getting annihalated. Granted, this is Muse Academy, so there’s going to be a little bit that’s “interesting”…
but we had a problem like this that escalated last year.))
((And in case you haven’t noticed, I accepted Nimueh’s alliance and am assimilating myself into your culture for the duration of the ball, and not exterminating you all. ‘kay? My intention is not and never was to piss everybody off and ruin the ball. That’s not my style. You guys expressed your irritation, I complied. compromise, yeah?))
We’re happy to see such a cooperative spirit, Mme Dalek.
((My pleasure, Lady B.))
I flutter over to the food table and pour myself a cup of Bengal Spice hot tea from the beautifully made china teapot, which refills itself eternally. What a lovely ball! And what lovely tea! The fire in it replenishes the fire in me, and I sigh contentedly.
((Hello Mr. Baker, and happy belated birthday!))
Some Dalek thing and Tronne Caskett had a small battle in the middle of the ball, but my partner and I kept dancing, and the musicians kept playing. The music was absolutely exquisite. I saw Mr. Baker briefly, and wondered if he had any surprises planned, like The Thing.
After I asked, a girl in a buetiful dress walked up and said she would. We began to dance to the music.
SFTDP ((sorry I had to go to the dentist yesterday, and today I had to go to church))
I look around. “Would anyone care to dance?” I call out, unconsiously smoothing down my hair, which is messy at the degree in which it is beautiful.
((What say I, Nimueh? I say I’m in need of a new gravatar if you’re using some sort of magic to mutate my DNA…..))
As I stand on the sidelines, pondering my next move, one of the humans proposes an alliance of sorts. She whispers in my ear, speaking of magic and kings; she talks of the two of us ruling over this Land of Albion together. I know not of where she speaks, but in one thing is she right: I do need to evolve.
I accept her offer, and allow her to work her alien magic on me. The Dalek tactics of old have failed my people, and we need to evolve. As she works her magic, my small shrivelled body begins to grow, and I become to big for my metal shell. I press a switch, causing it to open and step out: a human-Dalek hybrid. And now, now I must bide my time, observe these humans, learn of their customs. I must learn to act like them, and then, I can help Nimueh conquer this Albion she speaks of. And then, then–goodbye Nimueh. Mwahahahahaha.
Wow, you look just like Juno. >_>
Hang on, let me call my mom and dad for advice.
*five minutes later*
Now I know how I can truely beat you… it will only work if the GAPAs get the email I sent them, though.
((TC — the ballroom at Muse Academy is huge. If another character at the ball annoys you, just dance somewhere else.))
Oh, OK. Did you recieve my email request?
I raise an eyebrow.
“There are many mysteries in this world.”
She smiles under her mask,”Why, yes. There are.” We continue dancing. I have never met someone so mysterious, without having some kind of sinister motive behind it. I let my mind rest for just a moment, and listen to the music.
((Faerie Qeene?))
((*Queene))
((*is here* *was doing homework*))
My mind sort of…. drifts away, I suppose, as the dance continues. It’s such a pretty song…
I jerk back to reality when the song abruptly changes to something very creepy-sounding, with wailing violins and howling wind noises and such. I shiver a little. “This really rather sounds like a ghost’s entrance music,” I remark. “Like…. oh, I don’t know. Like something sinister is about to happen. I certainly don’t feel like dancing to it.”
Just then, I hear someone scream. L and I both jump, stare at each other for a second, then run in the direction of the sound. As I run, my brain calmly remarks that apparently it’s easier to run in a floor-length skirt and heels than I’d thought. I tell it to be quiet or I’ll trip.
71.1- They’re n
ofunat all, exceptmaybe some of them forsome of theum
what do you
call itthat
thing that goes on andis going on all around us, likebubbles, orwas itbuterflies—oh, ye
s,time.You had a different name when you first came to Muse Academy, as I recall. Then you took that leave of absence… In any case, welcome to the ball. I think you’ll find that time has a different flavor here.
I sigh. “I suppose I shall dance a solo. Yippee!”
Glissade. Jetè. Tombè Padeboure. Ensèmble. Pirrouete. Sashay. Repeat.
I smile happily as I dance alone, attracting some odd looks.
I wander over to the refreshment table and eat a strawberry meringue. Nothing like high-class candy. Feeling parched, I take Phoenix Rising’s lead and fill a cup with some tea.
“Great costume, by the way, Phoenix!” I say.
I step out from the shadows silently, remembering what happened last year. I’d had to intervene and save that Cinderella girl from that malevolent kid who thought manifesting a disembodied hand and creating amnesia was the greatest trick in the world. That sort give ghosts a bad name.
But still, it was nice to associate with intelligent children once more, and I’d even convinced some of the others to come along. The visor on my altitude helmet lowered, I stepped out into the ballroom and made for the refreshment table. I can never resist fudge.
I go to the rooftop garden to get away from everyone. I am able to use my pendant to temporaily make myself intangible and go through the door in case it is locked.
The pumpkins look nice. They almost look good enough to eat, but I lost my appetite when all the snacks and drinks were eaten by a monster and taken out of it’s stomache.
I look out at the real moon and stars.
“I wish I could just be free from AJAR and people acting like him for oone night. I’m getting sucked in, and I’m starting to act just like him. It’s really getting on my nerves.”
And then…
________________
“Good-bye, cruel world,” I say, and jump over the balcony…
________________
Wait, that doesn’t happen…
“Well, I’ll enjoy myself tonight any way. That Dalek can destroy the moon for all I care. I will not be getting so upset any more.”
BTW, GAPAs, could you please NOT open up the rooftop garden for a few more days? Thanks,
I finish my meringue, and look around. I’d like to dance now, though the figure I spoke to earlier didn’t respond, and I wonder whether anyone will. But I try anyway. “Would anyone like to dance?”
Seeing Mariposa, I say that I’d like to, if she doesn’t mind dancing with a girl.
“It would be a pleasure.”
Cake it.
((*gasp*! Your mask!))
((Right. I’m rolling with this as a tragic turn of fate.))
Just as I turned to accept Eden’s proposition, my mask string, which I could have sworn I tied properly, broke and fell. I stood there, unmasked, for a moment before I swooped to catch my mask, and replace it. Undoubtably the entire ball had seen, but I could hope. I tied my mask back on with even more care than usual, and smiled at Eden. “As I said, it would be a pleasure.”
“Right then, I’m a little clumsy, but here goes.” I said, starting to dance. “I really like your costume, I’ve always been fond of tropical butterflies.”
“Why thank you. I enjoyed designing it. I decided to go for something a little less typical than the ordinary fake wings, hence the cape.”
“Have you been at Muse Academy long? What’s it like here? I just arrived today, but my dad heard about it through Mr. Coontz and thought it would be the best place for my education.”
After a whirling dance with Rorsarch and Phantom, I stumble dizzily over to the punch table. I bump right into MS2; confused, I look up at en.
“Hello, I’m terribly sorry… could you please pass the fudge? What a marvelous costume!”
My mask is not quite typical; a red mask of the sort used by Sailor V. I know that itself may make me extremely obvious-after all, not many of us know that much about Sailor Venus-but I don’t mind…
I slip into the ballroom, not unnoticed…and promptly lose my balance, almost falling.
“Aaah!” I shriek, falling on all fours.
((Excuse me, what is the GAPA’s email? I have a picture that I’d like to send in, and I’d like to send it in quite soon/))
((We’re gapa at musefanpage.com.))
((Thank you, Mr. Robert.
Oh, and I happened to send a link of the dress I just happen to be wearing to the ball in…that’s precisely why I needed the email.))
A girl dressed as Alice in Wonderland with long, white-blond hair bumps into me.
“Hello, I’m terribly sorry… could you please pass the fudge? What a marvelous costume!†She says, looking at my blue flightsuit.
“Here you are.” I say, passing a tray of chocolate fudge with a chuckle. “I guess it does look authentic, doesn’t it? Yours is nice, too.”
Smiling delightedly, I twirl while popping a piece of chocolate fudge in my mouth.
“Thank you so much! I did cheat and order it online… but I embellished it myself, and used about a million pounds of makeup…. I do love halloween so much, cosplaying is the greatest. Care for a dance?”
“Well, if you’re not opposed to dancing with someone of the same gender, then sure. This suit can make it hard to tell, I’ll admit. And cosplaying really can be fun.” I say.
I wave my hand carelessly.
“Pfff, we’re all just friends here. And dancing is good fun, and excercise.” I begin a strange twitching and swaying pattern that could be considered dancing.
I copy Alice’s movements.
“Were you at last year’s ball?”
I clutch my heart, looking sarcastically offended.
“Why, of course I was! I *have* been a Museblogger for… oh, three years now? Four? Where does the time go? How long have you been blogging?”
“Nearly two years, but I don’t get to come up to Iceland very often. I usually have… business elsewhere.”
I rush in, late as usual. I am wearing a purple gown. My mask is covered in brightly colored feathers and jewels. I am also wearing a belt, and attached to this belt is a dagger with a jewel in the hilt.
I floated over to the snacks, and immediately saw bite size pumpkin pies… and gobbled down two or three in a blink. Then I floated towards the edge of the dance floor hoping someone would ask me to dance.
Phantom of the Rock Opera approached for a dance. I didn’t seem to disgust him, at least. Not that it mattered. When the dance was over he left me for another corpse. That was fine. I grabbed a cinnamon meringue and sat down by the door to the rooftop garden, knowing that if anyone was on the other side they would be able to smell my rotting legs. But I knew that the rooftop garden was closed. Nobody was on the other side. I was rather enjoying myself. I wondered if anyone else was brave enough to dance with the Norse Queen of the Dead.
Must we be in costume, or is the ball frequentable in my own identity?
-A
((Well, if you don’t want to be in costume, I don’t think anybody is going to force you. I for one don’t care whether you come as yourself or as an AE. I’m doing the whole AE thing, but it’s dreadfully hard to remember to switch back to my name and email. Almost more trouble than it’s worth, really.
))
I enter the ballroom, wearing a long denim skirt and a pinkish-purple blouse. My long brown hair is back in a thick braid with tiny pink roses tucked into the length of it. “Hello,” I say in a British accent, to no one in particular. “Has anyone seen Indigo?” I finger the paintbrush inserted behind my ear and watch the people dance and converse merrily.
((Would anyone like to be the person who screamed? *coughcough*))
I slip quietly into the ball, a bit late as usual. A few people look up as I enter, and I self-conciously adjust my dress. It is a shimmering silk weave, with colors that slide across the spectrum in sunlight and in the dark makes me appear almost invisible. My mask is a simple ordeal, shaped to fit my face and covered with more of the same soap bubble-like fabric. I look around uncertainly, unsure what do do first.
I ignore my gadgets, which seem to have mysteriously malfunctioned, and continue to dance with Anne Bonney.
After the number ends, we go get some sparklingly cider, Spanakopita, and Baklava.
A girl with a paintbrush says, “Hello, has anyone seen Indigo?â€
I reply, “Welcome to the ball. No, I have not seen Indigo. Do try the food though, most every thing here at the buffet is delicious; except the extra puffiny puffin puffs.”
Then a hot pink bunny
jumps out from the buffet table– startling someone at the buffet who screams (which one I don’t know)– grabs the punch bowl, and disappears…
I head over to the buffet, it looking rather good. Ooh! Nomnoms! I rush over to the delightful chocolate-pastry things, and picked a few up, popping them into my mouth. I sighed with delight as the nomnoms melted onto my tongue.
“You know,” I said cheerily, turning to a person next to me, “I haven’t had these in such a long-”
Suddenly, a HPB pops out of the pile of pumpkin seeds. I scream, drop the nomnoms, and curse.
((As Muse Academy is completely bunny-proof, I assume these must be animatronic bunnies that somebody has placed in the buffet as a prank.))
*force feeds Puffin Puff*
I look at the bunny with wide eyes.
“How did that get in here…” I muse.
“It was the Dalek!” someone shouts.
“Well that certainly makes sense.” The Faerie Queene costume is fluttering about. Her costume was moving around, magically, of course.
“It’s alright.”
“Yes, yes. I suppose it is… But who made that awful screech?” Everyone looked at each other, and then at the empty space where the punch-bowl used to be.
((Mystery to be solved!))
((The second use of “costume” should be dress.))
89.1-
Those
times were a longlongever ago.I th
ink, I thinkI shall dancenow,or else I willgo all butterfliesYour avatar may enjoy being changed to something a little less revealing.
Just so you know.
My white dress billowed out behind me. A golden crown, like a halo, circled my head, matching the lines on my dress. My hair flowed down my back in curls. Ah, beauty is power.
I walked over to the nearest man and asked him to dance.
Princess Venus
Very pretty.
My little rented owl squawks in panic as the animatronic HPB pops up.
“Peace, Uwila,” I whisper, using the name on the Owls ‘R Us tag around its foot. “It’s just a machine.”
I burst in, panting, “I threw this on. It’s not TOO awful, is it? There’s a brief silence, then laughter. I’m wearing a white bedsheet with holes cut out in it, with a t-shirt and jeans underneath, but in my flurry I went overboard with the scissors, and I now resemble Charlie Brown. I can only hope I don’t get any rocks.
I sigh and walk over to the girl dancing like crazy on one side of the room…who hasn’t noticed me walking up behind her.
“Hey.”
“AAH!” she screams, whipping around, but quickly calms down.
“Hi, I’m Princess Venus. Try to guess the reference along with my dress-”
“Sailor Moon.”
“Dang, you’re good. What’s your name?”
“It’s TheDancer, no space.”
I promptly lead her off to the soft plush armchairs on the other side of the room, so we can talk.
I eye Sailor Moon-whatsit warily. What an odd girl. I hop out of the chair and sit on the floor instead. “Thats better. I hate chairs.” I say cheerfully, and go into the splits.
“But chairs are better than cold floors-and besides, I refuse to do splits in a dress with these shoes on. Ick.”
((Um, AE alert?))
I glower at Sailor Moon and stalk away. I’m sure there’s somebody around whose presence would be more enjoyable.
I simply glide across the floor, walking over to the buffet table and waiting for somebody to talk to.
((Wow….. Amazing Drawing….. I is jealous))
((Adeia (wonderful name by the way-where’d you come up with it?), Eden, I didn’t draw it-it was found off the internet. *sweatdrop*))
I hear screams and yells from down stairs, but I choose to ignore it.
I think I know what is causing it though. Dalek probaly did some stupid prank like putting robotic HPBs in the buffet or something.
I think I saw them. I will send a picture of them soon, if that is okay.
“Um, it was me,” a steampunk-looking girl speaks up. “I was startled… I’m sorry…” She stares at the mess at her feet.
“The HPB is gone!” I suddenly realize. “It couldn’t have just vanished, could it? Not if it was animatronic. Did the Dalek really do this, or is there something else going on here?”
As I stand on the sidelines, observing these inferior humans, trying to learn about these creatures, I hear snatches of conversation from people over near a table laden with food and drink. I hear my name mentioned–they appear to be trying to hold me responsible for the appearance of ferocious pink rodents. This is simply unacceptable; I walk over to where they are conversing in order to set them right.
“I am a Dalek. I am a superior being. Such things as appearing and disappearing pink rodents is below my status. Your accusations are insulting. Be warned or I will be forced to take action against you.”
I leave them, letting this message sink in, and return to observing the humans, whilst pondering things. Before allowing Nimueh’s strange magic to transform me, I never would have considered letting such inferior and insulting creatures off with mere warning; I simply would have exterminated them on the spot. But now….I must wonder. Is this change really for the better, or have I made a tragic and fatal mistake?
A bugger pops in out of nowhere, and grabs me. I get pulled, screaming, out of the ballroom.
{Translation: My parents have banned me from the computer until further notice. This is my last post. Please don’t reply, because I won’t see it for a while. By the way, I’m muselover.}
I walk quickly into the room, hoping I’m not too late. My costume is a black dress with colored, translucent, cloth streamers on it. My mask is the same, black, with shorter strips of cloth. ((My current fascination is with the Northern and Southern Lights, so…)) I go over to a place along the wall that doesn’t seem to be too crowded, and stand there, observing my surroundings.
“It seems to be a projector,” I say. Everyone looks at the device hiding in the rafters. It’s black, and looking downward. It seems to be held up by duct tape.
“Who would do that?” Crissa DeLange asks.
“A prankster,” I say. Shall I pursue?
“I have a pretty good idea who that might be, but I haven’t seen him here,” I say. “Maybe it’s someone else entirely?”
“Well, who do you have in mind?”
“From what Tronne’s been saying, she thinks AJAR is trying to spoil the ball. But that Dalek isn’t him… and I haven’t seen him anywhere… so it’s got to be someone else.”
“I…. guess… not.”
I stare at the table. Where could it have come from?
((Whoopsies. Ignore this.))
I step into the ballroom, well aware I am late. I’m wearing a black form-fitting coat, a dark red corset, a black skirt with lace at the bottom, and black lace-up shoes. My mask is silver, and I straighten it nervously, hoping someone will ask me to dance.
I swoop over to the food table. I select a mandarin orange and delicately dip it into the chocolate fondue pot. After a bit, I take it out and eat the delicious chocolate fruit. I then grab a butterbeer and stand in a pool of darkness. I observe the ball, and slowly sip my drink.
I disregard all previous [fluff] comments made and stride into the ballroom, displaying a tasteful three-piece suit entirely green-themed.
I doff my simple fedora at the door and leave it shimmering a silky emerald on a hatrack that appeared rather conveniently just where I threw it. (Ahh, the power of the will.)
Slipping out of my suit jacket and draping it around a nearby chair, I whistle a quick two-note signal to the very beautiful Harlequin Bandit currently occupying the stage. With her attention, I hop the low step up, and on level with her and her cello (which is still singing for us) I ask in a low voice if she’d like to switch to something geared a bit more towards concert band. In example, I pull out the Liberty Bell March, and catch the euphonium that has been hurtling towards the top of my head from a very startling height to anyone familiar with how precious musical instruments can be. A full orchestra appears behind us, flickering between the real world and that of the imagination.
She need only give the word.
-A
I stop playing and smile widely under the brim of my hat. “But of course,” I say, gesturing towards the sweeping orchestra. “The stage is yours, my friend.” I slide my chair over, and another one appears beside me. The music for the Liberty bell March appears on my stand. “Wonderful!”
The stage lights dim, and together, with the full symphony we begin to play. The wonderful Sousa march resonates through the ballroom. The dancing responds enthusiastically to the new player on the stage. It’s a wonderful sound.
“I love your instrument,” I say conversationally as we play for the crowd. “Brass are my favorite, next to strings.” I play along with the trombone section, as cellos do not usually play with a brass band, but it makes no difference to me. The euphonium does sound lovely, and Gradster plays it extremely well. It takes a lot of dexterity to play larger instruments. It’s wonderful to have someone else onstage, and I rather like green as well.
((Heh. I leave for a couple of days, and someone else does what I planned to. However, I could never have put it quite a eloquently as you. Enjoy yourselves!))
((Why not come join us? We could certainly use a trumpeter!
))
Please, do!
We are actually in need of musicians at this ball. It’s kind of confusing…
-A
I walk over to the snack area and grab a classic puffin puff, and giggle after remembering the last year’s event. I jump at a glass of butterbeer, the likes of I’ve never seen before. Up on stage, an odd man dressed (tastefully) in all green, creates a full orchestra out of pure imagination. I clap my hands together in delight.
“Beautiful! And I, of all people, should know that.”
I step in, somewhat embarrassed by my tardiness. Trying to avoid being watched is rather difficult, seeing as I am wearing a large ballon with craters and all around my middle. A small, electric moon rover skitteres across the bumpy surface of my costume, leaving miniscule tracks. Debating weather or not I will be able to dance in this outfit, I meander over to the food table and help myself to a little bit of everything and sit down near some other costumed musers.
(How exactly are you going to sit down?
Sorry. Had to mention it.)
-A
Having completed, to the despair of the wungs, a large floor-to-ceiling web at my seat, I decide to amuse myself.
Climning up the wall with the aid of the sticky pads on my eight limbs (four extra arms are part of the costume…), I sit, feet dangling, on the rafters. Creating spools of silk, I drop down the sticky ends so that they attach invisibly to people’s backs. Once everyone is hooked up, I attach the spools to the rafters and wait. As people walk and dance, their threads twist and interweave into a complicated web of interactions.
I find myself laughing delightedly at the concept, and several people look up bemusedly.
Spotting the Count of Monte Cristo hiding in a pool of darkness, I do a few pas de bourrées over to him and recline against the wall on his left side. “Hello,” I say. “Are you enjoying the ball?”
I glissà de over to Pheonix Rising. “I see that you also dance?”
Stepping away from Mariposa for a minute, I take an apple tart and see a tall women in a gown.
“Great costume! Nimueh, the sorceress of Aurthurian lore, right?”
“Thank you. Yes, I am Nimueh from Arthurian legend. I should probably know, but who are you suppose to be? I am dreadfully ignorant of the goings on outside of Albion.”
“Well,” I launched into the explanation I had recited countless times “Do you know the movie Ghostbusters? Harold Ramis’ character, Egon Spengler- he’s my dad. My mom’s Janine Melnitz, the secretary Annie Potts played. That’s how I knew your name- one learns a lot of legends in a family of paranormal investigators.”
“I’m afraid my knowledge of Ghostbusters is quite limited. That is to say, I’ve heard the name [Ghostbusters], but beyond that……Perhaps one day, if I ever have the time, I will hunt down the movie and watch it.”
“Ghostbusters has one of the funniest scenes ever in comedy,” I call to Nimueh and Eden Marie Spengler as my partner and I whirl past them.
“It’s very good, although my mom doesn’t like how Potts played her. I’ve been training to join the business when I’m older, and dad thought MA would be conducive to that.”
As a wung brings out a new bowl of punch, I announce my conjecture.
“First, projectors can’t move (or remove) a punch bowl; the bowl was here before it happened, gone after.
Second, why would an animatron take the punch? En would have no use for it.
And lastly, the wung that came out with the new punch bowl was smiling too much, and wearing pink furry boots.”
Anne Bonny, would you like to continue dancing with me?
((Sure thing!))
“It was? How strange. I didn’t think wungs wore clothes….maybe we should stay away from that punch…”
((Sorry, a bit unimaginative right now… XD))
((Hm. That was supposed to be a reply to AMC.))
I meander around, ending up at the punch bowl. It was then I realized none of my holes lined up with my mouth. Annoyed, I start slipping punch into my outfit and receive a purple stain for my efforts.
I walk over to a person in a classic sheet-ghost costume, who forgot to cut a mouth opening. I pulled a sewing kit out of thin air and rushed over.
“Here,” I said, handing en the tiny scissors, “these should do the trick. No need for those stains.” I made them disappear, too.
I
ummmmm………………..
I walk over to where some people were standing by the punch.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Indeed I am, Madame. And you?” I respond to Pheonix Rising.
“Oh, okay,” I say to the person who had not seen Indigo. “Indigo doesn’t like crowds much, anyways.” As directed, I slip over to the buffet table and look at the options. I select a rather strange-looking item with legs take a tentative bite.
It flies out of my mouth and starts squawking. I scream really loudly. The single hoop dangling from my ear jingles. “Is THIS what everyone means by a puffin puff?” I ask, grabbing the thing out of the air and throwing it into the trash. I can feel my cheeks go as pink as the paint color I’m named after as everyone stares at me.
Um, just wondering: How close is MA to ReykjavÃk?
There seemed to be a commotion. An automation hpb had sneaked in and stole the punch bowl. Than a wung in bunny-boots had brought another one. I decided to avoid the buffet table for the time being. I started watching the dance again, amused that nobody had been able to push past their revulsion enough to ask me to dance. Like it mattered. Soon these inferior beings would be in my domain. Mortals were so dreadfully short-lived, and as ruler of the underworld I had plenty of room for everyone.
I appear out of the shadows, and soundlessly walk up to The Niflheim Queen.
“Don’t like the food?” I asked.
“Well, let’s try and enjoy the ball,” I say. I hold my hand out to the Faerie Queene.
“Would you accept another dance?”
((I know I may not be immitating L very well… But he wouldn’t really go to a Halloween ball in the first place (or maybe he would?), so I’m just winging it.))
I enter the ballroom somewhat late, but I don’t plan on staying in the main hall for long.
I’m dressed in a kimono-type ballgown: long, wide sleeves and an obi. The main difference is that my dress is wider around the legs than a kimono. The dress is trimmed with a blue wave pattern and a red dragon is stitched across the entire thing. My mask is red with golden stripes.
My wavy brown hair detracts from the oriental look, but I don’t care.
Actually, I’m changing my email back so the gapas can recognize who I am.
((He might, but probably only to get information about a case or some such thing. XD And he certainly wouldn’t care that it’s his birthday… but yeah, actually, I think you’re doing pretty well. ^^))
“Delighted,” I reply. The song changes to something that sounds very much like a modern slow song. Suddenly, I realize what it is, and stifle a laugh.
Would you dance, if I asked you to dance?…
“Hero. Classic,” I say. “They play this at just about every school dance.”
I beam down into the middle of the punch. I curse scotty for messing up the transport corodanents. Off to the side I see a mysterious being with a gun sticking out of its body. i decide to investigate
When do we reveal our selfs?
((Generally we reveal ourselves on Halloween.))
((Actually, generally others guess us.))
((Count of Monte Cristo, if you would like to dance with someone esle or take a break, that’s fine.
))
“Certainly,” I reply to the Count. “I’ve always enjoyed this holiday-the mystery, the supernatural, the free candy…”
Munching thoughtfully (if that’s possible) on a handful of candy corn, I survey the ball. There are several couples dancing to the music, much more elegant than any middle school couple typically found dancing to the same song. I’m ordinarily not much for dancing, but this is, after all, a ball. “Would anyone like to dance?” I say to the room at large.
“I’d love to, if you’re still up for it after such a long time being ignored. Terribly sorry about that – it won’t happen again.”
-A
“Oh, it’s fine. After all, I am almost invisible in this dress,” I say. “Thank you!” We begin to dance.
((Um, I don’t really know how to narrate dancing.))
“That’s fine,” I say, using a newly-found-then-immediately-lost thought-reading ability. “I believe the trick is just to make it more than simply ‘we dance’,” I remember from past balls. “The awkwardity passes after a bit. I’ve gotten used to it, anyway.”
We begin to sway gently among the other costumed ballgoers, dodging many a mysterious face. “So you say you’re almost invisible in this dress? Why’s that?”
-A
“The fabric–well, you can see obviously, but it’s got some unusual properties. It’s almost invisible in light like this. I just wish I could remember where I’d got it. Every time I try to think about it I just can’t…” I pause, watching a nearby couple sweep across the floor. “I don’t know, really.”
“Bother,” I say amiably, glancing at the couple passing us. The lady has on a spectacularly crafted form-fitted dress, complete with wings that appear to be weight-bearing. “Interesting,” I mutter to myself.
“Anyway, I do wish you could remember,” I go on. “I’d love to own a good almost-invisibility cloak. It’d come in handy.”
In our dancing, we come fairly close to the exit door leading to the garden. “Two thoughts,” I posit. “One: think you’ve got some sort of memory charm on you?” I hesitate, wondering, “Or would that be too far into the realm of a certain fantasy story involving a boy wizard with a cut on his forehead?”
The orb snorts, startling a rather handsome young boy in a frighteningly convincing Harry Potter costume out of his chair. He scuttles into the shadows, fading from sight as he backs away from the stationary sparkling sphere of magical power. The orb excuses itself in an indignant manner and resumes its appearance as an inanimate object.
I turn back to The Orb. “Well,” I say, shaken. “Umm… I’ve completely forgotten what I was saying.” I turn to look again, taken aback by the completely innocent-looking orb. “Did you hear that?” I ask, troubled. “Or am I finally going crazy?”
You can tell I had some fun with this one. Might be because it’s so late and I am smashed drunk on no sleep.
… Interesting phrasing, there, self.
-A
((By the way, I’m not actually an orb, my costume is based off of a bubble. Just so you know.))
Mmm, yes, I’d guessed – note the capitalisation?
-A
“Honestly, I’m not even sure what’s going on,” I say conversationally. “This sort of thing seems to happen quite often at Muse Academy balls, doesn’t it? Explosions, magical creatures, and the like. It’d take a wormhole to surprise–well…” I stare at the small swirling vortex that has appeared over gradster’s shoulder. “Never mind. Anyway, tell me about yourself. What’s your favorite holiday?”
I turn to Aurora and explain the ghost’s wardrobe malfunction.
“Well, now that’s done, would anyone care to dance?” I say loudly.
Grrrr! I always mess up AE’s.
Eden asks me a question, but I had just received an urgent call, and I had to answer it. ((Rather a cheesy excuse for vanishing in the middle of a conversation… Sorry.)) When I got off, as quickly as I could, Eden had drifted off slightly, to talk to somebody else. I went to join her conversation.
((Sorry I have been without wi-fi the whole weekend…))
I walked outside losing my interest to dance… the garden was delightfully spooky….
Dan
cing dancing la lala((*snork* I know who “Undead Alice is”…..I just saw her avatar on an older thread…..Sorry, random. Genetics, yes, genetics. Must study genetics. Must. Stop. Procrastinating. Sorry…..))
After finishing myplate of goodies, I get up and move over to the dancing area. Wondering if anyone will ask me to dance, I begin spinning rather quickly in a clockwise direction to pass the time. The streamers in the ceiling form a very interesting pattern as I rotate, giving the impression if fluttering bats circling overhead.
I temporarily drop my aristocratic manner as I hear Pheonix’s words. “Free candy?!?! Need-candy-now-do-they-have-swedish-fish-need-swedish-fish!”
I rush around the room peering in the corners for the Swedish Fish. I skid to a halt and collapse.
“Need – water — now ——-” I gasp, and collapse out of dehydration.
((This is my current state of mind. The dorm water looks too nasty to drink.))
((Anyone who’s read The Shadow in the North will know where my name is from :evil:))
I enter the ballroom. My costume in a strapless blue dress, with a white hair ribbon. I take some bunny cider and an eclair and watch the homicidal robot on the other side of the room.
((Er, I believe the Dalek morphed/mutated/whatever and is no longer in robotic form…..Like in that one episode, “Evolution of the Daleks”–good episode, by the way. But any ep with the Daleks is good, because it’s so dratted hilarious when they appear, since they’re all supposed to’ve been wiped out. The Dr’s face is always so priceless. Eh, I’m rambing. And cluttering the thread. Who cares if the Dalek is in robot/humanoidish form. I mean, really? Ok, seriously, shutting up now.))
((The villain’s shipping company? It’s been a while since I read the book.))
((I loved that book!))
I’m still on the roof, star gazing. I begin to wonder when the rooftop garden will officially open. I almost think of playing a prank on everyone when they come up, but decide against it.
I walk into the room.
(That is all I can say currently.)
Me too.
((I checked a while ago to see how many Kingdom Hearts fans are on the blog, and there are enough to keep my identity moderately secret.))
After my mask slipped temporarily, I dash off to the bathroom to calm myself. After taking a few calming breaths, I saunter out of the bathroom, my head held high.
I see that more people have started to dance since I first arrived. I wander out onto the floor and sway back and forth to the music, drinking it in.
((It appears you forgot your mask in the bathroom.))
((Sorry, I haven’t been on here in a while…))
I decide to head over to the food table, and take some (safe) candy. (I’m not ready to try Puffin Puffs quite yet…) As I munch on the sweet pieces, I look over the dance floor where couples swing back and forth to the music. I sway but decide to stay next to the table for now.
After recovering from my run-in with a puffin puff, I collect myself and walk into the middle of the ballroom, asking, “Would anyone care to dance?”
“This is a strange song selection,” I say.
“Yes,” She chuckles. Nevertheless, we dance to the music. I look around to see who else is dancing, then I realized that everyone is in costume. I don’t know who (whom?) anyone is! This shall be my next task.
((I sent in my picture. It’s the same as my avatar, by the way.))
I flap over to the Count of Monte Cristo, bending worriedly over him. “I meant when you trick-or-treat,” I explain, “but I’d suppose they have candy here too…” As if by magic, I suddenly spot a bowl of assorted candies, some of which are Swedish Fish. I lift the bowl up and carry it over to the Count. “Would you like some?”
I head over to the food, shuddering whe I see the puffin puffs. I then dip a strawberry in the fondue.
Gradster bows after the march is finished and then goes to dance with the Orb. I bid him a fond farewell then contemplate the third movement of the Sheherazade. I then observe Kefka watching from the side of the stage, smile widely and warmly invite him over to join me. A new chair appears on the stage in front of the ghostly orchestra. He sits, and we begin to play together. The lovely melody serenades the ballroom.
As we play I notice a small movement in the corner of the ballroom. Near one of the gigantic pumpkins, which glows brightly with the fire of a huge black candle, I see a shadow shift and rise from the depths of the gourd. A mystic white figure steps from it, lightly skipping across the wall. It appears to be solid, but not all there. She is a small girl, with a swirling white dress of mist that cuts through the pumpkin but makes no mark. She glares at me with eyes that have to pupils, in a way that seems to be a warning. She reaches the far wall of the ballroom near one of the wide bay doors, glances behind her and disappears.
I wonder silently if anyone else had noticed.
I sit up dazedly. My sugar frenzy has disappeared. Pheonix leans over me, looking worried. She says, “I meant when you trick-or-treat, but I’d suppose they have candy here too…â€
“I’m sorry; I overreacted.” I apologize. I take a few Swedish Fish and munch on them thoughtfully.
((Surprise, surprise! I’m back! My parents ended my computer ban early. I might get back on this thread eventually under a new alter ego.))
Hey, muselover! I’m just hopping on this thread. I have read the COmputer and Video Games thread (although no one else seems to have done so), and I see that you like Kingdom Hearts just like me!
Seeing no one in the garden I went back in the ball room. Feeling dreadfully lonely ((as I often do at most parties in real life, I am more of a misfit)) I hovered, no flew, very high above the party and used my necklace to create a whirlwind of fire around me, as I hoped to catch someones attention…
I’m in the garden! *waves arms anime style*
I appear out of nowhere in particular, a jet pilot in olive drab. A whirlwind of fire appears near the starry sky, not destructive fire, but the better kind, and this draws my interest…
“A truly beautiful display, but why so glum?”
Ooh, GyroMan.EXE, Right? 8D
Can I dance with you?
“Of course you may, but I think you have me confused with somebody else.”
(170)
Oh hell
otherethat‘
ssome nice flamesMayb
ewe should make themsparkly?NO! Are you trying to blow the place up?!
BAKA! BAKA! BAKA! BAKA! BAAAAAKAAAAA! *shakes finger*
“Calm down, anime-girl, please…. she’s not going to blow anything up. I think.”
((Am I still dancing with someone? I guess not….))
“Oh, and have you danced with anyone yet?”
1) Riiiiiiight.
2) Who Cares?
3) NO!
Maybe I should also stop watching so many YouTube Poops.
You’re a jerk.
Um, you didn’t say it correctly. It’s:
You’re A Jerk!
Yeesh.
“Um, because it’s rather hard to dance with two people at once….would you care to dance? If you don’t mind dancing with another girl…and I’m not too incredibly annoying for you….”
((Please, Niflheim. Let’s not start another war here. Just ignore her if you don’t like her. Some people you have to work with, you know?))
Oh, I wasn’t going to pursue the matter any farther, I just felt that the truth needed to be said. Sorry.
Seeing Delirium, I cautiously ask her to dance.
why certainlytho
ugh I‘m notsure I willremember all the steps((I am sure having trouble with these names lately, haha. Oh well, you all know now))
((We love you anyway! You’re my favorite one to read! Please just go on!))
are
your wings real?Ithink I had wings onceor perha
ps I dreamed it?My wings are as real as anything can be.
oops, I kee
psteppingon yourfeetperhaps
Ishould haveworn shoesor maybeturquoise shellsor maybe... I don‘
tknow. Where arewe again?(((sorry I’m slow with responding, these time some time to type up, and I don’t always have long on the computer)))
((Do you have a system for how you decide what do do to each letter? Or is it just random?))
I think that maybe Faerie Queene might want to dance with someone else.
“I’m guessing that you would like to spend your night with other people than I.” I bow, and walk outside to take a break. The moonlight is somewhat brighter out here. I hop on a balcony and assume a comfortable stance. My fingers taste sweet from the sugar rubbing off on them. I smile in satisfaction to wait and see if any others come outside.
I sneak up quietly behind L and say, “BOO!”
From what I know of L, that is a bad idea.
What are you talking about?
Errrr, ’cause he’s very likely to fall over on top of you and/or flip out in some other very anime-ish way? XD
After the song ends, L takes his leave, and I decide to pep up the dance a bit. Confidently, I stride onto the stage.
“Can I do a set after you’ve played a few more songs?” I ask the Harlequin Bandit.
“What instrument?” she replies. “Are you a singer? I don’t see a case with you.”
“I’m a singer, pianist and guitarist. And with my faerie magic, I can make any instrument I wish appear out of the air.” With my faerie magic, I can also remember how to play the latter two…. I add silently.
Seeing as my music isn’t quite “peppy” enough, I gently finish the song and gladly vacate the stage for the Faerie Queen, taking the ghostly orchestra along. I take my cello and stow it away in secret backstage, then step lightly down the steps.
“I’ll be back in a while, have fun,” I smile kindly and tell her, and walk outside into the night air, my cape flowing behind me.
Deelek, I Am talking about you… listen….. pleesee…
((Dalek not “Deelek”, and if you read the pertinent posts between myself and Nimueh and take a peek at my altered avatar, you will please notice that I no longer am contained in a metallic….suit of armour, if you will. Thus, I no longer am possessed of a gun “sticking out of my body”.
Apologies for the snippiness of this post, but…..School, y’know? It brings out the worst in people.))
((yes. is sorry. I will remember that. school will bring out the worst in us))
I decide to focus my attention at the somewhat confused person near the other side of the room
((*forgives spock* ‘sokay, I was just feeling a bit touchy t’other day….))
I take a walk through the pumpkin patch, enjoying the candlelit gourds, with their many faces in all different emotions. I also notice the night sky painting a backdrop for nine large pumpkins, all carved with the faces of the Muses. I notice someone standing by the balcony and walk over to them.
“Hello, I say, seeing that it is L, and I stand a few feet away, staring up at the starry black sky. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
I’m surprised to see her.
“Yes, it is.” I continue to gaze into the night, and I wonder whether or not she would like to dance.
I see that L is intrigued. I hear the night bugs making lovely music.
“Listen,” I say happily. “Crickets.”
“Would you like to dance?” he asks, extending a hand.
“It would be my pleasure,” I say, smiling.
I see two figures, a man and a woman, standing by the pumpkin patch, looking slightly romantic, but mostly cheesy. I rush away, hurriedly, and quickly return with my violin. I whip out some romantic music that I believe fits the situation, and begin playing from behind a statue.
I appear temporarily, snort at the scene, and pop back into existence dancing with the Orb.
-A
*returns the snort in a gift-wrapped package*
*opens package delightedly and gets ruffled by a blast of warm air*
-A
I step away from the conversation to get some kolourakia and ask the others if they want anything.
((Well, what interesting thing shall happen while we are dancing? Tronne Caskett- Um… Sorry, I didn’t see that post before. Perhaps you can scare me some other time.))
That’s okay… I think that…
AUGH! LOOK OUT! IT’S A TROJAN HORSE-SIZED DALEK!
*quickly uses crystal to project hyperrelistic hologram of such*
((178.1- Well, I do enjoy cheese.
))
There is a spontaneous spark of violin music from out of the blue, very fitting. L and I began to dance around the pumpkin garden. It is very pleasant for a few moments, and then I spot something out of the corner of my eye. “Oh my gosh,” I whisper. “Did you see that?”
The little girl. Again. Her white dress down to her ankles, her hair lank and dirty. She had no eyes, I realize, just empty white holes in her face. I do not like ghosts. She doesn’t look particularly nice, either.
“Well, did you?” The violin is growing fainter.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think so.”
Oh boy. I bet I know who that is. I bet that’s the ghost of Bell. She has white pupils, which give the impression of her having no eyes, and has silver hair and a white dress. I, of course did not see the actual ghost, so I can’t be certain. But I did hear something about Bell getting destroyed in a battle or something, so it’s highly likely it’s her.
I don’t like dancing, so I boredly walk around in my black-and-green dress that my mom forced me to wear. I like the color, though. Then I see something out of the corner of my eye. It looks like a girl in a white dress. I turn around and it’s gone. “Wow,” I say to myself. “I do believe I’ve just seen a ghost!”
I really, really want to see the ghost again, so I look around. My costume is getting in the way of my feet, so I go home and change into my regular outfit (aka, large working wings that I invented, a green shirt, and comfortable pants). I come back and start looking for the ghost from the air when I feel a pie!
“I’m guessing you don’t know who that was.”
“You guess correct.”
From behind the statue, I spot a ghost of a girl. Always ready with my music, I switch to something more dramatic, Beethoven’s fifth. I’m rather enjoying this.
Seeing as I had gotten no answer from Tronne Caskett, I repeated myself:
“Of course you may dance with me, Miss. Although I’m afraid you have me mistaken for somebody else, I’ve never heard of this Gyroman.”
Dang, well, send in a picture then, please.
((It’s just a standard jet pilot uniform and helmet, like in the movie Top Gun.))
“I didn’t know there was a Megaman character with such a similar name. I was just spelling my middle name backwards- not very creative, I’ll admit.”
“And your FIRST name is…?”
“Classfied, I’m afraid.”
(( Is no one going to notice me?!))
((I noticed you.))
Oh…. Sorry
((Delirium noticed you, Adeia.))
Sensing that the piece did not quite fit the situation, I pull out my theremin, and a small amplifier. I find a rather convenient electrical outlet behind the statue, and begin to play. I knew carrying around all my big bulky instruments would come in handy somehow.
((No, I do not actually play the theremin.))
I listen to the theremin music, enjoying the spooky SF sounds.
“Great playing, Phantom!”
((Actually, Eden, I think he’s outside.))
((Harlequin?))
Of course, if Bell is here, then…
O_O
Oh no.
Please tell me it’s not so. PLEASE.
(and no, i’m not talking about it being AJAR, i’m refering to something else)
I stroll into the garden, for the ballroom was uneventful.
From a bench nearby, I watch a romantic scene unfold. How delightful! The violin in the background changed dramticly, and I felt an unnatural chill. I whipped my head around to see the ghost of a little girl, looking back at me with vacant eyes – with no pupils.
“Scoundrel. Go back to the depths of Hades whereas you belong!” I mutter under my breath. He’s up to his tricks again, I see.
I once again use my newly-found-then-promptly-lost teleportation powers to apparate to your side.
“I don’t believe you’re using that conjunction correctly…” I mention helpfully. “Just a heads up.” I flicker in and out of reality temporarily. “Whoop- My time to go!” I manage to get out before disappearing completely.
-A
I leaned a little to the the right, crossed my arms, and pouted.
“But it sounds cool!”
Out of the corner of my eye while feeding the Count Swedish Fish, I spot a little ghost girl. I give her a smile-after all, everyone should be welcome at such a ball-but cannot suppress a wince when I see she has no pupils. The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all, and this girl has none…
The girl fades out of sight, and I stare after her for a moment before turning back to the Count. “Did you see that? Did you see her?”
((I re-appear right on cue!))
Tronne yells at the ghost to go back to the depths. There is a strange look in it’s eyes, or, at least, there would be if it had any. Then, she fades out of sight.
“I don’t think she’s really gone,” I say to L.
“Me either, but I can take her.” He puts up his fists. I laugh.
“I bet,” I reply.
((Should the ghost be dangerous?))
((That way madness lies. Not to be confused with the good kind of “madness.”))
Um, I didn’t yell at the ghost, Aphrodite did, and let’s just say I should not have told her that ghosts don’t exist and that she was stupid for believing in their exsistence. *sweat drop*
“Alright everyone, let’s go back to normality. If en starts bothering us, then we shall investigate.”
The people at this ball in ghosts. How illogical.
((Believe goes in between ball and in. The horrors of dysgraphia and not checking work.))
I take the stage, waving my hand to set up an advanced sound system and ghostly backup as the song coming from outside finishes. The music’s about to speed up, reeeeeal fast, I think, grinning to myself. As I’m about to start, I figure I’d better change my look a bit. In a dramatic flash of purple light, my green dress turns as black as the night with a sprinkling of silver stars. It shortens a bit, too, so it’s now around my ankles; I add a side slit for good measure and bits of off-the-shoulder tulle. Black velvet gloves appear up to my elbows, and black leather boots with stiletto heels replace my silver sandals. My silver mask gets smaller, and the emerald jewel on my circlet becomes onyx to match the sprays of black metal stars now dangling from my ears. My auburn hair sweeps itself up in a messy ponytail, spikes itself and becomes highlighted in silver.
As everyone watching gasps at the transformation, my invisible DJ launches into Cascada’s Evacuate The Dancefloor. Hey, who cares if the title of the thing’s “ball,” right? I figure a little of my music never hurt anyone.
Turn up the music/let’s get out on the floor…
People started to head outside, out to the pumpkin patch. The spider silk strands attached to them ripped, and I sighed, disappointed.
Climbing down from the rafters, I wandered outside for a bit, walking through the small corn maze that was just beyond the pumpkin patch. In the middle of the maze there was a medium-sized gazebo, made for dancing, with a small stage for musicians on the side.
As the gazebo was empty, climbed onto its roof and took a look around.
A couple was dancing a bit farther off, and a small, translucent, white figure skulking around.
‘None of my concern what the ghosts around here are doing,’ I shrugged.
Idly, wondering if anyone would notice me, I amused myself by weaving little butterfly wings out of spider silk. Plucking a few spiders from my dress, I put the wings on them and let them fly towards the couple.
I walk outside to the pumpkin patch, and join the people gathered there.
I ask Delirium if she would like to accompany me to the pumpkin patch to explore it.
I wander out to the pumpkin patch. I appear to be alone. I walk through the corn maze. I can see a girl on the roof of what looks like a gazebo, and hear people in the pumpkin patch. Suddenly I sense someone behind me: the ghost. I supress a shiver. I shouldn’t be worried, after all, I am evil. The ghost slips through a wall and disappears. I make my way to the centre of the maze.
Everyone seems to be deserting the main hall. They must not like my music. Oh well, such is the life of an artiste….
The Faerie Queene looks depressed, so I walk over to her, and tell her her music is amazing, but the pumpkin patch is too. I ask if she’d like to go there with Delrium and I
(((okay I just responded to the earlier train without seeing this/the slightly earlier one, just assume I’m walking with you now, then. SOrry I don’t have time to respond in proper text)))
It appears that the people are heading out to the pumpkin patch. I shall join them.
((Warning, Long post))
Edgar Allan Poe
The Raven
[First published in 1845]
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more.’
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
This it is, and nothing more,’
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; –
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before –
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore –
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting –
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!
Last update: October 4, 2007 by H. Behme
Please send comments, suggestions to raven’s webmaster
The ghost is gone. I ask L if he would like to go under the gazebo, where it appears someone is reading Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Raven’.
“Wonderful night music,” I say, smiling genuinely to the reader. We begin to dance again to the words. I’ve never danced to lyrics before, funnily enough, but now seemed the perfect time. I set my jester staff near the small stage, and the red eyes instantly dim to black. There’s no danger here!
“Thank you.” I tell the lady that complimented me.
I appear in the garden, just as someone dressed as Poe begins to read The Raven. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he WAS Poe… such is Halloween.
I bump into a man in a Starfleet uniform.
“Mr. Spock? So pleased to meet you.”
This person appears to be speaking to me. I decide to talk to him.
((Her.))
ok, her.
“Glad to meet a fellow space traveler, sir. I forget your exact title, I haven’t watched the show for a while.”
Delirium, The Faerie Queene and I make our way to the pumpkin patch. It’s marvelously dark and mysterious there.
Now It’s My Turn To Make Some Music!
I take out a large boom box and play the song “Triple Baka”. I put it on repeat, then put a shield around the boom box so that no one can disturb it, not even a ghost.
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
I finish the poem and look at the large crowd that has been listining. I ask,
“Would anyone like to hear another?”
Takeing that as a yes, I begin to recite another.
The Haunted Palace
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1839)
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This- all this- was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute’s well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!- for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh- but smile no more.
Hearing the melodic rhythm of Edgar Allen Poe from the pumpkin garden, I leap up. “Come on, Count de Monte Cristo! There’s poetry in the garden!”
Skidding to a feather-filled stop in front of the reader, I beg, “Can you do Annabel Lee? I memorized it in sixth grade, and it’s my favorite.”
((Perhaps the ghost is Annabel Lee!))
((Sorry… Can’t post right now… But I will later today or at school.))
I’m simply gliding about the halls; when you’re not even five feet tall, that tends to get you ignored.
People asked, I ansered.
Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1849)
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;–
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love–
I and my Annabel Lee–
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:–
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we–
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:–
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea–
In her tomb by the side of the sea.
((Sorry About the other post. Could that be zapped please?))
I rush into the ballroom very late, only to find that it is fairly empty. Perhaps everyone has gone to the pumpkin patch, I think. I wander over to the food display, quizzically glance at the puffin puffs, and grab an strawberry, which I dip in fondue.
((And once again the evil forces of homework thwart me from posting… This is truly an epic, never-ending battle that is quite annoying…))
I, upon discovering that the ghost is nowhere to be seen, land by the food area. I wonder if I can trust these people; after all, Musers are very mysterious. I decide that mysterious is good (some of the first words I read were ‘mysterious lemon’) and so I cast off my disguise and reveal my true self. “Behold! I am Sidney, Muse of the Stars!” I shout to all. I fly into the air. “I thank you all, especially EAP with the wonderful poetry. And on that note, I bid you farewell- for now…”
As I dance with the The Harlequin Bandit, I notice some movement above the gazebo. Something large, and black. It seems to be dancing also, but the poem has ended. We stop dancing, but the thing does not. I wonder if it is dancing or something else.
)
I walk up to the gazebo ,”Excuse me, but may I ask what you are doing?” It stops, and perhaps it stares at me. I can’t quite tell in the dark, which I rather appreciate; I think that this thing might be rather frightening to look at.
Of course, I’ve been wrong before. (Only once or twice
Tis time for a scary story!!!
The Masque of the Red Death
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1850)
THE “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avator and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.”
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven — an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke’s love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue — and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange — the fifth with white — the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet — a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire, that projected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to harken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused revery or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.
He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm — much of what has been since seen in “Hernani.” There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There were much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these — the dreams — writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away — they have endured but an instant — and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.
But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise — then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince’s indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood — and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.
When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
“Who dares?” he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him — “who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him — that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!”
It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly — for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.
It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who, at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince’s person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple — through the purple to the green — through the green to the orange — through this again to the white — and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry — and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
And after that, I walked over to spock, and taped a button on his head to turn him off. I took the robot, and putting it next to the gazebo, continue to read my stories.
((He He He! dident see that coming, did you?))
I KNEW IT! You revealed your identity in 208.1. *smug*
BAKA BAKA BAKA!
XD
You’re lucky that’s your favorite Japanese word, because it’s about the only one I know.
My friend used to live in Japan and she taught me how to say a few things but i don’t remember them. Oh, well.
Yes very stupid of me. Stupid gravitar.
I wake from my week-long nap and shake my head at the confusion all around me.
I appear in the garden, near a robot imitating Mr. Spock. I see something mysterious near the gazebo and join L in confronting it. Danger is one thing I know very well.
Look a
tthese pumpkinsthey rem
ind me of... of MervynI
sthat you, Mervyn?I hear a crack, and move aside just in time to avoid being hit by a large black shape that fell through the top of the gazebo.
Fashionably late, of course, I glide into the gazebo and I am hit SMACK by the large black shape, which just so happens to be one of those ink pies. It is also bizarrely sticky. I retreat to the bathroom, hoping to clean off my camera lens, I brought the most amazing film to use for this evening!
Wow, tomorrow is the day of spooky things: Halloween.
Unmasking begins tomorrow, with memories of this Halloween ball.
Spanakopita, brisket, puffin puffs, hummus, scones, and such lore.
Masks and cloaks, capes and wings, such and more.
Who am I? That’s a mystery; clarity not reached.
Who are you? That’s a puzzle, not yet solved.
First having two and six; then with nine all.
Clues I gave; clues I told. Guessing you be.
((I shall assume that the “large black shape” is me? Alrighty, then.))
My dancing on the roof is rudely cut off by the roof’s falling through. Someone had apparently stored ink pies in the gazebo rafters, and the combined weight of all those pies and myself had broken the roof.
There was an enormous crash as everything fell on everyone, with the result that it looked as if an octopus had went insane.
Of course, such mayhem never actually happened. Arachnia fell prey to an illusion created with cameras, lights, and mirrors. I suspect Coontz House residents might know more details.
A brief reminder that all events sponsored by Muse Academy observe the following guidelines:
1. The laws of physics will be respected and cannot be broken.
2. Magic is inoperable at all Muse Academy events, and alien technology is against the Honor Code.
2.3. Mayhem that results in widespread destruction and chaos is strictly forbidden.Any attempts to disregard these policies will be considered make-believe, illusion, hallucination, or hyperbole.
I would hope that any Coontz House student would have said “an octopus had gone insane.”
*all around face-palm*
1, 2, 2, Lady B? Surely you meant 1, 2, 3?
Ah, thank you, RQ. Considering that earlier today I tried to pour my cereal into my coffee….
((Are we supposed to unmask now?))
I sat down by a pumpkin, and stared up at the sky, listening to the person dressed as Poe recite his poetry.
We have time for one last, long dance before the unmasking.
So when is the unmasking going to take place? Later tonight, or tomorrow? Just wondering…..
Last year, the unmasking started on Halloween afternoon and continued until November 2 or so.
I continue dancing with L as the music continues, as well as poetry. It is a nice night, but I can feel the dance is nearly over. Indeed, my mask has begun to fade away from my face. I can see the same is happening to everyone else, too.
“Happy Halloween,” I say to the crowd at large.
((My homework is constricting me, but I’ll try to be back for the unmasking!))
Realizing I will be gone this afternoon for a non-virtual Halloween Party, I pull off my mask and reveal myself as… Cat’s Eye!
“Lovely dancing, talking, and eating with you all,” I say, flashing a gleaming smile at everyone around. “Hope to do it again, at Winter Ball! Ooh, that rhymed!”
I wave my arms dramatically, shouting nonsense. There is a flash of light and perhaps a few flames, and a sudden smoke filling the room that clears within a few seconds. When it vanishes, the pheonix is gone, leaving only a still-sputtering smoke grenade and a suspicious rectangular outline in the floor where she stood…
Happy Halloween!
I remove my mask as well, revealing myself as ….
Rainbow*Star!
I also shall not be here this afternoon. I finish up my last song, and with another flash of purple light, my true self is revealed as…
RoseQuartz!
Are you surprised? I bet you aren’t.
I pull off my wig and goggles, revealing my face. It had been great to be a Ghostbuster for a day, even though I hadn’t seen the ghost I’d been looking for since the last ball.
Maybe I’d imagined it all…
Picking myself up from the gazebo floor, I walk over to L, who ((I think)) has finished dancing with the Harlequin Bandit.
“Care for a last minute dance?”
I look at The Harlequin Bandit.
“I think she deserves at least one dance tonight,” I say. The Harlequin Bandit smiles, and I walk over to Arachnia. Our dancing weaves us into the moonlight, where I expect the shinigami to be. Yes, he is sitting down eating a caramel apple. Perhaps I can keep this costume on for another minute or two…
Well, seeing as it’s Halloween afternoon where I live, I’ll unmask.
After I dance with La Raven again.
I begin to tell one last story before i unmask.
Ligeia
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1838)
And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.
– Joseph Glanvill
I CANNOT, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much suffering. Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to mind, because, in truth, the character of my beloved, her rare learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low musical language, made their way into my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily progressive that they have been unnoticed and unknown. Yet I believe that I met her first and most frequently in some large, old, decaying city near the Rhine. Of her family –I have surely heard her speak. That it is of a remotely ancient date cannot be doubted. Ligeia! Ligeia! in studies of a nature more than all else adapted to deaden impressions of the outward world, it is by that sweet word alone –by Ligeia –that I bring before mine eyes in fancy the image of her who is no more. And now, while I write, a recollection flashes upon me that I have never known the paternal name of her who was my friend and my betrothed, and who became the partner of my studies, and finally the wife of my bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part of my Ligeia? or was it a test of my strength of affection, that I should institute no inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice of my own –a wildly romantic offering on the shrine of the most passionate devotion? I but indistinctly recall the fact itself –what wonder that I have utterly forgotten the circumstances which originated or attended it? And, indeed, if ever she, the wan and the misty-winged Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell, over marriages ill-omened, then most surely she presided over mine.
There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaciated. I would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of her footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was never made aware of her entrance into my closed study save by the dear music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream –an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered vision about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos. Yet her features were not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty, without some strangeness in the proportion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia were not of a classic regularity –although I perceived that her loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much of “strangeness” pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity and to trace home my own perception of “the strange.” I examined the contour of the lofty and pale forehead –it was faultless –how cold indeed that word when applied to a majesty so divine! –the skin rivalling the purest ivory, the commanding extent and repose, the gentle prominence of the regions above the temples; and then the raven-black, the glossy, the luxuriant and naturally-curling tresses, setting forth the full force of the Homeric epithet, “hyacinthine!” I looked at the delicate outlines of the nose –and nowhere but in the graceful medallions of the Hebrews had I beheld a similar perfection. There were the same luxurious smoothness of surface, the same scarcely perceptible tendency to the aquiline, the same harmoniously curved nostrils speaking the free spirit. I regarded the sweet mouth. Here was indeed the triumph of all things heavenly –the magnificent turn of the short upper lip –the soft, voluptuous slumber of the under –the dimples which sported, and the color which spoke –the teeth glancing back, with a brilliancy almost startling, every ray of the holy light which fell upon them in her serene and placid, yet most exultingly radiant of all smiles. I scrutinized the formation of the chin –and here, too, I found the gentleness of breadth, the softness and the majesty, the fullness and the spirituality, of the Greek –the contour which the god Apollo revealed but in a dream, to Cleomenes, the son of the Athenian. And then I peered into the large eyes of Ligeia.
For eyes we have no models in the remotely antique. It might have been, too, that in these eves of my beloved lay the secret to which Lord Verulam alludes. They were, I must believe, far larger than the ordinary eyes of our own race. They were even fuller than the fullest of the gazelle eyes of the tribe of the valley of Nourjahad. Yet it was only at intervals –in moments of intense excitement –that this peculiarity became more than slightly noticeable in Ligeia. And at such moments was her beauty –in my heated fancy thus it appeared perhaps –the beauty of beings either above or apart from the earth –the beauty of the fabulous Houri of the Turk. The hue of the orbs was the most brilliant of black, and, far over them, hung jetty lashes of great length. The brows, slightly irregular in outline, had the same tint. The “strangeness,” however, which I found in the eyes, was of a nature distinct from the formation, or the color, or the brilliancy of the features, and must, after all, be referred to the expression. Ah, word of no meaning! behind whose vast latitude of mere sound we intrench our ignorance of so much of the spiritual. The expression of the eyes of Ligeia! How for long hours have I pondered upon it! How have I, through the whole of a midsummer night, struggled to fathom it! What was it –that something more profound than the well of Democritus –which lay far within the pupils of my beloved? What was it? I was possessed with a passion to discover. Those eyes! those large, those shining, those divine orbs! they became to me twin stars of Leda, and I to them devoutest of astrologers.
There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anomalies of the science of mind, more thrillingly exciting than the fact –never, I believe, noticed in the schools –that, in our endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember. And thus how frequently, in my intense scrutiny of Ligeia’s eyes, have I felt approaching the full knowledge of their expression –felt it approaching –yet not quite be mine –and so at length entirely depart! And (strange, oh strangest mystery of all!) I found, in the commonest objects of the universe, a circle of analogies to theat expression. I mean to say that, subsequently to the period when Ligeia’s beauty passed into my spirit, there dwelling as in a shrine, I derived, from many existences in the material world, a sentiment such as I felt always aroused within me by her large and luminous orbs. Yet not the more could I define that sentiment, or analyze, or even steadily view it. I recognized it, let me repeat, sometimes in the survey of a rapidly-growing vine –in the contemplation of a moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis, a stream of running water. I have felt it in the ocean; in the falling of a meteor. I have felt it in the glances of unusually aged people. And there are one or two stars in heaven –(one especially, a star of the sixth magnitude, double and changeable, to be found near the large star in Lyra) in a telescopic scrutiny of which I have been made aware of the feeling. I have been filled with it by certain sounds from stringed instruments, and not unfrequently by passages from books. Among innumerable other instances, I well remember something in a volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (perhaps merely from its quaintness –who shall say?) never failed to inspire me with the sentiment; –“And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.”
Length of years, and subsequent reflection, have enabled me to trace, indeed, some remote connection between this passage in the English moralist and a portion of the character of Ligeia. An intensity in thought, action, or speech, was possibly, in her, a result, or at least an index, of that gigantic volition which, during our long intercourse, failed to give other and more immediate evidence of its existence. Of all the women whom I have ever known, she, the outwardly calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was the most violently a prey to the tumultuous vultures of stern passion. And of such passion I could form no estimate, save by the miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so delighted and appalled me –by the almost magical melody, modulation, distinctness and placidity of her very low voice –and by the fierce energy (rendered doubly effective by contrast with her manner of utterance) of the wild words which she habitually uttered.
I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was immense –such as I have never known in woman. In the classical tongues was she deeply proficient, and as far as my own acquaintance extended in regard to the modern dialects of Europe, I have never known her at fault. Indeed upon any theme of the most admired, because simply the most abstruse of the boasted erudition of the academy, have I ever found Ligeia at fault? How singularly –how thrillingly, this one point in the nature of my wife has forced itself, at this late period only, upon my attention! I said her knowledge was such as I have never known in woman –but where breathes the man who has traversed, and successfully, all the wide areas of moral, physical, and mathematical science? I saw not then what I now clearly perceive, that the acquisitions of Ligeia were gigantic, were astounding; yet I was sufficiently aware of her infinite supremacy to resign myself, with a child-like confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic world of metaphysical investigation at which I was most busily occupied during the earlier years of our marriage. With how vast a triumph –with how vivid a delight –with how much of all that is ethereal in hope –did I feel, as she bent over me in studies but little sought –but less known –that delicious vista by slow degrees expanding before me, down whose long, gorgeous, and all untrodden path, I might at length pass onward to the goal of a wisdom too divinely precious not to be forbidden!
How poignant, then, must have been the grief with which, after some years, I beheld my well-grounded expectations take wings to themselves and fly away! Without Ligeia I was but as a child groping benighted. Her presence, her readings alone, rendered vividly luminous the many mysteries of the transcendentalism in which we were immersed. Wanting the radiant lustre of her eyes, letters, lambent and golden, grew duller than Saturnian lead. And now those eyes shone less and less frequently upon the pages over which I pored. Ligeia grew ill. The wild eyes blazed with a too –too glorious effulgence; the pale fingers became of the transparent waxen hue of the grave, and the blue veins upon the lofty forehead swelled and sank impetuously with the tides of the gentle emotion. I saw that she must die –and I struggled desperately in spirit with the grim Azrael. And the struggles of the passionate wife were, to my astonishment, even more energetic than my own. There had been much in her stern nature to impress me with the belief that, to her, death would have come without its terrors; –but not so. Words are impotent to convey any just idea of the fierceness of resistance with which she wrestled with the Shadow. I groaned in anguish at the pitiable spectacle. would have soothed –I would have reasoned; but, in the intensity of her wild desire for life, –for life –but for life –solace and reason were the uttermost folly. Yet not until the last instance, amid the most convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit, was shaken the external placidity of her demeanor. Her voice grew more gentle –grew more low –yet I would not wish to dwell upon the wild meaning of the quietly uttered words. My brain reeled as I hearkened entranced, to a melody more than mortal –to assumptions and aspirations which mortality had never before known.
That she loved me I should not have doubted; and I might have been easily aware that, in a bosom such as hers, love would have reigned no ordinary passion. But in death only, was I fully impressed with the strength of her affection. For long hours, detaining my hand, would she pour out before me the overflowing of a heart whose more than passionate devotion amounted to idolatry. How had I deserved to be so blessed by such confessions? –how had I deserved to be so cursed with the removal of my beloved in the hour of her making them, But upon this subject I cannot bear to dilate. Let me say only, that in Ligeia’s more than womanly abandonment to a love, alas! all unmerited, all unworthily bestowed, I at length recognized the principle of her longing with so wildly earnest a desire for the life which was now fleeing so rapidly away. It is this wild longing –it is this eager vehemence of desire for life –but for life –that I have no power to portray –no utterance capable of expressing.
At high noon of the night in which she departed, beckoning me, peremptorily, to her side, she bade me repeat certain verses composed by herself not many days before. I obeyed her. –They were these:
Lo! ’tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama! –oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! –it writhes! –with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out –out are the lights –out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
“O God!” half shrieked Ligeia, leaping to her feet and extending her arms aloft with a spasmodic movement, as I made an end of these lines –“O God! O Divine Father! –shall these things be undeviatingly so? –shall this Conqueror be not once conquered? Are we not part and parcel in Thee? Who –who knoweth the mysteries of the will with its vigor? Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.”
And now, as if exhausted with emotion, she suffered her white arms to fall, and returned solemnly to her bed of death. And as she breathed her last sighs, there came mingled with them a low murmur from her lips. I bent to them my ear and distinguished, again, the concluding words of the passage in Glanvill –“Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.”
She died; –and I, crushed into the very dust with sorrow, could no longer endure the lonely desolation of my dwelling in the dim and decaying city by the Rhine. I had no lack of what the world calls wealth. Ligeia had brought me far more, very far more than ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals. After a few months, therefore, of weary and aimless wandering, I purchased, and put in some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the wildest and least frequented portions of fair England. The gloomy and dreary grandeur of the building, the almost savage aspect of the domain, the many melancholy and time-honored memories connected with both, had much in unison with the feelings of utter abandonment which had driven me into that remote and unsocial region of the country. Yet although the external abbey, with its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little alteration, I gave way, with a child-like perversity, and perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a display of more than regal magnificence within. –For such follies, even in childhood, I had imbibed a taste and now they came back to me as if in the dotage of grief. Alas, I feel how much even of incipient madness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns of the carpets of tufted gold! I had become a bounden slave in the trammels of opium, and my labors and my orders had taken a coloring from my dreams. But these absurdities must not pause to detail. Let me speak only of that one chamber, ever accursed, whither in a moment of mental alienation, I led from the altar as my bride –as the successor of the unforgotten Ligeia –the fair-haired and blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion, of Tremaine.
There is no individual portion of the architecture and decoration of that bridal chamber which is not now visibly before me. Where were the souls of the haughty family of the bride, when, through thirst of gold, they permitted to pass the threshold of an apartment so bedecked, a maiden and a daughter so beloved? I have said that I minutely remember the details of the chamber –yet I am sadly forgetful on topics of deep moment –and here there was no system, no keeping, in the fantastic display, to take hold upon the memory. The room lay in a high turret of the castellated abbey, was pentagonal in shape, and of capacious size. Occupying the whole southern face of the pentagon was the sole window –an immense sheet of unbroken glass from Venice –a single pane, and tinted of a leaden hue, so that the rays of either the sun or moon, passing through it, fell with a ghastly lustre on the objects within. Over the upper portion of this huge window, extended the trellice-work of an aged vine, which clambered up the massy walls of the turret. The ceiling, of gloomy-looking oak, was excessively lofty, vaulted, and elaborately fretted with the wildest and most grotesque specimens of a semi-Gothic, semi-Druidical device. From out the most central recess of this melancholy vaulting, depended, by a single chain of gold with long links, a huge censer of the same metal, Saracenic in pattern, and with many perforations so contrived that there writhed in and out of them, as if endued with a serpent vitality, a continual succession of parti-colored fires.
Some few ottomans and golden candelabra, of Eastern figure, were in various stations about –and there was the couch, too –bridal couch –of an Indian model, and low, and sculptured of solid ebony, with a pall-like canopy above. In each of the angles of the chamber stood on end a gigantic sarcophagus of black granite, from the tombs of the kings over against Luxor, with their aged lids full of immemorial sculpture. But in the draping of the apartment lay, alas! the chief phantasy of all. The lofty walls, gigantic in height –even unproportionably so –were hung from summit to foot, in vast folds, with a heavy and massive-looking tapestry –tapestry of a material which was found alike as a carpet on the floor, as a covering for the ottomans and the ebony bed, as a canopy for the bed, and as the gorgeous volutes of the curtains which partially shaded the window. The material was the richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at irregular intervals, with arabesque figures, about a foot in diameter, and wrought upon the cloth in patterns of the most jetty black. But these figures partook of the true character of the arabesque only when regarded from a single point of view. By a contrivance now common, and indeed traceable to a very remote period of antiquity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one entering the room, they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities; but upon a farther advance, this appearance gradually departed; and step by step, as the visitor moved his station in the chamber, he saw himself surrounded by an endless succession of the ghastly forms which belong to the superstition of the Norman, or arise in the guilty slumbers of the monk. The phantasmagoric effect was vastly heightened by the artificial introduction of a strong continual current of wind behind the draperies –giving a hideous and uneasy animation to the whole.
In halls such as these –in a bridal chamber such as this –I passed, with the Lady of Tremaine, the unhallowed hours of the first month of our marriage –passed them with but little disquietude. That my wife dreaded the fierce moodiness of my temper –that she shunned me and loved me but little –I could not help perceiving; but it gave me rather pleasure than otherwise. I loathed her with a hatred belonging more to demon than to man. My memory flew back, (oh, with what intensity of regret!) to Ligeia, the beloved, the august, the beautiful, the entombed. I revelled in recollections of her purity, of her wisdom, of her lofty, her ethereal nature, of her passionate, her idolatrous love. Now, then, did my spirit fully and freely burn with more than all the fires of her own. In the excitement of my opium dreams (for I was habitually fettered in the shackles of the drug) I would call aloud upon her name, during the silence of the night, or among the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if, through the wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming ardor of my longing for the departed, I could restore her to the pathway she had abandoned –ah, could it be forever? –upon the earth.
About the commencement of the second month of the marriage, the Lady Rowena was attacked with sudden illness, from which her recovery was slow. The fever which consumed her rendered her nights uneasy; and in her perturbed state of half-slumber, she spoke of sounds, and of motions, in and about the chamber of the turret, which I concluded had no origin save in the distemper of her fancy, or perhaps in the phantasmagoric influences of the chamber itself. She became at length convalescent –finally well. Yet but a brief period elapsed, ere a second more violent disorder again threw her upon a bed of suffering; and from this attack her frame, at all times feeble, never altogether recovered. Her illnesses were, after this epoch, of alarming character, and of more alarming recurrence, defying alike the knowledge and the great exertions of her physicians. With the increase of the chronic disease which had thus, apparently, taken too sure hold upon her constitution to be eradicated by human means, I could not fail to observe a similar increase in the nervous irritation of her temperament, and in her excitability by trivial causes of fear. She spoke again, and now more frequently and pertinaciously, of the sounds –of the slight sounds –and of the unusual motions among the tapestries, to which she had formerly alluded.
One night, near the closing in of September, she pressed this distressing subject with more than usual emphasis upon my attention. She had just awakened from an unquiet slumber, and I had been watching, with feelings half of anxiety, half of vague terror, the workings of her emaciated countenance. I sat by the side of her ebony bed, upon one of the ottomans of India. She partly arose, and spoke, in an earnest low whisper, of sounds which she then heard, but which I could not hear –of motions which she then saw, but which I could not perceive. The wind was rushing hurriedly behind the tapestries, and I wished to show her (what, let me confess it, I could not all believe) that those almost inarticulate breathings, and those very gentle variations of the figures upon the wall, were but the natural effects of that customary rushing of the wind. But a deadly pallor, overspreading her face, had proved to me that my exertions to reassure her would be fruitless. She appeared to be fainting, and no attendants were within call. I remembered where was deposited a decanter of light wine which had been ordered by her physicians, and hastened across the chamber to procure it. But, as I stepped beneath the light of the censer, two circumstances of a startling nature attracted my attention. I had felt that some palpable although invisible object had passed lightly by my person; and I saw that there lay upon the golden carpet, in the very middle of the rich lustre thrown from the censer, a shadow –a faint, indefinite shadow of angelic aspect –such as might be fancied for the shadow of a shade. But I was wild with the excitement of an immoderate dose of opium, and heeded these things but little, nor spoke of them to Rowena. Having found the wine, I recrossed the chamber, and poured out a gobletful, which I held to the lips of the fainting lady. She had now partially recovered, however, and took the vessel herself, while I sank upon an ottoman near me, with my eyes fastened upon her person. It was then that I became distinctly aware of a gentle footfall upon the carpet, and near the couch; and in a second thereafter, as Rowena was in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or may have dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if from some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the room, three or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby colored fluid. If this I saw –not so Rowena. She swallowed the wine unhesitatingly, and I forbore to speak to her of a circumstance which must, after all, I considered, have been but the suggestion of a vivid imagination, rendered morbidly active by the terror of the lady, by the opium, and by the hour.
Yet I cannot conceal it from my own perception that, immediately subsequent to the fall of the ruby-drops, a rapid change for the worse took place in the disorder of my wife; so that, on the third subsequent night, the hands of her menials prepared her for the tomb, and on the fourth, I sat alone, with her shrouded body, in that fantastic chamber which had received her as my bride. –Wild visions, opium-engendered, flitted, shadow-like, before me. I gazed with unquiet eye upon the sarcophagi in the angles of the room, upon the varying figures of the drapery, and upon the writhing of the parti-colored fires in the censer overhead. My eyes then fell, as I called to mind the circumstances of a former night, to the spot beneath the glare of the censer where I had seen the faint traces of the shadow. It was there, however, no longer; and breathing with greater freedom, I turned my glances to the pallid and rigid figure upon the bed. Then rushed upon me a thousand memories of Ligeia –and then came back upon my heart, with the turbulent violence of a flood, the whole of that unutterable wo with which I had regarded her thus enshrouded. The night waned; and still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts of the one only and supremely beloved, I remained gazing upon the body of Rowena.
It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or later, for I had taken no note of time, when a sob, low, gentle, but very distinct, startled me from my revery. –I felt that it came from the bed of ebony –the bed of death. I listened in an agony of superstitious terror –but there was no repetition of the sound. I strained my vision to detect any motion in the corpse –but there was not the slightest perceptible. Yet I could not have been deceived. I had heard the noise, however faint, and my soul was awakened within me. I resolutely and perseveringly kept my attention riveted upon the body. Many minutes elapsed before any circumstance occurred tending to throw light upon the mystery. At length it became evident that a slight, a very feeble, and barely noticeable tinge of color had flushed up within the cheeks, and along the sunken small veins of the eyelids. Through a species of unutterable horror and awe, for which the language of mortality has no sufficiently energetic expression, I felt my heart cease to beat, my limbs grow rigid where I sat. Yet a sense of duty finally operated to restore my self-possession. I could no longer doubt that we had been precipitate in our preparations –that Rowena still lived. It was necessary that some immediate exertion be made; yet the turret was altogether apart from the portion of the abbey tenanted by the servants –there were none within call –I had no means of summoning them to my aid without leaving the room for many minutes –and this I could not venture to do. I therefore struggled alone in my endeavors to call back the spirit ill hovering. In a short period it was certain, however, that a relapse had taken place; the color disappeared from both eyelid and cheek, leaving a wanness even more than that of marble; the lips became doubly shrivelled and pinched up in the ghastly expression of death; a repulsive clamminess and coldness overspread rapidly the surface of the body; and all the usual rigorous illness immediately supervened. I fell back with a shudder upon the couch from which I had been so startlingly aroused, and again gave myself up to passionate waking visions of Ligeia.
An hour thus elapsed when (could it be possible?) I was a second time aware of some vague sound issuing from the region of the bed. I listened –in extremity of horror. The sound came again –it was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I saw –distinctly saw –a tremor upon the lips. In a minute afterward they relaxed, disclosing a bright line of the pearly teeth. Amazement now struggled in my bosom with the profound awe which had hitherto reigned there alone. I felt that my vision grew dim, that my reason wandered; and it was only by a violent effort that I at length succeeded in nerving myself to the task which duty thus once more had pointed out. There was now a partial glow upon the forehead and upon the cheek and throat; a perceptible warmth pervaded the whole frame; there was even a slight pulsation at the heart. The lady lived; and with redoubled ardor I betook myself to the task of restoration. I chafed and bathed the temples and the hands, and used every exertion which experience, and no little medical reading, could suggest. But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled, the pulsation ceased, the lips resumed the expression of the dead, and, in an instant afterward, the whole body took upon itself the icy chilliness, the livid hue, the intense rigidity, the sunken outline, and all the loathsome peculiarities of that which has been, for many days, a tenant of the tomb.
And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia –and again, (what marvel that I shudder while I write,) again there reached my ears a low sob from the region of the ebony bed. But why shall I minutely detail the unspeakable horrors of that night? Why shall I pause to relate how, time after time, until near the period of the gray dawn, this hideous drama of revivification was repeated; how each terrific relapse was only into a sterner and apparently more irredeemable death; how each agony wore the aspect of a struggle with some invisible foe; and how each struggle was succeeded by I know not what of wild change in the personal appearance of the corpse? Let me hurry to a conclusion.
The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she who had been dead, once again stirred –and now more vigorously than hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more appalling in its utter hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to struggle or to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a helpless prey to a whirl of violent emotions, of which extreme awe was perhaps the least terrible, the least consuming. The corpse, I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously than before. The hues of life flushed up with unwonted energy into the countenance –the limbs relaxed –and, save that the eyelids were yet pressed heavily together, and that the bandages and draperies of the grave still imparted their charnel character to the figure, I might have dreamed that Rowena had indeed shaken off, utterly, the fetters of Death. But if this idea was not, even then, altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer, when, arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with closed eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered in a dream, the thing that was enshrouded advanced boldly and palpably into the middle of the apartment.
I trembled not –I stirred not –for a crowd of unutterable fancies connected with the air, the stature, the demeanor of the figure, rushing hurriedly through my brain, had paralyzed –had chilled me into stone. I stirred not –but gazed upon the apparition. There was a mad disorder in my thoughts –a tumult unappeasable. Could it, indeed, be the living Rowena who confronted me? Could it indeed be Rowena at all –the fair-haired, the blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine? Why, why should I doubt it? The bandage lay heavily about the mouth –but then might it not be the mouth of the breathing Lady of Tremaine? And the cheeks-there were the roses as in her noon of life –yes, these might indeed be the fair cheeks of the living Lady of Tremaine. And the chin, with its dimples, as in health, might it not be hers? –but had she then grown taller since her malady? What inexpressible madness seized me with that thought? One bound, and I had reached her feet! Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her head, unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had confined it, and there streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; it was blacker than the raven wings of the midnight! And now slowly opened the eyes of the figure which stood before me. “Here then, at least,” I shrieked aloud, “can I never –can I never be mistaken –these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes –of my lost love –of the lady –of the LADY LIGEIA.”
Well, I’ll take guesses as to whom i am.
So, how about instead of unmasking, somebody guess me? ((Because it’s so difficult.
))
And me, as well. Preferably NOT someone who witnessed my screw-up on another thread. It’d be more fun if it were an actual guess……
Luna the Lovely?
Nimueh- Armada?
Yup. You got me. I was Dalek (gee, my recent over the top spazzing out about Dr. Who couldn’t possibly have been a huge giveaway…..
And of course my mask slipping on the random thread, but you may not have seen that. 
)
I sigh. The ball is almost over. EAP recites a long story. People are revealing themselves. I slowly step out of my costume…
((Guess me.))
I, after listening to Poe’s story in a riveted fashion, turn around and glance up at the clock. It’s nearly midnight, and the ball will be over soon. The ones around me are already unmasking, one by one. I sigh, knowing I must step out of this alternative self I have created, and reach up to remove the mask.
I stand revealed to everyone, as Errata. I smile looking around. “Great costumes everyone!” I say, smiling happily. It’s been so much fun.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a familiar blue-clad astronaut.
“Glad to see you enjoyed yourself, Gu- Navi. It’s almost time to go.” MS2 told me, pointing at my watch.
“I’m glad you made me come. I haven’t had this much fun in AGES. Did that girl who saw you last year give you any trouble?” I asked.
“No, she didn’t even see me. She knew my voice from some IMAX documentary or something. It was a good party. Good music, good fudge.”
“We do have to go, but first…”
I lifted my hand, letting multicolored energy swirl around it, before letting the energy shoot into the sky. In the sky above Muse Academy, fireworks exploded, but in the courtyard beneath, two figures had vanished.
I step out of my costume and stand as Jakob Wonkychair. I glance around the ball room, and, morphing into a shadow cloud, depart from the candlelit room.
I finish dancing, and as the song plays it’s final note, I pull off my mask and reaveal…
I’m Enceladus! *gasp*
Dalek (I didn’t see your screw up): RoseQuartz.
EAP: The Mole
Count of Monte Cristo: Fishy.
Phantom of the Rock Opera: Gradester
L: SudoRandom
SFTDP
Tronne Casket: Morbid.
((JW: I didn’t see your post when I first posted. Sorry!))
RoseQuartz: That’s not me. I’m the Faerie Queene…. don’t have any other AEs…. also don’t watch Dr. Who.
Armada: I’ll reveal myself soon…but someone guess who I am, first!
Mabye I meant RainbowStar.
Yes.
Thought so!
Shigh you got me. I am the mole. but, I shal put up one last story!
DURING the autumn of 18–, while on a tour through the extreme southern provinces of France, my route led me within a few miles of a certain Maison de Sante or private mad-house, about which I had heard much in Paris from my medical friends. As I had never visited a place of the kind, I thought the opportunity too good to be lost; and so proposed to my travelling companion (a gentleman with whom I had made casual acquaintance a few days before) that we should turn aside, for an hour or so, and look through the establishment. To this he objected — pleading haste in the first place, and, in the second, a very usual horror at the sight of a lunatic. He begged me, however, not to let any mere courtesy towards himself interfere with the gratification of my curiosity, and said that he would ride on leisurely, so that I might overtake him during the day, or, at all events, during the next. As he bade me good-bye, I bethought me that there might be some difficulty in obtaining access to the premises, and mentioned my fears on this point. He replied that, in fact, unless I had personal knowledge of the superintendent, Monsieur Maillard, or some credential in the way of a letter, a difficulty might be found to exist, as the regulations of these private mad-houses were more rigid than the public hospital laws. For himself, he added, he had, some years since, made the acquaintance of Maillard, and would so far assist me as to ride up to the door and introduce me; although his feelings on the subject of lunacy would not permit of his entering the house.
I thanked him, and, turning from the main road, we entered a grass-grown by-path, which, in half an hour, nearly lost itself in a dense forest, clothing the base of a mountain. Through this dank and gloomy wood we rode some two miles, when the Maison de Sante came in view. It was a fantastic chateau, much dilapidated, and indeed scarcely tenantable through age and neglect. Its aspect inspired me with absolute dread, and, checking my horse, I half resolved to turn back. I soon, however, grew ashamed of my weakness, and proceeded.
As we rode up to the gate-way, I perceived it slightly open, and the visage of a man peering through. In an instant afterward, this man came forth, accosted my companion by name, shook him cordially by the hand, and begged him to alight. It was Monsieur Maillard himself. He was a portly, fine-looking gentleman of the old school, with a polished manner, and a certain air of gravity, dignity, and authority which was very impressive.
My friend, having presented me, mentioned my desire to inspect the establishment, and received Monsieur Maillard’s assurance that he would show me all attention, now took leave, and I saw him no more.
When he had gone, the superintendent ushered me into a small and exceedingly neat parlor, containing, among other indications of refined taste, many books, drawings, pots of flowers, and musical instruments. A cheerful fire blazed upon the hearth. At a piano, singing an aria from Bellini, sat a young and very beautiful woman, who, at my entrance, paused in her song, and received me with graceful courtesy. Her voice was low, and her whole manner subdued. I thought, too, that I perceived the traces of sorrow in her countenance, which was excessively, although to my taste, not unpleasingly, pale. She was attired in deep mourning, and excited in my bosom a feeling of mingled respect, interest, and admiration.
I had heard, at Paris, that the institution of Monsieur Maillard was managed upon what is vulgarly termed the “system of soothing” — that all punishments were avoided — that even confinement was seldom resorted to — that the patients, while secretly watched, were left much apparent liberty, and that most of them were permitted to roam about the house and grounds in the ordinary apparel of persons in right mind.
Keeping these impressions in view, I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes which half led me to imagine she was not. I confined my remarks, therefore, to general topics, and to such as I thought would not be displeasing or exciting even to a lunatic. She replied in a perfectly rational manner to all that I said; and even her original observations were marked with the soundest good sense, but a long acquaintance with the metaphysics of mania, had taught me to put no faith in such evidence of sanity, and I continued to practise, throughout the interview, the caution with which I commenced it.
Presently a smart footman in livery brought in a tray with fruit, wine, and other refreshments, of which I partook, the lady soon afterward leaving the room. As she departed I turned my eyes in an inquiring manner toward my host.
“No,” he said, “oh, no — a member of my family — my niece, and a most accomplished woman.”
“I beg a thousand pardons for the suspicion,” I replied, “but of course you will know how to excuse me. The excellent administration of your affairs here is well understood in Paris, and I thought it just possible, you know-
“Yes, yes — say no more — or rather it is myself who should thank you for the commendable prudence you have displayed. We seldom find so much of forethought in young men; and, more than once, some unhappy contre-temps has occurred in consequence of thoughtlessness on the part of our visitors. While my former system was in operation, and my patients were permitted the privilege of roaming to and fro at will, they were often aroused to a dangerous frenzy by injudicious persons who called to inspect the house. Hence I was obliged to enforce a rigid system of exclusion; and none obtained access to the premises upon whose discretion I could not rely.”
“While your former system was in operation!” I said, repeating his words — “do I understand you, then, to say that the ‘soothing system’ of which I have heard so much is no longer in force?”
“It is now,” he replied, “several weeks since we have concluded to renounce it forever.”
“Indeed! you astonish me!”
“We found it, sir,” he said, with a sigh, “absolutely necessary to return to the old usages. The danger of the soothing system was, at all times, appalling; and its advantages have been much overrated. I believe, sir, that in this house it has been given a fair trial, if ever in any. We did every thing that rational humanity could suggest. I am sorry that you could not have paid us a visit at an earlier period, that you might have judged for yourself. But I presume you are conversant with the soothing practice — with its details.”
“Not altogether. What I have heard has been at third or fourth hand.”
“I may state the system, then, in general terms, as one in which the patients were menages-humored. We contradicted no fancies which entered the brains of the mad. On the contrary, we not only indulged but encouraged them; and many of our most permanent cures have been thus effected. There is no argument which so touches the feeble reason of the madman as the argumentum ad absurdum. We have had men, for example, who fancied themselves chickens. The cure was, to insist upon the thing as a fact — to accuse the patient of stupidity in not sufficiently perceiving it to be a fact — and thus to refuse him any other diet for a week than that which properly appertains to a chicken. In this manner a little corn and gravel were made to perform wonders.”
“But was this species of acquiescence all?”
“By no means. We put much faith in amusements of a simple kind, such as music, dancing, gymnastic exercises generally, cards, certain classes of books, and so forth. We affected to treat each individual as if for some ordinary physical disorder, and the word ‘lunacy’ was never employed. A great point was to set each lunatic to guard the actions of all the others. To repose confidence in the understanding or discretion of a madman, is to gain him body and soul. In this way we were enabled to dispense with an expensive body of keepers.”
“And you had no punishments of any kind?”
“None.”
“And you never confined your patients?”
“Very rarely. Now and then, the malady of some individual growing to a crisis, or taking a sudden turn of fury, we conveyed him to a secret cell, lest his disorder should infect the rest, and there kept him until we could dismiss him to his friends — for with the raging maniac we have nothing to do. He is usually removed to the public hospitals.”
“And you have now changed all this — and you think for the better?”
“Decidedly. The system had its disadvantages, and even its dangers. It is now, happily, exploded throughout all the Maisons de Sante of France.”
“I am very much surprised,” I said, “at what you tell me; for I made sure that, at this moment, no other method of treatment for mania existed in any portion of the country.”
“You are young yet, my friend,” replied my host, “but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others. Believe nothing you hear, and only one-half that you see. Now about our Maisons de Sante, it is clear that some ignoramus has misled you. After dinner, however, when you have sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of your ride, I will be happy to take you over the house, and introduce to you a system which, in my opinion, and in that of every one who has witnessed its operation, is incomparably the most effectual as yet devised.”
“Your own?” I inquired — “one of your own invention?”
“I am proud,” he replied, “to acknowledge that it is — at least in some measure.”
In this manner I conversed with Monsieur Maillard for an hour or two, during which he showed me the gardens and conservatories of the place.
“I cannot let you see my patients,” he said, “just at present. To a sensitive mind there is always more or less of the shocking in such exhibitions; and I do not wish to spoil your appetite for dinner. We will dine. I can give you some veal a la Menehoult, with cauliflowers in veloute sauce — after that a glass of Clos de Vougeot — then your nerves will be sufficiently steadied.”
At six, dinner was announced; and my host conducted me into a large salle a manger, where a very numerous company were assembled — twenty-five or thirty in all. They were, apparently, people of rank-certainly of high breeding — although their habiliments, I thought, were extravagantly rich, partaking somewhat too much of the ostentatious finery of the vielle cour. I noticed that at least two-thirds of these guests were ladies; and some of the latter were by no means accoutred in what a Parisian would consider good taste at the present day. Many females, for example, whose age could not have been less than seventy were bedecked with a profusion of jewelry, such as rings, bracelets, and earrings, and wore their bosoms and arms shamefully bare. I observed, too, that very few of the dresses were well made — or, at least, that very few of them fitted the wearers. In looking about, I discovered the interesting girl to whom Monsieur Maillard had presented me in the little parlor; but my surprise was great to see her wearing a hoop and farthingale, with high-heeled shoes, and a dirty cap of Brussels lace, so much too large for her that it gave her face a ridiculously diminutive expression. When I had first seen her, she was attired, most becomingly, in deep mourning. There was an air of oddity, in short, about the dress of the whole party, which, at first, caused me to recur to my original idea of the “soothing system,” and to fancy that Monsieur Maillard had been willing to deceive me until after dinner, that I might experience no uncomfortable feelings during the repast, at finding myself dining with lunatics; but I remembered having been informed, in Paris, that the southern provincialists were a peculiarly eccentric people, with a vast number of antiquated notions; and then, too, upon conversing with several members of the company, my apprehensions were immediately and fully dispelled.
The dining-room itself, although perhaps sufficiently comfortable and of good dimensions, had nothing too much of elegance about it. For example, the floor was uncarpeted; in France, however, a carpet is frequently dispensed with. The windows, too, were without curtains; the shutters, being shut, were securely fastened with iron bars, applied diagonally, after the fashion of our ordinary shop-shutters. The apartment, I observed, formed, in itself, a wing of the chateau, and thus the windows were on three sides of the parallelogram, the door being at the other. There were no less than ten windows in all.
The table was superbly set out. It was loaded with plate, and more than loaded with delicacies. The profusion was absolutely barbaric. There were meats enough to have feasted the Anakim. Never, in all my life, had I witnessed so lavish, so wasteful an expenditure of the good things of life. There seemed very little taste, however, in the arrangements; and my eyes, accustomed to quiet lights, were sadly offended by the prodigious glare of a multitude of wax candles, which, in silver candelabra, were deposited upon the table, and all about the room, wherever it was possible to find a place. There were several active servants in attendance; and, upon a large table, at the farther end of the apartment, were seated seven or eight people with fiddles, fifes, trombones, and a drum. These fellows annoyed me very much, at intervals, during the repast, by an infinite variety of noises, which were intended for music, and which appeared to afford much entertainment to all present, with the exception of myself.
Upon the whole, I could not help thinking that there was much of the bizarre about every thing I saw — but then the world is made up of all kinds of persons, with all modes of thought, and all sorts of conventional customs. I had travelled, too, so much, as to be quite an adept at the nil admirari; so I took my seat very coolly at the right hand of my host, and, having an excellent appetite, did justice to the good cheer set before me.
The conversation, in the meantime, was spirited and general. The ladies, as usual, talked a great deal. I soon found that nearly all the company were well educated; and my host was a world of good-humored anecdote in himself. He seemed quite willing to speak of his position as superintendent of a Maison de Sante; and, indeed, the topic of lunacy was, much to my surprise, a favorite one with all present. A great many amusing stories were told, having reference to the whims of the patients.
“We had a fellow here once,” said a fat little gentleman, who sat at my right, — “a fellow that fancied himself a tea-pot; and by the way, is it not especially singular how often this particular crotchet has entered the brain of the lunatic? There is scarcely an insane asylum in France which cannot supply a human tea-pot. Our gentleman was a Britannia — ware tea-pot, and was careful to polish himself every morning with buckskin and whiting.”
“And then,” said a tall man just opposite, “we had here, not long ago, a person who had taken it into his head that he was a donkey — which allegorically speaking, you will say, was quite true. He was a troublesome patient; and we had much ado to keep him within bounds. For a long time he would eat nothing but thistles; but of this idea we soon cured him by insisting upon his eating nothing else. Then he was perpetually kicking out his heels-so-so-”
“Mr. De Kock! I will thank you to behave yourself!” here interrupted an old lady, who sat next to the speaker. “Please keep your feet to yourself! You have spoiled my brocade! Is it necessary, pray, to illustrate a remark in so practical a style? Our friend here can surely comprehend you without all this. Upon my word, you are nearly as great a donkey as the poor unfortunate imagined himself. Your acting is very natural, as I live.”
“Mille pardons! Ma’m’selle!” replied Monsieur De Kock, thus addressed — “a thousand pardons! I had no intention of offending. Ma’m’selle Laplace — Monsieur De Kock will do himself the honor of taking wine with you.”
Here Monsieur De Kock bowed low, kissed his hand with much ceremony, and took wine with Ma’m’selle Laplace.
“Allow me, mon ami,” now said Monsieur Maillard, addressing myself, “allow me to send you a morsel of this veal a la St. Menhoult — you will find it particularly fine.”
At this instant three sturdy waiters had just succeeded in depositing safely upon the table an enormous dish, or trencher, containing what I supposed to be the “monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.” A closer scrutiny assured me, however, that it was only a small calf roasted whole, and set upon its knees, with an apple in its mouth, as is the English fashion of dressing a hare.
“Thank you, no,” I replied; “to say the truth, I am not particularly partial to veal a la St. — what is it? — for I do not find that it altogether agrees with me. I will change my plate, however, and try some of the rabbit.”
There were several side-dishes on the table, containing what appeared to be the ordinary French rabbit — a very delicious morceau, which I can recommend.
“Pierre,” cried the host, “change this gentleman’s plate, and give him a side-piece of this rabbit au-chat.”
“This what?” said I.
“This rabbit au-chat.”
“Why, thank you — upon second thoughts, no. I will just help myself to some of the ham.”
There is no knowing what one eats, thought I to myself, at the tables of these people of the province. I will have none of their rabbit au-chat — and, for the matter of that, none of their cat-au-rabbit either.
“And then,” said a cadaverous looking personage, near the foot of the table, taking up the thread of the conversation where it had been broken off, — “and then, among other oddities, we had a patient, once upon a time, who very pertinaciously maintained himself to be a Cordova cheese, and went about, with a knife in his hand, soliciting his friends to try a small slice from the middle of his leg.”
“He was a great fool, beyond doubt,” interposed some one, “but not to be compared with a certain individual whom we all know, with the exception of this strange gentleman. I mean the man who took himself for a bottle of champagne, and always went off with a pop and a fizz, in this fashion.”
Here the speaker, very rudely, as I thought, put his right thumb in his left cheek, withdrew it with a sound resembling the popping of a cork, and then, by a dexterous movement of the tongue upon the teeth, created a sharp hissing and fizzing, which lasted for several minutes, in imitation of the frothing of champagne. This behavior, I saw plainly, was not very pleasing to Monsieur Maillard; but that gentleman said nothing, and the conversation was resumed by a very lean little man in a big wig.
“And then there was an ignoramus,” said he, “who mistook himself for a frog, which, by the way, he resembled in no little degree. I wish you could have seen him, sir,” — here the speaker addressed myself — “it would have done your heart good to see the natural airs that he put on. Sir, if that man was not a frog, I can only observe that it is a pity he was not. His croak thus — o-o-o-o-gh — o-o-o-o-gh! was the finest note in the world — B flat; and when he put his elbows upon the table thus — after taking a glass or two of wine — and distended his mouth, thus, and rolled up his eyes, thus, and winked them with excessive rapidity, thus, why then, sir, I take it upon myself to say, positively, that you would have been lost in admiration of the genius of the man.”
“I have no doubt of it,” I said.
“And then,” said somebody else, “then there was Petit Gaillard, who thought himself a pinch of snuff, and was truly distressed because he could not take himself between his own finger and thumb.”
“And then there was Jules Desoulieres, who was a very singular genius, indeed, and went mad with the idea that he was a pumpkin. He persecuted the cook to make him up into pies — a thing which the cook indignantly refused to do. For my part, I am by no means sure that a pumpkin pie a la Desoulieres would not have been very capital eating indeed!”
“You astonish me!” said I; and I looked inquisitively at Monsieur Maillard.
“Ha! ha! ha!” said that gentleman — “he! he! he! — hi! hi! hi! — ho! ho! ho! — hu! hu! hu! hu! — very good indeed! You must not be astonished, mon ami; our friend here is a wit — a drole — you must not understand him to the letter.”
“And then,” said some other one of the party, — “then there was Bouffon Le Grand — another extraordinary personage in his way. He grew deranged through love, and fancied himself possessed of two heads. One of these he maintained to be the head of Cicero; the other he imagined a composite one, being Demosthenes’ from the top of the forehead to the mouth, and Lord Brougham’s from the mouth to the chin. It is not impossible that he was wrong; but he would have convinced you of his being in the right; for he was a man of great eloquence. He had an absolute passion for oratory, and could not refrain from display. For example, he used to leap upon the dinner-table thus, and — and-”
Here a friend, at the side of the speaker, put a hand upon his shoulder and whispered a few words in his ear, upon which he ceased talking with great suddenness, and sank back within his chair.
“And then,” said the friend who had whispered, “there was Boullard, the tee-totum. I call him the tee-totum because, in fact, he was seized with the droll but not altogether irrational crotchet, that he had been converted into a tee-totum. You would have roared with laughter to see him spin. He would turn round upon one heel by the hour, in this manner — so-
Here the friend whom he had just interrupted by a whisper, performed an exactly similar office for himself.
“But then,” cried the old lady, at the top of her voice, “your Monsieur Boullard was a madman, and a very silly madman at best; for who, allow me to ask you, ever heard of a human tee-totum? The thing is absurd. Madame Joyeuse was a more sensible person, as you know. She had a crotchet, but it was instinct with common sense, and gave pleasure to all who had the honor of her acquaintance. She found, upon mature deliberation, that, by some accident, she had been turned into a chicken-cock; but, as such, she behaved with propriety. She flapped her wings with prodigious effect — so — so — and, as for her crow, it was delicious! Cock-a-doodle-doo! — cock-a-doodle-doo! — cock-a-doodle-de-doo-dooo-do-o-o-o-o-o-o!”
“Madame Joyeuse, I will thank you to behave yourself!” here interrupted our host, very angrily. “You can either conduct yourself as a lady should do, or you can quit the table forthwith-take your choice.”
The lady (whom I was much astonished to hear addressed as Madame Joyeuse, after the description of Madame Joyeuse she had just given) blushed up to the eyebrows, and seemed exceedingly abashed at the reproof. She hung down her head, and said not a syllable in reply. But another and younger lady resumed the theme. It was my beautiful girl of the little parlor.
“Oh, Madame Joyeuse was a fool!” she exclaimed, “but there was really much sound sense, after all, in the opinion of Eugenie Salsafette. She was a very beautiful and painfully modest young lady, who thought the ordinary mode of habiliment indecent, and wished to dress herself, always, by getting outside instead of inside of her clothes. It is a thing very easily done, after all. You have only to do so — and then so — so — so — and then so — so — so — and then so — so — and then-
“Mon dieu! Ma’m’selle Salsafette!” here cried a dozen voices at once. “What are you about? — forbear! — that is sufficient! — we see, very plainly, how it is done! — hold! hold!” and several persons were already leaping from their seats to withhold Ma’m’selle Salsafette from putting herself upon a par with the Medicean Venus, when the point was very effectually and suddenly accomplished by a series of loud screams, or yells, from some portion of the main body of the chateau.
My nerves were very much affected, indeed, by these yells; but the rest of the company I really pitied. I never saw any set of reasonable people so thoroughly frightened in my life. They all grew as pale as so many corpses, and, shrinking within their seats, sat quivering and gibbering with terror, and listening for a repetition of the sound. It came again — louder and seemingly nearer — and then a third time very loud, and then a fourth time with a vigor evidently diminished. At this apparent dying away of the noise, the spirits of the company were immediately regained, and all was life and anecdote as before. I now ventured to inquire the cause of the disturbance.
“A mere bagtelle,” said Monsieur Maillard. “We are used to these things, and care really very little about them. The lunatics, every now and then, get up a howl in concert; one starting another, as is sometimes the case with a bevy of dogs at night. It occasionally happens, however, that the concerto yells are succeeded by a simultaneous effort at breaking loose, when, of course, some little danger is to be apprehended.”
“And how many have you in charge?”
“At present we have not more than ten, altogether.”
“Principally females, I presume?”
“Oh, no — every one of them men, and stout fellows, too, I can tell you.”
“Indeed! I have always understood that the majority of lunatics were of the gentler sex.”
“It is generally so, but not always. Some time ago, there were about twenty-seven patients here; and, of that number, no less than eighteen were women; but, lately, matters have changed very much, as you see.”
“Yes — have changed very much, as you see,” here interrupted the gentleman who had broken the shins of Ma’m’selle Laplace.
“Yes — have changed very much, as you see!” chimed in the whole company at once.
“Hold your tongues, every one of you!” said my host, in a great rage. Whereupon the whole company maintained a dead silence for nearly a minute. As for one lady, she obeyed Monsieur Maillard to the letter, and thrusting out her tongue, which was an excessively long one, held it very resignedly, with both hands, until the end of the entertainment.
“And this gentlewoman,” said I, to Monsieur Maillard, bending over and addressing him in a whisper — “this good lady who has just spoken, and who gives us the cock-a-doodle-de-doo — she, I presume, is harmless — quite harmless, eh?”
“Harmless!” ejaculated he, in unfeigned surprise, “why — why, what can you mean?”
“Only slightly touched?” said I, touching my head. “I take it for granted that she is not particularly not dangerously affected, eh?”
“Mon dieu! what is it you imagine? This lady, my particular old friend Madame Joyeuse, is as absolutely sane as myself. She has her little eccentricities, to be sure — but then, you know, all old women — all very old women — are more or less eccentric!”
“To be sure,” said I, — “to be sure — and then the rest of these ladies and gentlemen-”
“Are my friends and keepers,” interupted Monsieur Maillard, drawing himself up with hauteur, — “my very good friends and assistants.”
“What! all of them?” I asked, — “the women and all?”
“Assuredly,” he said, — “we could not do at all without the women; they are the best lunatic nurses in the world; they have a way of their own, you know; their bright eyes have a marvellous effect; — something like the fascination of the snake, you know.”
“To be sure,” said I, — “to be sure! They behave a little odd, eh? — they are a little queer, eh? — don’t you think so?”
“Odd! — queer! — why, do you really think so? We are not very prudish, to be sure, here in the South — do pretty much as we please — enjoy life, and all that sort of thing, you know-”
“To be sure,” said I, — “to be sure.”
And then, perhaps, this Clos de Vougeot is a little heady, you know — a little strong — you understand, eh?”
“To be sure,” said I, — “to be sure. By the bye, Monsieur, did I understand you to say that the system you have adopted, in place of the celebrated soothing system, was one of very rigorous severity?”
“By no means. Our confinement is necessarily close; but the treatment — the medical treatment, I mean — is rather agreeable to the patients than otherwise.”
“And the new system is one of your own invention?”
“Not altogether. Some portions of it are referable to Professor Tarr, of whom you have, necessarily, heard; and, again, there are modifications in my plan which I am happy to acknowledge as belonging of right to the celebrated Fether, with whom, if I mistake not, you have the honor of an intimate acquaintance.”
“I am quite ashamed to confess,” I replied, “that I have never even heard the names of either gentleman before.”
“Good heavens!” ejaculated my host, drawing back his chair abruptly, and uplifting his hands. “I surely do not hear you aright! You did not intend to say, eh? that you had never heard either of the learned Doctor Tarr, or of the celebrated Professor Fether?”
“I am forced to acknowledge my ignorance,” I replied; “but the truth should be held inviolate above all things. Nevertheless, I feel humbled to the dust, not to be acquainted with the works of these, no doubt, extraordinary men. I will seek out their writings forthwith, and peruse them with deliberate care. Monsieur Maillard, you have really — I must confess it — you have really — made me ashamed of myself!”
And this was the fact.
“Say no more, my good young friend,” he said kindly, pressing my hand, — “join me now in a glass of Sauterne.”
We drank. The company followed our example without stint. They chatted — they jested — they laughed — they perpetrated a thousand absurdities — the fiddles shrieked — the drum row-de-dowed — the trombones bellowed like so many brazen bulls of Phalaris — and the whole scene, growing gradually worse and worse, as the wines gained the ascendancy, became at length a sort of pandemonium in petto. In the meantime, Monsieur Maillard and myself, with some bottles of Sauterne and Vougeot between us, continued our conversation at the top of the voice. A word spoken in an ordinary key stood no more chance of being heard than the voice of a fish from the bottom of Niagra Falls.
“And, sir,” said I, screaming in his ear, “you mentioned something before dinner about the danger incurred in the old system of soothing. How is that?”
“Yes,” he replied, “there was, occasionally, very great danger indeed. There is no accounting for the caprices of madmen; and, in my opinion as well as in that of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, it is never safe to permit them to run at large unattended. A lunatic may be ‘soothed,’ as it is called, for a time, but, in the end, he is very apt to become obstreperous. His cunning, too, is proverbial and great. If he has a project in view, he conceals his design with a marvellous wisdom; and the dexterity with which he counterfeits sanity, presents, to the metaphysician, one of the most singular problems in the study of mind. When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straitjacket.”
“But the danger, my dear sir, of which you were speaking, in your own experience — during your control of this house — have you had practical reason to think liberty hazardous in the case of a lunatic?”
“Here? — in my own experience? — why, I may say, yes. For example: — no very long while ago, a singular circumstance occurred in this very house. The ‘soothing system,’ you know, was then in operation, and the patients were at large. They behaved remarkably well-especially so, any one of sense might have known that some devilish scheme was brewing from that particular fact, that the fellows behaved so remarkably well. And, sure enough, one fine morning the keepers found themselves pinioned hand and foot, and thrown into the cells, where they were attended, as if they were the lunatics, by the lunatics themselves, who had usurped the offices of the keepers.”
“You don’t tell me so! I never heard of any thing so absurd in my life!”
“Fact — it all came to pass by means of a stupid fellow — a lunatic — who, by some means, had taken it into his head that he had invented a better system of government than any ever heard of before — of lunatic government, I mean. He wished to give his invention a trial, I suppose, and so he persuaded the rest of the patients to join him in a conspiracy for the overthrow of the reigning powers.”
“And he really succeeded?”
“No doubt of it. The keepers and kept were soon made to exchange places. Not that exactly either — for the madmen had been free, but the keepers were shut up in cells forthwith, and treated, I am sorry to say, in a very cavalier manner.”
“But I presume a counter-revolution was soon effected. This condition of things could not have long existed. The country people in the neighborhood-visitors coming to see the establishment — would have given the alarm.”
“There you are out. The head rebel was too cunning for that. He admitted no visitors at all — with the exception, one day, of a very stupid-looking young gentleman of whom he had no reason to be afraid. He let him in to see the place — just by way of variety, — to have a little fun with him. As soon as he had gammoned him sufficiently, he let him out, and sent him about his business.”
“And how long, then, did the madmen reign?”
“Oh, a very long time, indeed — a month certainly — how much longer I can’t precisely say. In the meantime, the lunatics had a jolly season of it — that you may swear. They doffed their own shabby clothes, and made free with the family wardrobe and jewels. The cellars of the chateau were well stocked with wine; and these madmen are just the devils that know how to drink it. They lived well, I can tell you.”
“And the treatment — what was the particular species of treatment which the leader of the rebels put into operation?”
“Why, as for that, a madman is not necessarily a fool, as I have already observed; and it is my honest opinion that his treatment was a much better treatment than that which it superseded. It was a very capital system indeed — simple — neat — no trouble at all — in fact it was delicious it was
Here my host’s observations were cut short by another series of yells, of the same character as those which had previously disconcerted us. This time, however, they seemed to proceed from persons rapidly approaching.
“Gracious heavens!” I ejaculated — “the lunatics have most undoubtedly broken loose.”
“I very much fear it is so,” replied Monsieur Maillard, now becoming excessively pale. He had scarcely finished the sentence, before loud shouts and imprecations were heard beneath the windows; and, immediately afterward, it became evident that some persons outside were endeavoring to gain entrance into the room. The door was beaten with what appeared to be a sledge-hammer, and the shutters were wrenched and shaken with prodigious violence.
A scene of the most terrible confusion ensued. Monsieur Maillard, to my excessive astonishment threw himself under the side-board. I had expected more resolution at his hands. The members of the orchestra, who, for the last fifteen minutes, had been seemingly too much intoxicated to do duty, now sprang all at once to their feet and to their instruments, and, scrambling upon their table, broke out, with one accord, into, “Yankee Doodle,” which they performed, if not exactly in tune, at least with an energy superhuman, during the whole of the uproar.
Meantime, upon the main dining-table, among the bottles and glasses, leaped the gentleman who, with such difficulty, had been restrained from leaping there before. As soon as he fairly settled himself, he commenced an oration, which, no doubt, was a very capital one, if it could only have been heard. At the same moment, the man with the teetotum predilection, set himself to spinning around the apartment, with immense energy, and with arms outstretched at right angles with his body; so that he had all the air of a tee-totum in fact, and knocked everybody down that happened to get in his way. And now, too, hearing an incredible popping and fizzing of champagne, I discovered at length, that it proceeded from the person who performed the bottle of that delicate drink during dinner. And then, again, the frog-man croaked away as if the salvation of his soul depended upon every note that he uttered. And, in the midst of all this, the continuous braying of a donkey arose over all. As for my old friend, Madame Joyeuse, I really could have wept for the poor lady, she appeared so terribly perplexed. All she did, however, was to stand up in a corner, by the fireplace, and sing out incessantly at the top of her voice, “Cock-a-doodle-de-dooooooh!”
And now came the climax — the catastrophe of the drama. As no resistance, beyond whooping and yelling and cock-a-doodling, was offered to the encroachments of the party without, the ten windows were very speedily, and almost simultaneously, broken in. But I shall never forget the emotions of wonder and horror with which I gazed, when, leaping through these windows, and down among us pele-mele, fighting, stamping, scratching, and howling, there rushed a perfect army of what I took to be Chimpanzees, Ourang-Outangs, or big black baboons of the Cape of Good Hope.
I received a terrible beating — after which I rolled under a sofa and lay still. After lying there some fifteen minutes, during which time I listened with all my ears to what was going on in the room, I came to same satisfactory denouement of this tragedy. Monsieur Maillard, it appeared, in giving me the account of the lunatic who had excited his fellows to rebellion, had been merely relating his own exploits. This gentleman had, indeed, some two or three years before, been the superintendent of the establishment, but grew crazy himself, and so became a patient. This fact was unknown to the travelling companion who introduced me. The keepers, ten in number, having been suddenly overpowered, were first well tarred, then — carefully feathered, and then shut up in underground cells. They had been so imprisoned for more than a month, during which period Monsieur Maillard had generously allowed them not only the tar and feathers (which constituted his “system”), but some bread and abundance of water. The latter was pumped on them daily. At length, one escaping through a sewer, gave freedom to all the rest.
The “soothing system,” with important modifications, has been resumed at the chateau; yet I cannot help agreeing with Monsieur Maillard, that his own “treatment” was a very capital one of its kind. As he justly observed, it was “simple — neat — and gave no trouble at all — not the least.”
I have only to add that, although I have searched every library in Europe for the works of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, I have, up to the present day, utterly failed in my endeavors at procuring an edition
EAP, care fo a last-minute dance?
Someone guess me!
Shure!
I am not L…
I did attend this dance, though.
Nimueh- MF, or Alice?
Nope, I am not MF or Alice. You guys are never going to guess me….Even though it is pitifully easy. I threw you off the scent, though. Ok, so someone will probably still manage, but…I made it difficult despite the easiness of it. If that made any sense.
Luna?
((243.1 (Dalek) I guess I am not allowed to guess you since I saw your mishap. So, now I can’t say that you are….
))
Anne Bonney and I dance for the last masked time of 2009 to some zydeco music.
I take off my chrome green mask, revealing that I am … Zinnober 9.
“You have been a wonderful dancer, Miss Anne. I hope to dance with you again.” I bow and exit.
Outside, I jump into my Red Lotus Elise (a sports car), and zoom off into the dark rainy night.
Off I go, to spy on the :idea:s. Tally ho!!
North Star already unmasked me a Dalek up above, so…..You could “guess” me, if you wanted…….
Dalek, would you be… um, Luna the Lovely?
Armada (Anne): Um…..who are you?…. Sorry, but I haven’t seen you around the blog before….
RoseQuartz: Your avatar looks familiar, but I can’t place it….
Gee, whatever gave me away?
As EAP finished reciting his(?) poem, L and I stepped apart, and I took off my mask.
“Happy Halloween!” I told the group at large, and walked out, leading a trail of tiny spiders.
I am surprised by her true identity. I suppose it is time to unveil myself…
“Alright, shinigami, I have no need for your powers anymore.” Suddenly, my body transforms to normal, and I am revealed.
Oh crap, I completely forgot I made a character for this ball.
252.1 (RoseQuartz)–Yes, I was Nimueh. You were supposed to have a wee bit more difficulty than that, given that I had already been unmasked as Dalek. That is to say, you were all supposed to be thrown off by me already having been somebody else, and not suspect that I had two AEs….Of course, I have made my love of BBC’s Merlin readily apparent, so it was something of a dead giveaway, regardless…….
Well, I thought you were Nimueh the whole time until I saw your Dalek slip, so you definitely threw me off.
You’re welcome.
Yup, I’m really SilverLeopard.
Did anyone think I was someone else? (I’m curious…)
I honestly didn’t really think about who others were. I did notice when a few people accidentally revealed themselves, though.
I’m wondering if anyone suspected me to be L. As for my guesses… I didn’t really have any. I’m not very perceptive.
I did. XD
I did.
Well, that’s not exactly fair…. RQ guessed my fair and square.
Mwahaha, but I guessed you fair and square as well. Just over email instead of at the ball…
I suppose…. But you might have changed your mind if I didn’t verify it.
…Details, details…
I saw who you were…
I take off my mask. “Surprise, maybe!” I wonder if anyone had guessed me. It was a fun time!
Armada (253.1.1.1), I am wondering who you thought I was before I unmasked?
RoseQuartz (253.1.1.1), I’ve posted on the alter ego thread twice (as Zinnober 9, rather than an alter ego). Maybe you saw my avatar there?
Luna (253.1.1.2), I haven’t the faintest idea.
La Raven (259), you are my friend who, unmasked is…
Oh, and here’s one back: :arrow:.
SudoRandom, are you Phantom of the Rock Opera?
I thought you were…..Fishy or Jakob. I still have no idea who you are, sorry. Are you new? Are you not new but with a name change?… Sorry, I’ve been spacey lately…
Am I new? I don’t feel new. I’m over 5000
yearsdays old.Oh, you mean to Museblog utopia? Yes I am.
Ah.
*blinkblink* You’ve been here for almost a month, and I didn’t see you around the blog….wow. I seem to have misplaced my brain.
You sound very not-neophyte-ish. I had no idea. XD
Welcome, anyway!
Peace out.
I reveal myself as Maths Lover.
I was Goddess, who posted like…twice. Or three times. Sorry, I didn’t really get on here that much for some reason.
Hello. I am Silver Lining. Same as soccer starr, I didn’t post much here.
I was Sapphire Dust.
I was the barely-there Aphrodite.
I know. Lame. I couldn’t think of anything else, plus I’ve been super busy.
I was Phantom of the Rock Opera.
And I am myself- but I am not who you think I am because my true identity has not yet been discovered!
I am nobody!
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us! Shh- don’t tell!
They advertise, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public- like a frog!
To tell one’s name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
I have decided there’s nothing like a bit of Emily Dickinson poetry to end a ball! Well then, good day! I’d better be off!