Muse Academy Halloween Ball, 2010
You’ve planned it, and now the time has come. Let the revels begin!
Date: October 13, 2010
Categories: Muse Academy, Nonrandom Craziness
Friday, 26 April 2024
Life, the universe, pies, hot-pink bunnies, world domination, and everything
You’ve planned it, and now the time has come. Let the revels begin!
Date: October 13, 2010
Categories: Muse Academy, Nonrandom Craziness
I frown when I reach the door to the ballroom, for I need to either duck or hit my hat on the door-frame. Nonetheless, I glide through the door and enter the ballroom, noting with a start that the door is much larger on the other side.
Glancing around, I see… No one. Ah, it appears that I am the first one here. Very well, I shall investigate the buffet, which smells divine.
((An image will be forthcoming. It is in the more than capable hands of our excellent GAPAs.))
I walk in and note that I seem to be slightly early. I see Rook to my left, at the buffet and decide to join en ((him? her?)) at the pumpkin seed bowl. Perfectly toasted. However, I don’t see the Puffin Puffs yet – no matter, likely the Wungs are waiting to bring them out so they don’t go stale. “Terrible things, stale Puffin Puffs,” I say to Rook.
((What kind of music did we end up on?))
((There should be a list on the other page. The orchestra should get on it when they arrive. ))
((Castle, are you intentionally or unintentionally out-of-costume?))
((I am female. Sorry for the lack of clarity!))
Castle joins me at the buffet and reaches for some pumpkin seeds. I see him glance around, apparently for the Puffin Puffs. He comments on the terrible nature of stale Puffin Puffs and I laugh.
“I understand fresh ones to be terrible, also! Stale ones are even worse, then? I think I shall give them a wide berth. This pumpkin bread, though, looks very good.” So saying, I serve myself some.
((For a full list of suggested songs, see post #33 on the planning thread.))
I walk in to the ballroom, which is lovely and dimly lit. I am carrying a white guitar case in my hand, which I grip tightly, lest it might fall. I am dressed in an off-the-shoulder flowing white gown, accented by occasional ruffles of purple and small beaded flowers. I am barefoot and wear a delicate violet in my long white-blonde hair.
I smile fleetingly at a rather large bird statue, which, to my immense surprise smiles back for a moment, and the returns to its’ perch atop an ebony black column by the door. I step lightly over the checkered floor. I appear to be one of the first people here. Deciding that the atmosphere is all too quiet, I hurry to the stage on one side of the room and unpack my ivory guitar. I pull a stool onstage and begin to play a slightly slower, acoustic version of “The Monster Mash”.
Here is my dress:
I enter the ballroom, feeling very proud of my costume. At the moment it appears to be just a white sheet with two eyeholes cut out. After a brief coughing spell (drat) I drift over to the corner. “How’s it going?” I ask the skeleton. He doesn’t respond.
((I am male.))
I enter the ballroom, and then, for the first time in my life, I walk slowly toward the puffin puff table.
((I am male.))
Whattzza puffin puff?
I smoothly glide into the ballroom, my scaly costumed dress glittering in the light. It is dark blue at the bottom, but fades to light blue at the top. My arms, covered by elbow-length green gloves, are by my side. On my face, a symmetrical mask in the shape of two fish is placed. The colors are the same as my dress and gloves-green and blue.
I spot a ghostly specter talking to a skeleton and glide over. “Why are you talking to Mr. Bones?” I ask. My voice sounds muffled, like it’s coming from underwater.
((Dumb gravatar…it’s supposed to be this: ))
I haven’t yet been able to decide on a dress or clothing, but my clothes fit together all the same; despite the fact I am simply a mashup of a million ideas and a million girls…not quite, but I’m thankful I didn’t catch the viral hemorrhagic fever carried by my namesake, that would be going too far into my costume and my ideals. So I turn to my checklist and look at what I decided on for my costume.
White simple dress, with butterfly shapes in black and orange going from my left ankle to my right shoulder. Strapless.
Wearing light pink ankle socks with a pair of black hi-top Converse sneakers, with laces tied around ankle ballet-style.
Besides this, I’m wearing an elaborate mask; almost Robin-esque: my eyes are covered by glass that’s opaque on the outside and transparent on the inside, and the rest of the mask is twisting silver and pink flourishes on a black background-traditional masquerade style (the mask is shaped like a butterfly silhouette, for theme dressing). I also wear a zipped-up white jacket over my top, as to match. My eyes are a light orange, and my hair…well, there’s quite a ref picture in my avatar. To top it off, I’m wearing orange fingerless gloves that reach to my elbow; and a silver circlet on my head with obsidian beads embedded in it. I’m quite pale today, but still alive…my skin is just given a slightly grayish tint of sickness.
“H-hello?” I murmur as I enter the ballroom, deciding to take a snack. And someone’s eating already! “U-uh, is the pumpkin bread very good?” Combined with my indecipherable age (I’m either around 12 or I’m in my midteens, it’s quite hard to tell), my voice is ageless yet young. And, oddly, it sounds musical and innocent…one of which I am not.
I enter the ballroom silently, sneaking up to the buffet table in my top hat and dress, both black. Oh, look, they have candy organs! I snag a few and chew on them thoughtfully. Hmm. The flavor is a bit off, although I can’t really say why… I gaze up at the windows. There seem to be more in number on the top than the bottom. It makes my head spin, and I look away. I spy a scaly dressed girl with a mask on in conversation with a ghost and a skeleton, and a slightly modified version of “The Monster Mash” is being played by a girl in a flowing white dress. There doesn’t seem to be many people here yet, though. Oh well. I munch on my candy organ.
We’re not sure whether this MBer wants her identity revealed, so for now we’ll leave it as anonymous. Update: this is the costume for Rook to the White Queen.
((Ah, sorry. I ought to have mentioned my costume name when I sent you the image.
I, the Rook to the White Queen, am that MBer. I would like my usual blogging name to be under wraps.
My costume is inspired by a chess piece, so the slightly unclear pennant on my hat says “Chess.”
Thank you very much!))
“What a petty name,” I respond to the fishy interloper. “This skeleton seems rather more distinguished than that. Anyways, how are you?” My sheet wafts into a more ephemeral shade.
I walk over to a girl in a simple dress with butterfly shapes on it.
“Hello, how are you?” Wow, it feels weird talking with my mask on. It adheres to my face, but the blank eyes allow me to see. Still, it moves when I talk.
I shrug. “Well, it’s actually the only name I could think of. Do you have a better one?” I look closely at the skeleton, and saw his hands were on backwards. “How odd…” I mutter.
((If I get around to it, a picture will be on its way of my beautiful dress.))
I glide into the ballroom, a confusing matrix of windows, lights, and passages. My costume is in the neo-victorian style, a black suit and top hat, and a tie coloured brown. I have, of course, a monocle and a faux goatee. But the real surprise of my costume is the vehicle I pilot: a walking machine, powered by gas and coal. I give this to the wungs and step out, a steam powered robot is not exactly the best for dancing. However, it may be useful in exploring the maze, which I heard may have a few… surprises this year. I walk over to the fair maiden calling herself “Springtime Nymph” and introduce myself.
(By the way, I am male.)
Giving up on the lady eating the pumpkin bread, I respond to the fellow Ball-goer. “I-I’m good,” I stutter, eyes widening and then falling back to normal…not that you can see them at all through my mask, but the reflex is still there. Almost absentmindedly, I fiddle with the ribbons on my ‘braids’. “What’s your name?” Rosalia would be more confident then that, I remind myself…I’ve been her, I should know, I shouldn’t stutter. There is no virus incubated in me.
With that little mental reprimand, my hands drop down to stay at my side, and-it’s hard to tell, when you’re an onlooker-but my brow unfurrows and the tension trapped in my skin releases. I am ageless in my tone of voice and the way I speak, but for everything else, I would be a carefree laughing child yet. But I was an instrument of death as her, and wings were bloodied…innocence is not my forte, so I shall not speak like a child. Sleeping in bloom, my fate for so long…she will be my friend, I hope, I will not sleep under the flowers and under the butterflies like I did before.
((Here’s a totally out of character moment:
lolcat < lolbutterfly < lolRosalia
Take a minute to figure out this~ Hehehe~ I can put butterflies in Portland! This is the extent of my lolbutterfly powers.
Fear my lolbutterfly powers at the Ball, because i won't unleash them~ I-isn't that nice? I'm n-not going to burden you with it…but still. Swarms of monarch butterflies in Portland‽ Such pain. S-so I won't h-hurt you with the k-knowledge of butterflies being a m-million miles away…))
I walk into the ballroom soundlessly, as per my training, and notice that the doors are larger on the inside than the outside.
“Escher-Class Illusion (Level Five). Interesting.” I mutter, the small silver-and-blue electronic earpiece in my left ear recording my observation.
I am a woman of average height with shoulder-length red hair. My dress is the typical operative’s uniform, a black suit, sensible dark shoes, and a black tie with a pin bearing a strange neon blue spiral insignia. I wear dark glasses to hide my eyes, although I doubt there’ll be any need for a Neutralization.
Nonetheless, I pat my left pocket to make sure I’m carrying my pocket Neutralizer and survey the room. Several people are already there, and I elect to join them.
“No apparent signs of paranormal activity so far. I’m going to get some garlic bread.” I report, and head towards the snack table. Headquarters really needs to loosen up. I’m at a party and I’m going to enjoy myself.
“U-uh, is the pumpkin bread very good?†I hear a young girl ask. She’s white-haired wearing a lovely butterfly mask, a white dress, and orange fingerless gloves.
“As far as I know. I’ve heard great things about this school’s chefs. Stunning costume, by the way. Quite regal.”
“A-ah, thank you,” I blush at the compliment, my reddened cheeks slightly visible under my mask. “I go here, but the food quality can change on a dime, so…” Then I grimace. “Someone almost died choking on Fire Wine a few years ago at the ball. I wasn’t around to see it at the moment, but the stories were pretty ugly. If someone dies, it’s just slightly out of the norm~”
Wow, talk about mood whiplash. Half of us have been through any number of things, but death isn’t the most popular: flight and wounds are sharing the top spot at the moment; if my calculations are correct right now~
I flip into ballroom excitedly, carrying my slapstick, and wearing my usual black and red diamond-checkered suit! There are… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9! people here already, but I suspect that the ball will no doubt fill up much more soon! Oh, this is so exciting! I hope Columbine will come! I spring up to a girl playing the guitar, and attempt to catch her attention!
“Excuse me, excuse me!” I say!
“Yes?” She asks!
“Do you know Columbine?!”
“Who? No, I don’t think so.”
“Drat! I was hoping she would come, we would have so much fun! Thank you anyways! I like your guitar!”
I might have stayed for longer, but the food table caught my eye! Oh boy! I bounce over, hoping for some pie, or possibly cheese, but all I see are some deliciously fried birds! Maybe chicken?! I grab one and stuff it in my mouth, beak and all! Mmm, delicious and greasy, but something is a little off…! Oh well! I take another!
((God, sorry for all the exclamation points, they were possibly harder to type than they will be to read, but Harlequin is awfully excitable. Oh, and I’m male, in case you couldn’t tell.))
I walk into the ball quietly, giving a cheerful, nervous little smile to the guests already there that shows my gleaming fangs. My brass goggles are already beginning to cut into the bridge of my nose, so I lift them up to rest on my forehead and unbuckle my heavy navy coat, readjusting my battered top hat so it sits less precariously on my head. My coat goes on the coat rack, my goggles and red scarf hanging just over it, and I twirl around to face the ball, my long black skirt lifting for a moment to show my striped socks.
“Hello, everyone,” I say. “I came as a steampunk vampire, just in case you couldn’t tell. Did you know it’s begun raining outside? The balloon nearly didn’t make it in.”
((Hey! I came as steampunk as well!))
Without excusing myself I mist toward the snack table. The puffin puffs still have yet to be delivered. Not seeing what I want, I glance toward the window and then back toward the table. Perfect, a plate of deviled eggs is there now. I take two and consume them in an unclear manner. I drift through the ceiling.
I look at the skeleton a bit more, then look up at the windows. There seem to be five on the bottom and three on the top. “How delightfully odd…” I say, then glide over to the steampunk vampire. “That’s a good costume,” I say.
((If you can’t tell, I’m female.))
A figure in a dashing black suit and a top hat comes over and says hello. “Nice to meet you,” I return with a smile. “I love your robot costume. And, steam powered, very innovative.”
I glance around the room. “The decor is rather convincing, I must say. I feel like I’m in a haunted house.”
((Unintentionally out of character. Whoopsies!))
It takes about five minutes of simultaneously munching on seeds and admiring the creepy decorations (is that a…real tarantula I see?) before I realize I have forgotten to change into my outfit. Luckily, being Muse Academy students, we possess the rather unique ability to fold anything down to the size of a grape. I walk to the men’s room, pulling out my previously grape-sized outfit as I do so.
I emerge wearing a beautiful custom tailored zombie suit. It looks rather convincing, if I do say so myself, what with the perfect shade of green, not too much droop to the face and the occasional oozing scratch. This is Halloween, after all.
((Geez, Rook…now I want to know who you are… :P))
((My zombie costume also doubles as a charcoal gray suit so as not to scare anyone off when the dancing commences – it triples as a Plants vs Zombies Pea-shooter for when the majority of the vegetarians arrive…my zombie suit is pretty grisly.))
((Oh, dear – it appears that I was too hasty in imagining my costume. I have changed my mind – instead of a Zombie/Plant/Charcoal Suit combo i shall replace the Zombie with a leather flight hat and a red cape and goggles. I shall be a blogger. (Cory Doctorow, more precisely) ))
I glide over to Rhapsody in Bronze and smile at him and Springtime Nymph. “Hello,” I say. “It appears you’ve come as steampunk as well, Rhapsody. And Nymph, your costume is truly lovely. Do you plan to play that guitar sometime tonight?”
A number of ball-goers enter the room, in splendid costumes. One even arrives in a mechanical walker.
“U-uh, is the pumpkin bread very good?” a young lady asks me. Unfortunately, my mouth is full and I am unable to reply to her right away. She deflates slightly, perhaps thinking I am ignoring her, and Agent Morgan strikes up a conversation with her. Having at last swallowed my bite of pumpkin bread, I nod in agreement with Agent Morgan’s assertion.
“The pumpkin bread is quite good!”
Castle, about this time, realizes with a start that he is out-of-costume. He disappears briefly and returns wearing a zombie costume. Four minutes later, he changes it to…”Cory Doctorow.” I stare at the costume, puzzled. I have no idea who Cory Doctorow is.
“Would you be willing to explain your costume to me? Perhaps while we dance a number?”
((I entered Cory Doctorow into a search engine. Unfortunately, I still don’t really know who he is.))
((Ponder my identity all you wish. I shall not tell–yet.))
I’m tired of people ignoring me-intentionally or not-so I step over to the boy of untellable age eating a Puffin Puff, and my mouth widens into a simple O. “A-ah,” I stutter, “I’m pretty sure it’s not w-wise to eat them whole…someone c-choked on one a couple y-years ago…” I tap my chin with a white-nailed finger, taking a moment to ponder. “No, wait, that was the Fire Wine…nasty stuff, that.” So I smile again, looking somewhat blissful, although with the mask on you cannot see my eyes (making it rather hard to tell). “Nevermind~ Go right ahead and kill yourself by choking~! That’ll be n-new and exciting~”
Ah, I knew there was something I didn’t need added to my voice repository today. “Dissonant Serenity,” the type of speech was called, but it was wonderful~
“Thank you very much,” I reply to Angeline. “I like your costume as well, although I’ve always been rather frightened of vampires.”
“Are you going to play the guitar?” she asks.
“Sure,” I reply happily. “Any requests?”
I sink back towards the floor and look for something to drink. Fire wine? Nah. Pumpkin juice? Maybe later. Hm, is that Icelandic mead? Perhaps I’ll try some of that. I smack my lips. The mead tastes vaguely of royal jelly. The Gunnarsdóttirs have such strange recipes.
Seeing a gaudily dressed boy stuffing puffin puffs into his mouth without inhibition, I comment, “Quite a fan of those things, are you?”
I look at a person in a ghost outfit. “He has to be,” I laugh lightly, “never seen anyone stuff a Puffin Puff down their throat whole before.” It is quite humorous, truly; I wasn’t sure that anyone had the capability to do as such.
I step into the ballroom. My costume looks as if I’ve taken up a whole pile of leaves and plastered them around me. If you look closely, you’ll see that it isn’t just leaves, but scraps of everything. Small piece of paper have stories on them. I have a mask of leaves as well.
I walk over to the table serving pumpkin pie and take a small plate. I wander over to the corner to eat it before heading to the dance floor. Would anyone like to dance? I ask of the room at large.
I am Mud. I’m dirty, grungy, drippy, nasty and yucky. And no, there isn’t a good heart underneath all this dirt. I’m brown all over, and vaguely lumpy. I leave great big muddy footprints everywhere I go. I’m the bane of all neatfreaks. Even relatively nice people who love the Earth, good bits and bad, have to swallow down their nausea when I get in smelling range.
After several minutes lurking behind a doorway, I ooze into the ballroom. I’ve never been a big fan of parties–too many guests complaining about me dirtying up their fancy outfits–so I’m not really sure why I’m here. Oh yeah–to gross everyone out.
I schlump, glock, and schmooze over to the food table. If there’s ever a place people like seeing me the least, it’s there. Serves ’em right. They can glare at my polluted, grimy body all they want–I was invited here, and I’m gonna enjoy it as much as any of the other guests. Even if enjoyment comes in the form of seeing people lose their lunches.
“I’m Leona,” I reply to the girl in the butterfly mask. “Who are you? It’s a lovely ball, don’t you think?” Then a pile of mud oozes in. It’s lucky I’m dead. Is that even a person? Or a moving dirt pile? Either way, it’s kind of gross. Oh well, it’s a Halloween ball, I guess everyone has a right to be slightly gross and gory near Halloween.
I’m just a little bit late from what I can tell, but that doesn’t matter. I flow in slowly. My dress is made of green leaves, and so is my mask. Along the edge of my mask sit small beetles and butterflies, and their colors are bright, even in the dim lighting of the ballroom. The dress is long and hangs nicely on my tall figure, and it makes a soothing rustle whenever I move.
I see that Springtime Nymph is about to play the guitar, and she is asking for requests.
“Do you know the song When You’re Evil by Voltaire? It is written for violin, though I’m sure it could be transposed to guitar.” I say, hopeful.
“Of course!”, I say. As we start dancing, my outfit pops into the charcoal suit. “So handy…the tailor Wungs helped with it.”
“So, who’s Cory Doctorow?”, Rook asks me. “Oh, he’s a Canadian blogger. Xkcd frequently references him – you can find his website over at boingboing.com and the xkcd comic appears in the search term “blagofaire”.”
“I see…”, she says. “Perhaps I’ll read up on him.”
“You should,” I reply. “He and his co-bloggers write excellent pieces on technology.”
As we continue dancing, I look over at Springtime Nymph and call over.
“After you play Raphsody’s, would you care to try The Only Exception or Sweet Child O’ Mine?”
((SCo’M should be easy to play, even though it’s meant for electric.))
((Cory’s Wiki page can be found here.))
I suddenly appear in a silent explosion of green digits and black, computer-screen-like darkness. I’m wearing a suit with white 1 and 0s running along all over it, including my tie. I enter in time to hear Doctorow’s name.
“Cory Doctorow is quite the writer too, don’t forget. You should read his books.” The books appear in my hands in a similar fashion as me. I smile, and I put on a mask that has “m1k3y” written on it and I begin to wander…
((Little Brother and For the Win are both his, and I found them quite enjoyable. He’s written a few adult books too, but I tried one and didn’t finish it…))
If my name does not cooperate, could you change it to just the one in this post? Thank you, and you don’t have to post this.
“Oh, I think I’ve read some of them,” I say melodically, taking a second to pop over and listen. “Little Brother was quite good, and For The Win sort of wandered too much for me…they’re both very intelligently written, never-the-less..”
“As it happens, I do know that song,” I reply. I begin to play. The chords fill up the room, a macabre sound that lights everyone up.
“When the Devil is too busy
And Death’s a bit too much,
They call on me by name you see,
For my special touch,
To the Gentlemen I’m Miss Fortune,
To the Ladies, I’m Sir Prize
But call me by any name
Any way it’s all the same…”
I enter the room, admiring all the costumes. Mine consists of a paper-mache Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cube around my head and a shirt with (digital) portals, one on the front and the other on the back (there’s a camera too, so they display what the other one would see). I wander over to the food table to see what delicacies we have.
I walk up to a doorway. I’m certain that I don’t have to duck, since in the form of a Gengar I am shorter than most humans, but it strikes me as odd that it would be so low. However, as I cross the threshold, I notice that the door seems much higher than before. I find that funny, and begin to laugh. When I finish laughing, I walk over to the buffet table. I spot some pumpkin seeds, but when I grab for them my hand comes back with a candy arm in it. I chuckle a bit, then chomp down on the arm. It tastes ever-so-slightly off somehow, enough to be puzzling, though not enough to pinpoint why. I move a little away from the table to let others get to the food, then continue eating the candy arm. When I am done, I notice what looked like a big pile of mud eating food from the table. This looks so funny that I can’t stop chuckling for several minutes, even knowing that I may look just as strange to anyone who looks close enough to notice that , while seemingly solid, I am actually made up entirely of words. “…and that it is the inalienable right of all, denizen and mortal, to have a good laugh, and that humor is…” And so on and so forth.
“I’m Monarch Rosalia,” I reply in return to Leona. “Your costume is quite nice, by the way.” And it is: quite cute, somewhat less formal than mine.
I fade into invisibility and saunter away, smirking cynically at the mudball and the various other comically overdone costumes. Ah, to be young and in love with youth. The ceiling and the floor change places, though it’s difficult to tell since they are decorated identically. I take another sip of the mead, which remains visible until it passes my lips. A thought strikes me. I glide to the window and stand in it, my left eye on the outside and my right on the inside. I cross my eyes and meld the two realities. Clever construction.
Sensing that the deviled eggs were insufficient in satisfying my hunger, I return to the food table, where I see a person in an inexplicable collage of Portal memorabilia. “See anything you like?” I ask before remembering to fade into visibility again.
I hum along to the music, swaying from side to side and snapping my fingers. “This is quite nice,” I say. “I wish I played a musical instrument so I could play along– oh!” It occurs to me that the abilities my costume gives me, which so far have included piloting a hot-air balloon and being invisible in mirrors, might include the ability to play a musical instrument. I dash over to the coat rack, where I earlier stowed my bag of accessories, and dig around in it. Oddly enough, it turns up a set of bagpipes. I shrug, pull them out, and begin to play along with Nymph.
I spot a squat purple thing by the buffet table and glide over it. “pardon me,” I say, tapping it on the shoulder. “You don’t happen to be a Gengar, do you?”
With a long flowing black leather jacket worthy of “The Matrix”, Frankenstein goggles upon my head and a glow in the dark skeleton shirt and skeleton foot Docs (in picture) adorning my feet, I park my phone booth (also in picture) and enter the ballroom though the wall; because everybody walks through the door.
I look around the room and see a ghost talking to a skeleton. By the time I slide up beside him, he is nowhere near en. However, I whisper, “En has been stiff for years. Oh, and strangely, en is always the life of the party. Go figure. Hmm, this pumpkin spice cake is far too sweet. Well, off I go to try the bones; I fancy a tibia… or do I want to find someone to dance with?” *wanders off in thought*
((I’m an available male, ladies.))
((GAPAs, I’m using a different email; if you would like for me to tell you what my usual email is, I will))
I turn to the ghost that appeared beside me, munching some candy corn. “The garlic bread looks nice.”
“Yes, I heard about the Fire Wine incident. Apparently, things can get quite unusual at this ball.” I say to Rosalia, then pick up a piece of garlic bread and bite into it.
It’s extremely tasty, and seems to be the slightest bit sweet. Unusual for garlic bread, but it happens to work. Quite a daring culinary experiment.
“Thank you,” I say to Monarch Rosalia. “Your’s is quite lovely too. Have you tried these candy organs? They’re really good. Ooo, garlic bread!” I grab a piece. It’s warm and garlicy, and just the bittiest bit sweet.
A guy in a long jacket comes in through the wall. I fix him with my blank gaze, serene.
I glide into the ballroom, smiling around at everyone. It has been too long since the last ball, and I am glad to be back here.
After a moment’s thought, I move toward the food. There seem to be more people there than most other places, and I feel slightly hungry.
((My mask is on my gravatar. My dress is about that color of purple with white and silver accents.))
“You’re telling me,” I reply to the woman in the suit. “There was a girl who put up posters at one point, I believe…something about a lack of available males. Hmmm, there was some sort of robot, and then there was…Idk,” I end up shrugging, saying each letter in the word at the end. “It was pretty brill, somehow.”
“O-organs?” I stammer at Leona, turning around. “No, n-not for me. B-bad associations,” I try to explain myself, and then in a lower voice I say one thing: “There’s something to be said about method acting with cosplays. ” Easy question, simple answer: my dislike for candy organs comes from the common cases of surgery from the home of my disguise.
“And I’ve heard that at the first ball, someone was nearly strangled by a disembodied hand and then saved by a vanishing individual in a blue jumpsuit?”
“Ah.” I say to Monarch Rosalia. “So sad.” I walk away to get more garlic bread-that stuff is addicting!
((Little Basement Kitten, are you intentionally out of costume?))
A stranger walks up to me and asks me if I happen to be a Gengar.
“I most cetainly do.” I said. “The other Parts of the Will took the form of more conventional creatures, frogs and snakes and such, but as the Humor Clause, I find being a Gengar more appealing.” I think on some of the recent misadventures of my fellow Parts of the Will, and chuckle quietly.
“Ah, very nice dress, Lady Swan!”, I say as Rook and I spin around.
I glide in, a little late as usual. My dress is long, black and bell-shaped (see avatar) and I’m wearing a venetian-style mask (but with a tuft of gauze instead of feathers. Castle and someone in a chess-themed costume are dancing, LKB is to be talking with someone resembling a pokemon and several Musers are talking near the buffet table.
I’d like to dance but company and food- provided I can avoid the puffin puffs- sound good. I start to head over to them, picking up a slice of something that I hope is chocolate and carefully avoiding Mud. If anything should happen to my dress, there would be murder and the victim better not bleed on it!
Then I realize that the guy in the matrix leather coat is available, so I ditch the food and ask him to dance. Introductions will have to wait for now.
I finish ‘When You’re Evil’ and move on to ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine,” as an audience member had previously suggested.
“I love your bagpipes, Angeline,” I say happily as she plays along. “Very unique.”
“Why, thank you,” I reply in the brief pauses as I take breaths. “I’m not entirely sure why a steampunk vampire costume comes with knowledge of the bagpipes, but it certainly is entertaining.”
I look up as the musicians finish playing my favorite song and switch to “Sweet Child of Mine.” I was wondering about the bagpipes, which had sent me into a fit of giggles as the song was not made for bagpipes. Then I noticed that the person playing said bagpipes was a steampunk-looking vampire. This seemed so mismatched that I could not contain my guffaws.
I smile my thanks at Castle, who appears to have come without a mask. He is dancing with a Rook, and my smile grows as a spot an amusing pun, which I do not point out. Instead, I continue on to the refreshments, and look over them. Nothing extremely strange there, though the organs startle me before I realize that they are candy. I select a pumpkin tart, and join a small group near me. They seem to be talking about disasters at previous balls. A morbid subject, to be sure, but I join in nevertheless.
“A disembodied hand? That sounds simply terrifying.”
“When You’re Evil” having finished, I dip a curtsy and flash a smile at Castle. “Thank you for the dance. ‘Twas nice.” Someone passes by with a drink in hand and I realize that I am very thirsty. “Please excuse me–I need something to drink.”
On the way to the buffet, I spot Doctor Darkwater, wearing a very fun costume, standing with a lovely lady named Harbinger in an exquisite dress. They certainly are both dressed to the nines.
I search for a pitcher of water, but am unable to find one. In fact, I seem to be unable to find any beverage at all. Just as I am about to give up, I spot some cranberry ice cream. I scoop some into a small dish, knowing that it is wet enough to quench my thirst.
Having eaten the deliciously tart, perfectly cold ice cream, I glance around the ballroom and spot Rhapsody in Bronze. Being a Steampunk aficionado, I greatly admire both his choice of costume and his mode of arrival. “Hello, Rhapsody in Bronze!” I say. “Did you make your walking machine yourself?”
I arrive. Fashionably late, as is customary. I’m afraid that my costume is quite customary as well, not an elaborate ensemble like those I spot as I walk through the grand entrance, nodding to the doorman, but I have to admit that I look stunning all the same. My dress sweeps behind me as I ascend the steps to the ballroom. It is long, perfect for dancing, and of a beautiful orange material that is too elegant to be called pumpkin. The mask that covers most of my face is of the same color, with a fine border of golden jewels tracing the edge of my slim cheeks.
A quick glance reveals that most of my fellow attendees are gathered by the buffet table in an apparently enthralling conversation. Well, I suppose I might join them. I stride over to their little gathering, smiling to myself as I recognize a bit of a saunter in my step. “Good evening,” I murmur when they notice me, keeping my voice quiet and kindly so I attract their full attention. “Would any of you care to join me on the dance floor?”
“Thank you“, I say, bowing at Rook and popping back into my blogger attire. “That was nice…and now I’ll go try and figure out who you are.”
I shrink back into the crowd and slink over to the buffet. I see the Puffin Puffs are out, and looking puffier (and, for that matter, puffiny-er) than ever. I snag one on my way by, and stick the feathers in my cape and goggle strap as I pluck. I then grab the puffin by the feet, and open my mouth. Down it goes, beak and all – the only thing left are two slightly orange feet.
“Hmm”, I say out loud, “Tastes like chicken.”
As I move back into the shadows (being a shadowy blogger) I change into my charcoal suit and then pop into my third costume: Ezio Auditore. Dressed in a white robe with silver hems, I appear rather threatening. I slide my throwing knives into sheaths at my waist and flick out my twin wrist blades. All set.
I jump up the wall, finding hand and footholds in the protruding stones. The moment I reach the ceiling, I move onto the beams – some 50 feet up. I now have a beautiful view.
So as not to frighten anyone, I shall only be in assassin guise as requested or when on the ceiling or rooftop.
Anywhere else I will be Cory Doctorow, until I begin dancing. (Cue charcoal suit.)
Hopefully now my Wung-made custom morph suit makes more sense.
((I shall be going as “The Moste Articulatte Blogger/Assassin/Suit” for the rest of the ball, as everyone else seems to be in disguise.))
I smile at the newcomer to the conversation, not a hint of teeth showing. “Presumably it was,” I happen to shrug, “didn’t happen to be there myself. I was on the rooftop garden-speaking of that, I do hope they’ll open it up this year, fresh air does everyone a world of good!”
As it’s getting a bit crowded by the buffet table, I grab a piece of garlic bread and move towards the dance floor–ironically the precise opposite movement that is usually made to escape a crowd. An intuition strikes me and I look up. A white-robed, heavily armed ballgoer is sitting in the rafters looking smug. I swallow the bread, lose my physical shape and visibility, and seep upwards. An invisible cloud behind the assassin’s head, I murmur, “Lovely weather up here.”
I look perfectly normal, I reassure myself, dressed in my plaid polo shirt, leather jacket, khaki pants and climbing boots. My brown hair is combed back and gelled, and dark aviator sunglasses hide my eyes. Maybe a little bit like a 1960s Indiana Jones, but otherwise perfectly normal.
Of course, I’m awfully pale, but that comes with the territory. I had quite a tan when I was…
I shake my head. This is no time to think of that. Nobody will recognize me. Most of these people weren’t even born yet. I have nothing to worry about…
I search the room for somebody to start a conversation with. There are quite a few guests already, dressed in all sorts of wild costumes. This place is anything but square, that’s for sure.
I see what appears to be a person dressed in the traditional bedsheet ghost costume. Or perhaps it’s not a costume… either way, I approach them.
“Are the deviled eggs any good?” I ask.
((I’m afraid I’m currently floating among the rafters right now and am unavailable for floor conversation. (See post 59.)))
((Please forgive me, I posted that before 59 was moderated.))
Hearing a voice out of the darkness, I slowly turn my head to the side so I may better converse with the voice. “Hello, my friend. Beautiful view, no? I should give you some pointers about sneaking up on people.”
I pause for a moment and look at the floor, where I see CMP apparently asking the wall about deviled eggs. “Be right back,” I say to the voice as its physical form slowly reappears. I leap down rafter to rafter until I land on CMP’s shoulders. “The deviled eggs are delicious,” I say, hopping off and walking to the buffet. CMP turns around with a befuddled look in en’s eyes.
“Where’d you pop out of?”, en says. “I felt nothing, and yet you were on my shoulders.” “I needed a landing pad!”, I say, grabbing a few Puffin Puffs and slices of cheese. I take out two metal flasks and fill them with apple cider. I place them in a pouch in my robe and latch onto the wall again. “I’d be happy to take you up, CMP. Say the word and I’ll lower a rope down.” I sprint up the wall, back to the rafters. “I know a place up here with a piece of plywood. It makes it easier to sit. Follow me, I brought food if you’d care to return to your physical form.”
I leap over several rafters and land on a 10×10 square of wood. “Perfectly safe,” I say. “Come on.”
I slip in through the door and look around. The party seems to be going well, but nothing very exciting has happened yet. I fiddle with the device I am holding, which keeps changing forms and currently looks like sonic screwdriver. My costume changes from a classic vampire costume, to an outfit resembling the Doctor’s, to some kind of robot, to a green fairy, to a shimmery grey/silver/black dress, cape, and mask. My hair is short black with a few glittery streaks, and I look perfectly innocent. I press another button on my “screwdriver” and turn nearly invisible– people could see me if they were looking, but it’s now so much easier to sneak up on them. I make my way across the dance floor, careful not to bump into anyone, and stand near a group by the buffet table. They seem to be discussing what they call disasters at previous balls.
I thoughtfully sip a glass of pumpkin juice and become a little more visible. “Were you there last year when a Dalek joined us?” I say as I ponder how to make this ball more exciting.
“Famous last words.” I mutter, wincing. “But sure, okay!” What’s the worst that could happen?
I take a second to think about the question posed to me and the others, and come up empty. “Hmmm,” I vocalize, absentmindedly twirling my ‘braid’ around, “I suppose I was, but I don’t remember interacting with it much. Most of what I remember about that year was told to me by others. The year before that I was there all the way, though?”
The robed assassin convinces a newcomer to join en on a conveniently located piece of plywood. I finish my mead, shrug, and return to the food table for a refill. The talk of past disasters continues. “What’s a ‘Dalek’, might I ask? I don’t remember last year’s ball too well.”
((I’m a guy.))
((Whoops – unintentionally out of character, sorry.))
The tune winds down, and I put down my bagpipes, breathing heavily. “My,” I say. “That was quite an unexpected set of bagpipes. I think I might have to take a bit of a breather.” I set down the bagpipes carefully on the stage and drift over to the buffet table, where I scan the table for something delicious. Finding a goblet of pumpkin juice, I pick it up and sip at it.
“I love all of your costumes,” I tell the crowd there. “They look very well planned out. It’s very exciting.”
The bagpipe-playing vampire comes over to the buffet table and complements our costumes, saying they look well planned-out.
“Planned out!” I giggle. “Maybe theirs are, but mine was a split-second decision made literally right before the ball started. But thanks. I like your costume too. But really, a bagpipe-playing vampire?” I do my best to contain returning chuckles.
“A Dalek is, I believe, a fictional alien from the British TV show Doctor Who. I’ve only seen a few episodes, so I’m not quite sure as to the specifics, but I think they’re some sort of robots or cyborgs.” I say, answering Spectre.
I lived in England for a few months with my father when I was younger and we were always traveling, but I han never been interested in the show. My real life was strange enough, so the science fiction hadn’t appealed to me.
“Would anyone like to dance with me?”
The bagpipe-playing vampire leaves to get a refreshment, so I start on one of my absolute favorite songs.
“Time for the Time Warp!” I announce. I start to play a fast, danceable tune, urging people to get out on the dance floor. I sign the narration, and random people in the crowd echo back.
“It’s just a jump to the left,” I smile.
“And then a step to the right!” everyone yells.
“With your hand on your hips,” I return.
“You bring your knees in tight!
But it’s the pelvic thrust,
They really drive you insay-ay-ayay-ane!
Let’s do the Time Warp again,
Let’s do the Time Warp again!”
EDIT: Sorry, that should be, “I sing the narration…” Oops.
((Please! PLEASE! Sign my narration!))
((Okay, but only because you begged. ))
((Oh, thank you SO MUCH! You have no idea how much this means to me.))
((It’s no trouble whatsoever. Anything for an aspiring narrator.))
A girl in a black bell-shaped dress comes up to me and asks if I want to dance. Unfortunately, I was trying a tibia and had just put it in my mouth, so my response was delayed. When my mouth isn’t full I say, “Sure! And don’t worry, my shoes are mudless. Which dance would you like to dance?”
I give a snort of laughter. “I do appreciate being labeled as ‘the bagpipe-playing vampire’. Truly, I meant to only be a steampunk vampire. The bagpipes simply… occurred.”
AARGH! NO! AND I HAD SUCH A GOOD COSTUME!
Fine. *shuffles off to find new costume* Bleh.
I wander out of the ballroom, munching on garlic bread, to explore the dungeons.
I sit on the piece of plywood in the rafters and look down at the dancers below. The Assassin offers me a flask filled with apple cider and I take it and drink some to be polite.
“So, what brings you to Muse Academy?” I ask.
“Mostly people,” I say. “They didn’t exactly welcome me in Rome after I assassinated a rather radical leader.
……..Sorry, that was kind of harsh. I have no plans to go stab someone or attempt a MuseBlog coup.”
I see Cube the Companion wandering down alone to the dungeons and wonder if he knows about the Icelandic sea monster that Helga Gunnarsdóttir brought as a pet. “Hmm….”, I say to CMP. “There is a massive monster in the basement. Perhaps we should warn Cube before he goes too far? We still have time to stop him….or her.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I say. Certainly, I hadn’t imagined I’d be talking with a political assassin tonight. It’d be something to tell the others once I got back…
The Assassin tells me about the monster in the basement.
“Of course we should do something! En could be in danger!” I say, climbing into a standing position.
I pause, debating whether or not to simply jump. I have nothing to fear from an impact, but the explanations would take too long. Instead I clamber towards the rope and lower myself slightly quicker than a normal person.
Exploring the dungeons, I come across a dancing skeleton. The skeleton warns me not to go a certain way because of a dangerous monster, so I wander that way to see what it is.
I wander over to the nearest window, which appears to open onto an upside-down moonscape. I pause to enjoy the surreal view for a moment.
“That makes them even better!” I respond to the steampunk vampire with accidental (but very cool) bagpipes. “Have you been to many Muse Academy balls?”
( The FMP)
(Female)
I brush my hair past my letter mask. My dress, also made from letters and stamps, was barely touching the ground. my shoes were sneakers, with stamps all over. I walked to the snack table, snatching the garlic bread. Mm.. good. I approach a girl with a top hat. She was holding a candy organ.
” Oh, drat.” I said, for my headband constructed from stamps and papers with threats fell, narrowly missing the puffin puffs. I scoop some punch, which looks like blood, into a cup. and gulp it down.
” Are those good?” I asked.
I wander over to the musicians just as they finish their song.
“Do you know ‘Embrace the Curse’ by I Hate Kate?” I ask.
From my perch above the dance floor, I frown. Everyone is frozen in place, wordlessly staring into nothing. What’s going on?
I observe the people near me nervously. None of them have moved for a while. Some, like Rhapsody in Bronze, seem to have been frozen in mid-sentence. Concerned, I glance ’round the ballroom and see that the vast majority of ball-goers are being unnaturally still. I do see that Spectre is unaffected. “Excuse me, Spectre!” I call out. “Do you have any idea what’s happening?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, would you like to dance with me while we wait for the time warp–or whatever it is–to end? I know the band’s frozen, too, but we can put a record on. I’m certain that we have a record player in that cabinet over there.”
“Yes, I do,” I reply to Agent Morgan. I begin to play it.
It’s me against the world today
And that’s fine
It’s me against the world,
And so I stand
I embrace the curse
I embrace the song
I embrace what I feel
When I feel what’s wrong
I embrace the hurt
The hate and what’s worse
I embrace what I am
I embrace the curse
I glance around and discover everyone has frozen in place except Rook, Spectre, and Nymph. Perhaps it’s some kind of game? I stay still too, but then it get’s boring, so I sigh and walk around a bit.
“Would anyone like to dance? Anyone?”
“All right,” I say to Rook as Springtime Nymph springs back to life and begins playing a rather depressing song, “though this isn’t very dancey music. Oh well, we can use our imaginations.” I descend to the dance floor and wonder how to dance.
“I’d like to dance, if you don’t mind dancing with another girl.” I offer Leona Daedmi. “Wonderful costume, by the way.”
“Not at all,” I reply. “Thank you. You have a nice costume, too!” We step out onto the dance floor, as Springtime Nymph plays ‘Embrace the Curse’. I’m not sure how we’ll dance to that, but oh well.
“So, what do you think of these decorations?” I ask Leona.
“They’re lovely, although a bit confusing.” I laugh, looking up at the…strange ceiling.”i’m glad this year’s theme is the twilight zone.”
“It is indeed offbeat, although working for Headquarters, I’m used to strange things, so I probably don’t get the full effect. I was supposed to report supernatural activity here, but so far I haven’t seen anything alarming.”
I walked over to Springtime Nymph.
” Can you play Inspector Gadget Dance Remix?” I asked.
((I’ve decided I’ve spent enough time trying to decide what to do.))
Suddenly, I blink. I realise that time seems to have stopped somehow, for most of the ballgoers. There were others still dancing, to music that seemed unsuitable for such activity. It makes me giggle. Then I look at those frozen in time. They make me laugh, as the time warp – or whetever it is – seems to allow them to defy the laws of physics and gravity. One person seems to be frozen mid-sentence, with one hand outstretched in emphasis of whatever en was saying. Being the humor clause of the Will, I am nowhere near above a practical joke, so I put a Puffin Puff in said hand.
I take a second to blink as whoever was speaking to me seems to have frozen; and then I notice that almost everyone’s simply stuck in place.
Needless to say, I begin to giggle at this, and it develops into a laugh that quickly has me coughing violently. So I simply sort of crumple to the floor, trapped in the throes of a violent fit of coughing; my body convulsing a bit…
With a shrug and a laugh, I tell Spectre “Using our imaginations sounds good. I propose we imagine that this is more ‘dancey’, as you put it. Shall we?” I gesture towards the dance floor. We begin to dance a strange but fun combination of tango and jive. Spectre moves quite smoothly and never steps on my feet–perhaps because he lacks feet of his own. “Is it enjoyable to lack ambulatory-aiding extremities?” I ask him.
((Springtime Nymph, if you have an interest in continuing to play music, could you add “Rock It (Prime Jive)” by Queen to the request queue? Thanks!))
“It does tend to remove the ability to be clumsy. Everything I do is instantly graceful,” I reply. I wonder to myself how I learned how to dance–I didn’t know a minute ago. Must be the strange ballroom again. My thoughts are, however, interrupted by a nearby girl who has seemingly collapsed in coughs. “Are you alright?” I query nervously.
( THE FMP)
I see a girl coughing on the floor. I think she was laughing.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
I drop down from the ceiling rafters and land 2 feet away from Monarch Rosalia, who appears to have gone down in a fit of laughing and coughing simultaneously. I lean down and offer my hand. “What was so funny?” I ask. “I was just enjoying a Puffin Puff up in the rafters and everyone froze, and then you fell over. Perhaps I was outside the blast radius of whatever just happened.”
“Interesting” I murmur. “Alright, shall we dance?” Several more ballgoers have unfrozen. Agent Morgan and I start to dance.
“Is this your first Halloween ball?” I ask, as we dance.
“Yes, actually. Yours?”
“My third, but it’s always exciting. Are you having fun so far?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful!” I laugh. “The food is quite excellent.”
As the puffin puff prank won’t work until the person that the hand belongs to wakes up, and that doesn’t seem likely to happen any time soon, I wander about aimlessly and unsure of what to do.
Coming back from that little matter in the dungeons, I see that the purple Gengar has placed a puffin puff in the hand of a person who appears frozen in time.
So much like a certain someone I can think of… I chuckle and decide to see if the Gengar wants to talk.
After a while, the novelty of the frozen people wears off. There is only so much you can do with a statue, and I am without a marker.
Someone in a plaid shirt and leather jacket walks up to me.
“Hello,” I say. I glance around. “Do you know if Halloween Balls are usually like this? I don’t have much experience with them, and I was under the impression they’d be more, well, exciting.”
“Usually they are more exciting, I just think everybody was very busy with other things this October. Schoolwork can be a real drag. And just in case you were wondering…” I pull off my wig and glasses to reveal who I really am.
I look ruefully down at the mask in my hand, which had slipped off my face. “Well,” I say, “I was unmasked, and never managed to create another identity. It is October 31. Shall the unmasking begin?”
“How convenient! You never need worry about tripping or colliding into someone–or perhaps you trip and collide gracefully. Which is it?” Spectre twirls me, begins to reply, and then looks towards the buffet with concern.
He and I bend nervously over Monarch Rosalia, who is either coughing or choking on the floor. The girl takes a gasping breath and stops coughing. She sits up, still gasping a bit, and accepts a glass of water.
I decide to give her a bit more room to breathe, since she’s okay, and move backwards a few steps. Doing so, I overhear Part Eight of the Will making a query concerning what is usual for the balls. “Excuse me for hijacking your conversation! The balls–both Halloween and May Day–used to be more fun, in my opinion. I don’t know what’s happened. Maybe the mix of people has changed, or maybe the novelty has worn off, but they’ve certainly declined. I’ve had fun at this ball, but I do hope that the next one will go a bit better.”
((98–Angeline Drusilla Kate Holbrook: If you’re ready, I say go ahead!))
Are you P_M?
“All right, it looks like the ball’s wrapping up. Who knows who I am?”
I’d guess that you are Piggy.
I end my dance with Dr Darkwater and drift over to the crowd of other ballgoers. Spectre asks if anyone knows ens true identity.
“The ball has gone so quickly this year- I finally decided to attend and now…” I’m only one of many lamenting the relative uneventfulness of the ball, but I have a NaNoWriMo novel to write.
“Oh well, there is always next year, I suppose.” I glance at CMP, who has taken ens mask off, and am slightly surprized at the familiar face underneath. “Oh my, Kai! I’d never have guessed.” I glance at myself. I have no mask, as such, to remove, but the letters that make up my Gengar costume are rearranging themselves. So far, they have become a swirling mass of numbers and letters, barely recognizable as those from my name even to myself.
(Are we to guess others’ identities?)
I check my watch. Can the party really be over already? It feels like it only just started!
I say goodbye to Leona and the others and head for the exit. Headquarters will be sending somebody to pick me up any minute…
The black helicopter is already in the courtyard by the time I get down the stairs and out of the building. A man with a brown mustache in a suit very similar to my own is waiting inside.
“So, Morgan, what’s your verdict?” Supervisor Kelly asks.
“There were some apparently supernatural entities at the party, but none appeared to be malicious. Everyone had a great time. I don’t think Muse Academy requires further investigation.” I say, climbing in.
“Are you sure?” Kelly asks, as the chopper blades start to spin.
“Oh yes, they’re mostly harmless.”
I wave goodbye to Agent Morgan and hurry over to grab a bite of garlic bread before I slip off my mask. That was a really fun ball, even though I didn’t get to do any of the activities.
“Well,” I say, undoing the ties of my scarlet mask and slipping it off, “that was fun! I am, as you can see, Cerulean Pyros. Did anyone suspect that?”
100–Spectre: Piggy?
I nod to Doctor Darkwater and Rook. “Yes, I am Piggy. I should have made more of an attempt to disguise myself.” I fade away through the floor.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” i say, smiling while I pack up my guitar. “It was fun while it lasted.”
“What? Am I late?”
“Oh, you definitely are;” I sigh, “we’ve already taken off our masks, and the others should soon.”
“Oh, piffle.” *leaves*
I drink a glass of water and regain my sensibilities. I then nod to Aggie, agreeing with her as I remove my butterfly mask.
“Ah, well;” I hmm, “I was Spiritwitch. Perhaps next year I’ll do Rin Kagamine, that might work a little more fun…”
I remove my mask as well.
“Hmm… Next year will be more interesting. Isn’t it strange that the blog was stuck in time warp for some time during the ball?
Assuming that Muse Academy is somehow quantum entangled with the blog and the ball is quantum entangled or at least attached to MA, independent of its current events in the RPG, the ball should have at least been influenced by the time warp. But I didn’t notice any disturbances.
Of course, the blog technically wasn’t stuck in time warp all the time, so the ball just could have been frozen in time for a while. Or it simply moved itself to the future or the past somehow. Or I’m just creating a giant conspiracy theory to procrastinate NaNoWriMo. Bottom line, I’ll keep an eye out for myself in the future.”
The GAPAs remove their masks, but as their identities have been obvious to everyone all evening, the gesture goes unnoticed.
I come out of the shadows, loosening my mask. “I did not do much this ball, did I? Ah well, perhaps this winter.”
My knot comes loose, and I remove my mask. “I was Errata, by the way.”
I take off my goggles, revealing my identity.
It was nice dancing with you Harbinger/bookgirl_me; you are very quick on your feet.
Disappointed about the time warp but pleased with the costumes that showed up, I climb into my phone booth and takeoff back to the future from whence I came.
The words that make up my costume finally arrange themselves into my name, repeated over and over. “Randomosity 101, Randomosity 101”
“Oh well,” I say as the letters disappear, leaving me in normal clothing, “it was fun while it lasted.”