Autumn Party 08

The door of the music room fell shut and locked with a click that in a silent room would have been barely audible. The music started sounding slightly odd - distorted and unpleasant - despite the musicians not changing a thing about how they played. Nico lifted her hands off the keys, frowning slightly and, while the keys did not move, the music went on, growing grating.
The candle lanterns dimmed and winked out, but just a moment later a blue, glowing fog crept out of the corners and covered the ground. Azra yelped and jumped a step backwards colliding with the wall and causing Nico's stick to fall over clattering as with a bright flash a tendril of fog shot up right in front of her and formed a ghostly humanoid figure.
It was frightfully thin, with a drawn, long face, and was holding a violin. From its face and stride spoke cold anger as it approached the piano.

Outside, Ebani tilted his head and listened to what little one could hear of the goings on there, while Kinta tried to engage Daaren in conversation.

"May I ask what business you have with our absent host?"

"I have no idea what this is about; I am here only because Nico drug me." He frowned at the "music", but mostly ignored it, keeping mind it was all supposed to be make-believe.

Meanwhile, "Igor" appeared with a pitcher of water in one hand, and a covered bucket in the other. People with sharp sense of smell might wonder why she was lugging around a bucket full of raw meat. She placed the pitcher on the table and went up the stairs to what had been the gallery, but was now a flight of rooms.

When the figure lurched in, the gryphon looked as if he had swallowed a wine glass. He sincerely hoped it wasn't something he had said. Of course, sanity settled back into his skull soon enough -- so what if he had offended someone? He'd just smack them upside the head and be done with it. (The possibility that something immaterial could not be struck never occurred to him.)

The monk, on the other hand, merely raised both eyebrows at the figure, then glanced at Azra. As he did so, he wondered whether it was the dragon or the snake that had caused this -- or the tiny giant.

Mhelarn eyed the stairs wistfully. The bucket had smelled scintillating. Not the best way to reassure someone, though.

"Pumpkin pie sounds good." he said, without answering the trollmaid's original question.

"Let's go." 'Mr. Wolf' took the nearest plate and headed for the laden table. Then he stopped.

"Just think about it. What would you do with two people who could completely change their appearance at a moment's notice." He forebore to mention some of the inconveniences.

"Hmmmm. Agricultural scams..." she said doubtfully, following him. "Zoos, circuses... pets' homes? Kennels! Those doggie hotels the uptown swanks use! In fact, anywhere that lets pets in." She picked up a plate too, eschewing anything too sugar-laden.

"And then there's street coneys - sidewalk games, snatch and run, even taking a tumble in front of someone's wagon... you know, I think you're onto something!"

---

The dragon watched this new apparition with his ears cocked and his whiskery lips pursed.

"Wicked," Lamia said, happily waiting to be entertained.

Mhelarn chewed thoughtfully on something unidentifiable, then swallowed. He noted her aversion to sugary stuff. It might be important later.

"See, I think it could work. We just have to find the right mage, now."

He started scanning the room.

Nico watched with an air of polite interest, and rather less enthusiasm than Lamia.

The presumed ghost glared at the trio near the now silent piano with contempt. It pointed at the dragon with his violin bow, hissing, "Respectless," then turned to the musicians and in the same would-be-breath, "Dilettanti!" as if those were the worst things one could call a person.

"I shall show you music." It started playing. It did not sound like a violin. It sounded like tortures crystal and wire, shrill and wild. The fog glowed brighter, whipping flashing tendrils at the people in the room. Other instruments present - though not the now-monk's lyre - one by one rose into the air and joined in the cacophony. It got lounder and louder, and would soon become painful if it went on like that.

Azra, who had recovered quickly, since she had been startled rather than truly frightened, pulled a face under her mask and tried the door, but found it locked.

---

The man in black flinched when the music started, even as it was dampened out in the hall.

Thiggie was still watchful, but relaxed somewhat now she'd seen him eating people-food. At least, she was fairly sure dogs didn't eat candy. Something about it being bad for them?

In her ranking system of potential targets, this fellow was one she would mark down as 'only if desperate'. He seemed unusually perceptive.

(Thiggie never bothered about phrases like "besides, he seems too nice to scam". There was no such thing.)

---

Lamia folded her arms with a sardonic (albeit cute) smile on her face. "I'll have you know I'm classically trained, string kitty," she joked to herself within Nico's earshot, before the din became too loud to hear much else.

---

"What'n the hell is that?" Thiggie sputtered as the howling of an unearthly beast enthusiastically joined in the commotion.

"YOUR MUSIC IS AS GOOD AS THE SOUTH END OF A NORTH-BOUND HORSE," the gryphon yelled through the noise -- his lung capacity combined with a fortuitous pedigree and his way of using very sharp consonants was enough to let him at least compete with the noise.

The monk, then, was too busy wincing and covering his ears. His poor, delicate ears... and that lump of muscle wasn't really helping. If they started to bleed, he'd give the owner of the place something to think about. Dragging an empty coffin to Sinafter's quarters, something like that.

The dragon joining in was really pushing it for Azra. Luckily she knew a little trick. She laid her hands flat on the door and its frame next to the lock for a moment, and then pushed the lock out of the door. She went outside right away, and held it open for anyone who wanted to follow.

Nico made for the hall, too, walking straight through the ghost, who ignored everyone. She did not want to be in there when that trio of bagpipes taking to the air just now joined in.

The monk for one was quite happy when Azra turned out to have a trick much better than he could've come up with -- he slipped out of the room with a wince and shuddered. No blood, though, thankfully.

"Thanks. Excellent work." He was speaking a bit too loud, he reflected.



The gryphon lost it and _ripped_ a part of the costume off with one smooth move. It thankfully left him with the hindquarters, not that the dark-haired, blue-winged reaver would have noticed or minded.

Serpentine marched up to the ghost, far too gone inside a big black-red cloud of hate to hear anything but twisted and bent sounds. "I SAID..." he shouted, balling one hand into a fist just before he swung it at the... thing. Whatever it was.

Lamia had been to gigs almost as bad as this, but the 'sad-sacks', as she referred to them, joining in were more than a step too far. She slipped out.

Dragon, more or less happy to be able to stop howling (which was a defence mechanism - the addition of one's own voice changed unbearable noise to bearable), stalked behind Lamia until she stopped some way across the room. Out of habit, he headbutted her hand and got a scritch.

Serpentine's fist went right through the apparition, who did not even react, but, eyes closed, continued playing.

"Thank you," Azra answered, likewise a bit too loud.

Nico looked back into the room and screamed as loud as she could, "Hey, wings! Come out there!" adding more quietly, "so we can at least close the door."

The trio across the hall watched, the one who wasn't a demon dropping his glass when the door opened and let an unfiltered floodwave of noise out, and covering his ears.

Oh. That wouldn't work, then, Serpentine thought -- and covered his ears when his confusion overrode his anger. He did manage to hear the typical groundlocked type name for himself, and seeing Nico, he stalked out of the room.

"Goddamn ghosts," he said.

The monk smiled.

"..." said Serpentine.

As soon as Serpentine crossed the threshold, the ghost turned to them, with an ugly, smug smile on its face and lowered its violin. The other instruments played on, but one by one settled again and fell silent.

"That was music," the apparition declared as it faded. The fog sank into the ground, and the candles spread their warm light again.

Azra lightly shook her head, leaning against the open door, and said, "Just as well he's gone. I'm not sure I could have remembered a soundproofing spell with that racket as distraction."

Nico patted her shoulder, looking back through the door. She considered retrieving her stick and glass that'd been left in there, but decided to wait a bit. Or maybe just leave them.

The monk stared into the room for a while, both eyebrows raised.

Serpentine looked to be incensed again. "Artistés," he growled and ploughed his way toward the wine. "Deadbeat poseurs," the winged man/thing rumbled.

The monk shook his head a bit and smiled. "There's still plenty of the evening left," he said thoughtfully, lowering his voice to a level closer to normal with each word.

Thiggie nudged Mhelarn, paying close attention to the blue demon's mention of spells. What the hell; might as well play along with the craziness yet.

"Certainly is," Lamia said in response to the monk, shaking her head once or twice as she approached the others, dragon in tow.

"'Scuse me, if one of you wouldn't mind, I really do need a picture of Mr Monk here," the dragon insisted. "Y'know, I'd try, only my stick men are gen'rally a bit wobbly." The swords never came out recognisable.

Azra looked at the monk and asked him, "And what would you prefer, some hopefully untroubled time here, or finding out what's behind the third door?" Nico looked at said door doubtfully.

Kinta answered the dragon, "If anyone here has paper and some kind of pen, I can give it a try."

"What happened there?" The other man in black asked the pair.

"I'd rather sit down and chat, to be honest. I haven't done that properly yet," said the monk, sending a sidelong glance toward the lump of muscle sampling a bit more wine that was possibly healthy.

Lamia rolled her head once more, as though shaking concave eardrums back into shape. Still hearing spots and looking elsewhere, she had either missed the question from man in black or didn't think he was talking to her - it seemed undeliberate, and she'd answer if he asked again.

There weren't any chairs here in the main hall. Perhaps in the other room. Somehow she didn't think she'd get any support if she suggested a grand expedition.

While the dragon went to beg a lurching servant to go and find a sketchpad and writing implement, Lamia went and piled a plate high with various treats. A jug of wine in the crook of an arm, along with as many glasses as she could hold by the stems, and she returned to place the goods on the floor before sweeping the long back of her skirt out of the way and sitting down.

She motioned the others to do likewise, coaxed the dragon to lie down next to her and examined his costume. It was better made than she'd expect for a dog. Who would dress their pet (muse?) up and send it to a party alone?

"Dragon-dear, do you belong to someone here?" she asked.

Technically speaking, that was a question Dragon was supposed to be obliged to answer. They'd never bothered much about that kind of formality, though. "If you mean my pet human, no. He's elsewhere stirring storms," he said. "How about you? Belong to any animals?"

So that was how pets thought. Lamia had suspected as much. She knew quite a few people with cats. "A bird," she replied. "She helps me in my creative pursuits, namely making brutally fantastic music the likes of which can beat any syncopated improv geeks all the way from here to elfdom."

She looked up at the monk and added "Er, no offence," in case he'd heard and taken any.

If Mhelarn had been a wolf and not a harlequin, he would have gone into bat-eared radar mode. As it is, he just stopped eating and looked alert.

"I'm listening." he told Thiggie quietly.