"Night of Revelry" Log Date: 10/21, 10/22/00 Log Cast: Costumed attendees of the party: Crataeis, Black Wyvern, Alicorn, Night Sky, West Wind, Zeus, Spring Blossom, Cupid, Dryad, Aphrodite, Tyche, Eastern Sky, Gryphon, Dionysus, Thaddeus, Alexandria, Khalid Atar Log Intro: Word has reached Julian Nemeides, merchant, Deus, and thief, that a huge costume gala is scheduled to be held at the Palladium. Wingless darkling that he is, he is hardly the sort of personage who can normally walk into the place unchallenged -- but then, Julian well knows the sorts of grand celebrations that the Children of the Air are wont to have. There will be much intoxication... and for a clever thief, the possibility of a great deal of profit to be had. Julian does not exactly _need_ to indulge in a night of thievery within the Palladium; should he be discovered, he knows, it would go very ill for him indeed. But it is almost a matter of pure principle that drives him to arrange to attend the celebration, just to see what opportunities for profit fate might drop into his hands -- and simply because he is in fact Julian Nemeides, to make certain that his costume properly reflects his state of disenchantment with the race that bore him. He will, however, discover that there will be at least one or two at the party who have even braver tastes in costumes than he.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Night (Duskside) Date on Aether: Saturday, March 29, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Gibbous Season: Early Spring Weather: Clouds Temperature: Bracing *==========================================================================* You meander along a garden path until you step into the living quarters of the Palladium. Inner Courtyard - Living Quarters - Palladium - Haven A colonnade surrounds the perimeter of the inner courtyard, whose paved paths lead to various domiciles, each built in the traditional Empyreal style. Tiled roofs, arches, columns, and even balconies are common features on all the homes, and the decor is light and airy--much like those who dwell within. There are no staircases, although there are some residencies that extend to a second floor, for the occupants have no need of stairs when they can simply glide through the air. Almost everything is built of pale marble in shades of white, cream, or rose, and climbing vines of flowers mirror their hues when the season is right. A circular fountain graces the middle of the courtyard, and residents can often be found seated at its edge, whiling away a few hours. Contents: Night Sky Crataeis West Wind Alicorn Zeus Room-desc Masquerade Ball -> Read me! (l #3163) Obvious exits: House Acesius House Ares House Augustus Garden Hall of the Sky House Jove House Thanatos House Tritonis Room-desc Masquerade Ball -> Read me! (l #3163) A colonnade decorated with vines and ribbons surrounds the perimeter of the inner courtyard, whose paved paths lead to various domiciles. The doors of each House have been taken out for the occasion, the entrances now covered with silken sheets, each dyed in the colour of the House it conceals. Tiled roofs are filled with flowers, arches are hidden behind banners, columns are surrounded by tables filled with foods, drinks and sculptures. Even the balconies are decorated with flowers and vines, silks and feathered masks. The mood is set by hundreds of burning candles, bathing the courtyard in a dreamy, glowing light. The circular fountain gracing the middle of the courtyard flows with sparkling red wine arching down towards the bassin, at the convenience of the thirsty. All around the walls -in between the House entrances- and much of the courtyard is taken up by groups of sofa's for the guests to lounge on while they are spoiled by slaves serving drinks, grapes and pastries. One area of the plaza has been left open for those desiring and fit enough to dare a few dancing steps to the music provided for by the small orchestra that plays in the light of candles on a bed of fresh flowers. Black Wyvern If a wyvern can be said to walk upon two feet, certainly this creature must be a two-footed wyvern. Standing at just over six feet in height, this tall, slim, two-footed wyvern is most notable for the stylized mask that turns a baleful regard upon anyone he might pass... for the taloned 'toes' that stretch forth from the soft leathern boots upon his feet, just low enough that to look down is to wonder whether he has the feet of a beast or the feet of a man... and for the wings that spring up and back from his shoulderblades, clever constructions that seem to pull a stretch of shining ebon hide over what one can only assume are the feathers beneath. Striking, too, is the overall _hue_ of this fantastical 'beast', for he is a study in blacks and darkest silvers all over his frame. Even his hair appears to be black, when one can glimpse it from the rear between his wings -- and the feathers that might be spotted close in to his back, under the hide overlay that tops most of them, are raven-dark rather than snow-white as well. Only when one stands very close to him might the straps that seem to be holding the hide over the wings be glimpsed, just as black as the rest of his garb and winding down to vanish beneath the multi-layered cloak that seems to serve as the garment for his upper body. He wears close-fitting gloves upon his hands, and like his boots, they too sport stylized 'talons' that ride over the top of evidently dextrous fingers. The 'wyvern', whoever he is, comports himself like a lord. His manners and accent are impeccable, though his velvet tenor voice is tinged with an ever so slight ironic drawl. The eyes that meet the gathering at large are the only non-black hue about him, for they're a deep twilight blue. Mask? Who said anything about a mask? Crataeis must have been planning this - NO one else could dance with a toga like that and a jig like this on the first try. "Your wish is my will, Great Zeus, and I must obey. Behold!" Again, the grandly gravelled intonations are more jesting than anything else when she pulls one of her hands from his and reveals the lightly bronzed fingers where the powder has rubbed away. "Your touch is enough to strip me of my secrets." The skeletal face finally breaks a smile (not smirk, but smile), underscored with the barely veiled implications of her words. If there is any quality that the Empyrean race might be said to hold in common -- aside, that is, from expert skill at political maneuvering -- it is the knowledge of when, exactly, to be fashionably late. That can certainly be said of the black-clad, masked and winged figure that makes an entrance into the gathering, wyvern mask swerving this way and that almost as fiercely as the creature on which it is modelled might do -- and conveniently concealing any opinion its wearer might have upon what he sees. Leaning forward with chin on knuckles, the Alicorn chews at her lower lip. Costumed folk swirl about her, and occasionally she glances up at them. Hunched over as she is, the woman barely notices the new arrival until one of her many glances towards House Tritonis focuses her vision on the impressive patch of.. well.. black.. in the sea of pale and rainbow. Sitting up fully, a cinnamon brow arches as a slight grin flicks across her lips. "Most interesting," she murmurs to herself. With one fluid movement, she is on her feet. Now, to consider the approach, if any. On the heels of the dark clad wyvern comes a silver tressed Empyrean from the direction of the garden, her carefully crafted mask doing a fine job of hiding her eyes as they roam the room slowly. It takes the celestial woman only a moment to spot the nearest source of ambrosia and without much of a pause in her flowing gait, she picks and weaves her way through the crowd toward a much needed drink. The image of the sun's first light laughs with a rich baritone as the wind in his arms is sent spinning outward, taking full advantage of the gossamer raiment as it dances and swirls outward from her in a shimmer of pale blue and silver. Laughter brushes past her lips, a light tone to match the silver on her attire, but, remembering that her voice is to be disguised as well, it drops back to the husky smoky timbre she had used while speaking. Ambrosia, flowing like water -- though the Wyvern, at any rate, does not partake, at least not immediately. He shakes his masked visage to the first servant who approaches him to make an offer of that very beverage, content for now to sweep a twilight gaze over everything and everyone in his vicinity... and to smile a tiny ironic smile behind his mask. The Alicorn is not the only one to glance his way and lift eyebrows at his choice of color scheme, but with evident sublime unselfconsciousness -- or else practiced deliberate ignorance of the stares he's drawing -- the Wyvern merely graciously inclines his head to anyone who actually shows enough boldness to actually meet his eye. Zeus chuckles deeply (no doubt the wearer of the costume will be suffering for this abuse of his voice) and brushes the powder between his fingers, offering a kiss on the tips of the bronzed ones in his hand, "We all know that you, Domina Death, wear many disguises. How am I to know that this is merely not one of them?" It sort of gives another meaning to 'flirting with Death'. Flicking her wings in an aggitated fashion, the Alicorn shoots one more look at the formerly mentioned noble House. Brushing her fingers over her dress, she wends her way towards the Wyvern. This is a party, yes? It's /good/ to enjoy it. Best to grab this one before someone else has the initiative to do so! As she reaches his side, the Alicorn boldly runs a beringed finger over the Wyvern's snout. "Do you dance, dark one, or are you just here to frighten young girls?" Alicorn Pale grey eyes are all that is seen of her face, otherwise obscured by a beautiful equine mask made of smoothed feathers. A single, spiraling horn of gilded gold portrudes from her brow, ribbons of blue and gold streaming from its tip. Pristine white wings stretch well into the air above her head, feathers worked with even more ribbons that flow as she walks like golden windtrails. Sun-gilt red tresses have been teased into a miriad of perfect ringlets, falling artfully about her shoulders. A flowing white chimere is cut loosely past her breasts, the thick silk covering all but the tops of her pale silk slippers. Over this is worn a thin white linen himation which is held securely to her clothing with descretely pinned gold braids. Her arms are bare beneath this, save for the intricate armlets fashioned like wings. Strategy? Turn face away demurely every time a chortle rumbles up. "And you?" offers the Third Graiae to her august partner; as the music shifts to a quieter, more subdued key, she trades the harshness of larynx for a mellower treble tone. (Equally unidentifiable, of course.) "Is your mortal form as... awe-inspiring as this?" As she withdraws her hand, the bases of those fingertips gently stroke his own. A low tenor chuckle sounds somewhere behind the Wyvern's mask as he turns to face the Alicorn, his wings creaking slightly as he does so -- perhaps from the weight of the 'hide' he's stretched over them? "That all depends," he rasps in a clearly disguised voice, growled out on the very bottom of his range, "upon the age of the first girl I find, Domina." It only takes a moment and a few polite tilts of her head for the woman in deep blue and silver to intercept a servant and be served. With a full glass now, she turns to survey the assembled group, taking several small sips before lowering her hands to her waist. The movement of dancers catches her eye, but only for the briefest time before the lovely Alicorn approaches the Wyvern and captures her well hidden attention. This should be intersting. Amusing, to be sure. "Divulging my age is not something that I suppose would be very.. mm.. lady-like." Offering a hand -- rough and calloused, an astute observer would note -- she smiles beneath her mask. The gilded horn shakes minimally as she tilts her head, eyes dancing with obvious mirth. "I should like to be the first to dance with such an unusual beast, Dominus. Would you do me the honor? Perhaps when we are finished you can go about frightening less bold persons than myself." Zeus can't help a smile as he feels Death's fingers on his own. "I have been told so, dear Lady." Perhaps one day she may even see...or later tonight, when the ambrosia has gone to everyone's head. As the music continues, the deity intercepts some more wine and offers the graiae a glass before continuing the dance figure as well as scanning those about. His eyes widen at the sight of the wyvern and there is a look of amused respect in them. Very daring, but very effective. "I should be most delighted," is the Wyvern's velvet growled reply, as he somehow manages to incline his head deeply and gracefully despite what must be a considerable weight of mask being supported upon his face. As the Alicorn offers her hand, he lifts one of his own talon-gloved ones to take it -- and lift it up just enough to let it meet the false fanged maw of his mask, by way of kissing those proffered fingers. What sort of hand is beneath the talons is not quite so easily determined, but his grip is sure, firm without being confining. Somewhere within the dancer's undefined circle, more drinks are passed around, though there lacks a certain grace once the goblet have been passed from the able hands of servants to those who choose to consume the beverage. The quick footsteps that send male and female Empyreans spinning to the music also causes more than one participant to douse themselves or their partner with a fair amount of wine or ambroisa. A few shreak in dismay as theyr finery is ruined with a trickle of crimson, but most seem amused by the sudden splash of beverage. The image of the wind takes a long sip of her ambroisa as her partner brazenly draws her against him as he worms his way out of the center of the dance. Taking skirts in hand, the Alicorn offers a more graceful curtsy to the Wyvern than was given the Eagle. Without further comment, she retains her grasp on his hand -- her own grip rather firm -- and makes way to the gathering of dancers. Her pace is considerate of his outfit, for surely that must be a difficult weight to deal with even when there are not so many bodies present. Turning to face him, she chuckles. "I will not lie; I am not the best at this. Dancing with people is far less contained than with a sword." A hint? "If you would be so generous as to lead me?" Crataeis follows her Zeusie's eyes, and while those orbs of mercury don't enlarge, they do linger. "Forgive me, Divine Radiance, but I think the combination of you and the toga have worn me out for now." She does, however, accept the wine as she pulls slightly away from him, and her pasty lips have darkened to blood-red by the time she curves a second and last smile. "I am eternally indebted to you for this honor, Dominus." The fracas of ambrosia around them attracts no more than a flicker of her as yet undivided attention. Oh, indeed, there is a considerable weight riding upon the Wyvern's back -- though at least if one judges by the surety of his stride, he is easily bearing it, for now. "Again the honor is mine," comes the throaty tenor from behind the mask. The frolicking Children of Air about him and the splashings this way and that of ambrosia seem to faze him not in the slightest; one advantage of a primarily black costume, after all, is its easy hiding of winestains. He waits for a moment or two, masked head turning slightly towards the sound of the music that washes over the crowd, just long enough to ascertain the beat and cadence of what the bards are playing. And then he steps into a dance to match it, taking his time and letting his self-volunteered partner get the gist of how to match his movements. Zeus nods his head as Death takes leave of him, choosing to pull away from the dancing as well. Noticing that Night has arrived, he makes his way over to her and, lifting a hand, plants a kiss on her fingertips. "Ah, gentle Morpheus...or shall I say, Morphea?" Without giving the Domina a chance to reply he sweeps her into an embrace with a very long kiss. Perfectly in character for his costume. Spring Blossom steps into the living quarters from the garden. Spring Blossom has arrived. Exhaling sharply as a couple bumps into her, the Alicorn does her best to match the Wyvern's steps. A wary eye travels over them, for both are attempting to remain upright as they swing about in a wild dance with a goblet in eithers' hand. Shaking her head, attention is returned to her impressive ebon partner. "I suppose I chose the wrong coloring," she admits with a slight titter. "A sorrel alicorn would not have had to be concerned with literally flowing wine!" White-painted eyebrows arc up a tad at the passionate embrace delivered by her ex-partner - yes, she's still watching him, though keeping a peripheral eye on the Man in Black. With her sacred and holy (and essential) glass of alcohol, Crataeis retires inelegantly to one of the cushy lounge areas to spy from afar. Almost as an afterthought, she re-coats her marred hands with their original covering of powder, having a spare packet tucked away in that gargantuan toga. Spring Blossom walks in from the gardens, her steps hesitant. Hanging back near the one of the vine-covered columns, the girl seems to be doing her best to blend in with the decorations. "On the contrary," drawls the Wyvern -- and indeed, he somehow manages to drawl and growl at the same time, though at the price of his voice climbing slightly back up in timbre towards what might be his normal range -- "you will simply have to work less hard than I to mark the stains in your fine costume." Each motion he makes by necessity kept comfortably paced, he nevertheless exhibits a comfortable familiarity with the slow pivots and turns through which he leads his companion of the moment. "Might I add also that you have chosen well, Domina." Taken quite off guard by the sudden approach of Zeus, and even more sudden kiss, the silver haired vision of night has no time to do any more than respond by becoming a participant in the bold act. A hand rises instinctively to his chest as she pulls away, but there's a crooked grin on her lips that speaks volumes to the correct set of observant eyes. "Dominus, you do take my breath. Call me whatever you would like." The image of morning's sun laughs merrily as the woman of wind tumbles back into his arms after another twirl of her lithe figure to further admire the movement of her attire. Her laughter joins his in a lovely duet of merriment, though hers is cut short as she takes a long drink from her goblet. Not wishing to be left behind, the dawn's thick hand reaches to grab a glass from a passing tray, lifting it to his lips without a care of what beverage fills the vessel. His lips moist with the sweet nectar of the gods, he pulls his unknown partner in for a lengthly kiss, taking advantage of the evening of anonymity that allows such a forward action from a stranger. Spring Blossom moves quietly around the edge of the room, observing the proceedings with the faintest of smiles curving her lips. There is a sense of waiting about her, or perhaps seeking as she peers at one costumed shape after another. "You may," the Alicorn says laughingly, warming up to the dance with each step taken. Each flourish causes the multitude of ribbons on her costume to sway gently, and any grace she lacks is made up for by the illusion of flowing gold. Leaning a touch closer to the Wyvern, she grins broadly. "Though certainly not as daring a choice as you have made, Dominus. I was worried about being one of many -- if I were you, I would worry about far more than just that." It is a good thing that Zeus is the Lord of the Skies, for it would take that expanse of space for his ego. "For now, I call you stunning..." he doesn't quite boom, " and also thirsty." Grabbing some more wine he presses it into her pale hand. "Come...you should not be standing here...you should be dancing." It may not even be with him as there are many masked Domini who are eager for partners. "But in the meantime, you may accompany me..." He certainly has that god-like attitude down. Zeus may now dance with whomever he pleases, without supervision. Very intent dark eyes track only the progress of the Wyvern and Alicorn, never missing a beat and, thanks to Wyvern's distinctive apparel and Ali's horn, never losing them in the rush. Given the horrific, "bloody" look she's managed to maintain, one could easily imagine that this is the real Crataeis, earmarking her victims for their fatal punishments. The Wyvern's tone suggests he's just raised his eyebrows -- though with the mask in the way, it's anyone's guess, really. Still, somewhere within that visage of ebon ferocity, there's a glimmer of amused twilight blue. "Indeed?" he rumbles, adroitly sidestepping a flapping wing from a young rake a bit too far gone in his cups wobbling after a maiden rather gone in hers as well. As he turns that sidestep into a smooth pirouette of his companion -- letting her spin out far enough away that her own wings fail to collide with him, then catching up her hand again as soon as she is within range -- he inquires dryly, "Is there worry, then, in singularity?" Philosophical, isn't he? Any other evening, the man holding the wind in his arms might receive a slap from an open palm for such assumptions, for taking such liberties on her person. Tonight's festivities pardon social barriers and the woman allows the kiss, if only for a few moments. She laughs as she struggles to pull back, but not out of disgust with his behavior, but rather for the more simple desire for another drink from her wine. Crimson stained lips draw into a pretty pout as she discovers that in the course of the kiss her goblet mysteriously emptied itself, it's contents now pool on the ground. She whispers something to her dance partner and as he leans in to listen, she deftly swipes the goblet from his hand and claims it as her own. The fresh goblet of wine clutched tightly in her delicate hand, the dark vision of the sky manages an artful deep sip on her way into the crush of dancers following Zeus' lead. One artful one followed by one not so graceful sip which sends a trickle of deep red down from the corner of her lips. Dabbing at it with the back of her hand as her other is held captive, she does manage to smudge it a bit, but not erase its trace altogether. Over the din of the crowd, she speaks at a volume pitched for her partner's ears. "I would consider it an honor to dance with one so divine." If she can dance. It has been some time. The Alicorn cannot help but laugh out loud as she turn, her previous cup finally starting to take its hold on her systems. "Only, sir, if you worry that Death might come for you this night." Ah yes, she has noticed Crataeis look, and bemused, decides that she would rather be as far away from that visage as possible when she arrives. Mask or no, the thought of encountering such a being is something few people relish. With another soft chuckle, she presses herself into the Wyvern's arms and places a gentle kiss upon the beast's 'cheek'. "You dance very well, Dominus, and perhaps if I had been clever enough to determine your identity, I would have asked for lessons. As it is," she slips back, smiling beneath her mask, "I fear that the wine has been to take its course and I had best continue to allow it to do so in a more stationary position." Cupid steps into the living quarters from the garden. Cupid has arrived. Enough earmarking; time for the executions. "Pardon," croaks a rocky treble voice - at the shoulder of Alicorn and the notorious Wyvie. The edges of her words are ever so slightly slurred with drink, though that's becoming the common lingo for this party. Depositing her empty glass on a tray, the Lady Death raises a putrefied face to the creature towering overhead (not Ali)... and asks for the next dance. Recovers quickly, doesn't she? As best he can, then, the Wyvern bows to the Alicorn as soon as they've concluded their dance. "Then I will make my farewells, Domina -- and give you my thanks for making me welcome at this gathering." But even as he releases his taloned hold upon the hand of the Alicorn, here then is Lady Death herself come calling. The Wyvern's mask turns to dip just as graciously to this second Domina as it had to the first, and from somewhere behind it, the velvet tenor growls, "It would be my pleasure, my lady." Spring Blossom comes to rest beside another column, by all appearances having sought but not found. Still her gaze roams over the crowd, a soft smile gracing what is visible of her face. Casting a capricious glance at Crataeis, the Alicorn nods and scoots off as quickly as possible. A brush with death! Ah, what an evening this is turning out to be. Wobbling at a fairly quick pace, the woman catches herself on anyone that will lend her a moment of steadiness. After what seems an eternity filled with wings and swirling powder, the Alicorn alights on the edge of the fountain once again. Plucking a second goblet from the care of a passing servant, she giggles to herself. Crataeis snorts. "I doubt that, but we'll find out, won't we?" She's certainly getting that crotchety act down. Looking critically over his costume, Death amends herself: "On second thought, would you mind holding the discussion I had in mind without the dance? I shouldn't like to spoil your... costume." Holding up a hand and rubbing two fingers, just to demonstrate. Ladies and gentlemen, we've found the color Wyvern's clothes should be afraid of! Perhaps it is the open theivery that annoys the man doused in the rich golds and oranges of morning's light, or simply the amount of wine affects his better judgement and stirs him to anger quicker than it might usually. He frowns at the play by the wind and angrily pushes her away as she stomps off to find another glass of ambrosia and most likely, a dance partner that won't take his precious beverage from him without so much as a word to ask for it. The wind laughs out loud as he tears away, silently marking him as a commoner who rarely samples such fine refreshments has House Jove has offered freely. She turns, a bit akwardly, to watch the swirling images of feathers and silks fill her field of vision. Crataeis In a vast sea of rehashed beauty, nothing stands out like a good dose of the grotesque. This woman is not going for the Loveliest of the Evening award. Her visage alone is a shock to the system, its stark surface pale as death and twice as old, with skillfully applied warts, wrinkles and age spots. Darkly lethal, two beady eyes are left to gaze on the throng from their petrified sockets, well complemented by a pinched, knotty wig of sable hair. The seeming readiness of the toga to swallow her whole triggers the illusion of skinniness. Marble-tinted wings arc high with a feeling of pride, duty and implacability; this is the final touch on the costume of the Craetaeis, the Empyre's divine executioner. Zeus sets himself for the dance, opposite the Night Sky. Of course she can dance...it's not something one forgets easily. Of course she would be honored...he is Zeus, after all. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you came down from the heavens tonight." She is swung around until some rather happy dancer nearly spills wine over his clothes. "Perhaps we should save the dancing for later...once the wine has had a different effect?" An arm is offered to lead her to one of the sofas...near to where the Alicorn has chosen to sit. Floating into view, sliding around a column, is a figure of gold and snow. Candlelight is captured by Cupid's graceful form as he steps forward, then reflected a thousandfold to shine forth like the aura of a god. Surrounded thus by radiance, he reaches out to gently snag a goblet of wine from a nearby servant, watching those assembled as he lifts the gleaming metal to his lips. Lips which, it should be noted, bear a tiny, secretive smile. Expression hidden away behind his mask, the Wyvern simply seems to stare at the Craetaeis for a moment, before he clasps a taloned hand to his cloaked breast by way of a bow and an acknowledgement. "I have the night before me, Domina; pray, how may I be of service?" Again Crataeis discards the phony 'witch' voice in favor of her light treble. "Walk with me, and perhaps we'll find out how." She gestures toward the pathways leading to the Garden with a powder-coated hand. Spring Blossom turns her head, catching a glimpse of the new arrival. She is still, captivated for the moment by the glittering form. A servant interrupts her reverie, offering a goblet which is graciously accepted, the girl taking a quick sip as she regathers her wits. Dryad steps into the living quarters from the garden. Dryad has arrived. With that, then, the cloaked, taloned, and hide-winged Wyvern inclines his head in deference, saying, "After you, Domina," to the Crataeis. Far be it from him, even if he is currently wearing the guise of a fearsome creature, to charge out ahead of a lady. Not that far, surely. Pale-faced Crataeis pauses only to decline a distributor of ambrosia before setting out on the chosen road, this time careful to guard her hair from passing vinery. Crataeis strolls out of the living quarters and heads into the garden. Crataeis has left. Strolling out of the living quarters, you emerge into the garden. Garden - Palladium - Haven Water droplets spray upward from a marble fountain, glinting like diamonds when the sunlight streams in and patterns the ground. A trellis overhead holds grapevines that shade the paths below, mingled with a wild tangle of rosebushes. In the warm months, they bloom in a riot of color; ranging from a red so deep it's almost black, to the purest white bud delicately laced with veins of pink. Petals are strewn over the walkways, and their scent perfumes the air with a heady aroma that is vaguely seductive. Warm sunlight or the cooler glow of the moon reflects off the marble columns supporting the various structures of the Palladium, yet it is easy to forget a world beyond this garden. A few stone benches provide 'places' where visitors may sit and converse, or simply absorb this rich tapestry of sight, smell, and sound. Contents: Crataeis Obvious Exits: Atrium Baths Living Quarters Theatre Without the candles of the Ball, the Garden is badly lit at best by stray moonbeams, and it's probably just as well that Blackie didn't try to lead. Rather than checking behind, the first act of Miss Death upon entering the trellis-laden area is to approach a nearby bench and squat beside it, her toga billowing in ghostly form around her feet. What appeared to be a simple shadow seems to twitch in the darkness before her crouched form. Emulating a massive beast though he might be doing, the man in the Wyvern guise nevertheless moves with a light and graceful tread -- and thus as he accompanies the dire-visaged lady back out into the quieter stretch of garden through which he'd passed to get here in the first place, the black one is not particularly noisy. Only a few subtle scratchings and creakings, perhaps of the talons upon his boots or the hide contrivances upon his wings, mark his passage. He does not bother to sit, not at the moment. Then comes his voice, infinitely mannerly: "The gathering does appear to be a trifle crowded for proper conversation, indeed -- I trust this will be more to the Domina's liking?" At last Crataeis rises, and only then does she speak. "Yes. Sit down if you like, but approach slowly; I've just unleashed Argus." She herself takes a seat on the stone bench in question, exhaling a long, relieved sigh. Heavy toga. Hard day. Melanistic eyes twinkle at him from the shadows of her sprawl. "Why did you choose that ensemble, Dominus? Was it a whim, or does it have meaning for you?" "Argus?" murmurs the Wyvern, a subtle flash of blue somewhere within his mask suggesting he's casting a glance here and there for some sign of what 'Argus' might be; the shadow he'd espied twitching before the lady, perhaps? "And I thank you; I shall avail myself of your kind offer." Adroitly he settles himself down upon the backless bench, taking the weight of what he wears off his feet if not yet off his shoulders. He goes on then, evidently quite casually, "Well... as I was just remarking to the Domina Alicorn, or would have perhaps if she had not had to leave me so quickly, it is my understanding that at these sorts of gatherings part of the point _is_ to make as much of an impression as possible. Would you not agree?" A low growl accompanies his change of location, rising in pitch until Crataeis quickly rubs off the white powder of one hand and strokes the shadow in question. "So you were simply trying to attract attention for the sake of attention, rather than attempting to make a statement." Her marbled wings furl slowly behind her, then expand... perhaps an irritated reflex. It calms the shadowy creature enough that the growl ceases altogether. Ah. So that's where this is going, is it? There sounds a soft chuckle behind the mask, and the Wyvern replies even more easily, "I can assure you, Domina, that the only statement I might seek to make with my choice of attire this night is that the shop I paid to outfit me had sold their Phoenix first." A long, exaggeratedly weary sigh is expelled from the wine-stained lips of the Graiae, and she furls her plumage for the final time. "I see," says a resigned, should-have-known-better attitude. "I apologize for wasting your time, Dominus. Go back to the Ball if you like." Her right palm continues to run over the soft silk of the favored shadow, ameliorating her own annoyance to a degree. Interesting. The Wyvern does not rise, not immediately; he does have a considerable weight riding upon his back, after all, and he did just sit down. There is a pause, and then he replies, in a tone that somehow manages to be bland even while he's growling out his words, "Well, there's that statement, and the statement that I simply happen to be fond of the color black. And no apologies are necessary, Domina; this _is_ after all a party, and I came as much for the conversation as I did the ambrosia." _Now_ he rises, with those subtle creakings of the construction springing up from his shoulderblades. And he bows, too, as much as he can manage. Crataeis edges back slightly on the stone seat. "Please don't trouble yourself; I have no wish to be flattened by any man this early in the night." Argus the Shadow picks up his usual chorus with the movement, and it underscores her words of farewell with a less than blithe note: "May the rest of your evening be as meaningless as you had hoped." Joints creak as she stretches her face back to the sky. The Wyvern's face is hidden, and thus if he makes any sort of smirk to that reply, it is assuredly out of sight. But even as he makes it to his feet, the figure in black turns his concealed visage towards the lady in her baleful guise, and for a long moment, he simply... stares. Then he bows again, this time more deeply, despite the creak it provokes out of the overlay of hide upon his wings. "Domina, if I do not have an entirely meaningless evening, then the good folk holding this party are not doing their job, I would say. But perhaps I should apologize for wasting _your_ time -- and for being nothing more than what I seem. Vale, my lady; enjoy the night." And with that, he turns upon talon-booted feet and strides off back towards the gathering. You meander along a garden path until you step into the living quarters of the Palladium. Inner Courtyard - Living Quarters - Palladium - Haven Contents: Cupid Spring Blossom Zeus Room-desc Masquerade Ball -> Read me! (l #3163) Obvious exits: House Acesius House Ares House Augustus Garden Hall of the Sky House Jove House Thanatos House Tritonis Zeus chuckles, as blue-violet eyes glance at Eros from behind his mask, "Ahh, but Domina Death would not try to take me away with her. Why, what would the rest of you do without me?" But he makes no move to leave the godling's side. A radiant smile is offered to Spring Blossom, visible even through the curling beard an Aesir would be proud of. "I am almost in a mood to test that theory of yours..." [The Black Wyvern's player took a break at this point -- it may be assumed that the Wyvern quietly circulated about the party, till Crataeis rejoined the festivities, till Zeus and the Night Wind retreated behind a curtain for more intimate activities, and the Spring Flower and Aidoneus began to enjoy themselves in a dance...] And what demi-god will spring from this union, hrm? Many other interesting sounds come from behind the curtain, and not much of it is speech. It is a good thing it is so dark, for if masks slip, then identities are not revealed. Occasionally a tip of a wing peeks through the curtain, or a hand...or even a foot...but there are many enticing ripples in the fabric which only seem to amuse some and arouse others. The music fades and Death releases life with a final brush of slate-colored pinions. Keeping her small hand in his own pale one, Aidoneus guides her toward a divan, and he motions for her to sit. "Unless the lady would care to remain in Death's embrace?" he asks, the whisper still present as he speaks to her. A quick glance moves to the curtained alcove--lucky Zues. The macabre stare once again focuses on Spring Blossom as the God awaits her answer. Ah, osculation. And ambrosia, and dancing. All the finest hallmarks of a party of the Children of the Air, no? The Black Wyvern, notable already for the stark color scheme of his attire in the midst of a sea of hues both vibrant and delicate, might also be noteworthy for his apparent refraining from indulging in the excesses of the gathering -- or at any rate, the most obvious excesses. He cuts a dark path through the crowd, periodically growling playfully for the benefit of the younger women or the more tipsy of the older ones; he favors this or that young thing with a dance, leading them as adroitly through the measures as he'd done with the Alicorn, his first dancing partner of the night. Very little ambrosia might he be seen to imbibe -- for after all, with that ferocious mask he's sporting, it must be quite difficult to manage drinking without revealing his face. Spring Blossom ducks her head--demure or coy? Difficult to tell, the mask serving to hide many of the finer nuances of the young woman's expression. She glances down toward the divan, then back to Aidoneus, playful. "I did not think it so easy to win free of the embrace of Death, dominus." The she sighs lightly, turning away, "But perhaps you seek another..." Aphrodite soars in from the skies above. Aphrodite has arrived. Choosing for now to remain seperate from the dance and the clusters of chatting masqueraders, frail and bent Crataeis halts uncertainly between looming pillars of ivy-twined ivory. As befits her name and station within the Pantheon, there is little joy to be found within a stark white countenance mostly concealed by the darkness of a mask. And in true wall-flower fashion, she shuffles her feet beneath the folds of her long chiton and studies first the floor then a potted plant. The night is going well already, it would seem. A faint smile is mustered, not for any dashing, debonaire demon asking for a dance. No, rather it is for a servant who has offered a goblet of wine as he passes on his rounds. A studied contrast to the blotch of darkness the Wyvern makes, another's entrance brings a flash of color so bright, one might call it gaudy. A correct guess might name her Tyche, goddess of luck, but this minor figure in the pantheon seems positively hesitant. Wide violet eyes take in every inch of her surroundings, and people as well, as she paces forward, skirting the edge of the crowd while she acquaints herself. Masked, as one may be at a ball such as this, the woman in gold and white mayhaps enjoys greater coverage in the facial region than the rest of her figure combined. When one realizes such and notes the presence of a golden apple in her small, supple fingers, the guess could be that this lady is the goddess of love. And so she is...or, rather, is costumed to be. Still holding Spring's hand, Death allows his grip to tighten a bit. "I've met very few who seem so disappointed as to escape my arms." The joyless smile gives only the faintest hint as to the humor the Death God finds at this situation. Wrapping a wing about her, Aidoneus sits the two of them on the divan, pulling Spring Blossom close to him, using his ashen wing in much the same fashion as Zeus and his silken curtain. "Tell me, my lady, why so attracted to the Spectre of the Deceased?" the hoarse whisper intones. Tyche The shimmer of a rainbow snagged from the sky and spun into earthly form by the loom of the gods. A filmy chimere of vibrant rainbow hues, melting one into the other, a burst of red at the shoulder, diving into the dusk of violet at her feet, swathes the goddess Tyche in all her simplistic elegance. A mane of copper hair is pulled back from her face by a simple coral comb, and a ceramic mask obscures the identity of the goddess descended to walk among mortals. Her figure is clouded beneath the chimere, but slim and lithe nonetheless. Wings extend the illusion of a rainbow, each individual feather dyed a different hue of the rainbow. Delicate sandals adorn her feet, and a number of odd tattoos, a curling vine on one arm and a rune-lock on one hand mark her apart. A ripple of golden laughter emerges from the behind the darkened wing of Death, the young lady of Spring better able to give voice to her amusement than her companion. "Why, I believe it must be a simple matter of opposites, dominus." She rests contentedly against the dark-clad man's side, safely out of view from most of the other partygoers. There is a softer murmur of sound, as if perhaps she's continued to speak, but the low tones are muffled and lost among the music and chatter of other revelers. A giggling young chit who can't seem to stop alternating between pointing at his wings and his mask, squeaking in feigned terror, and trying to gasp out little growly noises is the Wyvern's next would-be partner. Clearly having practically bathed in the free-flowing ambrosia, the maiden in the butterfly costume practically sways right into the dark beast's arms, her tinted wings flapping violently as she attempts to keep her balance... or perhaps if the calculating look in her drunken eyes is any indication, deliberately trying to throw it off. The Wyvern, however, is not fooled. He catches her deftly, then somehow manages to spin her around while stepping backwards out of the range of her wings. Dizzily, Madame Butterfly wobbles about, giggling hysterically all the while. But before she can try to collapse into the Wyvern's embrace again, he's already slipped away, skirting the edge of the party and taking a moment to pause against a pillar. One gloved hand reaches out as if for the pillar's support. Another wing pokes out from behind that closed curtain whith an eruption off laughter from the shadowy figures hidden from view. The jovial sounds are silenced again with what could be assumed to be another kiss between god and a gentle force of nature. "Oh Jove," comes an amused giggle as the curtain shudders, no doubt one of the revelers behind it has knocked into it, not surprising giving the amount of wine that has been consumed. "Oh no, I couldn't," the wind continues, caught between a hail of laughter and a sobering touch of surprise. The lady of rainbows and good fortune has tarried for several moments near the entrance, but at long last she seems to have gotten her bearings, her dignity, her courage, or all of them at once. With a lift of a determined chin, rainbow wings flare and fold again, and she begins to pace along the outside of the main revelry, between pillars and party-goers, watching the latter curiously from behind her mask. Over the rim of her goblet she surveys the crowds, demeanour as calm and stoic as if she were attending a funeral. Well, she's dressed for one, at least. Black-dyed, drab wings shift at her back, aching to stretch to their full span, but are kept close to her back so as to avoid an unseemly accident. Crataeis does not drink long before lowering her goblet, attention snapping from its aimless wandering over the crowds to the looming figure of the Black Wyvern who is, perhaps, coming a touch too close for complete comfort. Her gaze narrows - is the man ill? maybe drunk - before she offers a mild and quiet, "Bene vespere, Dominus." Good evening. Aphrodite's pace is light, airy - easily done when one has the diminutive, birdlike frame of an Empyrean - as she steps across the floor toward the place at which beverages are being served. Distanced from many, for she either knows few or plays her aloofness well, she meanders through the crowds, brilliant aquaceous eyes peering from the space behind her own mask. Interest smoulders there, sparked by the many, sundry, and colorful partygoers. Eastern Sky steps out of one of the double doors beneath the sun disk. Eastern Sky has arrived. The curtain continues to ripple as both the bodies seem to be against it now, "Why not, Amora? It is a celebration...no repercussions at all." The conversation then dies as more kisses are stolen. Jupiter doesn't seem to want to give up...but neither will he press things. He'll just have to find another partner for this dance...even though this zephyr was one he was particularly drawn to. Oh no, the Wyvern is assuredly not drunk. He straightens up immediately upon hearing the Crataeis hail him, and with the same grace with which he had bowed to her before, he inclines his masked dark head to her now. "And to you, domina," he growls easily in reply. Either he is not drunk... or else he holds his ambrosia so well that it's made absolutely no impact upon his speech. In the midst of this revelry, it is a simple thing to overlook the arrival of yet another costumed noble...The steps of this new Dominus carry him towards this celebration with a grace that might hold the eye of one who notes him...His carriage is that of a Walking God, even among so many who wear the likenesses of the deities. The Eastern Sky, driving away the night's darkness; such is this Empyrean who casts a slow gaze about this brilliant gathering. Laughter draws more uncertain behind the veil as another flash of the silver wings poke out from behind the closed curtain. The vision of the wind is happily drunk, but not completely blind. Silence settles again as more kisses are exchanged, farewells perhaps, though the wind doesn't seen to be fighting greatly to escape the grasp of a god. Then again, what woman would? "Really," she implores in amorous tones as half of her form appears from behind the curtain. What a statement--comforted by the presence of death. To each their own, Aidoneus thinks to himself, drawing her closer to him, draping an ashy arm over her supple shoulder. That same eyeless gaze focuses once more upon her, and he finds it interesting that she does not seem startled by that stare. While Zeus and his zephyr continued to dance madly behind the curtain, Death finds enough enjoyment in simply sitting here with a woman that seems to enjoy his presence--truly an odd thing. Her smile is bone-thin, but it is genuine, evident even behind the mask from the way it touches her eyes. Crataeis briefly raises her goblet in some half-hearted salute, remarking, "A festive occasion, is it not? And splendidly... arrayed. I hope you are enjoying yourself." For a moment she hesitated, not from any desire to come across as melodramatic and macabre. She merely had a moment of difficulty in selecting something proper and polite to say to the Black Wyvern. Her fingers drum nervously against the metallic smoothness of her goblet, betraying the fact that emotions run present in this dreaded elder of the Graiae. The fingers of the Goddess of Love - those not occupied in clutching a Golden Apple - wind about a goblet's stem to bring the glass and its amber contents to her lips. Not standoffish, she remains separate from the others during a lazy wandering course about the ball's attendants, as one does when one first arrives. A circuit, it is termed, making one's entry and then circling the fete until one ends where the course began. In each stride a length of lissome leg appears from the split seams of her garment, and her walk is soundless. What would not be, in the babble of this rabble? "I shall profit in more ways than one from my evening, I assure you," rumbles the Wyvern in reply to the dire Graiae. "It has been some time since I have seen such a boisterous gathering of our people." Is there a minute fraction of a pause before that 'our', or is it one's imagination that might simply put it there in the black beast's husky cadences? Vibrant or gaudy, fickle or generous, all words one could use for the goddess of luck. But Tyche seems most intent on snagging a glass of ambrosia from a passing servant, who is given a quirk of a smile and a polite inclination of the head. Sipping carefully at her glass, she seems to test and savor it, much as she does the crowd around her. Careful step weave her once more along the edge of the gathering, dipping inside the line on occasion as she grows more comfortable. From certain angles one might catch glimpses of the green-clad Spring Blossom where she rests within the curve of Aidoneus's arm and behind the rather more concealing sweep of one dark wing. One slender hand reaches up, pale golden fingers tracing the contour of his exceptionally grim mask. Her voice is still too low for words to be heard clearly, but the tone appears to be inquiring. Gryphon steps out from the silver gates of House Augustus. Gryphon has arrived. Emerging from one of the paths near the entrance to the area, the white-winged creature that approaches is a gryphon... well, ok, not a real one, but the owner of the costume did his darned best to appear as one. True, perhaps the colors of the paint are not perfect (is that pink I see?), and perhaps those feathers on the upper body were stolen from a chicken, but the beak is there as is the all-too-flabby tail. Jovial and festive, the man - for a man it is - approaches the party, looking around with interest. He is here to have fun! The mighty Jupiter lets his charge go...for surely he can find another to take her place. But his sigh upon her leaving is almost enough to give him away...almost. If one were in full possession of their faculties. His costume is straightened out as he pushes the curtain aside to reveal the drunken revelry continuing outside of the alcove. As a servant passes with more wine, a glass is taken and downed. "You are a marvel, Amora..." he murmurs upon his own leavetaking. Pale lips carrying an almost ashen hue momentarily purse; Crataeis is not quite certain what to make of the Black Wyvern's reply. Despite her curiosity, etiquette wins out in the end, and she does not inquire further into the matter. In an almost idle fashion, her pale eyes dip from the looming Dominus towards the brightly arrayed crowds, then down into the crimson depths of her wine. Gentle twistings of her wrist cause the liquid to swirl about, but not another sip is taken. "It has indeed been a long while, Dominus," she muses. "Although one might say that there has been little cause to celebrate these past months." Eastern Sky's slow study passes from the golden Goddess of love to the blooming blossom...The lady ofFortune also wins a long look, but the steps of Morning's son continue in thier slow, measured gait, a slow turn with arms held slightly out from his sides gives the golden garbed Dominus a full view of the festivities. A fountain of wine! The gods finally aswered his prayers. The gryphon charges towards that area first, definitely wishing to help his festive atmosphere with outside stimulus... especially since he has arrived so late. There is grace in his movements, and perhaps this particular breed of half-lion half-eagle is a bit too efficient and military in his movements, but as balls go... it will do. Filling a cup with his hands (aha! hands on a gryphon?), he lifts his beak only so slightly to take a sip, not revealing his true identity, lest someone not believe the disguise. The silvery zephyr nearly stumbles to the ground as the curtain is thrown open, flooding her senses with the noises and sights of the party. "Oh I hope my Father is not angry with me," she murmurs to the image of Zeus, giving him one last kiss before his godly presence is stolen from her. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the candlelight that baths the courtyard in a romantic glow. Her first few steps back into the party are careless and less than graceful, leaving the Wind spinning is a cloud of festivities. So many people, so little time to dally...so few she readily recognizes. Thus does Aphrodite complete her first course about the assemblage, likewise finishing her initial goblet of wine. The Gryphon lures her focus, and toward it - him? - she steps, delicate of foot, gold-tipped wings floucing behind her as if some pennant to lure Apollo's attention. A smile, mild and a touch bemused, creases her lips, and she closes one eye to the Eastern Sky in appreciation of that fleeting focus upon her. Only the wings of the Gryphon are real, for they move with grace that somehow defies the fakeness of the rest of the costume. But the occupant of this "clever" disguise must be much more refined than his current outside appearance, for he notices the advance of the goddess of love immediately. Ah, the goddess of love! The fountain of wine! How close to paradise can we get? "Greetings, goddess", he offers with a customary bow of the head that such an omnipotent figure would be entitled too... the mask on his face shifting dangerously. Aphrodite has a hand free, for she reliquished her hold on that wine goblet emptied but a moment earlier, and the other is solely occupied in retaining her golden apple, so she lifts fingers toward the shoulder of this mighty, majestic beast of lion and eagle conjoined, caressing with the absent sensuality that follows her name. "Greetings, o wondrous Gryphon," she responds, voice pitched to a low, near-sultry timbre. "Indeed," assents the Wyvern to the Crataeis, letting his voice make up for the lack of expression he can convey through his mask, "though sometimes, domina, celebration must simply happen without any particular cause, and for its own sake. We must periodically take time to renew ourselves." As he has been thusly advised by a very wise young woman, but he isn't about to mention her here. Instead, the Wyvern's mask turns slightly to catch the form of the rainbow-hued 'goddess' conducting her own circling of the revelry, and he adds speculatively, "Perhaps Lady Tyche will grace us with the touch of her right hand instead of her left, and give us all more reason to celebrate more often." With a startled gasp, the Alicorn awakens from her snooze. Embarressedly pushing her mask back into place, she checks to make sure that the horn is still upright and the feathers all smooth. Glancing forlornly at the empty goblet that is all that remains of her third cup -- at least this one didn't break! -- she sways to her feet and makes the slow drifting search for a servant. A passing crowd of giggling young women catches her completely unaware, and she twists out of the way just in time to avoid a collision. Stepping with increasing care and rubbing at her eyes through the mask, she does not notice Zeus until she is completely, and literally, upon him. "Oh by Tyche.." she fumbles, ungracefully attempting to right herself. "Please forgive me." Caressing the gryphon? Could the frustrating hours of making his own costume - much to the dismay of his servants - be paying off finally? The Gryphon straightens his head, focussing eyes that are much too blue and much to self-confident for anything with a lion's tail on that goddess before him. Taking in her appearance, he tilts his head to the right faintly, making sure that the mask stays put this time (they _told_ him that the leather cords were not strong enough!). "Ah, goddess. May I say you looks as wonderous and breathtaking as always. What a honor for us, mortals, to be graced upon Aether with your presence. Is your wine sufficiently full?" The Lady of Fortune remains apart, rainbow-hued wings folded tight against her back. The tattoo-etched hand deftly twirls the stem of her glass between them, half of the ambrosia within already gone. Dusky violet eyes continue to skim the people as Tyche deigns to walk among them, weaving her way closer to the fountain with slow and steady steps, as if she were already feeling the effects of only half a glass of ambrosia. She swings her head to the right, a smirk coming to her lips as she hears 'her' name. "So lightly you people you use my name, horned one." She mutters, giving the Alicorn a moment's perusal. A single step forward is taken, a glance cast in the direction of the Wyvern's own. Crataeis' eyes linger upon the particularly gaudy costume of the Goddess of Luck, and briefly, her lips curve up again in a smile. Her eyes seem a touch wistful, but it is quick to fade back to the usual clarity of serenity. "I imagine the hosts of this evening's masquerade felt much the same," she absent-mindedly comments, before her gaze flicks up and down the man's form. "'Tis a resplendant costume you have, Dominus." Eastern Sky's fingers spread and curl as he turns, in place, as though savoring the touch of the very air...in the music, his steps are slow, and fluid. His turn is graceful, as majestic wings are half folded and flourished, adding a measure of supreme grace to already dignified movements. His steps are half as swift as the beat of music would demand, but this radiant son of the morning makes the lethargic tempo of his turning seem almost dreamlike for the few moments that this subtle dance endure...His chest rises with a drawn breath, and unseen, a smile plays across his features. "I have raised my cup to Dionysus, aye," Aphrodite responds softly, "and intend to do so again. What a gracious and handsome Gryphon is this, to see to my needs." A fingertip coils upward as if to scritch beneath the curved beak, and below her mask the smile widens, coyly. "If you would demure to find me a second cup and wine to drink from it, I should be ever so grateful, my handsome and wondrous friend." Zeus's bearded mouth breaks into a grin as Alicorn nearly bumps right into him. Wrapping an arm about her to steady her on her feet he murmurs, "I would forgive you anything." At Tyche's words he turns to her and laughs, "It is an honor to be thought so of the mortals, is it not?" He doesn't mind his name being used...not at all. The Wyvern's attention swings back to the Crone of Death now, and there sounds another of the velvet, growling chuckles to which the 'beast' seems prone. But he politely refrains from asking whether the Crataeis' current opinion is in line with the questions she'd asked of him earlier this night; instead, he simply takes the comment at its face value and responds amusedly in kind. "My thanks. Yours is truly awe-inspiring, I might add." "Ah but of course", replies the Gryphon with a smile under his beaked mask, but his right hand that softly traces the arm of the irresistible Aprodite seems to make no offer to take the cup. Finally, straightening his spine a bit too militarily (even the gryphons are slower than that), he nods and takes the container from the goddess. As it is, he is already standing next to the fountain of wine, so all it takes is a shift and a dip, and the cup of the etheral beauty is as good as new. Giving it back to her, he moves it right to her lips, as if asking to take the first sip from his hand... an offering of a humble servant, no doubt. West Wind pauses, quickly deciding that stopping is easier on her senses for the moment then trying to navigate through the crowds. Her sapphire eyes watch passers-by, but don't seem to focus on any one party-goer for any length of time. Servants continue to mingle with trays laden with goblets and in the spirit of the festivites she cannot refuse another goblet of ambrosia, ignoring the consequences that might follow as the night wears on. A trio of Empyreans stumble past her, forcing her to quickly dance out of the way, sending her raiment fluttering around her figure and dousing the three with a soft mist of silver from her wings. They mutter something, trying to come up with a complete sentance, but try as they might, they can only laugh as they continue on in search of more drink and women to share it with. Aphrodite's eyes, summery blue and reflecting her mask's golden hue in darts of brilliance, remain on the Gryphon as she lowers her head to sip at proffered wine from her companion's own hand. The sound she makes in reflexive response is appreciative. "Perfect," she breathes, drawing out the initial syllable. The bright flush of her cheeks can be seen even beneath her mask, and the Alicorn gratefully allows Zeus to assist her. "Forgive me Great Lady," she murmurs to Tyche. "Think it more a calling for a portion your luck and grace instead of my usual clumsy gait." Looking up at Zeus, the horned pegasus flashes an almost wicked smile. "Thank you for your help, Divine Excellence. I fear that my balance has been lost along with most of my usual.." Letting the words trail as a servant passes before her, the Alicorn reaches out with one hand, keeping herself steady by Zeus' strength with the other. "Ah, this is what I came after." Taking a quick drink, she smiles again. "I trust you are enjoying yourself, most Lecherous of the High?" One need only glance at the frail figure of the Graiae to realise that she had not spent much silver to construct her costume. In comparison to the glitz and glamour surrounding her, it is actually quite simple and rather austere. And Crataeis is fully aware of her somber garb, thus the smile she attempts is not as charming as she would have liked it to be. Her reply is spoken with a mild, polite tone that is half-amused, "Flattery is more convincing when it is kept to some semblance of realism, but I thank you for the compliment. You are too kind." Poor timing, thinks the Eastern sky...why, only had he begun, when the song trails to a halt, and another is struck up in it's place...This one does not sit so well with this gilded fellow, and his measured steps carry him further through the gathering...A trio of drunken men stumble past, one of them wiping a trace of silver from one cheek...no doubt some small bit of divinity graced to linger by...the Western Wind, as the Sky's blue eyes go up to note the argent Empyrean woman..the seemingly drunken one, he adds. The face upon his mask remains in an unchanged smile, while the one beneath it affects a more bemused one. Tyche watches the couple for a moment, sparing a bare smile from beneath her mask, tendrils reaching up to stain her violet eyes darker with amusement. "Then by all means, have it. I am feeling quite generous tonight, and I hope to impart good fortune on all who seek it. May you all find what you seek tonight in each other, and a continually full glass." The goddess Tyche raises hers in salute, sipping down the last of her ambrosia, before turning away, bedyed wings shuddering against her back. Still pacing, she wanders towards the other end of the gathering. Gryphon sighs an audible sigh of relief... what woe could befall this world if the wine was not to her highness' liking. Sattisfied, he too takes a sip from his cup, and swallows gracefully. There is a powerful presence behind that mask... self-confident and strong, and judging from the fairly muscled lower body against the tight cloth, not at all diminuitive. "I thought gods only drunk ambrosia", he offers in melodic Empyrean, his eyes fluttering with mischief, "although to someone as eternally youthful as you, no amount of divine drink is necessary. Tell me, great Aprodite, how fares the Empyre in the realms of love these days?" "I am...most assuredly. It is a shame that more celebrations cannot be found here." Zeus still hasn't let the horned one go...one strong arm wrapped about her waist. "I could be enjoying it more were I to have an Amora on my arm for a time." She called him lecherous, so lecherous he will allow himself to be. His own empty goblet is set aside and a fresh one taken up. "Even the Goddess of Love watches over all tonight...we cannot disappoint her, hrm?" To the departing Tyche, the King of Lightning adds, "You could join us and improve your own luck as well..." Ah, but the Wyvern is not a man necessarily impressed by glamour and glitter, the shadow and snarl of his own chosen costume notwithstanding. "Not at all," he replies, an astonishingly well-mannered beast. "There is a virtue in simplicity, after all. And who is to say that you have not captured the very essence of Lady Death?" The God of Death gestures for a servant and the creature wanders over toward him, eyes widening noticably as she spies his mask. Taking a goblet from her tray, Aidoneus passes it to Spring, encouraging her to sample the fine vintage. As the servant turns around, the Lord of the Deceased emits and audible chuckle, quite sinister in its own right, and this is met with a cautious glance over her shoulder by the servant. It was strange, sitting here amongst the insanely wealthy, acting like he was one of them, indulging, though obviously not nearly as much as others, in the pleasures of the flesh. His fingers rub between hers as he once again looks upon her fertile countenance. Not completely drunk, at least the wind wouldn't claim she was in such a state, simply enjoying the evening. Finding some stability in her legs she attempts to wander through the crown, leaving the scent of spring flowers in her wake and a drizzle of silver on the cobblestones or on passers-by. Cloudy eyes scan the crowds and find the august presence of the sky at dawn watching her, also noting the faint twist to his lips. Drawing herself up proudly, or at least as much as is possible in this state, she winds her way through the crowds to the momentary admirer. The Lady of Fortune pauses and glances over her shoulder 'twixt strands of copper hair in a manner most characteristic for the one beneath the mask. "And how can one possibly improve such a thing, when one is the embodiment of it, Lord Zeus?" Aphrodite watches over all indeed; her eyes flitter from revelling cluster to revelling cluster while she remains close to the magical beast who has lured her focus and presence close. "I grow weary of my solitude, my dear, sweet Gryphon..." she answers wearily, with the tinge of ennui that could accompany a being so puissant as a goddess, "and my field lies fallow, without a plowman. I despair. Yet I see about me other fertile lands that shall, before the night passes, feel the luxurious draw of a farmer's pick within their welcoming richness. So I cannot be but pleased at such demonstrations of ardor." Alicorn chuckles throatily, glancing after Tyche with a nod of thanks. "I would not wish to disappoint, Exhaulted One," she says brightly, slipping an arm around Zeus and pressing a feathered cheek to his chest as she looks after Lady Fortune. As the other woman responds, she smirks. What interesting people Empyreans become when encouraged to drink the sea from a fountain. Trailing the fingers of one hand over the man's back, she sips from her goblet. "She does have a point." Pale brows arch above the silver and diamond mask as Jupiter replies, "Everything can be improved upon, Lady Luck. Be assured of it." Holding the Alicorn close he then reaches out another hand to Tyche. "Will you join us, Domina? See how Aphrodite encourages it?" Maybe she hasn't been plied with enough wine... Gryphon smiles under the mask... a gesture that somehow twists the cloth garment stemming from the large beak that makes it hard to drink... as he just found out. "Ah", he muses, "Then let me put a bid for such a fortune, Oh Goddes of Love. As a servant to such a powerful emotion, and a true slave of it, I cannot but offer my entire being to the cause". Another sip... this time a more measured one and the beak is held with the other hand. The strong scent of wine, ambrosia, flowers and perfume permeates the air. Eastern Sky bows with fluid grace, arms held out to either side, as he inquires in a melodic tone, "A good morning unto you..." he voices, "Might not a gust send your august self to me, but a while?" a subtle joke, and one which is unlikely to be understood, but it seemed fitting given the breezy appearance of this regal (though very far along in...enjoying the evening) nymph of the wind. Spring Blossom bestows a smile upon her dark companion, a bit of the glow spilling over onto the servant providing the wine. Her demeanor is as sunnily inviting as his is forbidding. "Why thank you, Dominus. Are you certain you will not indulge?" Wicked little thing that she is, she takes a sip from the goblet and offers it to Aidoneus, knowing he can't possibly manage a drink. Was that a compliment? Or an insult? Perhaps a mingling of two, yet rather than finding herself insulted, Crataeis seems all the more amused. Her goblet, its contents barely touched, is set aside for a servant to take away, and the hand that is now freed gently waves through the air before dangling back at her side. "Ah, now that is remarkably better, I daresay," she remarks, as if she were lecturing the Wyvern on the proper way to flatter a woman. A glance is given to the dance in progress, attention snared away by a distracting flash of colour and laughter, before returning. "But you, Dominus, I must say, do not strike me as one who is so fierce as to convincingly portray such a nightmarish creature," she droles, eyes gleaming with a certain touch of sudden nervousness. She is not so practiced in the arts of flirting, and it shows. "Your entire being, o Gryphon," quips the Goddess of Love, "or merely that part of you that swells with pride and adoration at the notion of a goddess' embrace?" "I am affraid you will find me a shallow Gryphon", the half-eagle creature replies, "If I only offer parts of my being to such a cause that requires full dedication. No, I offer all, my Goddess, including the part that swells with pride, although if a need to separate the two becomes necessary, I will do my duty as a Gryphon should." Delivered straight, the voice of the creature is definitely melodic, and his stance a bit too rigid for a gryphon. But as half-lions go, it will do for the party. Tyche turns the rest of the way around, rainbow-hued wings flaring with the movement. A moment's consideration is given, in which one can see that she already stands somewhat unsteadily, after only one glass of ambrosia. Perhaps Tyche does not hold her liquor well? The moment passes and Tyche's hesitation vanishes like pollen in the western wind. The oddly tattooed hand is placed in Zeus. "Do you not think so?" The Wyvern seems to sag in disappointment, the slump of his dark-clad shoulders tugging his wings slightly downward as well; whoever the man behind the snarling mask is, he does seem to have at the very least a flair for body language. In a tone that suggests both sorrow and veiled humor, he inquires, "Perhaps I should be growling more deeply?" There comes an experimental cough from somewhere behind the mask, immediately followed by "Groarwr!" Aphrodite mmms, extending a forefinger from the hand that bears the golden fruit, and that finger's tip trails down the Gryphon's sternum. "Alas," is her saddened riposte, "if I should invite a plowman's attentions to me and find his answer to strike me in a shallow way." Dionysus steps into the living quarters from the garden. Dionysus has arrived. There is something familiar in that herald of the morning, but with numerous Empyrean spinning around her throughout the hours of the party and with her current condition, the fragrent wind would have a hard time distingushing anyone with any certainty. "If you wish it," the wind murmurs, remembering to mask her voice with a husky timbre, offering a teasing smirk to the masked man that bears the image of the sun in his costume. "Do I know you," she inquires to the Eastern Sky, with a slip in her voice's mask, revealing the lighter silvery tone. Not that it matters, her arms encircle his neck whether he is friend, family or stranger. Though it cannot be seen, silvered eyebrows lower in a critical frown, followed by a studious nod. "Yes, that definitely improves matters tremendously," Crataeis observes. Restless hands lift again, an index finger singled out to point somewhere in the vicinity of brightly-clad revellers. "Now I might suggest you straighten your posture. Wyverns are most adept in the arts of looming over their victims." The eldest of the Graiae cannot help but find a somewhat shy smile, despite her most valiant efforts to keep it at bay. After all, 'tis not often that Lady Death smiles as she goes about her grim tasks. Gryphon tilts his head to the left, as he dips the glass into the fountain to fill it with wine one more time. "Shallow?", he replies with a strongest of pride in his voice, "I assure you, O Goddess, that you will find this plowman... err... Gryphon not only ready for his duty, but also well equipped for such. His training was as meticulous as is his desire to prove it." Bowing gently, the creature smiles at the touch of Aphrodite, taking in a deep waft of her perfume, as his own right hand traces her elbow one more time. Crataeis As slight and frail as a bird, this woman's face is obscured by a slate grey domino mask. What features can be seen seem gaunt and emaciated. It is hard to place her age, for while skin is smooth, her eyes hold a soul that has seen more than most men in their entire lives. Purity is a fleeting dream, for her hair is black as a raven's wing, hanging loose to her waist in straight, untangled tresses. Paler hair is evident at the roots, but its true colour is difficult to determine, for there is a fine coating of wood ash. A long chiton of dark grey swathes her frame with ample space allotted for her drab and dingy wings, their colour matching that of her hair. Dark as winter's night skies, they are large enough to enfold her completely. A toga of stark, unadorned black is also wrapped about her for warmth. From the gardens, wrapped in a loosely held toga of the finest white, and edged witht he royal purple of the Gods, steps a man whose mere visage heralds ecstasy. With beauty enough to rival that of Adonis, the eyes of the young god seem to sparkle with violet passion, and Dionysus makes his way comfortably into the crowd, assuming, for a time, his rightful place in this Olympus of Gods and immortals. "You know," he begins, voice a mere ghost of a whisper, "for the embodiment of the innocence of spring, you are positively devilish, my lady." Aidoneus leans over and places his cheek next to hers. "The only way you'll get this mask off is to pry it off of my cold, dead body." What an ironic statment for the Lord of Death to make, no? Ashen wings flutter briefly and he moves closer still, watching her as she sips at the ambrosia, running her tongue lightly over her lips. Aphrodite's laughter, argent and ardent, bubbles forth on the wings of merriment, or perhaps the wings of ambrosia. No matter. She is suffused by her smile, and she seems content to enjoy the attentions of the Gryphon and attend to his claims. "It is a sad day for the Goddess of Love when a would-be suitor, claiming to wield his lance with skill and energy, shows himself to be armed instead with a dull dagger." Eastern Sky recieves the wind's embrace with pleasure, his arm going around the small of her back, as the merriment in his mysterious voice redoubles, "Why of course, sweet herald of spring..." he teases, "Do you not fly over the earth every morning to greet me, as I drive back the darkness?" Leaning nearer, his own voice lowered to sultry tones, "Do you not long for the kiss of my light?" Gods... immortals... and dread beasts. Though it appears that the Wyvern is receiving a lecture on how to be a bit more of a dread beast, incongruous though this lecture may be coming courtesy of the Lady of Death. He pulls himself up to his full height, dark hide-covered wings dropping an extra layer of shadow over his ebon form. "GRAOWR," he rumbles -- and it's his best yet, echoing out from that snarling mask with a surprising amount of echo. Might he have a speaking tube of some sort concealed in that fanged maw? He tosses his head for a moment, lifting up his talon-gloved hands and stretching them forth with fingers splayed and crooked, as if ready to 'rake' a victim. Making his way innocently, or as innocently as the god of ecstasy and intoxication can, toward the refreshments, Dionysus reaches a hand into the folds of his robe, withdrawing a small vial of powder. Tapping a bit onto his tongue, in a most inconspicuous manner, he smiles to himself. A violet gaze peers forth from behind a slim mask about his eyes, accentuating the noble slope of his face. Gryphon seems rather perplexed by the reply from the Goddess of Love, suddenly unsure of what was just spoken. Damn... she is good. But Gryphons have a way with words, no doubt - at least this one does - so his pause is only momentary. Light reflects from the strangely attached crystals on the mask as he offers his reply, "Dear Aphrodite, I am afrraid you miss my intentions. I find you as glorious as the morning sky, as succulent as the taste of a fresh grape, as breathtaking and desirable as love itself. And it may be my lion pride in me that boasts of my own prowess, but my eagle half wants nothing less than to take you in its arms and carry you far into the sky on its wings." The caress of the right hand of the mismatched Gryphon becomes slightly more seductive... an etheral touch that lingers upwards toward the arm. Forget alcoves...the lecherous Jupiter leads his two to one of the larger divans set out, perhaps for just this purpose. Commandeering a tray of delicacies as well as goblets of ambrosia he kisses one then the other, both receiving equal attention from the god. If they prefer, there are more covered alcoves...they seem to be erected for that purpose as well. At the Wyverns roar he fills up his lungs and projects across the Courtyard, "No snacks for you tonight...or better yet, find some other nourishment." Then he goes back to nuzzling at Tyche's neck while running his hand up and down Alicorn's leg. Thaddeus steps into the living quarters from the garden. Thaddeus has arrived. The wind's fingers wind through the auric locks of the morning light and laughs brightly as she tosses his hair to watch it momentarily flutter from her hands. Her eyes search his, though his mask hides the rest of his features. "I'm sure I know you," she murmurs teasingly, plucking at his hair once more to admire the glimmer in the firelight. "I do long for it," she returns, a knowing amile affects the curve of her lips while her arms tighten around his neck, careless of any social constraints for the moment. Thaddeus moves through the gateway leading into the atrium of House Jove. Thaddeus has left. A soft laugh bubbles forth from Spring Blossom, quickly drowned in another sip from her cup. She plants a kiss on the dark Lord's cheek in apology, one hand still entwined with his. "Surely you do not object to a little joke, my lord." Another sip follows that as she glances upward, then a soft sigh. "I fear I must take my leave soon." Grey eyes widen in startlement at such a display, though whether it is feigned or genuine is hard to determine since her mask obscures the subtler expressions of her face. Thin lips purse into a smirk at the Wyvern's antics, and hollow applause soon rings out in slow, even cadences. "Bravo," she quietly exclaims, drawing breath to say something else, but her attention is snagged away by the roar from the Lecher of Lechers himself. Crataeis' cheeks darken with a blush most unsuitable for Lady Death, and her sniff is entirely disdainful. Really, get a room! Another spate of laughter from Aphrodite, who has foregone her cup to savor instead the ambrosia from the Gryphon's chalice and use her fingertips for a separate sort of savoring. Presently that involves a perusal of the Gryphon's chest, but, standing so near, who knows what use that Golden Apple in her other grasp may provide. "As the night grows darker and cooler and my body craves the permeating warmth of an embrace, your ... beak may find a resting place with me, dear Gryphon." Eastern Sky chuckles softly, as with a deep smile he murmers, "Ah, do my clouds betray the face of this sun?" He wonders aloud, "Let me be known by my lips, before named by my locks..." he pleas aloud, before leaning lower to capture the West wind in an intent benediction. Alicorn nestes against Zeus' chest, reaching for one of Tyche's sandalled feet. With a small giggle, she begins to unlace the strappings, taking care not to poke anyone with her horn. As her long fingers move down along Lady Luck's soft leg, she murmurs something into Zeus' ear. "... happened earlier..... expecting... bump... you... if it... your..." Standing from the divan, still holding her small hand in his ashen one, Aidoneus moves toward the dancefloor. "If you must leave soon, then I will require another dance for you to leave my embrace, Domina." She escaped once--the second time will not be quite so simple. He pulls her gently to her feet and again moves to the crowded floor. The music is faster this time, the music truly the antithesis of the Wraith. Again, his arm drapes loosely about her waist, and he pulls her closer than before with both wing and arm, leading the pair to the time of the music. "And may my beak be so blessed...", the Gryphon half-bows curteously, letting his caress trace a wavy line from the shoulder back to the hand, gliding over the perfect skin with a charge that yet refuses to unload. Seing how Aphrodite savors his drink, he moves the cup closer... the state of affairs progressing on not only intoxicated but intoxicated by her presence. Meandering his way over toward the punch bowl, and all the lovely nectar, famed ambrosia of this land, flowing like blood through the body of the party, Dionysus nonchalantly overturns the vial into the bowl, stirring lightly with the ladle as he retrieves his own cup. With a devilish smile, he makes his way similarly toward each punch bowl, as if testing each. Yet as he passes, each is graced with Bacchic mixtures, and the party has just begun. The Goddess of Fortune seems inclined to join Zeus and Alicorn for the passing of several heartbeats, planting several kisses on the Lord of Lechers and tickling his horned friend playfully. But it is well-known how fickle the Lady cane become, and quite easily. 'Tis about the moment Alicorn attempts to untie her sandal that she withdraws from reach, patting both on the head with her right hand. "Bless you both, but you'll have to play alone." And with a fillip of rainbow wings, she turns away, stalking back towards the fountain. The Eastern Sky need not beg for her attentions, the West Wind gives up her kissing willingly, ignorant of those around them that stumble into the couple without so much as an apology. No doubt most did not even realize it. "I do know you," the wind murmurs in a moment that their lips part, that smirk on her lips turning to a knowing smile. She gives her masked partner only a few moments to respond before she claims his lips once more with hers in a passionate embrace. And nearer still to the Gryphon does Aphrodite step. Close by to the ambrosia, she eyes Dionysus with a certain lack of care, then she raises her eyes to the Gryphon and murmurs, "You are wending your way into the cockles of my heart and passion, dear Gryphon, and the secrets that are contained beneath your breast," though, in truth, 'tis not the breast she touches, "call to me as if you have studied with yon Sirens. Tell me...shall we drink more and ponder?" "Thank you, thank you--" The Wyvern, aware that he's provoked a few more giggles from a trio of maidens who stopped to gape at his costume, turns slightly to include them in the bow he makes to the Crataeis. "But you're... you're," one of them babbles, pointing an unsteady finger at him, "one of _their_ beasts! Eeew!" And her delicate features, currently painted in a semblance of a robin, screw up in consternation. "I like him!" giggles a compatriot. They scurry on their way, though, for they're all ogling a trio of strapping young fellows in patently false gold-painted armor clearly meant to emulate that of Praetors. Much more giggling ensues as the two threesomes collide in a tangle of arms and wings, leaving the Wyvern to drawl to his companion, "Enthusiastic, aren't they?" The giggling young things? Or Zeus and his entourage? Perhaps all of them. Spring Blossom sets her goblet aside as she rises, a smile curving those sweet red lips. "Well, if I must." Nothing in her demeanor speaks of reluctance, however, willingly stepping forward into the embrace of Aidoneus. Her movements are more careful than before, not so sprightly--apparently the young domina is feeling the effects of several glasses of wine. Luckily his pout is hidden by his beard or Zeus might be revealed. Offering a sigh in Tyche's direction he then turns his full attention to the Alicorn, wrapping both arms about her and pulling her close. "I don't understand...what happened earlier?" He murmurs against her lips as he kisses her deeply. Making his way through the crowd, Dionysus smiles openly at passing maenads, their devilish grins brought about by more than simple alcohol. The small entourage of possesed women courtsey to their God, more than one giggling in surprise at finding him so easily. "We came here looking for you my lord," voices one as the god deigns to listen. "Then you have found me," he comments, wrapping an arm about her waist and murmuring, "And you shall spread my madness like the plague." Giggling excitedly, the woman claps her hands, and the god kisses her deeply. The faint line of absinth painted about his outer lips comes into full contact with her, quickening her drunken state. Glittering gold and shining silver are joined in a metallic moment as Eastern Sky meets Western Wind, the wings decorated with precious hues are drawn about the other, creating a curtain which is woefully inadequate to keep out the distractions of the revel about them, but it is no matter. To be kissed by a breeze shall ever after bring a smile to this man's face, as the kiss is broken to allow a few whispered words to pass between the wind and the sky. "Your beauty leaves me speechless, Oh Aphrodite, and your attention towards me the envy of all gryphons", the half-eagled creature replies in a lower tone, shifting his proud, melodic voice to one of more tenderness but also passion. His eyes open wider for a moment, but a smile soon follows, and his hand that now has reached the lovely hand of the goddess now burshes against her hip, probing gently - lest the divine one be offended - but promissing more should she not be. "And I am sure, Oh Omnipotent One, that the secrets beneath my breast cannot remain hidden for long in front of someone who is, after all, their master. Yes, let us ponder." Returning Zeus' embrace with equal passion -- a pity that Tyche felt the need to leave, but all the more for her -- and taking care not to spill her wine, the Alicorn chuckles against his lips. "When I ran off," she murmurs, curling fingers into his hair. "Something startled me.." The rest is lost to any who might have overheard as she leans to whisper in his ear, and then punctuates her words by nibbling at the lobe. Aphrodite glances toward the fountain, then at the one whose company has found her pliant, and murmurs, "Find more wine for us and guide us, thus, to a place where you may regale me with your potent charms and flights of fancy?" "Indeed," is Crataeis' reply, that single word hinting at the last lingerings of prudish displeasure before the matter is dismissed from her mind. This is supposed to be an orgy, is it not? Lady Death is either a convincing actress, or she is unaccostomed to spending much time among her own kin. Only one thing is for certain, it'd take some unforseen force to make this little Graiae giggle and bounce about like some inebriated young wench. "I suppose it is my woeful fate to eternally cling to sobriety and despair," she muses with a soft sigh, slanting a glance upwards at the equally grim figure before her, "just as you are shackled to your predatory nature. Alas, a lack of indulgence in springtime delights has made me bitter. I must offer profuse apologies for being such dismal company." Her tone of voice, as she nears the end of her observations, holds edges of sardonic amusement. Kissing many maidens, and setting them loose like cyprians, Dionysus levels his violet gaze once more upon the exit. Olympus was meant for the gods of light, those of the sky and the heavens. He is a Chthonic deity, a lord of the realms below, and has no true place here, though he be the Kronian's son. And so it is, with a fond adeiu, that he presents his gift and turns smiling to survey the crowd. "Drink deep of my madness," he says to no one in particular, his eyes sparkling with intoxicated bliss. "And know that my embrace is ecstasy." And with that, he turns toward the door, making his way out into the night. The fickle Lady of Fortune exhales the softest of sighs, pausing to glance about her again. A look is cast behind her at the couple left on the divan and another smirk comes, albeit somewhat unsteady, like the goddess is on her feet. She leans against the fountain's edge, rainbow wings flaring. Dionysus strolls out of the living quarters and heads into the garden. Dionysus has left. The glance at the fountain noted, the Gryphon submerges his cup in it one more time, topping it off to ensure that happiness flows all night. Then, lifting the divine hand of Aphrodite to his lip, he places a kiss on it - perhaps one too long for just courtesy - while moving the beak aside at the very last moment. The mask shifts on his face again, but that is soon corrected... the amuzed look that he gets from a domina to the left not even noticed. Holding the hand of the woman of every man's dreams, he guides her gently among the guests. It's almost time to move into one of the alcoves...if Alicorn wishes. Zeus could care less at this point. His iridescent wings curl about the two who are so close so that his wandering hands can't be seen by most. "I can be somewhat daunting..." is his reply before he ducks down, his masked face disappearing under the canopy of feathers. Alexandria steps into the living quarters from the garden. Alexandria has arrived. Alexandria moves through the gateway leading into the atrium of House Jove. Alexandria has left. Alexandria enters from the atrium of House Jove. Alexandria has arrived. Alexandria moves through the gateway leading into the atrium of House Jove. Alexandria has left. Laughter bubbles from the lips of the wind, but her hand doesn't bat away the amorous advances of the eastern sky. "Perhaps I should invite you to someplace more private, Dominus," she murmurs into the sun's ear, extending the taunting that has been volleyed back and forth between the pair as the shimmering wall of golden feathers attempts to block the rest of the revelers from view. "On the contrary, domina" replies the Wyvern, "you appear to be one of the few individuals still capable of coherent speech tonight, and you should not under any circumstances underestimate the attraction of such, even from a dire personage such as yourself. I would ask you if you'd like to dance, but then, I fear we may be trampled in the press of it all." A black-gloved hand gestures deftly out into the colorful throng before them both. Eastern Sky chuckles deeply, as this reparte continues, "Of what retreats does the wind know, wherein she might steal away the morning?" A teasing nip at the ear into which he speaks, and the mask of the firmament is drawn back to further admire the bright glory of the Western wind...His soft touch unrelenting. Adding her own wings to the fray and rolling so that she is nearly covering him like a blanket, the Alicorn nods to her 'friend' and kisses him soundly. "Yet, the wine either makes you seem less so, or myself more daring than usual." Flicking a wing away, she glances to the nearest alcove. "I suppose that we might consider a more private retreat so as not to offend.." Her words are followed by laughter, for if any were to feel such a way in /this/ particular gathering, she would be surprised. Murmuring further words to him, she slips to her feet. Aphrodite does trail alongside the Gryphon, as if she were the tamed beast and not he, but a blistering spike of mischief shows in her eyes' twinkling, and even her shapely mask cannot disguise her delightful, delighted smile. Speaking low, so the Gryphon catches her words alone, she addresses him as they walk together from the fountain of wine and, if she and Dionysys have their way, of love and future puzzlement. "... is ... ... well... rest of ... in... I find... desirous... am not I..." Pushing himself up off of the divan as well, Zeus and the horned pegasus make their way towards one of the alcoves, grabbing two fresh wine goblets on the way. Luckily it is not the same alcove as Aphrodite and the Gryphon are heading towards...although that might be a great deal of fun. Taking a long swallow of the wine, Jupiter adds softly, "I do not think it is only the wine..." Aphrodite The costume tonight involves a mask of cloth of gold sewn on a heavy leather frame; it accents well the wispy gown that is draped across her body...if one can refer to such an abbreviated ensemble as a gown. Cunningly designed to show much in the way of arm and leg but nothing beyond the discreet, thie sleeveless garment is transluscent layers of white with folds of gilded material at breast and groin to ensure she causes no scandal. A band, also of gold, winds about her upper left forearm and catches the selfsame glitter as the cord wound about her tiny waist. The seams are split at either side so that her legs, from sandalled ankle to creamy thigh, are bare much of the time. Her hair is gathered high, with many curls drifting downward in a fall of sunlight-imbued locks, naturally echoing the color of her mask. Eyes of brilliant blue peer from behind the disguise of the mask, with intelligence and bemusement sparkling in their depths. Behind her, a pair of snowy wings span in an upward arch before draping against her supple spine; each feather is tipped with gold not unlike the hue of her hair. A platinum band graces her right ring finger, and her ears are decorated with drips of blue topaz. Upon her feet are sandals tinted by gold, their straps twined about slender ankles. The overall impression is inviting, alluring, relentlessly assertive, as the Goddess of Love would have. Carrying: Golden Apple Spring Blossom finishes her dance with Death, politely--and perhaps, somewhat reluctantly--disentangling herself from his embrace. Quiet words are exchanged, a bow, and the beflowered young woman begins to make her way through the crowd, trying to avoid being either knocked over or indiscriminately groped by wine-saturated revelers. Already quite unsteady from just one glass of ambrosia, the Lady Rainbow retains her perch by the fountain, wings folded tightly. Dusky violet eyes watch the dancing and the drinking, and those sneaking off to other places more private. Invited was she, but withdrew she did. Fickle? Or perhaps the lady beneath the Lady retains more of her wits than one might expect. A fear, or something to hide, holds her back. At the very least, she remains aloof, watching. West Wind crooks her finger and gestures the eastern sky closer so that her masked admirer might draw in closer for a whisper. Not that she's worried of anyone listening, not in this group. "I would eagerly carry you off to my chambers, my glory of the morning, if I wasn't fearful of my husband finding his wife in the embrace of Apollo's early light." The wind tries hard not to laugh at her suggestion and attempts to hide it by engaging her partner in another amourous kiss within the confines of his wings. "And then I fear my most austere web of illusions would shatter, for you would most likely find a dancing Crataeis a comical sight," replies the eldest Graiae, hands drifting behind her so that they may be clasped behind her back. The ageless woman's eyes travel distantly over the drunken staggerings and badly botched dance steps executed by those who seem to be enjoying themselves the most. "The lore of the dance is unfortunately not in my repertoire," is said a little more quietly. Another hesitant step into the realms of flirtation is gingerly taken as she adds, "Although it does surprise me, most ferocious Wyvern, that you imply you are experienced in this task. How does one find time amongst the gorging on young maids and lads?" "What else do you suggest it to be, then?" the Alicorn murmurs inquiringly of her companion. One sweeping glance is cast about the courtyard as she slips within the alcove, wings held close to her body. "Growing indeed", the Gryphon answers in equally hushed tone, his nod accompanying the gesture. Moving further along the rowdy crowds, that by now are feeling not only the ambrosia but all the potions in it, he holds the hand of the Goddess with the same firm but etheral pressure... his thum never resting in one place. "My divine Goddess", he adds only slightly louder, "It would be imprudent for a Gryphon such as myself to impose our place to... ponder upon you, so if by any chance during my lead you feel a desire to change the... direction of the march, it is your Omnipotent right. As to my growing fancy, it could not but grow. Tell me, does that fancy evoke your divine secrets to life?" Eastern Sky returns the wind's kiss with eager force, the firm pressure of thier lips enough to bend the silver garbed wind over backwards, held aloft by his previously free arm, which has gone about her waist... "Let him, I bid you. Your chambers shall never be the brighter, I will wager than the morning which finds such skies as these within your embrace..." Another empassioned kiss and the Eastern sky lifts this wind off of the ground up[on which she had lingered so long... Spring Blossom murmurs excuses and pardons as she glides through the crowd, moving swiftly in the direction of the gardens. Perhaps the press of bodies has gotten to the poor thing, and she feels the need to commune with her fellow flowers. Aphrodite's laughter is near-giddy before something more sultry purrs it to a softer sound, and she steps nearer so that little space separates her divine being from the magical body of the Gryphon. And she raises her lips and lowers her speech so that whatever flows forth is discreet. Most likely, however, not demure. One might ordinarily expect the Palladium to be a place of decorum and taste -- but it's obvious that rule has been suspended for the night. A rule that has not been suspended, however, is that the man behind the Wyvern mask has rather too much elan to choose to respond to the Graiae's inquiry with a well-timed belch, no matter how much the impulse might arise. Somewhere within his mask a pair of twilight eyes glimmer with mischief, nevertheless. "Ah," he explains in deliberately bland growling tones, "there is only so much time one can spend upon epicurean pursuits, whether one be man or beast. I find that dancing the measures with my fellow lizards _is_ an aid to digestion, as well...!" Zeus holds the curtain aside for the Alicorn to duck through before following, letting the thick cloth close behind him, "Why, the pure joy in the revelry, of course." comes his reply. His last spoken words for a while as other pursuits are begun. If she accidently kicks another party-goer, the wind is ignorant of it. "Dominus," she gasps in mock surprise at the intentions of the Eastern Sky. "Really, I do think you've had too much to drink to assume such things." Of course, the trickle of laughter around her words makes it very difficult for her to be taken seriously, but she playfully slaps at his shoulder. If her husband should ever ask, afterall, she'll not wish to say she didn't 'try' to resist this masked man's advances. And there it is - her first trickle of laughter for the evening. Crataeis unclasps her hands from behind her back and spreads them before her in a somewhat helpless gesture. "Ah, perhaps this is what I have been doing wrong for countless years. If I had but learned to dance, I suspect I might have been graced with better digestion myself. And rather than appear before you tonight the tired and haggard crone, I could be as supple as Aphrodite herself." Fat chance, though. Eastern Sky's laughter fades into a deep chuckle as he intones, "Drink sweet nymph? I assume only that you were in earnest with me but a heartbeat past...For I have drunk of nothing but your lips and eyes...no further fruit could please me." Eyes glint with merriment and more behind his gilded mask. Another stolen kiss and words are murmered into the wind's flighty ear... A considerable amount of time passes before hide or hair are seen of the Alicorn and Zeus, but eventually, the curtain leading into the alcove parts to reveal a slightly rumpled horned pegasus. Grinning broadly beneath her mask, she glances over her shoulder at her companion. Catching a passing servant, she takes two fresh goblets and offers one to Zeus. "Far to go before we sleep, mm? Come now, Father of Lightning.. you are missing the party." The Gryphon, pausing momentarily in his trek with the Goddess of Love in hand, narrows his eyes dreamingly, taking in a deep breath of the air around him that must be perfumed by the winds of Olympus itself. His lips touch those of the devine beauty, his cup nearly spilling most of the wine in it... nearly. Whispering something that is lost in the proximity between the two mystical being, he slips the hand that holds her gently behind her back... still not releasing the fingers so divinie. The touch is strong, worhty of a gryphon, even if his feather border dangerously on pink. Bah, servants! They told him that the costume 'may need some work, dominus'. It is fine, perfect or not, and will be worn with pride. Zeus seems to be slightly rumpled as well, but that is easily fixed. Fingers correct the curls and tugs correct the drape of the toga...other than that, he wears little else. Taking the goblet he takes a long sip before planting a final kiss on the Alicorn's mouth. "I do not think I have missed a thing, Amora." Meanwhile, he has other places to see and more people to do. Uh, strike that...reverse it. Or maybe not. West Wind glances around, peering over her captor's shoulder, studying each archway carefully to determine which house belongs to her. First she points to Jove but then brings her hand back to her lips. Somehow, that's not correct. "Oh!" she declares triumphantly, finding the shining golden disk of Apollo marking the gateway to Acesius. "That one, my golden god, take me there!" The Goddess of Love has plucked a suitable suitor from the masses, it would seem, for she accompanies the Gryphon without argument and, if truth were known, with more than a little eagerness. His kiss is welcome, returned full fold, and while her lips are so near she breathes something that, even from a distance, has the tinge of invitation to it. Alas, poor Gryphon, that Cupid's arrow has caught one such as this temptress for the lion-eagle's entertainment. "It is never too late to learn," remarks the Wyvern, eyebrows raising even if unseen behind his fearsome mask. That a beast such as he might produce such a patient tone may well be as incongruous as Lady Death having been lecturing him in ferocity. "Although the circumstances of the evening might well be a bit... hectic for proper learning. Would you be interested, domina, or would you prefer simple conversation?" Chuckling to herself, the Alicorn is swirled away in a passing crowd, but not before patting Zeus on the cheek. She finds herself drifting from place to place, and the wine has begun to cause a headache. Passing by Crataeis and the Wyvern, she ducks her horn and murmurs a farewell. It seems that it is time for the horned pegasus to find a bed to sleep in, and more importantly, alone. Wending amongst the revelers, she finishes the last of her drink and leaves the goblet in the care of a shrubbery before tottering out of the Courtyard. Alicorn strolls out of the living quarters and heads into the garden. Alicorn has left. With strides both swift and sure footed, the sky bears away the Western wind lifted once more into the throes of the air...To the woman in his arms, the carriage is but a fleeting memory...what with the kiss that once again captures her lips in an empassioned lock. This benediction is ended only as they reach the steps of Apollo's house so that the navigation does not end in a rather abrupt landing for this silvered breeze...the next time this Nymph touches the earth it shall be upon a softer ground than these steps...Wings flare behind the man for balance as well as romantic efect...the sparkle of gold glittering amongst pure whiteness... Spring Blossom makes her way nearly to the edge of the crowd before a young man in a badly disarranged outfit that might (were one feeling generous) vaguely resemble a representation of Apollo catches at her hand. The young woman makes an attempt to free herself, smiling politely as she tries to reclaim her hand from the laughing drunkard. Taking another goblet, the Lord of the Sky brings it over to Lady Luck, offering it with a grin, "I should have known...you are selfish. With you, it is all or nothing." Well, now she can have him all to herself. Seems the wearer of the costume is trying to live up to the God's reputation in fact. Eastern Sky passes through one of the double doors beneath the gold disk of Apollo. Eastern Sky has left. West Wind passes through one of the double doors beneath the gold disk of Apollo. West Wind has left. The Gryphon - the luckiest one alive, for few half-lions could ever claim to have turned the eyes of the Goddess of Love in their direction - lifts the conrers of his mouth in what is a dreamlike smile. The warm wind of Aphrodite's whisper bathes his face as she mutters to him, the seductive tones about the pair almost tangible. Lightly, he places another kiss on those irresistible lips, and anchors his strong grip around her back. Offering something equally quiet in reply, he turns into the direction of... the Augustin mansion of all things, although at this state of intoxication, who will notice! Leading the legendary goddess in his embrace, he parts from the crowds without a look back. Once again one might witness a touch of awkward shyness rising to the surface of grey gloom. It is as gawky as a crudely painted moustache on the portrait of a lady. Fortunately it is also swift to be smoothed over with regained composure, and the smile that Crataeis favours upon the Wyvern is friendly and warm. "While the thought of a dance with you, Dominus Wyvern, is enough to make such a feeble heart as mine flutter, I fear you may be right. To be trampled underfoot is not a fate I am willing to meet myself," she states, briefly lifting a hand to gesture at the crowd. Her gaze strays to meet the Alicorn's, curiosity in her eyes, but all that is returned is the faintest of nods. Tyche turns her masked visage to the insistent Lord, accepting the glass with slender fingers. An amused smirk graces her face, dusky violet eyes skimming his. "How very right you are. I can be quite selfish, and I don't like sharing at all. Have you scared away your little unicorn with your ardor, or consumed her and left her for the Wyverns already?" Aphrodite pushes open the silver gates to House Augustus and steps inside the building. Aphrodite has left. Gryphon pushes open the silver gates to House Augustus and steps inside the building. Gryphon has left. Zeus gestures with his goblet, "The Wyvern is entertaining Death over there...and I don't think she was scared." He gives his own smirk, quite visible despite the flowing beard. "Let us just say that she is sated and I am ready to move on...perhaps to give my own luck a try?" The goblet is tilted in a salute to her before he drinks. Now, now, the only Wyvern in immediate sight hasn't... ahem... consumed any unicorns lately. Or alicorns, or pegasi, for that matter. Not that he's about to point this out to Lady Fortune, since she does appear to be occupied with the Lord of Heaven himself. Instead, the Black Wyvern appears entirely at ease conversing with the now awkward, now composed Graiae near whom he stands, saying, "Then I shall be honored to converse with you for the time being, should you wish, and engage in a dance of words rather than one of feet." His masked visage turns down momentarily, in wry inspection of his own boots. "Or, as the case may be, paws." Tyche sips tentatively at her drink, as if sensing she's already had too much. And odd things happen to her when she drinks. "How can she be sated by something which occurred so fast? I did not leave you two that long ago. Perhaps she was too far beyond her senses to know what's done is done, or perhaps you are. It is said luck will only take you so far. Skill and determination take you the rest of the way." The Goddess intones in her soft contralto. Khalid Atar steps out from the silver gates of House Augustus. Khalid Atar has arrived. Khalid Atar Standing just over six feet in height, this figure of dusky-hued skin is lean and well-toned. Raven black hair rests upon his head, as strands fall over his eyes at times. A handsome face frames a pair of ice-blue eyes, while feathery wings of raven black stretch out from behind him. Dressed in a silk shirt of crimson and dark leather breeches, this figure draws immediate attention. A pair of coal-black boots decorates his feet, as he crosses the room. A sash of royal blue is set at his waist, while a faux scimitar and whip hang at his side. A crown-circlet of faux riches rests atop his forehead. <> "Of course it is my wish. Were it not, who is to say what Fate might befall you, hmmm? Or me, for that matter," states Crataeis with a vague uplifting of narrow shoulders. Her head is tilted to the side at a gentle angle, grey eyes now intently settled upon the gruesome 'beast' before her, "But I quite doubt you would wish to devour me, at any rate. I am far too bony and too full of gristle to provide much in the ways of nourishment." Zeus steps closer to the goddess of Luck and caresses the edge of one of her wings, "It was an embrace of passion, not of skill. Perhaps I was saving that for one more...appreciative?" His own drink is downed as he waits to see what Tyche's reaction is to the subtle invitation. The deft fingers slide along the crest of the wing to caress her neck and shoulder as well. Stepping into the room with a style befitting a figure of legend, myth, and stories of horror, Khalid's ice-blue gaze, frozen in a look of harsh and unbending hatred, sweeps over the room. He just stands at the entrance of the room and waits for the inevitable response. Spring Blossom manages to pull free of the false Apollo, either by sweet words or--more likely from the way he's hopping about--a bit of force properly applied. Rosy golden curls sway as she looks about quickly, trying to get her bearings after having been swung about so rudely. She freezes a moment as her gaze rests upon the latest arrival, only her wings trembling at her back. And indeed, a man with enough guts to set foot into a crowd of Empyreans clad as the God-King himself can only turn heads. Drunken gazes turn in the direction of the faux God of Fire, and a flurry of shocked gasps and giggles sweeps across the crowd. One young lass actually screams and faints dead away into the arms of her paramour, who squints blearily at her as he catches her and then glowers vaguely in the newcomer's direction before trying to fan her with a boneless flop of his hand. And here the Wyvern had thought he'd make an impression clad as a simple _beast_ of the Varati. About to reply to the Graiae, he actually coughs somewhere behind his mask, then murmurs drolly to Crataeis, "I appear to have been upstaged in terms of creatures of ferocity." Tyche is turned away from the entrance for the moment, her rainbow-hued wings facing it, one of which shivers with the gentle touch delivered along its length. Another sip of wine further intoxicates senses with already are so, and the normally reserved woman beneath the mask loses another inch of inhibition to the God of Gods. "If so, what makes you think you will find it with the Lady of Fortune?" She inquires. The gasps and screams have a notable effect however; she turns to regard the faux God of Fire and blanches, paling beneath her mask. Wings snap open, flashing rainbows. Zeus turns as well, his eyes widening beneath the mask of silver and diamonds before his bearded countenance breaks out into a grin. Taking a fresh goblet he strides over to the God of the Varati and thrusts the wine into his hand. "I was hoping you would show up...welcome!" Then, without any warning, he darts close to kiss the dark-winged God strongly on the mouth. Hah! He's always wanted to do that. Thankfully the eldest of the Graiae has had practically nothing to drink, sampling only a few sips of wine since her arrival. Turning her head to study the shadowy visage in the doorway, an eyebrow is arched upwards and out of place, hardly visible from behind her mask. "I am vaguely surprised the Praetorian Guard has allowed him to wear that," Crataeis comments lowly. Pale lips begin to flicker with a smile that is an odd mixture of unholy glee, disapproval, and simple bemusement. What truly startles her this time is the display that 'Jove' himself gives to the crowd; the embrace of Khalid Atar. Her mutter is so soft as to be nearly unheard, "I am not certain what I would do if he were only real. Laugh or make my peace with the gods? Perhaps both." The faintest of smiles that would appear uncharacteristic on the face of any Varati, moreso their God-King, the faux Khalid takes a few steps further in to the room. He moves slowly, and with stately steps, towards one of the tables closest to him and gestures at the servant, in mocking imitation of how the guest thinks that Khalid might act, demanding a drink. Altho he may be dressed as the God-King, persperation still dotes on his forehead, as spots can be seen where it wears away at the dusky coloring of his skin. Before the drink can be delivered, the surprising move by whom can be called his opposite in the rival Pantheon of the winged Empyreans seems to have stunned the Varati God-King into shock. Blinking rapidly, he just looks at Zeus for a long moment, before taking the offered drink from the servant and tosses it at the face of the God of All Gods. "Well, I never." he sputters out. A startled trill of laughter rings out somewhere in the crowd, quickly hushed. The verdant Spring seems to have abandoned her flight, however, watching the two 'gods'. Tyche is just a bit tipsy, but under any circumstances, the situation would make her laugh. A rich chuckle bubbles out of her throat, turning into an all-consuming laugh that nearly brings tears to her eyes. Her tattooed hand lifts and points at the pair while the other strikes her thigh repeatedly. The force of her giggling propels her right off the fountain and onto the ground where she curls up, still laughing, her wings a rainbow cocoon. A strange little wheezing noise sounds somewhere behind the Wyvern's mask; it appears that the 'beast' has been seized by a gale of laughter at the sight of Zeus' greeting of his 'brother'. "They let _me_ in," he rasps to Crataeis, forgetting to growl; his voice climbs back to what may well be its normal tenor range, though it is rendered breathless by his merriment. "Now let us see if he'll pull forth a torch and flame Jupiter's hair -- ah, no!" This last is in reply to the splash of the ambrosia across the bearded god's countenance. "Khalid fights with water tonight instead of fire!" It's not quite a laugh, but it is a chuckle, and after this brief lapse in quiet watchfulness, Crataeis slips back into the more comfortable role of mutely smiling. How shall Jove react to this insult? Perhaps there'll be a catfight. What better way to top off an evening of lecherous debauchery than with good, clean, wholesome violence? That smile broadens into an impish grin. Zeus gives a pout as he takes an offered napkin to mop at his sodden beard. Luckily the liquid can't stain silver...but his poor beard. The curls look rather odd wet...they are re-curled around Jupiter's fingers. "Surely after being wed to your wife for so long, you would not be so surprised at a simple kiss." Bah. Lightning strike him anyhow. Fight? He doesn't want a fight, even though as he turns a trail of pale powder seems to settle on the image of the Amir-Al, lightening his features and giving them a nice, flamboyant sparkle. Khalid Atar shakes his head and finally regains some of his composure. Re-adopting the fierce glare of the Varati, he growls in a low baritone, falling back into character, "If this is how the head of the Empyrean pantheon behaves, is it any wonder than that I, the great and unfallible half.. er.. Khalid, would be the better of our two peoples?" Perhaps not too much into character, as he caricatures the God-King. He sniffs as the sparkle falls over him, and a sudden sneeze envelopes the Neverending Flame. He rubs his nose once before growling again, "I've wasted one drink upon you, Kronian. Don't force me to waste another." as he gestures for the servant to replace his spilt drink. Spring Blossom wends her way back through the crowd, moving toward Khalid and Zeus. She deftly captures a goblet from the tray of a passing servant as she walks. Perhaps she doesn't need to be going so soon after all. Tyche was still upon the ground up until this point, rolling and laughing, but she manages to lever herself up with the help of a severely inebriated and leering young man, whom she brushes off once she's leaning unsteadily against the fountain again. She brushes herself off and watches with wide violet eyes. "Pardon me, my dear," rumbles the Wyvern now to the Crataeis, mischief still a-glimmer in the twilight eyes behind his mask. This is an opportunity too good to pass up. Giving the Lady Death one more bow, the black beast stalks now out into the crowd, rolling his shoulders back and forth and stomping with as much vigor as he can produce. He IS a Wyvern, after all, and he must go pay his proper respects to his 'master', shouldn't he? "GRAOWR," he proclaims in ringing tones, coming up behind Zeus and looming quite effectively, rather as the Crataeis had advised. It hardly surprises her that the Wyvern would be unable to resist the temptation of meeting with the faux God-King, so she simply extends a nod of her head and continues to smile. Crataeis takes a few steps to one side, relaxing her weight against the strength and support of a pure, ivory pillar. Now that she has been left alone, she remains silent, but her eyes actively roam about the crowds - settling upon Zeus, the God-King, and the Wyvern most especially - with an alertness that is unhindered by the effects of alcohol consumption. Zeus whirls back around, his beard curled once more if a little stained, "Carefuly, Khalid. After all, you are in my domain now. You may be the guest, but I can throw you out as assuredly as you came in." He doesn't seem to be too upset, after all, this costume will never be worn again. His path then takes him back to Tyche..."Was this of your doing?" he asks her with a grin. As the Wyvern comes up behind him he gives a start, nearly spilling his own wine all over himself. "Must you do that in my ear?" He gives an exaggerated scowl to the Wyvern and presses the goblet into its...talons. Khalid Atar chuckles soundly as he takes a goblet from the servant. He walks over to the Wyvern and grins, pearly teeth shining out beneath the dark complexion. "Ah, my good steed. How are you, this eve?" in his deep baritone. He looks around, "It seems we are surrounded by the Empyreal pantheon. We certainly must be up to task, if we are to leave as in a sound shape as we entered." Tyche titters some more, waggling a finger at Zeus. "I told you not to play with Lady Luck. She may play you wrong. Now you're all wet, my Lord." She calls. "GRAOWR!" The Wyvern scrapes his talon-gloved hands at the air in front of Zeus for a moment or two, by way of mock-menacing great Jove, only to be a bit forestalled when the bearded 'deity' hands him the goblet. But the beast is bemused but for a moment. Rolling his shoulders back and forth by way of 'slithering' -- indeed, this fellow clad head to foot in black does seem to have a command of body language required for his part -- he turns round to face the dusky, black-winged figure who's come up beside him. To him, he promptly presents the goblet, adding for good measure, "Graoworwr!" Back to being a wallflower. Raven-black, ash-dusted wings idly drift out and then refold, bringing a minute waft of cooler air against chalky white skin. Crataeis watches the scene with idle bemusement, keeping her gaze centered upon where the most interesting action lies - the Wyvern and the God-King. A servant offers up a chalice of ambrosia, which is at first denied, but upon second thought is accepted. It is sipped sparingly, however, meant to wet a dry mouth than to be downed completely. A peal of delighted laughter greets the Wyvern's performance, apparently emanating from the lady of spring flowers. "Lovely," she comments. "Really quite terrifying." She lifts her goblet to her lips, hiding her smile for the briefest of moments. Khalid Atar takes the second goblet into his other hand and peers between the two he holds. "To hale health and to quenching thirst!" as he gestures around to the general assembly, relaxing from his character for a moment. He downs one of the goblets and pass it onto the carrying tray of one of the servants as he blinks from the drink. Coughing slightly, it seems that Khalid is not a heavily nor skilled drinker. Or it is stronger than he expected. Zeus waves the 'scary' Wyvern away. Unphased by the mock swipe he chuckles as Khalid tosses back the wine and sputters. Serves him right. To answer Tyche, "And what did I do to deserve that?" and as he is all wet, he leans a little closer to say more intimately, "Why don't you dry me off then?" Tyche turns away from God and steed and wyvern to regard the Lord of Gods with another smirk. "Who can say? Even my own motives are a mystery to me at times. But Luck is a fickle lady, and you kissed another. Why should I be bothered to dry you off? Do I look like a servant?" Snuffling and snorting, the Wyvern circles around behind the black-winged fire god, hunching down in evident 'deference' to the faux Khalid. Handily relieved of the goblet, he resumes pawing at the air; every so often, he also scrapes a foot against the ground. All he needs is a tail to lash back and forth, but his wings are helping make up for the lack, casting impressive shadows down along his frame as he cavorts back and forth. One of the bolder giggly young maidens in the gathering tries to come near Khalid, and the Wyvern hisses dramatically at her, making a high-pitched squeal leap out of her. Spring Blossom moves a bit closer, peering up at "Khalid" with what appears to be admiration for someone with the courage to wear that particular disguise--then she blanches, pale skin fading further. With a murmur of apologies she edges between two guests, moving further away again. She puts several larger people (not hard to find, small as she is) between herself and the false god-king. "I kissed him in greeting, Domina! In greeting!" His smile is slow as he continues, "It would not be how I would kiss you, I can promise you that." It would be more like the kiss on the divan...but much more powerful. Among other things. But still, Jupiter does not seem angered. Perhaps it is all the wine he has imbibed...yet he isn't staggering yet. Is he actually that used to the stuff? But if he is going to be dismissed, he'll just go flirt with Death. From the safety of her column, Crataeis continues to observe. It's so much safer than venturing into the throng of dancing, drinking, and general merriment. Most seem to pass her by as well, for not too many would choose to speak with this grim little spectre of death rather than a bright and jovial (not to mention tipsy) and beautiful maiden. Tyche chuckles, casting a glance towards the pillar-hugging spectre and the others before smiling quite mischieviously at Zeus. "You promise me, hmm? Well, promises are meant to be kissed, er-kept." Blink, blink. Definitely tipsy, aren't we? "Perhaps you should prove it to me then, my Lord." She murmurs, that contralto dropping a tad bit. Another winning smile and a flare of rainbow wings to keep her on her feet. Yes! Offering Death an apologetic smile Jupiter returns to Tyche, offering a hand to keep her steady. Two more goblets are taken up as his free arm is offered. "Nothing would please me more, Lady." Now, do they go to an alcove or to one of the actual beds in the Houses? This he leads up to Lady Luck, trusting her to find the best place for the tryst. Even as the decision is placed in the hands of Lady Fortune, she hands it right back. "I'm afraid I don't know my way around, my Lord, perhaps you can choose a suitable place to determine if you are as skilled as you profess?" She says huskily, barely audible. What was that look for? Crataeis tilts her head slightly to one side, casting a quizzical glance towards Jove's nonverbal apology. She must have been mistaken - certainly it wasn't intended for her. Perhaps that inanely chattering, blonde-haired, drunk twit that's managed to get too close to her. Uneasily stepping away, the Lady Death forsakes her sanctuary in favour of more turbulent waters. Navigating her way through the press of costumed bodies, she seeks out an empty divan to claim as her own. It will not be an easy task, considering most are in use by couples wishing to engage in activies that might result in a loss of balance. Spring Blossom abandons her wine and slips further away through the crowd, heading for the gardens again. Poor thing just can't seem to make up her mind, stay or go? Taking Tyche's hand Zeus leads her gently, his fingers caressing up her wrist and back again. Their destination seems to be House Jove...where else for the King of the Gods? "You shall remember this, Lady...this I promise you." he has wine, yes? Maybe he should get another tray just in case? Excellent vintage. he must say so himself. Tyche titters tipsily and follows, leaving one violet-hued feather behind as a remembrance of rainbows and luck as she follows Zeus. Oh, forget it. Crataeis decides, in the end, that it isn't worth the trouble to get a seat and watch the drunken crowds anymore. And finding it growing a bit too warm now for her taste, the Lady Death decides to make a quick and discreet departure. Only one event of interest marks her passage. As she breezes through the crowds, a certain man with black leather wings is sought out. She makes certain to pass him by, and with the barest of smiles curving her lips, she reaches out to touch his arm in a silent farewell before disappearing amongst the gaudy colours. Crataeis goes home. Crataeis has left. Zeus moves through the gateway leading into the atrium of House Jove. Zeus has left. Tyche moves through the gateway leading into the atrium of House Jove. Tyche has left. Tyche enters from the atrium of House Jove. Tyche has arrived. Spring Blossom finally reaches the edge of the crowd, pausing for breath as she makes it out of the press of bodies. She turns back and smiles, shaking her head slightly, then departs swiftly before some other strange event can lure her back. Spring Blossom strolls out of the living quarters and heads into the garden. Spring Blossom has left. Having added his own theatrics to the entrance of the faux God of Fire, the Black Wyvern slinks off to let the brave soul with the Khalid costume mingle through the crowd in his solitary godly splendor. He, the Wyvern, has made enough of an impression this night -- and unlike many of the revellers here, he doesn't actually live in the Palladium. He fully intends to make it home, in one piece, and sober. And besides, there _are_ a few side benefits to being one of the few people in the throng in full command of his wits... Like the little bauble he's spirited away beneath his multi-layered cloak, still as of yet unmissed by the giggly Madame Butterfly. He has his doubts that she'll miss it for three or four days, given the amount of ambrosia she's consumed. The Wyvern therefore snuffles and snorts his way out of the throng... but as he goes, beneath his mask, the Rook smiles broadly. Soon enough the 'beast' has vanished into the night. [End log.]