undergrounds | Game Opening: May Ball

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Game Opening: May Ball

LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED.

It had to be done.

Welcome all to the Redbright Institute's May Ball! This evening is a celebration of the Institute's achievements over the past year. Students aged 16 and above can attend on their own, while younger students must be accompanied by a parent or guardian. Meanwhile, friends and guests of the Institute are invited as a gesture of friendship and harmony between the various factions.

Rules and etiquette
• This is a black tie event. Formal attire is required.
• No weapons. This is a school, there are children present. Any weapons or objects that could be used as weapons will be confiscated.
• No drugs or alcohol. Obviously. Don't try to sneak any in.
• No violence.

There is security within the school and present at the event. (In fact, if your character is a member of the Redbright Institute, you could have them acting as security if you want.) They will respond to and put a stop to any trouble.

Places to go
The main action takes place in the large Assembly Hall. This is where the Chancellor Sylvia Redbright will give her address. It's also where you can party later on. The disco is family-friendly – not exactly a rave, but the kids will love it.

Drinks and snacks are available in the dining hall. The drinks are non-alcoholic. Vampires, no need to worry about your cravings: blood cocktails are provided! They're given in good faith on the assumption that you won't be snacking on anyone else tonight.

Just off the dining hall, one of the classrooms has been converted into a chill-out area. The lights are off, the desks and chairs have been replaced by beanbags and there's a table in the corner with a chocolate fountain, marshmallows and strawberries. A video of young witches taking part in various night-time rituals (they mostly seem to involve chanting and bonfires) plays silently on the screen.

One of the lecture theatres has been opened up to showcase students' work from the past year. On the screen you can watch a slideshow of notable events and achievements. Strangely enough there aren't many people in this room.

Outside, there is a giant chessboard on the lawn. The pieces are made of plastic and can easily be moved around. Why, you ask? Why not, is the answer.

Finally, a large marquee has been set up in the quad. This is the adults-only area, with wine and cocktails served at the bar, nibbles available at a few high tables dotted around and a sophisticated atmosphere. No children under 18 allowed. (Note that the legal drinking age is 18.)

Timeline of events
20:00 – Doors open.
20:57 – Sunset.
21:15 – Sylvia Redbright makes her address in the Assembly Hall.
22:00 – Disco in the Assembly Hall. The DJ has atrocious taste.
01:00 – Disco stops. The event officially ends.

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Sometimes things can be talked out rationally. For everything else, there's a sledgehammer.

"I probably needed to be reined in a bit, so it's okay." Social cues were never Aradia's forte, and it's just her luck that it carried on into unlife. The burst of genuine emotion was surprising, and added to the past happenings of the evening could present some new insight into how her head functions now - but this isn't the time to ghost-geek it out, internally or otherwise.

... what was she talking about again? Oh, right. "It doesn't usually get that full on, honestly. But if it's really not a hindrance, then hmm. I think my old apartment's still empty..."

Okay, so she's maybe geeking out a little. Spending an entire evening surrounded by the living ends up infectious.

That's good enough of a confirmation Ghost Girl got his intent, and all the better that she doesn't take offense to the conversational sledgehammer. But even still, he cuts off her thoughts again.

"My apartment is fine."

Not even to babysit her. An empty apartment complex suddenly playing music at certain hours of the night? And the room is empty except for the setup? Sounds like a fast-track to getting her toys confiscated. "Next time you turn up, we'll look for the parts you need."

Your apartment's going to end up full of scavenged turntables and wires, Will. This is the fate you have resigned yourself to.

But it might be worth it, despite the impending shenanigans, because it's given ghost girl an actual hobby to focus on. One that even has a sort-of if-you-tilt-your-head-and-squint link back to her living interests. It's like Christmas came early. "I'll try to not take up too much space. That'd be rude."

Let's be honest: he would be nowhere near as bothered as people assume he would be.

He's aware it means being tormented by terrible music until she figures out what she's doing, but it'll cheer her up. It's a hobby she can still have despite being dead. All she needs is to master typing and How To Not Get Stuck In Chocolate Fountains and Ghost Girl will be able to talk with more than just the scant handful of people than can see her.

Besides, as she's seen for herself, his amount of earthly possessions borderline on 'depressingly small'. But he's not depressed so whatever, no problems at all, he shrugs. "I don't mind. Don't have much anyway."

He's an enabler of letting ghost girls torment the living with electronics. Ghostbusters would like a word with you, sir.

"It's still your apartment." To her it's a matter of being polite. Ghostly freeloader or no, he barely knows her and yet he's going out of his way to help. She'd probably offer to pay rent if it was remotely possible, to ease the strain.

Of course, it won't spare him when her mischievous streak eventually rears it's head. But. It's the thought that counts. "So, it's easier. Plus it's room you could've filled up with more boxes."

And he will beat the Ghostbusters into the pavement, don't test him.

And Ghost Girl still gets a blank stare for her concern. It's the vacant absense that means things like her paying rent or the fact it's his apartment never actually passed through his mind. Is that a concern normal people have? Why would they be bothered by helping people if it's in their power? Is caring that much suspicious? He needs to ask Clara and stop if so.

It's only at the box comment does the focus visibly reassert itself, blank confusion switching back to the usual apathy, "That's all I own."

That... says a lot, really.

It really does say a lot, when measured against his confusion over her concern. Part of her wants to know why, to pick at it and understand, but there's no way it wouldn't end up being rude. Besides, she can't really fault him for wanting to help people - it wasn't so long ago that she did the same, until it got her killed.

But jokes are easier then worrying over wording. Especially with how clear she's feeling, from interacting with the living and the positive reinforcement.

"You probably have enough boxes to make a fort by now." Beat. "Which wouldn't need that much more effort."

Edited (nitpicks my sentences, last time i s2g...) 2015-05-30 02:02 (UTC)

There's no recognition of her edging off the topic, no visual tell if it even bothered him in the first place, but at least the joke earns a raised eyebrow. A conscious effort compared with the slightly twisted tone into something resembling amusement, just so she'll be able to pick it up as a joke.

"I'll make a doghouse for you to possess. Write 'Ghost Girl' on the top of it." He's bad at people, so there's no real knowledge if or when he takes a joke too far and it impales the other person. So he instinctively reigns it back a second after, "Maybe a bookshelf."

"Rude. I thought I'd rate at least a table." It starts off deadpan, but the attempt at indignant apathy gets spoiled when a smile wins out instead. Actually being able to read things as a joke just encourages her bad sense of humour.

"But if it's a nice doghouse I guess I wouldn't mind. It'd keep help keep things tidy. Also gives me somewhere to hide if the salt start's flying."

The question here is if he's getting better at jokes or if Ghost Girl is just as bad as he is. The answer is easily number two, but who cares. She's good terrible company. The salt comment even earns a huffed exhale in place of laughter, muted but entirely genuine.

"What if the top of the doghouse is flat?" That's. Kind of like a table.

Jokes are only bad depending on who you ask. Admittedly, that still makes their collective humour awful, but attempts are being made all the same. Terrible attempts.

"Still pretty much a doghouse. It sounds more functional, though." And totally would count as non-box furniture. Which isn't even her plan, but two birds with one stone.

Edited (okay this time it refused to actually display the icon i picked gj dw) 2015-05-30 04:56 (UTC)

Between the two of them, someday they might learn to suck less. Probably not, but 'wait and hope', right?

"Do you want me to get an actual table? Would that make you happy?" A beat, the lapse of care flickering into another blank moment. The thought immediately summons images of floating tables and tacky seance cliche moments and she's only been tormenting him for a scant few weeks, but it's enough to pick up her fun at spooking the neighbors.

She's going to spook his visitors with creepy table tropes.

Yes.

"Maybe."

She is so going to spook his visitors with creepy table tropes. It's the next step in her repertoire after light-bulbs and cheerful sitting at the edge of people's senses. Live the dream.

"Tables are useful. Sometimes people also use them for non-ghost related things."

Belatedly, it occurs to her that she doesn't know if that one's too far, but fuck it. Live by the sword, die by the sword.

And Will's only genuine socialization method is tormenting people, so it's perfect. Even if the comment gets a faint wince. It's not that weird, he just finds no point in wasting money on something in a building he won't be staying in long, in a country he has no attachment to, when boxes already function as miniature furniture themselves. And storage. All in one! It's efficient and totally normal.

Or maybe he's the weird one here.

Either way, Aradia does not get salt thrown in her face for assumedly toeing a rude line of questioning. The voice doesn't even change, "Like what? Covering them in pointless decor?"

... oops she definitely caught that wince. Megido, you are on a roll tonight.

But unlike before, she recovers quicker, isn't as afraid that she really pushed it too far. The fact that his tone stayed similar helps, as does context - it seems sillier to be bent out of shape over a table, of all things.

It still happened, though, and that's something to keep in mind. Socializing is a pain, text it. "Decor can be useful to throw at people if something goes wrong." aradia no-- "Or so you don't have to bend as awkwardly to use your netbook."

Because seriously, dude. That thing is tiny. How your spine isn't creaking, ghost girl has no idea.

Something about the throwing decor around raises internal warning bells, swept quickly under wraps. Do not speak of Them, they wouldn't understand Us- and just like last time the words come out oddly clipped and precise, a perfectly manicured garden display and all the more heartless because of it.

"My superiors in America were displeased by my teaching methods, so it was deemed illegal to use paperweights as learning aides without paying out of your income for the replacement."

In short: Aradia yes, but he's cheap as hell so. No decor on the table. Meanwhile, the unconscious snap into avoiding landmine is quickly disposed of. Only the anecdote came too close, there is nothing heretical about her second inquiry, "And you get used to it."

One of these days she's going to work out what landmines she's tripping over. Today is not that day, and the sudden lifeless monotone of his reply prompts a very confused stare even as it gives her a handful more clues into his life then she had before - superiors and teaching methods implies... well, the only thing that comes to mind is Will as a very grumpy school teacher.

Dude, what.

On second thought, she isn't touching that with a ten foot pole. It'd explain how patient he comes across as, though, which lingers even as she switches to focus on the second topic. "Getting used to it doesn't mean it's healthy. I'm pretty sure there's some cheesy slogan about 'avoiding problems before they become dangerous' out there, but none are coming to mind."

Sometimes it's better to live in a content illusion than a brittle truth. Unfortunately, Will is not someone who believes that, so it's probably a good thing Aradia only assumes it mentally.

Besides, the more important part here is a chiropractor would probably make a year-long vacation to the Bahamas off the combination of bad posture and stress that makes up Aradia's current haunting target. "So? It doesn't bother me."

The very definition of bad life choices.

Just you watch. Someday it'll come up again and her assumption will come to light, and everyone involved will take a moment to mourn Aradia's ridiculousness.

"It'll bother you if you end up ruining your back. That's harder to fix then a table." Okay so there's not as much concern there as her word choice would imply, but it's something. This is the downside of the friendly neighborhood ghost watch - she can and will meddle if she has to.

In her defense, he did handle teaching his underlings. It's just the rest of the school setting is completely wrong. Aradia may very well be the closest to being correct.

But who cares about how right Ghost Girl is, all that matters right now she's being miss naggy lecturepants. The table metaphor is silly. Everyone knows that if a table breaks that badly, you just throw it away. It's common sense. "Eh, I'll be dead before then."

There is no despondence or disrespecting the dead or any emotion at all here. It's just a blank objective statement, a loveless observation and nothing more.

She tried and that's what counts.

Or that's how this would go, if the topic hadn't driven sharply into Talking About Mortality street. That sort of comment hits past the contently happy mood she'd been fostering, dropping her back to a blank slate because. No.

"All that attitude does is make it happen faster." It's staying pointedly in the realms of observation still, due to lingering threads of apathy hanging onto her outlook, but she's definitely giving him a run for his money as far as linefaces go. That outlook gets people killed.

"I'm not planning on dying."

Said right after that thought, that worry about how that outlook kills people, and it's so disturbingly on-point it's like being stabbed in the heart.

The expression remains entirely blank, but that eerie monotone bleeds back in, "Let's use the table. It's going to break at some point, no matter how much care you give it. It's far more cost-effective in the long run to just replace it when it breaks the first time."

Thinking of it in just furniture measures, it makes sense. The cost of repair over time would eventually dwarf the cost of buying a new table. Sure, you could keep it because of emotional value or just preferring the style, but it's equally likely you'll leave it on the curb to be thrown into an incinerator. You could get a new table - for less than you bought this one for - and it won't be the same, but it'll last longer. Maybe it'll have more surface area. You could get a better one. It makes sense.

Which is exactly why it makes no sense at all.

Well that quick response was creepy. But rather then dissuade her, it just eggs her on - after all, not planning on dying is usually the next step in the wonderful chain of events that gets people murdered in back alleys.

"People aren't tables. People aren't made of wood, they bounce back quicker and they're harder to fix and why are we still talking about tables." Will. Your logic loops suck. Get new ones.

A lamp near the bar starts to flicker in time with outburst, tiny ripples of light that she's trying hard to clamp down on and failing. She can feel the barman size it up without looking at her, wondering if he needs to fix it, and she ignores him. Not relevant right now.

"Just because you can run something into the ground, doesn't mean you should."

The light is watched with the same listless gaze, instinctively feeling her soundwaves - anger, anguish, a desperation to be understood - but it's just white noise. Heard and easily ignored with the ease of years of practice.

People aren't tables.

But that doesn't change the ones he left behind because of this assignment. A thousand different faces with a thousand different stories all brought together by the same truth: you should consider yourselves lucky to have this chance. Give thanks that your needless existence can be put to use. And you believed - all of you did - because it gives you purpose. Because it's a reason to be something more than the monsters the rest of society hides you as. Because it was so much better than that other option. It's more efficient to just replace someone old and broken with something else.

Who's to say furniture can't pretend to be a person?

"I shouldn't, but I can." And I will. But she doesn't get it. Only they do, only we do, and that's fine. That's not Hers to understand. The fact that she is completely incapable of doing so is another of a myriad of smaller blessings to be grateful for. But at the same time, there's some weird twist to his that can't be effectively put to words.

"And you don't have the right to tell me otherwise."

See, this is a beautiful example of how nice it'd be to have a empathy radar embedded in your head. Just the innate ability to sift through unspoken meaning without effort.

Because all that's coming across to Aradia as is a whole lot of 'I don't care'. And fine. If he wants to suffer through being a stubborn jackass, he can deal with his own consequences.

What happens next is a blur to the ghost - the barman shouts in surprise when the flickering lightbulb shatters under duress, the result of a sudden spike in raw anger at his pre-programmed reply hastily being vented towards something that wouldn't cause permanent damage. Any semblance of regret over the power fail doesn't register, mostly because she doesn't linger long enough to see the result, vanishing between heartbeats back to her haunt where she doesn't have to deal with stupid goddamn lousy backwards weirdos with gold eyes who make no sense.

She'll regret it later, count out the damages and try to fix what she can, but later isn't now. All this started with tables. What did tables ever do to him in a past life.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Game Opening: May Ball

vip lets kick it

plz bring better music

wow what do you have against vanilla ice at 4am

everything

vanilla ice is a true artist ok

yeah a bullshit artist

1v1 me irl he is a paragon of.... something.

yes. a paragon of bullshit

you're just mad that you ain't a vip

i ain't a vip i'm ice ice baby

stop that. but also collaborate and listen.

just don't use vanilla ice as your first mix tape plz

is nickelback more acceptable to your delicate sensibilities

okay i lied i'll take vanilla ice

that's what i thought.

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