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 The lights are off, the desks and chairs have been replaced by beanbags and there's a table in the corner with a chocolate fountain, marshmallows and strawberries.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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And what does anyone live for, if not for satisfaction?

"You're welcome." The drink is tipped in her direction with a faint nod, a short cheers and understanding all in one. Barely a second is needed to tally up the tiny lines and weigh the worth of the connection. "If you ever get in over your head, feel free to use my name."

A dead cat is still a dead cat, satisfaction or not, and she seems worth the investment. Why not.

There's power in those words. Something more than sentiment or anything like that. A lifetime of learning about such things has Abigail primed for the realization, but it takes her a moment to really connect with it. Nonetheless, she looks at him, a bit openly startled.

It's stupid to ask, but the question comes all the same.

"What sort of trouble?"

A little bit stupid, but it's easily forgiven. It's obviously the first time such a thing has been fired at her.

"I wouldn't know." With such a bland dismissal of a shrug afterward. Even the voice is purposefully bland, "I fix problems. Causing them is counter-productive."

Abby smiles a little. A bit of an attempt at a joke. "You might be sorry about that, sir. I tend to get into a fair amount of trouble."

Not of her own accord. Things just tended to happen, especially when she was away from her home.

"Stop getting into trouble."

There's just enough of a crooked smile here to tell he caught her joke, rebounded back just easily. Even though she's a witch and her aura is disconcerting. Whatever, she hasn't tried to rip his arm off, he is more than willing to ignore whatever troubles haunt her.

More importantly, the smirk doesn't leave. Even the voice is tinged a faint amusement now, "Besides, you still need to figure out how to contact me."

"I'll get right on that."

It was easy to laugh a little about it, to act like the trouble she got into was minor. She liked to pretend it was. Just a series of unfortunate, little accidents. Even if it often was much more serious. At his remark, though, she lets herself smirk just a little.

"I know a few messenger spells. I imagine I'll think of something."

Ugh, spells, something deeply-rooted starts hissing in paranoia and disgust, but it never reaches his face. That's rude even by his standards. Widdowson doesn't seem as completely bughive insane as other witches, just deal with the hypothetical magic bullshit.

"Yeah, sure. No airborne toxins, I get visitors now." That's. Concerning. But that section of the conversation is ever so subtly jossed right out a metaphorical window with a one-shoulder shrug, "Either way, I don't mind whatever trouble you get in. Just don't kill civilians."

The only morality standard, everybody.

The mere thought makes her shudder, but she can't blame him for the words. Everyone involved in the supernatural community knows about the Widdowson name, or so she assumes. The history of sacrifices is one she won't escape, even if she doesn't intend to follow that path. She wants to make her family name worth something more, not just a scary story adult witches use to warn their children about dark magic with.

"I'm not that kind of Widdowson," she promises.

Well.

That's not worrying at all. The voice comes out almost a pure monotone, "I meant that as a general statement. I know nothing about your surname."

Though the usual disgust or fear she's used to doesn't follow. Her family is ill-remembered, she herself does not wish to be like them, and a jumble of emotions filters through - a faint tinge of fear, covered up entirely by a wave of determination and hope.

Abigail is not that kind of Widdowson. And Will believes her.

"My offer still stands."

Abigail sighs, though it's in relief. It makes her feel foolish for assuming what she did, but at least he isn't judging her based on her name. She needs to make that different, she needs to give people a new idea of what a Widdowson is. But... that will take awhile.

Still, she smiles and offers out her hand.

"Thank you."

Why is he being thanked. That never happens. And there's a faint recognition similar to her own - no one knows that Name here. Of course people would be doing odd things like showing gratitude.

The hand isn't a formal greeting, it's a sign of something. Hopefully not friendship he sucks at friends. Add exampled by the handshake she is offered back is stiff and automated and the previous greeting makes far more sense.

"You're welcome." A beat where the hand is immediately retracted, aware it was terrible ignore it move on, "Find more foreigners to befriend. Not knowing your name would be easier to forge useful connections."

Abigail nods to acknowledge the advice and draws her hand back. Even so, she smiles with perhaps a hint of a smirk.

"Perhaps, but foreigners lack influence. I can't rely on just them to change the perception of my name."

The burden there, she knows, lies with her. She has to shape the world around her, has to remake her name. Even if, well. Even if she really has no idea how to do that. Perhaps it just needs to be a slow process. Trying to get into Redbright was a first step, but she was tasked with finding a coven instead.

That will prove difficult, and she knows it.

"Still, I can use all the connections I can make."

Oh thank the merciful Lord, no more physical contact. "Of course not. You use them as a foothold for future contacts. Friend of a friend type deals."

Do brits even know the Kevin Bacon degrees? Whatever, she'll get the point hopefully. If her reputation is so bad that the high class think her last name is synonymous with murderer, her best bet is to make countless smaller ones and have them drag her influence up with them.

But alas, the rules of the game say assist, but his own game means she had to figure it out for herself. No suggestions forthcoming.

"I'm sure you'll figure out how to capitalize on the lesser-known. Just takes a bit of creativity."

"I'm sure I will. I appreciate your advice, sir."

And she'd keep it in mind.

After all, she had few allies in this world and fewer friends. Either were good to have on her side. Especially someone who was careful about what name they gave her, as she felt sure this man was being. That meant he knew real power, and she could use someone like that... if not on her side, then not against her.

See, already she's playing the game perfectly well for a beginner. Unfortunately, mind reading is a not a talent in his arsenal. There's only a subtle snap into a focus he can't name, through a sense that no one else has, and that simple simple statement.

She means it. That's good enough. The statement earns a slight nod of approval or acceptance, or just bland recognition. Who knows. "Just hope it's useful."

"I hope so, too," Abigail replies, smiling just a little.

The game is complicated, and she's only learned the rules without playing. It's like understanding the knowledge of chess but never having touched a piece. It's different when it's real, when there's human interaction. When she has to play against people instead of her own mind, and when she has to weigh their abilities against her own.

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Game Opening: May Ball

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