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 The lights are off, the desks and chairs have been replaced by beanbags and there's a table in the corner with a chocolate fountain, marshmallows and strawberries.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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The moment the back of her hand meets his lips, Abigail drops into a slight curtsey. It's not totally natural, not the same ease with which he moved, but it seems, to her, the best reply for the gesture. If she's bothered by the singularity of his name, she doesn't let it show in her expression.

"I am. I've never been able to see Redbright Institute for myself before, so I'm quite enjoying this. Yourself, sir?"

Good reaction, and a nice attempt to mirror the greeting. She gets a barely visible smile for her efforts, utterly plastic before it melts back to the listless slate.

"I'm not one for parties, but the visit is proving educational."

How very... PC.

Abigail can't help the way her brows raise in curiosity at the... politic nature of the response. 'Educational' is always an interesting descriptor, and she gives a small nod in reply.

"Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask what you've learned?"

She's new to guiding her own steps during this dance. She doesn't have her uncle to whisper in her ear or her father to catch her eye for adjustments. Now, it's all her, and she has to find her own rhythm, and that changes, however faintly, between each person. She can't expect not to stumble a few times.

What a blatant move. Yet, it's the move of an amateur in chess. It's on the opponent whether to punish the mistake or warn them before it becomes habit.

"A little bit." The only warning he gives, a pause to sip his drink and stare off at nothing in consideration. That answer itself was a misstep, wasn't it?

Well. The game continues. "We do not have a woman with a presence like Sylvia's back home. Has she always been like that?"

Abigail raises her drink and takes a small sip, acknowledging the warning. It's a matter of learning for herself. Sometimes open boldness is a good thing, putting someone off their rhythm. But that's not what she wants now.

"I've never met her before," Abigail admits. "I was schooled in my own home." But from what she knows about Sylvia Redbright, which was just how her parents had spoken and refused to speak of her, she expected she likely was. "That's why I wanted to come tonight."

A proper move if she aims it at the right person, the kind more prone to bursts of illogical emotions and sharing them with random acquaintances at a territory expansion party. Meh, details.

There's a short noise of acknowledgment at the home schooling - a note filed for future references, she blends well for a sheltered player - and the question slips out with just a shade more amusement. Or at least a bitter corruption of it. "Was she everything you expected?"

"I still don't know what to think about her," Abigail admits. It shows her for what she is -- inexperienced and uncertain. However, it's true. She might as well admit to that much.

"I'm curious to know more, though."

Inexperienced and uncertain, except that's not the noteworthy part of her answer. It's the last part. Admitting a weakness, but still striving to overcome them. What a praiseworthy trait.

"Curiosity is dangerous around someone like that." That is significantly less PC of a comment. If Abigail bothers to translate the intent, it's an answer for an answer. Ah, wait, but if she's really that curious, then warning her off is useless.

The smile is a bit less fake this time. "Just try to be careful."

"I will." His concern, however light, is worth noting, and it matters to her. Because she knows curiosity's dangerous. 'Curiosity killed the cat.' Though there's a part of her that remembers the addition. 'But satisfaction brought it back.'

"Thank you, sir."

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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