Open Insanely Rich Area The Mysterious Costume Party

[Hashwin 'Hazie' Freemont]

Hazie sucked up the last of the Bee’s Knees, and set glass and straw aside. Under his mask he was grinning. He didn’t want to know where the Black Fortress came from, nor did he want to know why Sunfur sounded like a stuffy officer one moment and a stammering teenager the next. Knowing the truth would kill what made this party worth attending. The three of them would be forced back into the dull daylight of their real lives, where their surnames and job titles and bank balances were all they could sodding talk about.

He decided their backstories for them. The Black Fortress was a glamorous lady pirate here in disguise to win the heart of the party’s host, then gut him for revenge. The blood-teared skull on black almost convinced him he was on the right track, but he had yet to determine if Jean-Pascal Galopin was interesting enough to murder.

As for Sunfur… he was actually a long-lost prince of some distant island kingdom who had been raised as a humble pauper. That explained why he dithered and made vaguely foppish statements that sounded how a poor beast thought the rich spoke. He was here tonight because… because his younger brother was trying to kill him for the family title and fortune. When the time was right, he would reveal himself and catch his evil brother in the act!

The lies Hazie told himself cheered him up considerably. He didn’t even want to have guessed anything about them correctly - refining his theories as new information came to light was part of the fun. He took the Black Fortress’ paw in his own. She spoke in metaphor, her vague intimations putting the Whack Ball back in his turf. If he took things further, she could wilt away and deny everything. If he demurred and played it safe… Hazie wasn’t sure what what would happen. He never played it safe.

“A li’l beauty, a li’l decay. Cahn’t have the sweet with-ahh-t the bitter,” Hazie murmured. “All three of us. I’m only a prince of bees for tonight. Would be a shame to waste it.”

The band played, and Hazie danced. Their three-way entanglement was quite different from Hazie’s scandalously intimate duet with Sunfur. The size of the Black Fortress’ costume made her the obvious centre around which the two males could orbit, counter-balancing each other. Hazie twirled and exhibited himself, the light catching his glittering wings, his lithe musteline form poised with precision. He intruded on her the way a bee might, curious and flighty. He held her paw delicately, but teased his other against her veil and enormous hooped tresses, never truly seeking his way in, but making the implicit motion that might make the lady’s heart jump.

Then they swapped around, and Sunfur was their glowing centre. Hazie came in close, and brushed against vivid yellow fur with his leather-gloved arms. He gently rubbed the fox’s black-velvet ear between thumb and fingers, claws semi-retracted, the sensation of their sharp tips sending a shiver down the spine…

Then he was the centre of the trio. He was an ephemeral insect, ready to take to the air with a buzz of his wings. Blood pounded in his ears, and he swore the violin was playing a solo just for him. At that moment he didn’t care whether his partners wanted to kiss him or tear through him with their bare claws, just as long as they didn’t leave him alone.

Under his mask, Hazie was silently both laughing and in tears. Bitter and sweet.

@Apricity Prim @Aramaeus Lemon

 

[Apricity Prim]

It was breathless. It was sweetness, and sorrow, for it was what she wanted and not what she had expected, and anger flared up in her breast that called for more, more, more. She growled in discomfort and earnest longing to free herself of the shackles she'd dressed herself in. The air audibly buzzed around the trio and their dance. The costume weighed her down as much as the looks on the faces of those who watched them. Jealousy, or indifference? Repugnant, upturned snouts, smirks hidden behind wineglasses that distorted them into bee-stung lips, puckered around the sourness of their own hearts.

Enough.

She pulled the veil aside, and pulled the golden fox close, nearly tipping him into her. Their muzzles clashed, teeth scraped together, her tongue teasing and pulling away in a quick moment, then she pushed him backwards before he could lose his balance bending over the width of her gown. She reached out to the Bee and bent him sideways, and her breath filled the little hole between the mandibles of his mask.

"You I vill be seeink later," she whispered, before pushing him too upright.

Apricity clapped her paws, twice, above her head.

"Music!" she declared, "Cease! I make announcement."

The background chatter lowered to a brief silence in the wake of the sudden break in the music, then rose again as beasts made this or that comment about what was to happen. When it dwindled again, she spoke up.

"Lords, ladies, and else. You have masks and costumes to make up for familiarity. I understand. Do you know greatest disguise? It is time. It is un-knowink. A new Baroness vhispers on your tongues, but you vould not know her if she was bare-chested in front of you. So look closely, because after tonight, none of you vill yet know me. But you vill not forget me. Maestro - Das Lied vom Sonnenaufgang von Adrien-Hughes Galopin. I have made a poem of my own to perform tonight."

It was a simple song, with a sombre, four-note melody repeating over ever-intensifying and complicating chords. She had chosen it specifically to taunt their host, using one of his ancestor's compositions. She spun herself to the center of the dance floor as the music swelled up anew, and began to sing.

"For life's great loss
A soul shan't rot
But grow anew
We favor'd few
Reap our sorrow
And seed our joy
So do not mourn
All old and vorn
But grieve a child
A life reviled
Our fear transcends
Our time shall end
In vicked rest
Ve vere but guests
Below von sky
My mate and I
So stay your blade
Be not afraid
Of life's great loss
Or your soul's rot"
​

And as she sung and spun, she effloresced. A simple tug of wire, and the tiny clockwork mechanisms slowly unravelled her gown. Strips of ruffled black silks and satins and velvets pulled away, rolling tightly into themselves, or simply fell off from her waist, leaving skeletal wires that had once given them form and purpose. These too broke away, their mechanisms spent and no longer required. There were glimpses of small boxes tied to her thighs and lower back, but her paws worked quickly, unlatching, unstrapping, in the chaos of the gown's blooming death.

There was fluttering. The buzzing of dance grew louder, became more than a drone, became a warning siren. Her veil bulged itself outward, and finally, as her singing came to a close, she reached up and pulled her hat aside, the veil cascading down her shoulders with it, and for a brief, horrifying moment, it was still there.

Then it exploded in a rainbow of chaos, heralded by screams of nearby patrons. Butterflies of every color, black and orange, blue and purple; bright yellow wasps and bees which fought each other mid-air; brown roaches scuttled and flew off, landing on food and in drinks and on anybeast nearby; green metallic beetles, horned and otherwise, flew off in a frenzy like shining cannonballs. A cloud of fleas erupted from her, eager to get away from the perfume she'd drenched herself in to keep them away from her skin. Termites, earwigs, every little creature with wings, was now free and eager to be away from their siblings and find food, a mate, or warmth, before the winter chill could creep into the manor and sleep them.

And Apricity Prim danced in the midst of the storm, laughing with pure, unbridled delight. She wore no mask, and her mismatched eyes - sapphire blue, slitted like a cat's; emerald green, slitted like a marten's - sparkled with amusement. What little she now wore clung to her body, leaving no curve to the imagination - her bloated belly leading the way, but not to be outdone by the swell of her thighs and chest, or the great bristling of her tail, which flagged high in freedom and was draped in rainbow ribbons. The dress was slit up the sides, belted at the waist and nowhere else, giving ample view to her fur. Decorated in front, diamond-patterns of glossy, metallic colors spread from the floor upwards in midnight hues; blacks and blues and purples fading to musty reds and a bright orange that matched the bib of her fur. The low cut was nearly invisible to see as her fur spilled out and blended into it.

Her footpaws, now visible, were adorned by simple black dancing slippers. Small, soot-darkened bands were tightened around her ankles, and from these were small, taut wires, which vanished up behind her knees to the rear of her dress. A notched furrow around the circumference of her belt contained another wire - this one strung with a rainbow of small pennants, and every step she took, her feet pulled on this, spinning it faster and faster, so that the rainbow blurred with her movement.

She pulled off her black gloves and tossed them onto the remains of the Black Fortress.

"I am Baroness Apricity Lucia Priscilla Araminta Millicent Primavera Lunabelle Abstinence Mutter-vickink Prim, vidow of late Giles Blueberry Prim! Let your rumors die and be reborn, for I am only me, and tonight I am here to dance everyvich vay!"

She slunk her way back to The Bee and the golden fox, and clasped her paws around one of theirs each, squeezing hard. A beetle leapt from her head onto Aramaeus's arm. A roach crawled from the hem of her dress and skittered somewhere into Hazie's costume, seeking shelter from the light.

"Life," she said gently, "needs some decay to grow fresh. And now all my rot has rotted away, I am ready to bend and to break."

She swept them out onto the floor once more, revelling in the newfound closeness and warmth of their bodies.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano followed the line of Nutty’s gaze toward the iron mask threading through the crowd. The metal caught the light differently than the lacquered veneers and gilded flourishes worn by others, swallowing warmth rather than reflecting it. This, unlike most of the others made like stage costumes, was clearly forged and entirely real.

“Not all masks come to revel,” he murmured. “Some come to witness. Others to herald.”

His bells gave the faintest answering chime as he shifted his weight, studying the figure’s measured path.

“The Court may delight in violence,” he added lightly, “but it rarely invites it so plainly. Perhaps this iron maiden is the one to watch as the night plays out.”

And then, with a Clap, the music severed mid-phrase. The shift in tone cut through the room like a blade drawn clean.

Ruffano turned at once, attention sharpened rather than startled. The declaration, the announcement, the boldness of it - his posture straightened instinctively.

Ah. Now this was theater!

He watched on, his tail inadvertently wagging, as the Baroness took the floor, listening as she claimed the room with song. The melody rose, somber and deliberate, then layered itself into something swelling and intricate. His head tilted, bells stirring faintly as appreciation flickered openly across the gold-leafed grin of his mask.

The unveiling of silk and wire drew a low breath from him, not of horror, but admiration. The mechanics mattered less than the commitment. She had chosen spectacle and chosen it without hesitation.

The first flutter of butterflies broke from her form in a spill of color.

Ruffano smiled.

Audacious.

Brilliant.

Then came the wasps.

His smile stilled.

Then roaches struck the marble like scattered embers.

The bells went quiet.

The air thickened, buzzing no longer ornamental but invasive. Fleas erupted in a fine, writhing haze. A beetle struck the shoulder of a noblewoman nearby; a glass shattered; laughter twisted into shrieks.

The Noble Fool squared himself to the action as he simply watched the crowd.

Outrage flared in some faces as they twitched and flailed as the fleas began to feast. Calculation sharpened in others as they too took in the performance's aftermath. A few simply stood frozen in disbelief as insects ricocheted off of them. More were already edging toward exits with delicate urgency.

He had seen this turn before. The moment spectacle crossed into defiance. He remembered another hall. Another night. The intoxicating certainty that boldness could not be punished if it was brilliant enough.

He remembered how wrong that had been.

The Ministry did not argue with spectacle. It absorbed it. Then it erased it.

Apricity laughed in the center of her storm, radiant and unmasked.

Ruffano felt the admiration drain into something quieter. Not judgment, but recognition.

A single measured step brought him half a pace back, nearer the steady reassurance of a columned wall. The movement was subtle enough to read as adjustment rather than retreat.

A butterfly brushed his sleeve. He flicked it away with precise disdain.

His head inclined slightly toward Nutty, voice pitched low enough not to carry beyond her porcelain calm.

“It seems,” he said dryly, “we may have been watching the wrong mask.”

Another scream rose as something crawled where it ought not.

Ruffano’s gaze tracked the iron visage of the Silent Harbinger once more, not in panic, but in quiet recalculation.

The Court of Chaos had convened indeed, and someone had just volunteered to be its lesson.

@Paphnutia "Nutty" Gowdie

 

[Jill (The Beast)]

"My dear-" Jean-Pascal started, holding her more firmly. "You needn't apologize. The vapors, that's a serious condition. We simply must get you sat down, right away."

He started to lead her away from the dance floor, but then there was a commotion as the music stopped. Some beast, a very large beast, Jean-Pascal noted, deciding to make an announcement.

"Well now... this is quite the spectacle." He noted, impressed at first. Though, this quickly turned to horror as released a swarm of bugs... into HIS mansion?!

"What fresh hell is this?!" Jean-Pascal exclaimed in dismay as multiple guests fled for the front door. "The party, it is getting ruined!"

One of the masked partygoers, a weasel from the looks of it, tried the door, only to find it locked. "The door, it's locked! You, servant! Unlock this door at once! What is the meaning of this?!"

The servant, a hare with an uninterested look in his eyes, turned to face the masked weasel. Producing a knife, he plunged it into the chest of the weasel. The weasel stumbled back, gasping, while more partygoers screamed out in terror and fled back to the ballroom, stalked by multiple armed servants.

"Ladies, and gentlebeasts!" The fox in the moon mask spoke up, Alkamarian accent thick, and heavy. "Please, no one try and leave. The doors, they are... ehh... locked."

His companions, rat in Square Mask and stoat in Triangle Mask, joined his side. "I did not want to have to do this so early into our festivities, but we are looking for our gracious host, Jean-Pascal Galopin. Does anybeast wish to come forward and admit they are he?"

Silence filled the room. Well, mostly silence and the buzzing of the insects. Moon Mask snapped his fingers, and one of the servants opened a window just enough, hoping the bugs would leave that way.

"Going once." Moon Mask said. "Going twice. I should inform you, Monsieur Galopin, we've already wounded, and quite possibly killed, one of your guests. I won't hesitate to kill more until you reveal yourself.

"Alkamarian assassins." Jean-Pascal Galopin whispered to Mileya. "They have come for m- I mean Mr. Galopin. My dear, you must find a way to escape and alert the Fogeys. It seems the servants have been bought off, so they will be of no help-"

"Alright, Monsieur Galopin. You can choose not to come out. I can choose who dies next." Moon Mask turned their attention to Apricity, pulling out a hand crossbow and aiming it at her. "How about the beast who RUINED my perfectly planned assassination?"

Time seemed to slow down as Moon Mask's finger pulled down on the trigger. Suddenly, the Beast in the Iron Mask burst out from the crowd, dashing across the ballroom floor and tackling Moon Mask to the ground. Moon Mask's shot missed Apricity, an arrow lodging into the throat of an unfortunate pine marten jill who had been standing behind her, the lady crumpling to the ground dead.

Beast landed atop Moon Mask and clobbered his face with their fists, nearly knocking his disguise aside, but was forced to jump away as Square and Triangle lunged at them with knives. Moon stood up, dusting himself off. "Ah, The Beast in the Iron Mask. How nice of you to join us. Though... I was under the impression that you were to be on our side. Don't you want to destroy the elites who so brutally oppress your fellow common beast? I thought you wanted to be a vigilante, a great hero of justice!”

Beast raised up their fists, bandages now adorning their paws, following recent advice from Sean.

"Ah, so you have not made up your mind just yet. A shame we have to kill you before we get any use out of you." Moon Mask snapped his fingers, and Square and Triangle advanced with their knives.

Beast showed no hesitation. Bouncing back and forth on their feet, they ducked the first swing from Square, punching him in the jaw and delivering a roundhouse kick to Triangle, sending them both stumbling back.

"Ugh, you bumbling fools! Find Monsieur Galopin. I'll handle the jill." Moon Mask sneered. "That's right, Jill, our informant told us everything about you. Including a fun little tidbit about how you refuse to wield a blade."

Moon Mask produced a glimmering rapier and pointed it at Beast. Beast stepped back.

"Your information is wrong," Beast said with their strained voice, and with a flourish of their cape, revealed a sheath attached to their belt, pulling out a rapier of their own- with their left paw. "I may not wield a blade to kill, but I will defend myself. As well as disarm you."

"My, My, Jill, you really are full of surprises. Let's see if you are any good with the blade then, oui?"

Moon Mask lunged forward, and his blade clashed with Beast's own, beginning the dance of death. The assassin and the vigilante traded blows, stepping back and forth as if they were waltzing with one another. The band, for whatever ansinine reason, deduced that now was the appropriate time to strike up the music once more, their tune falling in time with the ryhtmatic clanging of steel against steel. All the while, Square Mask and Triangle Mask were harassing partygoers, yanking away costumes and disguises to try to find Jean-Pascal Galopin. The servants, turncoats through and through, were armed and prevented anyone from trying to escape.

 

[Paphnutia "Nutty" Gowdie]

Nutty stepped back from the chaos that erupted from the undressing of the Shrouded Lady, her mask doing a fair job at muting their alarm at this development. "Court of Chaos indeed," she murmured, looking about to assess the scene. "But this isn't the Revelry; where is..."

A beast was stabbed by the door, and a hostage situation was declared. Nutty simply sighed.

"Ah. There's the Revelry."

~~~

Aramaeus jumped in alarm at the explosion of things that crept, crawled, flew, and stung from the femme's dress. He started in alarm, first at the swarm unleashed, then at her stomach. He was no medical beast, but he was fairly certain based on a cursory examination that she was quite thoroughly pregnant. He was less certain on the second point, but still concerned for having so many aggravated insects trapped so close to her skin for so long. His extremely rudimentary understanding of the condition of impending maternity suggested that there were many, many things in this world that were hazardous to the development of fetal life, and he would, if pressed, have placed most of the insects she had just unveiled within that category.

He had no time at all to consider the proposition being laid before him when he was rescued by the much more ready distraction of a public murder. Aramaeus gladly turned his attention to this new threat, letting the impending risk of losing his life distract him from the extremely complicated scenario surrounding the prospect of losing something else entirely. As demands for the host were made, Aramaeus's mind spun; then a thought popped into his head.

"If I may, sir," he suggested, stepping forward to address one of the group of assassins, "perhaps I can help. You see, our host is a male fox, as I'm sure you're aware. As such, there is no reason to harm or hold the femmes in the room, nor the assorted mustelids and other species. I am certain you are aware that a negotiation for safe passage will arise when the Fogeys come to investigate the screams and shouts, and your position will look far more sympathetic if you release the femmes in advance, as a show of your goodwill. After all," he added in an attempt to appear cultured, "you can't be playing into the stereotype of Alkamarians as uncultured, murderous, barbaric brutes, now can you?"

~~~

Mileya's paw tightened on what she was now certain was the host's. Her voice was low and quiet as she spoke to him, urgency in her tone. "Hush. I have an idea, but I need to know in order to pull this off: do you speak courtly Alkamarian?" Her eyes watched the assassins intently, trying to assess how they would react to her ploy.

~~~

Pierre Armand du Morande stood at a window in an apartment under renovation opposite the mansion, spyglass raised to his eye, and frowned. He could see a flurry of movement inside the ballroom, but it looked far too chaotic for the plan to be going, well, according to plan. It looked like there was a scuffle of some kind, and...

Merde.

He recognized the masked beast that had locked blades with one of his operatives. He'd assumed, based on the risk-adverse nature of Jill, that she would steer far away from anything so bold as a masquerade. Attempting an assassination at such, well... He certainly knew how much effort that took, given the weeks he'd spent to plan this operation. Now, it seemed, this whole operation was falling apart. No one had escaped yet or sounded the alarm, but the operation had been balanced on the edge of a knife even in the planning stage, and now it was wobbling dangerously.

Peter started packing up the surveillance equipment he'd brought with him, stowing it away. The operatives, like all those working for the Directorate, had sworn to die before being captured, but the risk always remained of one of them folding and giving up his name. He needed to move quickly if he was to set up his backup plan.

 

[Hashwin 'Hazie' Freemont]

Earlier that evening…

The sommelier was just adding the finishing touch - a thin, artfully curled slice of lemon - to his latest creation. The stoat smiled, though he knew his guests would hardly live much longer after sampling his work. A refreshing, sweet cocktail, inspired by the glamorous fool catching eyes in the ballroom.

“Oi.”

The sommelier frowned, annoyed at the intrusion. It was one of the doorbeasts, a sniveling rat with reddened, allergy-inflicted eyes. The stoat instinctively held a protective gloved paw over the drinks in case the intruder sneezed.

“What is it? Time already?”

The doorbeast shook his head. “Jus’ lettin’ ya know. We know ‘oo the bee is.”

“And? We know he isn’t Galopin, isn’t that enough?” The sommelier replied impatiently.

The rat shook his head, and gave the stoat a chipped-tooth grin. He held up the pawkerchief the sparkling insect had left him with earlier, the letters HF boldly embroidered across it in gold thread.

“Figgered out ‘ow many tall mustelids wiv a title got these initials. Would be a shame if mistah ’Ero of the Imperium got any ‘eroic ideas and spoilt the game, wouldn’t ya say?”

The sommelier pursed his lips. “Ah. You know, our pantries don’t carry a whole lot of poisons, actually. At least nothing that won’t severely discolour his drink.”

The rat’s grin grew wider. “’Alf this lot came ‘ere tonight to overdose on somethin’ or other. I’m sure you got plenny o’ that.”

The stoat finally returned a thin smirk. “Enough to put down a wolf.”

~~~​

Somewhere far away, a young stoat lad jerked up in his hammock, seeing nothing of the dim gun deck, hearing nothing of the groaning wooden beams, feeling nothing of the sway of the sea. He was trembling, fur matting with cold sweat, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“It is happenin’ again…” he whispered. His body began to convulse.

~~~​

Hazie felt himself being swept into a dream. Madame Black Fortress gripped him, commanded him, stole the whole room. Then Hazie was back in the jungle for a moment, vision blurred by the whizzing of tiny insects, his ears pounding with panicked screams. He giggled. Friends for now, snacks for later!

Madame Black Fortress’ rotten coverings oozed away, and a beautiful pine marten jill took her place. She was ungainly in shape, but entrancing in movement. She was wrapped in a cloth sunset. She was a whirling rainbow. She was completely mad. Hazie wanted her to do it all over again and again. That moment had been too extraordinary just to witness it once, and there’d probably be a No Bugs Rule at the next party.

Hazie’s dreamworld suddenly swirled into something more resembling a nightmare. He squinted through the increasingly annoying brightness of the room (who turned up the candles?) as guests panicked, and a fight broke out. A fight between Moon Mask and… Iron Mask! The beast from the Docks, Hazie was sure!

“Fancy that...” Hazie burbled. What was this feeling in him? Memories of sweltering nights in the jungle were resurfacing, the times he had sought the only escape he could find from that sweaty, stinking hell, lying out in the open with insects crawling over his body, staring giggling at the constellations and trying to catch shooting stars in his paws, cuddling and crying on the shoulders of mercenaries and camp-followers…

“Ah. Bees Knees with a medicinal twist…” Hazie murmured. He’d been drugged. Really drugged. It was like an old friend coming back to sock him in the jaw for old time’s sake. He swayed on his footpaws. He really ought to do something... maybe beasts were dying for real. Sunfur was stepping away from him, towards the demons.

“Sunfuuur… noooo…!” Hazie wailed, a paw outstretched, grabbing at the blurring yellow angel’s brush, but Sunfur was already too far away.

Hazie was reeling. Were they actually under attack, or was he having a bad trip? Apricity… he needed to defend Apricity. And also show her a good time, she’d been so gracious and passionate with him. The band was still playing. They were playing something energetic and fast! Hazie liked that.

Pulling Apricity close against his body, Hazie began to sway.

“Are you one for Cahntinental dances, Baroness?” Hazie drawled, a confident rumble in his throat. “This one’s quick, but if you managed with c-aww-ckroaches on your face last time, I can’t wait to see what you can do now!”

And as Hazie took Apricity through the first gliding steps, narrowly avoiding Triangle Mask’s knife, he began to sing.

“Somehow I’m not surprised we should meet like this,
Trading blows with our foes, the mood’s hit-or-miss,
I feel numb when it comes to a murder spree,
So let’s talk ‘bout me and you, Apricity!”

The two of them effortlessly swam through the crowd, twisting past the assassins, ducking the thrown objects, and stepping gracefully over collapsed guests weeping on the ground.

“You’ve got a noble name, you’re playing our league,
You’re a pro, you should know, the game of intrigue,
Make a scene, crown the queen, be a front-page hit,
Veil down and mask up, you’re gonna look legit!”

Hazie swept Apricity low, as a murderous servant grabbed a decorative sword off a wall-mounted coat of arms, and swung at them wildly. Hazie spun Apricity around, grabbing a silver serving-tray off a nearby table, and using it as a makeshift buckler to knock the blade aside. The servant parried, and lunged forward. Hazie dodged a getting his throat cut, and instead the blade lodged itself in the wires that made up his wings. He spun again with his partner, whipping the sword out of the servants paw. The next thing he found on the table was a bottle of Magh Sauvignon 1746. The subtle oaky flavour that counterbalanced its fruity characteristics was lost on the servant, as the bottle crashed into his face and sent him to the floor in a crumpled, bleeding heap.

“You’ve played your first cards, think I’ll join in your game,
Not the scion, but a lion, so they claim,
Got charms to open arms, but nobeast knows me,
Crawled from the heart of darkness to bourgeoisie!”

Hazie pulled the sword out of his wing, and the pair of them lunged forward then back in perfect synchronicity, the blade’s point thrust out at Triangle Mask.

“Let’s come to an arrangement, ‘til the dénoûment,
A dalliance of an alliance, least ‘til dawn,
I’ll attack, watch my back, it’s easy with two,
Stick with me, and I could be quite good for you!”

Hazie and Apricity. The two were as one, and deadlier than both parts of the whole.

~~~​

The quivering stoat lad had started to foam at the mouth. Just as suddenly as his seizure had begun, he then fell back limp into the hammock like a marionette with cut strings. He dreamed of being hunted through a mansion, which turned into an opera house, which turned into a dark corridor choking him with smoke. He would wake up hours later, gasping for breath, blanket wrapped tight around his neck.