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Masque Prep Fanfic: Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian

Almost from the moment the rumor began of an Official Consort to the Dauphin Mont Nuit had been aflame with questions. Supposedly said potential Consort was a close friend of hers, therefore to gossiping minds Rosanna just had to know all the details of how and why and when this affair had begun. Not  that Rosanna would ever tell, of course. But with the future King choosing to shy away from the biggest party of the year, well the queries had started to arrive in more and more imaginative forms. 

“A donation to the construction of a new shrine?” Rosanna rolled her eyes and continued to look over the collection of masks laid out for her inspection. 

“So they say,” her Second replied with a shrug. Tryphosa made a note of who sent that letter and went back to sorting the growing stack of correspondence. “As though we need a new one. Besides, where would we put it? And in return for information on Lady Dahlia’s particular favorite gifts?”

“They are desperate to ingratiate themselves to her inner circle, if the rumors are true. As though I would give them anything.” She examined a mask covered in peacock feathers. “Besides, it’s more fun to watch them wriggle and guess.” 

“Are you sure Mandrake didn’t bid for your marque?”

“Not at all. I just like the games of court and Odilia is giving them the spectator sport of their lives. A member of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers maybe becoming Royal Consort? And not a Cereus? It’s a scandal and I love a good scandal.” No, that mask wouldn’t do, she returned it to the pile and continued looking through the choices. One caught her eye, it was made up entirely of the most delicate, silver chains she had ever seen. silver chain masqueIt took both hands to hold it up properly, the metal glittering in the candlelight. Oh yes.

“Do you think he’ll be a good king?” Tryphosa leaned back on the settee, a lock of platinum hair falling becomingly across her face. Rosanna looked at her over her shoulder, studying her friend and Second. “What with his brother passing away so unexpectedly, the whole country turned on its head for months in mourning and gossip.”  

“I admit I wasn’t ready when I had to take up being Dowayne,” she replied and held up the mask to her face. Even if her costume had been complete for some time she had yet to find just the right mask to complete her disguise. It all felt rather like a metaphor to life in court – any court. “My predecessor did leave quite suddenly, I thought I had more time to prepare for this. I imagine it was similar for him, on a far greater scale mind you.”

“But your family is, well,” Tryphosa waved her hand looking for just the right word to describe Rosanna’s huge family. 

“Overbearing?”

“Rich is more what I was going for. Well connected is polite. They expected you to make Dowayne one day, so did you and never hid it.”

“True,” Rosanna gave a laugh. “But an assertive Valerian? It sounds like an oxymoron doesn’t it? But as the youngest in a brood I never wanted to end up in my siblings’ collective shadows, so I do not think I can be blamed for pushing ahead. No matter how impromptu my promotion came.”

“Maybe the Dauphin is like that too. He’s so sweet, from what I’ve heard, perhaps people underestimate him. Does your friend hint at any of that?”

“If I am not going to hand over pillow talk to a high paying patron why would I give it to you?”

Tryphosa threw a pillow and Rosanna just barely ducked in time. 

“Resorting to violence? Now who belongs in Mandrake?” 

To be completely honest the girlish play was soothing. Rosanna did know quite a lot, enough to worry her over just what sort of traps the court was placing for her friend and the Dahlia’s golden prince. Being born into the nobility herself, she knew just how vicious the landed class could be. But she had faith in the Precept, which she held steadfast in her heart, and that Blessed Elua would be watching over them all on this holy night. Such devoted thoughts were cut short by the touch of a flesh and blood hand on her shoulder, and Rosanna pulled herself together. 

“Oh hush,” Tryphosa grinned despite not getting the gossip she desired. “Are you done picking your mask? We have a ball to get to.” 

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Petrea nó Cereus

spools of thread and sewing scissorsPetrea nó Cereus stood in front of the full length mirror as an adept of Eglantine House busied himself around her with fabric and bric-a-brac, sketching and stitching the beginnings of her costume for this year’s Midwinter Masque.  She frowned at the mirror, unhappy with her reflection.  She was getting on in the years, the beauty of her youth seeming to fade faster and faster every day.  But wasn’t that almost the point of Cereus House – for one’s beauty to fade?  How was that supposed to be something to be admired?   Petrea sighed.  How had she ever risen to Second of the most glorious and noble House of the Night Court with thoughts like that?

Outside the room, Petrea could hear adepts gossiping in low tones.  Of course, no one could stop talking about the affair between the Dauphin and Odilia nó Dahlia, and certainly not in the Night Court.  The mood in Cereus House seemed to be one of the biggest topics of discussion and whether or not the Prince choosing a Dahlia was seen as a slight to the oldest and most noble House.  Petrea shook her head and absently stroked the Eglantine adept’s head.  Did people really think that the Prince had purposely fallen in love with Odilia out of spite?  The social politics of the Night Court – and noble Court, for that matter – drove her practically to madness at times.  But gossip as thou wilt was practically a second tenet of the City, so she could not ignore it, lest she look foolish to her patrons and bring dishonor to her House.  

Turning her thoughts back to the grand plans for the Masque, Petrea reminded herself to make sure her private invitations had been delivered.  The position of Second did allow her certain privileges and she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of them when it suited her.  It had been a difficult year and she planned to enjoy every moment of the Longest Night.

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

This year’s charity: Human Rights Campaign

We are proud to announce that the 2021 Masque will be raising funds to support the Human Rights Campaign (HRC).

A national organization fighting for the civil rights of the LGBTQ community, HRC works tirelessly to bring about change that will ensure than lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people are recognized as equals in all aspects of their lives.

hrc logoThe Mission Statement of the organization, from its website is as follows:

The Human Rights Campaign and the Human Rights Campaign Foundation together serve as America’s largest civil rights organization working to achieve LGBTQ equality. By inspiring and engaging individuals and communities, HRC strives to end discrimination against LGBTQ people and realize a world that achieves fundamental fairness and equality for all.

The Human Rights Campaign envisions a world where lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer people are ensured equality and embraced as full members of society at home, at work and in every community.

 

Proceeds from our event will be donated to HRC, as we strive to contribute to a society where all can love as they wilt.

Summer Ticket Sale!

Get $15 off your Masque* tickets with our special coupon code.

From the June 21, 2020 (summer solstice) to September 22, 2020 (autumnal equinox) enter the code SUMMER at check to receive your discount!

Buy tickets for The Longest Night Midwinter Masque

*discount only applies to Saturday night Masque Ball tickets, not valid on tickets to other weekend events.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Aliksandria nó Cereus

“I am Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House.”  I repeated this to myself again.

I looked around the hall at the members of the City Judiciary. The magistrate, the leaders of the trade guilds, and representatives of the nobility. I had been Dowayne for five years, and I still felt I was play acting at leadership. I could list the reasons I had been chosen to this role, the steps of the ladder I had climbed to reach this seat and, yet, I felt an imposter still. I feared I would always feel this way.

My predecessor had warned me about this part of the job. He had told me that the Night Court’s seat on the Judiciary was always in jeopardy and that the guild leaders would look for any way to oust us. He had also told me that this had been the way of it for hundreds of years, and that they have never succeeded. But I don’t think he could have prepared me for this.

The guild leaders had spent the bulk of this session railing about how the Night Court held unfair advantage by holding both the seat in the Judiciary and our seat on the Council of Religious Orders. In truth, it was a tired argument that I had heard since I was Dowayne’s Second, and had been old even then. They then shifted their argument to one of undue influence, again an oft used argument due to our history of giving counsel to members of the nobility, including house royal. This argument was, however, made more poignant due to the Dauphin’s current tryst with Odilia.

“We, the leaders of the trade guilds, put forth that while one or the other advantage might be overlooked, the occurrence of both cannot,” stated the leader of the silversmiths guild, a Monsieur Jacques Halceaux. “The trade guilds put forth that the Night Court must cease to give counsel and succor to the Scions of House Courcel, specifically and most urgently, ending the affair of the Dauphin and the adept of Dahlia House.”

The magistrate weighted the words carefully before turning to me:  “How does the representative from the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers respond?”

I took a deep breath.

“I am Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House,” I reminded myself.

“The Night Court is not in the practice of refusing to conduct business with members of noble houses so long as guild law is enforced and heresy does not occur. Furthermore, while I am a representative of the Night Court in this Judiciary, I am not its de facto leader and cannot dictate to other Dowaynes. As to the relationship between Odilia nó Dahlia and the Dauphin Gustav de la Courcel, it is not within the Night Court’s purview to sanction or forbid this union, as her marque has been made and he has reached his majority.”

This appeared to be the response Monseiur Halceaux had hoped for, as a triumphant smile flashed across his face. “If that is the Night Court’s response, than we put forth that its seat on the Judiciary is forfeit.”

The Magistrate raised his hand, “The leader of the silversmith’s guild is reminded that such an action would require a discretionary period and a vote by two thirds of the members of this body.” He then turned to me, “My Lady Dowayne, I recommend you bring this issue to your fellow Dowaynes and discuss amongst your guild how you wish to proceed. We await your final word on the matter when we reconvene after the Longest Night.”

The Longest Night.

scrollwork

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Eirini nó Gentian

“Stay still, Corinne,” Eirini nó Gentian tried to sound firm even through her smile as the young adept squirmed with excitement, “If I stab you with this hair pin, guess whose fault it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Corinne tried to sit still, “It’s just….my first Midwinter Masque!  Eirini, I’m so excited!”

“I know,” the Dowayne said with a patient smile, remembering how excited she had been for her first Masque years ago.  She secured the last part of the intricate hairstyle and shooed the girl away, “Go find Eva for final checks.”

The adept curtsied and left, closing the door to the Dowayne’s apartments silently behind her.  Finally alone, finally with the time to prepare herself, Eirini nó Gentian sat behind her desk, poured herself a cup of tea, and took a moment to breathe.  The awareness of the breath was the first thing Gentians learned upon arriving in the House, for it was the foundation of life and the basis for all meditation and trance-work.  She breathed, in and out, and it was only too easy to close her eyes and sink into the meditative state she had been resisting all day.  It was Midwinter, the shortest day of the year and the longest night.  It was a tipping point between dark and light, winter into spring, night into day.  It was a sacred and magical day.  And there was much riding on this day and the Masque this night.  

Eirini had heard the news, heard the gossip in her dreams and in the salon as well. The young Dauphin, the new Crown Prince Gustav de la Courcel, would be standing Cassiel’s Vigil tonight, not attending any of the fetes throughout the city, not in the Royal Palace and not in Cereus House.  But lest his absence be considered an insult or offence, he had chosen a representative to send in his place.  His Official Companion would be attending the fete at the Palace, playing nice with the court and courtiers.  But to the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, the Dauphin had chosen to send a Dahlia. A deliberate slight?  An innocent action?  After the unrest and the loss that had gripped the nation at the beginning of the year and changed everything, there was too much riding on this night to risk entering Cereus House unprepared.  

So Eirini reached for her deck.  Six cards, arranged around the teapot still steaming on her desk.  Six cards, turned over one at a time.  Six cards, each whispering in her mind, trying to give their wisdom and warnings.  The spread had become a vine, a single stalk with two unfurling branches, a single momentous choice with two potentials revealed.

Tarot Card Spread

The Wheel of Fortune and the Fool warned the Gentian about grand changes, changes that the country may not be fully prepared for.  The right branch spiralled from the Lovers reversed into the upright Seven of Cups.  Shallow intimacy and lack of deep and true connection that would lead to dreams impossible to achieve and a time of stagnation for Terre d’Ange. The left branch rose from the Fool, through the upright Two of Cups to end at the Devil reversed.  Connection and communication and community would bring freedom and a Terre d’Ange in control of their own fate.  

Eirini sat back in her chair.  She reached for a flask from one of her desk drawers and spiked her tea.  She would need it.  

“Joie to us all,” she muttered.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Odilia nó Dahlia

This begins our fanfic series of our roleplaying characters preparing for the Masque.  Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

~

“What are you afraid of?”

“What am I not afraid of?”

“Odilia.”

Odilia nó Dahlia turned from her vanity, turning from her reflection to look at the Dowayne standing behind her, “Jocaste, everything has changed. How am I supposed to do this? This wasn’t what I expected.”

“Odilia nó Dahlia,” Jocaste said, her silver and black hair gleaming in the lamplight, “You have done so well. You have brought pride and honour to this House. You have supplanted the Cereus as the rulers of the Night Court and you did it because of what you are. What are you, Odilia?”

“A Dahlia.”

“And our words?”

“Upright and Unbending.”

“You will do this. It’s just one more impossible thing and I have watched you eat the impossible for breakfast. There is a reason I chose you for my Second and it is because no matter your parentage, you were born to be here.” The Dowayne drew herself up to her full height and said, “You will enter that Masquerade at my side with your head held high because that is where you belong. And you will continue to do us proud. You charmed a prince, you can charm a ballroom just as easily. Now, set your hair, paint your face, and dress in your costume. It is the Longest Night Midwinter Masque and Dahlia will represent.”

The Dowayne closed the door to the Second’s apartments firmly behind her, already speaking to Aurelie waiting in the hall. Odilia exhaled and turned back in her chair to face herself in her mirror. Who was she fooling? She was as common as they come. Born to a jeweller off Rue Courcel, from a mother who was a painter. An artisan family. Dahlia had found her and raised her up to be a queen of her own little court, proud and fearless, confident in her power. But no matter all of that, her peasant heart still beat with common blood. And somehow she was supposed to be fit for a prince? The Crown Prince, no less.

She covered her face with her hands and dared to wish that he hadn’t come to her. She had been happy as the Second, content to lead the House and ready herself to move up to the Dowayne position when it was time. She was happy to give back to the House and the family that had educated her and trained her and shaped her to be part of a grand legacy of courtesans in Terre d’Ange. And then he had come. And he had chosen her. And he had been young and still learning himself and she had listened and given advice and he had followed it and he kept coming back and she had teased him; people will say we’re in love, and he had turned red and she had seen it in his eyes. And he had set the fashion, more nobles and courtiers were coming to Dahlia, coming to see what courtesan could have turned the prince’s head from mourning his older brother, coming to look at her and gossip about her.

She had heard the whispers. Heard the speculation. She knew there were bets on whether he would ask her to be his Official Consort, whether she would survive court, whether she would crack under the pressure. And then he had asked her to represent him, asked her to attend the Masque with his voice, in his place, and she had felt fear. What was she afraid of? She was at the edge of a precipice, staring into the unknown, terrified to take that step because what if she fell?

Then again, what if she flew? And those gossip-mongers, those blue-blooded nobles, those who were waiting for her to fall and fail, they didn’t know her. They didn’t know that the best way to get Odilia nó Dahlia to do something was to tell her she couldn’t.

She took a deep breath and picked up her dahlia necklace. How better to remind everyone at the Masque who she was than by wearing her flower with pride? She was Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, favoured by the Crown Prince Gustav de la Courcel. And her Dowayne, Jocaste nó Dahlia was right. She ate impossible for breakfast. She held her head high and clipped the necklace around her throat.

Odilia's necklace