all_inclusive | Gathering: Masquerade Ball

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Gathering: Masquerade Ball

A large sign placed prominently in the Nexus lobby reads:

The Nexus Hotel
proudly presents the
MARDI GRAS MASQUERADE BALL

Event Location
Nexus Dining Hall
8 PM - 2 AM

Masquerade dress recommended, but not required for all guests

The Dining Hall's central table and chairs had been removed to create a dance floor wide enough to accommodate fanciful masquerade costumes. On one end had been placed a long bar providing free drinks, and on the other a small chamber orchestra providing the music for dancing. The entire room was bedecked in gold bunting and twinkling candlelight, and masks were available for those guests who hadn't brought their own.

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"They seem to've taken the idea of masques pretty literally," Porthos confirms, a little wryly, but he isn't bothered. He's found one that matches his cloak, so he is in fact a happy Musketeer.

"Yes, it does seem to be a rather fitting name for the event," Athos says, trying not to think about the masques he had attended in his younger days, when he had been a Comte with a future. Even those years, those happy years with Anne, he had not realized that she had been wearing a mask the whole time. He's come to loathe them, now, and is unsettled, somewhat, to see so many around him.

"I'm only here for more wine," he confesses, "before I mean to depart again."

"To your room, or back to Paris?" Porthos asks conversationally, and reaches for a nearby bottle to pour himself more wine, after he is done with his glass. Athos had mentioned coming and going as he pleases, after all, and Porthos is never sure whether he's around or not, but they run into each other often enough.

He really misses Aramis, though.

"In this particular case, back to my room," he answers, given that if he returns to Paris, there will be the inconvenient aspect in which he will be expected to report for duty. While working with a hangover is nothing new to Athos, it's still something he would prefer to avoid. "I find four bottles of wine do the trick nicely in sliding one day into the next. The beds here aid in that."

"I think I'm getting used to them," Porthos confesses. They're nothing like those at the garrison, and he isn't sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. They're comfortable, of course, but getting used to them means that his return to the garrison will feel very uncomfortable. "Come, let's claim a table and drink together," he adds, fully intending to take the bottle of wine in his hand with them. That way, Athos can keep his own.

In this, Porthos has the good sense to appeal to both of Athos' favourite things -- solitude and alcohol. He acquiesces with a nod of his head and wanders over towards the first table he sees, avoiding several dancers in the meantime. He dislikes the airs of the party, so reminded of the ones when he was a Comte and it sets him to scowling even further, if such a thing is possible.

"You shouldn't allow me to keep you from enjoying yourself," he says. "Dancing?" he points out.

"This will come as a shock," Porthos predicts, only half joking, "but I actually happen to enjoy your company, Athos." He didn't just stick with him for the crazy adventures. He leans back in his chair and takes a very healthy drink from his glass. "Besides, that's hardly my kind of dancing."

Athos smiles, though it would take the right lighting and the right look to see it, but it's there. "I never said that my company wasn't suitable, only that I'm hardly going to dance with you or offer the entertainment that others might." His is more a quiet enjoyment, though he hardly finds he minds.

"And what is your sort of dancing, then?"

"The drunken sort," Porthos answers without missing a beat, baring his teeth in an amused grin. And the 17th century sort, of course, but he wouldn't think of it that way. Grab a woman by the waist and take a few joyous spins around a tavern; that's the sum total of what he knows about dancing.

The image is an amusing one to Athos' mind and he ducks his head down to think of such an image, though he feels he might have seen such a thing in the past, but his drunken state had made him forget it. "Well, while I am oft drunk, I can assure you I have never once danced in such a state. Far more maudlin than giddy," he dryly enunciates.

"I never noticed," Porthos assures him in as close to a deadpan as he can manage; he can never pull that tone off as well as Athos, and wouldn't care to try, anyway.

Athos does not laugh, but he turns a look on Porthos that might contain a hint of joie in the curve of his lips. "Does that mean I'm not being as subtle as I had hoped," he wryly remarks, because it's not as if he cares. He signals a passing waiter, grabbing food for Porthos as if to prove his worth, and sets the plates before them.

Porthos raises his glass to Athos's words, eyes glinting with good humour, and takes a very healthy drink of wine. The arrival of food, of course, is met with a happy grin, and he reaches for what looks like a chicken leg, but ends up tasting entirely different. The food here keeps surprising him, but not unpleasantly so. "I still can't believe you've been visiting this place for so long and never told us of it."

Of course he can; he doubts they would have believed him.

Athos gives Porthos a doubting look. "Would you have believed me?" he points out. "I believe you might have ridiculed me behind my back, thinking that I had begun to drunk far too much for my own good." And given that he already saw their disapproving looks, he can only imagine what that might have been like.

Porthos takes the bulk of the food, but Athos is happy to pick at small pieces of bread to soak up the wine. "Besides, it's not only this place. I have also seen many an other world."

"Walking through more doors, yeah?" Porthos figures. Unless Athos means when the drink brings him to them in his dreams, which is always a possibility.

He allows a nod. "At times, the door I use to access Paris often changes itself on me," he explains. "Las Vegas, or a land with an immense number of small, screaming children." Athos had taken particular grievance against that one both for the noise and the assaulting reminders of the life he had not managed to have.

"A land full of children?" Porthos echoes, eyebrows raised. He doesn't know this 'Las Vegas' place either, but it sounds like something in Spain, possibly. In the current political climate, he's not sure it's the best place for them to be. (Which makes it, potentially, a very interesting place to be.)

"The man I found there explained that it was a park of amusements for children named Disneyland," he says, but the way he speaks it is as if Athos had witnessed a battle there that still scars him as he thinks of those awful, childish screams. "I assure you, you do not wish to go there. The other, however, I will endeavour to never let you go," Athos remarks.

"It is a city of gambling and vice," he says, giving Porthos a pointed look. "And you do not have the money for either."

Porthos is about to answer on the subject of that 'Disneyland' when Athos keeps on talking, and then he hastily swallows the new bite of chicken he's just had and protests, "You don't need much money if luck's on your side!"

The look that Athos levels at Porthos is one of disbelief and questioning whether Porthos is really without that much sense to question such a thing. "I've seen your version of luck," he informs him. "And Las Vegas is equipped with security members with pistols and very little patience for kings up anyone's sleeve."

"Sometimes, luck just needs a little nudging," Porthos replies, sounding absolutely unconcerned at the thought of security members, or their pistols. It'll be just like fleecing some Red Guards.

Athos is hardly as impressed with Porthos as the man surely wants him to be. "You realize all your nudged luck often involved someone following after you to ensure you weren't arrested, or worse?" he points out, feeling inclined to remind him of such things.

"And how d'you reckon I survived all these years before I ran into you?" Porthos retorts, not about to put off his food - or his inclination to gamble - with his money and, let's face it, his life. It is where the thrill lies, after all, and it's not as if he lectures Athos on his drinking ways. To each their own habits.

"And yet the guilt will not go away if you were to get in trouble," Athos points out, knowing that Porthos can take care of himself, but that he shouldn't have to. "I only worry because there have been times that you had quite a close call," and if Porthos investigates these words, he will see the worry in them.

Porthos does sense how serious Athos is right now, and he's not honestly sure what to do with that. Laughing it off seems inappropriate, but Athos doesn't usually say those things. He's stopped with another bite of chicken halfway to his mouth, and he shrugs, but holds his friend's gaze. "Close calls are part and parcel of a Musketeer's life."

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