"Once we were a thousand separate kingdoms, spread over a hundred magic worlds. We were kings and cobblers. Wizards or woodcarvers. We had our sinners, our saints, and our blatant social climbers. And from our grandest lord to the lowliest peasant girl, we were, for the most part, strangers one to another. It took an invasion to unite us. Beyond the farthest shores of Never, the Adversary lived in a remote kingdom, ignored by other powers as his strength and ambitions grew over the long centuries."

"Some say he was a mere woodland sprite, while others claim he was once a god thrown down from the vast heavens when his corruptions had become too great for his lofty brethren to tolerate. Whatever his true origins, he grew into a dark thing of infinite hunger. And after he'd conquered his own lands, putting each of its former kings to the sword, he turned his unquenchable appetites in our direction."

"When the emerald kingdom fell we tisk-tisked and tut-tutted in our homes sad for the fates of those unfortunate souls, but we weren't tempted to intervene. After all, they were always odd folks, and ever so far away. It wasn't our business. Then the kingdom of the great lion fell, and again we did nothing, because we always found the old lion to be too pompous and holier-than-thou for our tastes. And one by one, our scattered lands fell under the Adversary's dominion, swallowed up into his ever growing empire. Had we banded together early, we might have been able to stop him. By the time we realized that he wasn't merely interested in conquering that land, or those people, that he was coming after all of us, it was too late. He'd grown too powerful."

"Many of us didn't have the chance to run. Some of us survived. Too few. Alone, or in small groups, over the span of many years, of lifetimes, we hid and ran and avoided capture. We lived as outlaws and phantoms. Until we could make our way here, to this dreary mundane place: The one world the Adversary seemed to take no interest in. And here, united by our common enemy, we learned to set aside old grudges. We forgave our many grievances, to make covenant with each other. And now, predator and prey, prince and pauper, we are all of a single community allied in our undying memory of the Homelands, and the unshakable determination that one day we will return to win those lands free of the hated one. Ladies and gentlemen, lift your glasses and join me, please, in the drinking this toast. To the Homelands!"

"Elsewhere throughout the city, tonight, in private homes and treasured public places and in the upstate homes, where our more inhuman members dwell other glasses are raised, by those who couldn't be with us here tonight but are still citizens of Fabletown, and are equally determined never to forget."

The warm, calming voice of a older gentleman filled the extravagant hall, drowning out the silent mummers and shuffling of the other occupants of the room. The origin of the voice was a jolly looking fellow who stood behind a podium that overlooked the mingling crowd. His kind eyes looked over the guests as they applauded the speech he had just finished given, just as they did every year when he gave it, all the way back years upon years ago when he first gave it. For the grey haired, slightly heavy set gentleman was no other than King Cole himself, the very same King Cole who had served as the mayor of the secret community of Fabletown ever since its founding centuries ago. And it was this community that he had the fortune of overseeing this night of their most cherished event Remembrance Day, the day they honored what was lost during the tragic events that lead to the abandoning of their lands.

The evening was in full swing. Men fitted in their finest suits danced with woman dressed so elegantly they look as if they stepped out of a fairytale, which they might as well have. The band played a lively tune, allowing those who wished to dance if they wished to. Servers made their way through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne and appetizers to the guests. The feel of the whole event was simply thrilling, this undoubtedly being the largest social gathering all year. There were smiles and conversations between friends, dances and whispers exchanged between lovers, laughs and cheers over old exploits. All of which only served to add to the joyous feel in the air.

--------------------

"Why do I keep coming to this thing? Same speech every year, same crowd, and same damn lousy music." A lanky, dark haired fellow muttered under his breath as he scanned over the other mingling guests from his spot next to a buffet table covered in little finger foods. He looked less than enthused to be present at this event, the bored look read clear on his pale face. This also reflected on his attire, where's the other gentlemen looked as if they put fine care into their appearance this fellow seemed as if he just rolled out of bed. The jacket he wore was a size too big for him, his pants wrinkled beyond belief, his shoes duller than dirt, and his tie loosely hung around his neck, it was a miracle that his clothes even matched in their black color. The man looked over his shoulder before reaching into his coat and pulling out silver flask, a skull engraved to its side. If anyone could manage to get a whiff of the flask's contents they would immediately be able to tell that it was a very strong whiskey. He took a swig of the flask, closing his eyes to savor the burn, before he stashed it back into his coat. "Okay Boogie, lets see if you can make it through another one of these parties."

"A rousing speech, my lord," stated a man positioned to the back of the rather large crowd that had assembled to hear Cole speak. Wearing a finely knitted suit -who's golden hue contrasted his darker complexion- stood none other than Prince Leon, joining in the round of applause as a pleasant smile spread across his visage. This moment was a bittersweet for the man, marking a new beginning for so many of his kin and himself, but a remembrance of the cost... For a moment, his mind was swept back to the day he and his wife were supposed to flee, only to have the Adversary's forces raid their kingdom and take the life of his beloved. This darker moment was quickly swept aside however, as one of the party goers cast a cheerful smile and wave in his direction. Offering the same courtesies, he'd make his way off the dance floor and off to buffet table- his eyes taking stock of the plentiful feast their host had provided.

Leon couldn't help but smirk, he did after all help furnish tonight's events, if only by providing the King choice cuts and ample meats to sustain the guests. Owning his own butcher shop was a relatively lucrative buisness, dealing with both mundies and fables alike to bolster his sales and sustain the life he was used to living. Some would say he was pampered, but he maintained that it was the proper standard for his station.

After his few moments of daydreaming, Leon would step beyond the foods, making his way to the selection of wines and other refreshments that had been provided for tonight's event. It was then that the man caught a very familiar scent, his eyes glancing back and forth as if searching for something. It wasn't long before the source of the smell was found, eyeing over the fable known as Boogie. As he watched the man stow a flask beneath his jacket, Leon merely rolled his eyes as he lifted a glass of wine from the table before him, "You are aware that his majesty has provided sustenance for this evening, Boogie, are you not?" Drawing the same glass to his lips, he'd retrieve another from the table as he turned to the man to whom he spoke, "Or are you just used to isolating yourself. This is a time for merriment," Leon spoke as he extended the extra glass to the man, "Mingle with the masses. This is a celebration of our new lease on life." If the glass was recieved, Leon would depart from Boogie, if not he'd set the glass by the man's side and do the same.

Being no stranger to these gatherings, Leon would place himself at the whim of the crowd, kissing the hands of whatever maidens approached him and offering the male's a firm handshake in greetings. Once again memories would flood his mind, though of a much simpler time. He remembered his own kingdom's ballroom and the banquets they contained, the laughter of the lords and ladies of his realm echoing within the walls and off the marble spires. To be back in his element after so long... This felt like home to Leon.

Standing off near the drinks table, holding a bowl of wine, was the long bearded and suited figure of Guan Yu. He had worn his finest suit for the occasion, as befitting such a momentous day in their history, and his jade cane was held firmly in his other hand. Though the revelry and joy surrounding him warmed his heart, his mind wandered back to his home of China. How he yearned to return! But alas, a figure of his importance would be recognized. No one could forget their Celestial Emperor, after all. Above all, he missed his sworn brothers. Neither Xuande nor Yide had reached a status beyond ancestral memory. How was it that he, Yunchang, could surpass them? Once again, the thoughts had clouded his mind, and once again, he banished them.

It was appropriate that he was here. He had arranged for fine wines to be imported from China simply for his consumption, but others were partaking as well. It brought joy to Yunchang's heart that he had aided them so. This was why he also ran his life insurance company. The loss of family was always tough, and he was always on hand to ensure that the dead were sorted properly in the afterlife, and that their families did not have to suffer. Except for that pesky Mister Grey...

He pushed the thought from his mind and filled his tiny bowl with another helping of wine. The revelry pleased him, for joy experienced by others was joy experienced by Guan Yu. There was no dishonour here, nothing for him to enforce, he was simply content to watch. He tapped his cane idly and drank down his second bowl of wine, a droplet escaping into his magnificent beard, but he ignored it. Indeed, a fine evening. Unless Mister Grey came along... he pushed the thought from his mind again. Dorian Grey would not cause him trouble this fine eve. Yunchang would not permit it.

In the northeast corner of the room, surrounding a tasteful ice sculpture of one Ichabod Crane in a rare moment of dignity, a small crowd had gathered. Not one of them shared a history, but amongst all of them a deep kinship was felt. These were the Fables best known for their scholarly duties.

Wizards, warlocks, sages, mages, witches, and liches of all sorts generally congregated in groups, for a wide variety of reasons. In some cases, it's because the only thing a witch can understand and empathize with is another witch. In others, it's because witches are naturally obligated to start bloody conflicts with other witches. In a rare few cases, it's because these witches have something they need from one another. Regardless of the reason, there was a war of many-colored and many-shaped witches huddled around one another, with little care for each other's personal space. As is the case with many magic-users' meetings, things remained amicable but with very noticeable overtones of impending violence. At the present, they were boasting about their experiences.

Abdul Alhazred was, contrary to popular opinion, not one to flip over tables and shower the room in hellfire at the slightest hint of competition. Nonetheless, he happily kept the same tone of voice the rest of the witches, who were the kind of people to do just that. His voice was cheerful and gentle, but, as was uniform amongst magic-users, held Implications. Right now, it was Abdul's turn to speak.

Abdul had been talking about the myriad minor gods, daemons, spirits, and deluded mortal creatures he had consulted over the course of his travels. Creatures of the night were, strangely enough, quite talkative if properly libated, and could act as a bottomless font of eldritch lore.

"--and I'll be honest, it was the best pilaf I've ever tasted!" Abdul said, wiping a stray fleck of dust off his shabby woollen jumper. "Yaldabaoth is quite a useful fellow, once you got used to him!"

This set off a wave of hawkish chattering amongst the attending witches and wizards. A small amount of them had convened with the Squamous God Yaldabaoth, Lowborn King of Scaled Vermin, Banner-Carrier of the Black Century, and often found their interactions to be pleasant, if somewhat tense.

The conversation briefly diverted onto the topic of how best to prepare pilaf. Many of the witches present had come from The Rus, and were eager to have their voices heard. The air around the impromptu coven stank of ozone as the witches amicably bickered and spat with one another. The sight of a crowd of witches arguing, much like a raging hurricane, can only be seen in its true horror a ways away from its center. At the center of it all was Abdul, smiling toothlessly and pleasantly presenting his own ideas on how best to prepare pilaf. Yaldabaoth and plenty others had given him a bottomless index of recipes borne from man's deepest dreams, and he was happy to share them!

In a silent solitude, Dorian Grey lamented the events that had occurred after the Adversary. After all it led to the Mob taking control when the Aristocrats needed to hold the reigns more than ever. It deprived him of what he had laying around in his coffers, and the ability to roam around in a bohemian lifestyle he found so amusing.

So of course, Mister Grey was in the proper attire for mourning as any true Victorian Aristocrat would be. For Dorian had truly lost much. Namely he lost a dear relative, one of his first cousins Darren Grey. Of course, it was complete nonsense. Dorian needed a bit more funding to maintain his lavish celebrations, as his coinpurse was drying up. So it was a good thing his cousin Darren obtained a nice life insurance policy from Celestial Life Insurance Pty Ltd.

And so due to the 'death' of his first cousin, Dorian Grey was in his proper mourning attire, the well kept silk suit made of the darkest threads, alongside his light undershirt and cream colored gloves. He always was impressed how the dark went well with his own angelic features, and provided a suitable contrast.

But even with his own mourning, he had a pleasant demeanor about him, much like the violet perfume which lingered upon him. After all he was a Victorian Gentleman receiving hospitality. And this small soirée was filled with peasants who would be looking up to proper aristocrats, in order to perform a vain mimicry in order to try to fit in.

Well, at least the band could keep a tempo for a band. With that Dorian scanned the room for ladies who were being wallflowers and did not have a dance partner. As a gentleman he would be obliged to pick one of them, and more importantly it struck Dorian's fancy to do that.

But currently, Mister Grey felt the need for a drink. With an elegant stride, Dorian maneuvered through the room with the utmost grace. And as he approached the selection of drinks he saw a most amusing site.

Oh the Orient with the ill kept beard, was there holding a bowl. Of course Mister Grey had to chat with him and more importantly irk him in some manner or another. The thought tickled his fancy, as Yu provided to be a most entertaining benefactor. His serious mind was always good for a laugh.

Dorian Grey approached Guan Yu, with a joyful smile plastered on his face. "Oh my dear fellow, fancy seeing you here." Noting the bowl in his hands, he felt a small ribbing was in order. "I was unaware that you were serving at this event. How quaint. Hm, I suppose next is to inquire upon the contents of the bowl, if it is drink or feast."

"Mister Yu, I fancy a Mai Tai."

And there was Dorian Grey. Yunchang was annoyed by this turn of events, but he suppressed it in favour of his normal diplomatic tone.

"Mister Grey!" he boomed. "I am sorry to hear of the death of your dear first cousin. Losing family is always hard, and if you require assistance in these times my company is willing to accommodate!"

The opposite could not be more true. This man, this... hedonist had been screwing Celestial Life Insurance Pty Ltd out of money constantly. Under a string of assumed names he had defrauded the company that Yunchang had formed to aid those in need. Relative after relative, all identical. But he had never been able to prove it.

"And should your intentions be less than benevolent," Guan Yu said, his tone much quieter now, almost conspiratorial even though he still wore the smile of seeing a friend, "I will find out, as promised. Then all of your contacts and associates will not save you when you learn what my title truly means. Are we clear?"

Oh bother, it appeared that Guan Yu didn't bite on the jest he had laid before him. No he went back to that trite dialogue again. It was as if Guan Yu wasn't honored to be chosen as the provider of Dorian's patronage. Dorian noticed how the situation always turned out to Guan Yu doing that speech about judgement and intentions. Living for one's pleasures was the most honorable and benevolent intention one could exist for.

His boyish lips curled into a frown. "Yes, his unfortunate demise weighs heavily upon my chest." With a sniffle, Dorian glanced upwards as he pinched at the bridge of his nose. Dorian fought to keep some tears from staining his cheeks as he mourned his imaginary cousin. Breathing in and out, he began to regain composure.

Dorian returned his glance to Guan Yu, "I humbly ask for you to forgive such a scene. I know my cousin would not wish to see me with such a melancholic mindset, and to keep a stiff upper lip. For now, such a further discussion on the matter would not be fitting at such a setting. So, what do you think of this little soirée?"

The bathroom door slammed open, and out stepped a somewhat damp Mr. Black, face neutral and expressionless, lipstick clumsily smeared across his mouth. He pressed the earpiece that he wore, "This is Mr. Black. I have successfully infiltrated the Remembrance Day event. Native population does not suspect a thing. Commencing mingling."

He walked to the central table and crammed an hors d'oeuvre into his mouth. He chewed exactly ten times and swallowed, the appetizer tasting no better or worse than dust upon his palate. "Mm. Very good.", he said loudly, but without any inflection, "Whoever has made this hors d'oeuvre is an extremely good cook. Yes. Who has prepared these hors d'ouvres. I must speak to them and compliment them on such wonderful hors d'ouvres. If only they would come and greet me so that I could compliment them on these hors d'ouvres."

Mr. Black looked around slowly. Anyone? No, nobody had taken the bait and claimed the hors d'ouvres as theirs. He shuffled somewhat further down the table, and repeated the process, this time with a slice of ham. Once again, Mr. Black raised his voice. "Mm. Very good. Whoever has made this meat is an extremely good cook. Yes. Who has prepared this meat. I must speak to them and compliment them on such wonderful meats. If only they would come and greet me so that I could compliment them on this meat."

Having mingled with the socialites and other fables that adorned the ballroom, Leon began to feel the social fatigue set in as he made his way free from the masses back to the refreshments table. Although there were plenty of familiar fables here, most of which he had at least a friendly acquaintance with, Leon couldn't help but notice a few who seemed to have intentionally isolated themselves. 'First Boogie, and now Yu and Darren are at it again... I pray that they won't cause too much of a hassle here. Many fables need this time for closure or hope of better times,' Leon's thoughts caused the man to shake his head, his mane of dreadlocks softly shifting about his visage with his subtle movement. All the same, his attention turned back onto the more festive crowd with a warm smile.

It was then that he overheard someone remarking- albeit too loudly- about the offering of food stuffs for tonight's event. You know the stories about Lion's and their prides, so it was all too natural for Leon to adorn a rather prideful visage as he rounded to see who had spoken. When his eyes settled on the form of Mr. Black, his face took on a slight frown. This rather obscure fable had a habit for being reclusive and mysterious, seeming to be more of an enigma then anything worthwhile. Still, he had paid Leon a compliment, even if it was done so indirectly.

"Yes, Lord Cole requisitioned a rather ample display. I saw to it that he needs where met, and more so. You'll notice a few more rare procurements; Zebra, Elephant, and Dragon. Just to name a few," As Leon now positioned himself beside the dark dressed man, he'd glance over his fellow fable curiously, "Mr. Black was it? How are you enjoying tonight's activities?"

"It is truly a noble thing, to remember our homes." Indeed, Yunchang's mind had wandered once more to the glorious nation of China, and to his brothers. Refraining from melancholy, he dragged his attention back to the pest before him. Guan Yu idly wondered if Dorian Grey was simply the reincarnation of Cao Cao or Lu Meng, put in this town just to torment him.

"To forget our origins is to forget our identity," he added, another careful jibe at the man who was cheating him, the man who had one-up on the Celestial Emperor. One day, he would catch the fiend in the act, and then all the fake names would not hide him from the wrath of Guan Yu. He rested his cane against the table, carefully, where none could steal it, while he filled the small bowl in his hand with more Chinese wine. "And we must never forget our identity. Wouldn't you agree, Mister Grey?"

"It is certainly the affair of this Ball is it not?" Dorian mused aloud. "Paradoxically, while we remember our origins, the town was founded on forgetting it." Mister Grey gave a small smile, "That was the purpose of that document, to forget our identities of what we were. And to focus on the here and now." Dorian Grey boyish lips curled into a smile, before he emitted a small chuckle. "It seems some have to be reminded on that focus." Of course in the back of his mind, that thought went back to the surface. That painting made by his friend Basil all those years ago. Dorian had far more important matters to dwell on, such as messing with Yu.

Dorian raised an eyebrow as he observed Guan Yu partaking in a drink from the bowl. "Hm, my dear fellow I swore that, when I was coming by here there were a multitude of glasses available. Pray thee, if I may inquire why do you drink from a bowl?" Casually Dorian leaned his head to his left side as he poked at his own cheek. "It is a strange sight, to see such a thing being done. Wouldn't you agree?"

Mister Grey leaned over towards the side as he searched for a proper Champagne flute to obtain some alcoholic beverage with. After all, it was his reason in coming over here. While Yunchang was the reason why he was staying. For at the moment, the man continued to provide him with amusement. And Mister Grey, would get satisfaction.

"Oh, the festivities are wonderful. I am enjoying this immensely.", Mr. Black said unconvincingly. Mr. Black was not enjoying this immensely. Mr. Black did not enjoy anything immensely. Mr. Black's level of enjoyment never went above very mild amusement, which in itself was very rare. Mr. Black did not tell people this. He scanned the table, and sure enough there were platters of immensely-gamey zebra meat, tough-as-leather elephant, and then another platter of what he could only assume was dragon, though Mr. Black could not read the label from where he was standing. Mr. Black looked back to Leon.

"You are a smuggler, then.", Mr. Black said, "It must be very lucrative. Tell me, is this African or Indian elephant that you have here."

"Smuggler? Of course not. I am merely a purveyor; who specializes in ensuring his patrons have their needs well met, and more," Leon did his best to hide the subtle tinge of agitation that flickered within his voice as he spoke, "Though I must say business is as lucrative as ever recently. Did you perhaps have a want to get into the market yourself? I could arrange for you to speak with a few of my contacts. It'd provide a nice change of scenery I'd imagine, but perhaps you prefer snooping around and making yourself somewhat of an enigma?" Leon could only offer a condescending smirk as the final words escaped his lips. He didn't know Black well enough to say whether his remark would offend or humor, frankly unsure of how he meant the phrase himself. Still, he couldn't help but take a subtle offense by Black inquiry into the affairs of his business. He had a hard enough time merely collecting the resources for tonight's event, now having to justify the spread to a fable he hardly even knew.

"As for your enjoyment; perhaps you should mingle with Grey and Guan," Motioning over to the rather out of place dispute as he retrieved a plate from the table, loading up the vessel with samples of his own wares, "Seems they are a lively duo this evening. Might provide for a bit of sport. Or perhaps you'd rather brood in a corner with Boogie?"

Mr. Black stiffly placed a hand on Leon's shoulder, "Oh, it is okay to be honest about it, nobody's going to arrest you for taking part in a little smuggling. After all, we're all fictional here. Ha. Ha.", Mr. Black drew his arm back, "Yes, if you could give me the contact information for your-", Mr. Black made air quotes, "-associates, that would be extremely helpful. Thank you."

Mr. Black paused as he processed this information. Mr. Black looked at Leon. Greasy dreadlocks. Relatively light facial hair. Yellow eyes. Likely of African descent. Identifying scars over left eye, left cheek, right side of nose. Did not appear to be ritual scarring. Skin tone did not match Yoruba or Maasai peoples, dreadlocks likely did not have cultural significance. No visible identifying marks from known criminal syndicates. Likely hailed from northern African or American country. Hint of an English accent pointed towards Africa. Obviously somewhat wealthy, but likely newly wealthy given apparent extravagance, egotism, and lack of taste. Aversion to direct confrontation, but also a desire to show off. Mr. Black did not know of anyone with these characteristics on Interpol's wanted list. All signs pointed to a man who had recently made it in the underworld, a small fry riding high on his success. Perhaps a name would help.

"By the way, I do not think we have met previously. Are you new here."

The speech was inspiring and beautiful as it was every year since the first time it had been spoken till this very day. Most probably knew it by heart by now but it just wasn't quite the same if not spoken by King Cole himself. Soon the party was in full swing, music filling the room as many people started to dance while others decided to converse on stories past. A gentle voice hummed with the music, feet gracefully dancing around guests as she made her way through the crowd with one destination in mind and only waving now and then to thoses that acknowledged her presence. Bianca happily made her way over to the refreshments, noticing Guan Yu and Dorian Grey at it once again which caused an amused smile to pull at her lips as she took a glass of champagne from the table. She glanced down the refreshments table, trying to spot other familiar faces which hadn't taken long at all. Boogie was being anti-social, looking as though he might leave at any moment and at another part of the table Leon seemed to be chatting with...um...Black was it? She didn't see that one very much but than again, it seemed as if Black preferred it that way since Black seemed so mysterious. Her bright green eyes glanced back at the party, glad to see everyone enjoying themselves and took a sip from her glass before tucking a piece of pale green hair behind her ear. It didn't matter to her if she was a wallflower or keeping away from the crowd of people since it was a delightful view just to watch the others.

The generally-accepted term for a grouping of witches is referred to as, contrary to the populace's belief that beings of immense magical power enjoy each other's company, a conflict. True to the implications of this name, this conflict of witches was brewing up a tempest in a teapot.

Conflicts generally don't reveal themselves in their immediate area. Previously, an analogy was drawn to the eye of a hurricane, and it still remains appropriate. Witches are notorious for their ability to effect calamities, but their effective range is inversely proportionate to the number of witches in their conflict. In most cases, the best power-to-range ratio for a conflict is three, hence the widespread fables of the three-witch coven and the ever-present Rule of Three. Right now, this conflict had nine witches in it. The room--except for a small portion of land approximately two yards of the conflict, taking into account ambient temperature changes and other environmental conditions--teemed with raw magic, the old kind of magic that people like to spell with 'y's and 'k's. Much like a riptide waiting just below the surface of a beautiful lagoon, it was wholly imperceptible beyond inflicting a general sense of foreboding that tickled the hindbrain like a thread of gossamer on the wind.

---

Abdul cheerily argued with the rest of the conflict. He didn't understand a word they were saying, and neither did they, but that wasn't the point of arguing. If you didn't ignore your partner, why bother starting an argument with them? Though each witch maintained a cheerful smile and a pleasant demeanor, determining their actual mood would be impossible to anyone but a veteran witch. Prohibited from demonstrating their powers by those few people strong enough to stop them, witches promptly shifted their focus to a new target: their opponents' social standing. Bitter rumors and hissed conversations would follow this party for years to come, and would shape the state of Floor Thirteen forever.

Abdul was a champion conversation-haver, and could soundly argue with the conflict without even paying attention. It's easy to infuriate a witch, and Abdul knew exactly how to do it and, most importantly, survive. Bored already with the ever-changing realpolitik of witchcraft, Abdul let his eyes wander.

The room was smattered with people of marginal interest. Fine young men and women, each with their own stories that were of no consequence for Abdul. He'd be glad to hold a conversation with them, but unless they had any business to conduct, he wouldn't have much else to do with them. None of these people looked like fans of any of his works, much less capable of holding a conversation on the merits and personalities of the Ousted Beings of the Ninth Plane.

However, one being stood out in particular. Events like these held dozens of Glamored monsters. Trolls, ghouls, ghuls, and demons of all sorts. Most of them were either antisocial thugs or genuinely regretful people. This person, however... This shabby-looking fellow in the middle of a formal event. This man who brings his own alcohol to a party that includes a complimentary bar. This Boogeyman...

He was also an antisocial thug. As a matter of fact, he was probably the worst possible example of a Fabletownie in this room. However, Abdul very dimly recognized him.

Abdul was, despite his haggard appearance, quite astute for his time. A Glamor can cover up a lot of someone's true form, but it can't cover up anything. Their smell, the way they hold themselves, their eyes, all of them can be handily cross-referenced to the original. Abdul had been around for quite a long time, and knew quite a number of the world's spooks and monsters. The Boogeyman was no exception.

---

Grinning widely and toothlessly, Abdul broke away from the conflict and made his way over to Boogie. Old people have an amazing knack for crossing areas without actually moving into them, and the sight of Abdul inexplicably appearing next to Boogie would boggle the mind of anyone not familiar with this principle. Abdul placed a shaky claw on Boogie's shoulder, looked him straight in the eye, and cackled breathlessly.

"Hoi, I know you!" wheezed Abdul, a mad glint shining in his eyes. "How've you been, Bogey? You look like you've let yerself go!"

"Oh you know me Leo, I'm not much one for parties... well unless they have a lot more screaming involved." Boogie said jokingly to the use to be lion prince that seemed to have taken offence to his sticking to the background of the festivities. He took the glass that was offered to him and gave Leon a slight nod before the former feline went off to find more interesting company. Boogie looked down at the drink in his hand before a small sneer formed on his lips. "How people drink this is beyond me.." He mumbled before placing the glass back onto the table, earning a stare or two from some of the other partygoers. "Wonder if I can sneak out of here, maybe head back to Rumors." He contemplated aloud as he found himself a spot on the wall, still next to the refreshments table, to lean against.

Boogie had just reached into his jacket to retrieve his flask again when he felt a boney hand clasp onto his shoulder. Looking down over to his side he was met with the sight of the near toothless grin of none other than the author of the Necronomicon himself, Abdul Alhazred. The once monster let a chuckle escape him after hearing the elderly man's statement about his appearance. "Yeah I have done something new with my hair. Oh and I have given this whole having skin thing a try. I have to admit it is kind of over rated." Boogie jested as he looked down at the withered old man. He couldn't help but remember what Abdul once wrote about him in one of his many books about the creatures that wander the lands. Something along the lines of a monster that spreads terror where ever it treads, quite flattering if you ask Boogie.

"And yet here we stand, Mister Grey, in contradiction and conflict. An interesting battle." These polite barbs bored Guan Yu so. He was a warrior. THE warrior. And yet here was the man cheating him out of life insurance by pretending to be descendent after descendent after descendent. At times like this, he even wished for Zhuge Liang to appear, to manipulate the man into making a mistate for Yunchang seemed incapable of doing it himself.

As for the wine, well, it was the traditional manner of consuming wine back in China. He had never quite adjusted to this new way of drinking it from tiny glasses with only a minimum amount of consumption permitted. It was only a small bowl, though, not like one that "True, drinking wine from a bowl is almost as strange a sight as a string of relatives who appear completely identical, wouldn't you say?"

Dorian Grey gave another light beaming smile to Guan Yu. "It is a fascinating thing is it not?" These polite barbs were the essence of a true Victorian Duel. After all, he was Dorian Grey, a true Victorian Aristocrat, and this match was amusing him. However, as he made his comment he noticed two things. One, that a lady went to the refreshment stands herself. That, was unacceptable! As a Victorian Gentleman he would have to fix up that mistake, and find the gentleman who sat next to her and so rudely didn't inquire what the lady wanted to get and bring it to her.

But Guan Yu had made his remark, and he could not inquire upon the damsel until he had finished his conversation and politely left. "Well Mister Yu, it would be strange if relatives did not look similar. But I digress." Dorian Grey gave a small bow towards Guan Yu, "While I have enjoyed our conversation, I am not at the liberty to keep up conversations solely with you. Though I assure you, we shall chat again soon. With that, I bid you fair well." Dorian Grey gave a wave to Guan Yu before turning on his heels and exiting the room.

As a true gentleman, Mister Grey knew that it would be most befitting if he were to find the hostess of this little event, so she could do a proper greeting, introducing the two together. After all, that was the proper role of the hostess. However, this issue was an urgent one, and he could not find such a hostess. As long as the orient remained at the table, and did not know about proper Victorian values, he would be able to get away with this little diversion from how things should be. Or more to the point, that any other proper Fables saw what he was doing. Oh well, he supposed it had to be done.

Dorian Grey deftly maneuvered through the various individuals gathered for the party, and made his way to Bianca who was away from the crowd. "Excuse me." Mister Grey chirped up, "When I was engaged in a bit of chatter with the dear fellow with the beard, I noticed that you happened to retrieve a drink. Of course I would've offered to do fetch such a drink, but it would have been rude if I left my conversation with him in the middle of it. But still I humbly apologize for that. But I must inquire, was there any gentleman sitting next to you who didn't offer to fetch you what you desired? It would be a rather curious case if not, and let me assure you that such cases shouldn't happen often."

"Oh, yes. If I may inquire, what is your name?"

Bianca's attention was caught away from the sea of people as heard a masculine voice asked to be exused, in which she though she might have been in the way as she turned to face them. She was in fact pleasantly startled that her being in the way was not the reason for the gentleman's conversation with her but in fact over the simple manner of retrieving her own refreshment. She smiled softly, actually touched that he was apologizing for finishing a rather amusing conversation instead of retrieving something that she had not minded doing herself. Once he was done speaking, she carefully placed her glass down before giving a small curtsey and returning to her original position before speaking.

"Please, there is no need to apologize for finishing a conversation for it would have been quite rude to leave in the middle of one. Though it may very well be surprising,no gentlemen had been nearby at the time for many are preoccupied with their own lovely dates and I am sure attending to them. I am not one to mind doing things for myself and would have felt a bother to force such a request upon another."

"My name is Biancabella,though most call me Bianca. It is a pleasure to meet you but may I inquire as to your name?" Bianca asked.