"Please, don't stop on my account, I'm in no rush."

Rapidly, the dual existence of the feline and the evident sailor shimmied further and further from the pirouetting duo. Parlé hurriedly transformed their jitter into a maddening triple time, not like the sluggish second act of the 1786 opera, Una Cosa Rara, by Martini the Spaniard, but more flattering of a Viennese exasperating pace. This was again a test, a physical exercise to unearth the familiar one. He needed to know whether the woman across from him, attended such frequented frivolities, indulging in the rambles and raves which haunted the Neath’s upper class. Would she know not to obviously mention the leprous fashion of the Pharaonic, in contempt of the Second City? Especially in the company of Mr. Wines, or for that matter, any another Master? Or was her knowledge, on the polar spectrum, ever and far reaching into even that of the elusive royal family and beyond the speculations of the Traitor Empress’ covenant?

All these thoughts spun in the circus of the accountant’s mind, as the pair swayed and swung in similitude of an anachronistic merry-go-round.

Yet, no one conversed publicly about the fallen capitals that preceded London, except when rummaging as rumors in foisted casinos. The gabby gambler had fastidiously kept tabs on the Bazaar’s historicity, within the tendrils of his labyrinthine connections, through the ensuing decades, ever since the disappearance of his reckless uncle. His mother’s brother had carelessly become obsessed with the legendary bounty of the Vake, after ingesting countless hours of gossip at the Medusa’s Head, savoring and relishing the bagged tales of beasts from drunken, self-purported monster-hunters. The why remained forever, dog-eared as a statistical anomaly in the bettor’s brain as he completed a fourth fleckerl, prompting his female follower to then assert a closed telemark, by adjusting his body ever so slightly to the left of Renée to accommodate a hesitated backing.

He chortled, as she flawlessly kept the rhythm with a reverse heel turn, marginally over 3/8ths, but, all the while, remaining magnificently meticulous. The jiving footsteps of the embraced couplet were poetry, a scrupulous yin to the cryptographer’s extroverted yang. His lips began a separate rhumba, but now in English slant rhyme, as the music garnered another booming encore.

“Death doesn’t differentiate, between the sinners.”

Tick.

“And the saints.”

Tock.

“It rakes. And it quakes. And it takes…” Lub.

“While we laugh.” Dub. “And we roar.” He could easily heed the unheard chime, feeling the throbbing melody within the gripped pulse of his partner.

“But we keep dancing in this war.” The blemished sound of a professor’s throat, awkwardly being cleared, irked into the knitted mob. Alf swiftly squared the Mademoiselle, transitioning suddenly to a chassé, borrowing a ballet maneuver from his French ancestry. The bold move was ostentatiously progressive, beginning with a right step but spinning the woman in a left-turning hook.

“As we all break.” She matched him perfectly, like clock-work, dodging another twosome almost colliding into their rented Gancho.

“For another’s mistakes.”

As the orchestra’s composition began to hollow into a thinning staccato, Freddy whisked the watchmaker into an ornate dip, hovering her from fully betrothing the married floor below, by merely a few inches, with his mildly tremulous arm.

“If there’s a reason I’m still alive, when everyone who’s loved moi has died.” His hands spun his twirling cohort into an impetus before finally stopping. “Then I’m willing to play and raise the stakes.” With the accompanying silence, he bowed, at the belt, before the delightful woman, slowly ascending first with a set of sparkling blue eyes, piercing through a porcelain ruse.

“Merci! Miss, we make a wonderful team.” Ignoring his own puzzling poem, the chancer switched back to the lingua franca.

“Je m’appelle Zorko. Et vous?”

@Lady Selune@Hekazu

Monica offered a brief smile to the man who seemed to have imprinted on her. Well, with the amount of social graces the man exhibited, it was probably for the better for him to be around someone with a more refined social arsenal. Speaking of which, he did suggest that this other Master might be one of those with the poorer social skills for themselves, adding a whisper he perhaps thought she would not notice. She did, but amidst all the music and conversation, there was no way she could make that one out of there. Besides, if he really spoke it out loud, it wouldn't be anything too important. Though he was a man of surprises, especially when it had come to unorthodox decisions in sharing knowledge. It was almost refreshing after all the scheming and plotting of the Game.

"Surely you would not suggest it to be Mr. Iron, would you? Granted, we have not seen them speak, but nor have we seen them write. And would Mr. Iron seek a hookah? No, we must consider someone else. Not Hearts or Cups either, to be sure..." she replied with things she was sure both of them were aware by now. Just the kind of non-participation that made the other side feel themselves smart and speak more of it with their suspicions being seemingly confirmed. Yet without playing a single card of her own. But there was something she might in fact add to the discourse.

"But Arthur, you have seen that apart from arriving at a similar time, they seem to prefer to distance one another, have you not? Mr. Wines even avoids the tables close to them", she suggested something that seemed to hold true. At least until now, the two had avoided any and all interaction they could. But who would it be... The poet twirled her parasol absent mindedly, small ribbons at the tips of the metal frame flipping daintily in the air accompanied by an occasional small jingle from a decorative bell. The stone faces of the constables saw no change, but the occasional glance from under their caps told Lady Monica that her interest had been noted. To her, this was almost an invitation. But surely she would not dare? If masters were behind this, her mask would do nothing. They knew already who she was.

Then it struck her. Of course! The hookah, it was something to do with... Mr. Spices! Naturally! ...maybe. She couldn't still be quite sure. But it seemed much more accurate a guess than any of the other Masters. Chimes? No, no. Or could it still be Apples... no. The more she thought, the more sense Mr. Spices as a possibility began to make. But why? The parasol stopped making its circles with her other hand leaving the handle be to raise to her chin. "I have an idea, Arthur dear. How about you? Penny for your thoughts?" she turned back towards her new acquaintance with the barest hint of a smirk.

@Sofaking Fancy

His eyes needled the other hooded fellow over so. He felt an overwhelming need to identify the man. Was it because he had a woman to impress or was it because he had another valley to stand correct on. There was a hard twist there that settled properly in his middle. So, he turned his attention from the enrapturing maiden and towards the other hooded form.

It was obviously a Master—obviously. Now, which ones weren’t the warmest to Wines? They couldn’t be antagonistic given the fact that the both of them entered at the same time. There was that odd gray area between friendship and hate that they occupied. That should have made it easier, but it did not.

Considering the rumors, it couldn’t be Mister Cups. He wouldn’t distance himself from Wines. Many of the other masters wouldn’t take to a party such as this with Wines. No, they’d rebuke it. Refute it. State that it was not their circle of influence. There were few that would allow for such a thing to happen. Benjamin stroked his chin in thought.

Wines didn’t have many friends or enemies. He was in a gray place. Many endured him, a few didn’t want anything to do with him and even fewer would scoff at a chance to appear at a party with him. So, considering the other hooded person’s reactions. They were quite in the middle of that group. That was quite a few Masters. Benjamin sighed. He sunk back into his mind to come up with a decent response.

He looked over at the Laughing Lady, the dear Isolde. “Mr. Spices,” he said. “He has quite the rivalry with him, but there wouldn’t be another party-going master that would keep him at arm’s length other than Spices.” He cleared his throat. “Or at least that is my assumption.”

Benjamin looked away. “What do you think? As you are probably far more talented at this than I. I’m just guessing off of books.” He wanted to say something else. Maybe invite her to another evening beyond this. But he didn’t quite know how to phrase the sentence.

@Hekazu

From talking and perusing to dancing. Her partner was an interesting fellow, that much was very clear to her. Not the smell of the zee, or the stuffiness of a scholar. Cigar smoke clung to him like lice, and he hid his teeth. A curious figure, even more curious thank to his fending off of whom she was sure was a boatman.

Then, quite curiously, he began to sing. A song of saints and sinners. Of death. Combined with the quicker dancing, it was almost as if this gentleman was trying to throw her off course. But she persevered. Just because she spent her time among city streets rather than parlours didn't mean that she did not know how to dance. Running through crowds and dancing past policemen gave you an agility that would be hard to overcome.

With the dip, and the finale of the song, Bellerose let herself dangle down, toes almost coming off the ground and unceremoniously dropping her down into the floor. "Ah, but I'd be a fool to fall in love with a mask." She let out a lighter laugh and seperated herself, spinning around a little bit and feeling her stomach strain a little to get in the air with the corset wrapped around her. "Ah. Zorko. C’est un plaisir. J'mapelle Ray." A brief little curtsy.

Gideon tapped his fingers in boredom from his position, the conversation with the Cat had stalled, their curiosities satisfied. He really was not well-suited for this kind of business, nor did many of the patrons have more than a material interest in him or passing fancy before turning to more tantalizing prospects. Spiders in their webs, at least those far and away out at Zee he could see plainly.

Finally removing himself from his pillar, he sought out a fresh glass of Greyfields, he would at least partake in their benefactor's generosity before deciding whether or not to leave. This time he seriously took a look around the room as he walked instead of casually, and to his internal surprise, he was shocked to see that not one, but Two Masters had walked in with a small contingent of Constables under his nose . . . though they kept themselves separate as was usually characteristic.

He must not have paid attention to who the Constables were escorting as they walked in, habit for these situations. From having so many run-ins with the Constabulary, Gideon would be surprised if not every other Constable in London knew him by reputation, and often to not even give the chance to recognize him so quickly, he'd make a habit of just acting uninterested and not bother even giving them a glance. While being similarly stone-faced the well-trained ones could recognize miscreants with an interest in them a block away.

But Masters . . . of course, he was foolish to suspect anyone else of organizing such a strange, yet well-stocked event and yet raise no ruckus. He knew for a fact that neither were Mr. Iron, the lack of writing equipment confirmed it, and that it was unlikely that one of them was Mr. Fires, meaning they were not Masters he'd worked with personally. They cut quite a mirror image with the one positively animated by the party, making him guess it was Mr. Wines, while the other sternly held a hookah a clawed hand, feigning aloofness and presenting disinterest as the creature blew smoke out from its hood in a smooth manner. Perhaps Mr. Spices? That would explain why the Master seemed less than enthusiastic to be anywhere near Wines, even if they had to share the same room. But at least now Gideon found someone with a commonality . . . even if it was ironically enough a Master.

The Ruinous Captain made the silent choice to forgo more wine. Best not to make the Master even more pissed if it was Spices and the rumours about it and Wines' feuds were true. Instead, he decided to try a bit more tact, and ordered a decent cigar instead, lighting it up with a match from his pocket, he took up a new post, standing near, but not too close to the hookhah-imbibing Master and his bodyguard of Constables, he didn't want to piss them off anymore than the Master, and in silent solidarity with the creature, enjoyed his smoke as he regarded the rest of the place with general disinterest beneath his mask.

So Arthur thought so too. That made it ever so more likely, for it was not very common for two people who had not been in much together to ignore the same vital thing proving the contrary if there was one to ignore. But it was at the mention of the Master's name that the constable nearest to them perked up to full attention and glared more intently than ever before at the man who had spoken the name out loud. Well, that couldn't be a good thing, could it...? Monica had to admit that she was nervous about this. They had just figured who the Master was, but what good would it do to them-

The hooded figure beckoned them closer. Had her eyes just lied to her? Had there been one too many glass of Greyfields? In the one glass she had had? Yeah, right. She hadn't ingested honey yet either, so... there was no other case than her having seen just that. Surely it would be foolish to refuse a direct invitation from a Master of the Bazaar of all things, and with the glare of the constable smoothing away a bit... no, that had been her imagination. Still just as fierce as ever.

"Well Arthur, we were on the same mark. And I dare say that we hit it", she smiled and tapped the man on the shoulder with her parasol. "Let us accept the invitation. Mayhaps it is the key to finding why this party was called together? Why a group of people, all wearing masks, were called to share a space with not only one, but two of the Masters of the Bazaar? Exciting times for all!" she gushed and began a careful approach.

The poet could not help but note that the scruffy looking sailor gentleman had taken position nearby just as well. Would they be invited as well? Or would the constables see to moving the man away? Perhaps he would simply stand there? Whatever the case, it was not her issue. As she made it to one of the pillows laid on the floor, an orange one, she sat down with two seats between her and the Master. Sitting in this dress was not the easiest thing she had ever done, but she could manage to find a position that did not risk being quite risque. Her ankles were safe.

Who they presumed to be Mr. Spices waited for Arthur to make his decision on approaching or not and if he did choose to sit down among them, wait for that to be done before taking a long huff from the pipe. A long exhale later, a high pitched voice typical of Masters rang out from below the cloak: "Welcome to the masquerade." That was it. Well if that didn't just raise more questions than give answers. Was it expecting the guests to go first?

Benjamin truly needed to learn to either pitch his voice or stop getting overly enthusiastic about relaying information. It was the educator in him. The moment that he discovered something that was previously unknown, he would spark up with the answer. In a situation like this, hushed lips were probably the better protocol. Isolde seemed to be engulfed in the same notions as himself. Yet, when the masked Mr. Spices waved them over, Benjamin froze. He could actually feel his heart take a steely, cold plummet down towards his feet.

“P-probably a little to well?” he got out, adjusting his collar even though it needed no twisting of fixing. What would he do? He’d already proven him to be absolutely filth at maintaining the masquerade-style atmosphere. And here he was getting pulled into the fold of it all. It wasn’t that he’d not spoken to the Masters before, but academia was another topic that wasn’t at all bathed in subterfuge. Isolde’s tap to his shoulder brought him out of thoughts. She stated that they had a perfect way to get to the bottom of this party. Benjamin was interested in finding that answer out, and at the same time he felt his fingers digging into the flats of his palms. Fortunately, he was gloved and wasn’t able to bite at flesh with his nails.

It wasn’t that Isolde had shown a private part of herself earlier, but she did turn on the charm as she made her way to towards Mr. Spices. She was much better at this than he previously thought. Or maybe it was because she moved away from him, and his void of charmless-ness couldn’t suck out all the buoyant energy from her form.

Benjamin swallowed. He could feel the back of his neck getting prickly. Anyone else at this party would kill for the invitation that they had just been given—possibly literally. Of course, they wouldn’t do it in such a setting, too polite for blood and sharp blades that weren’t barbed at the end of tongues. So, he moved forward in measured steps, attempting a flow like Isolde demonstrated. He was quite garbage at it, and probably looked more like a Rubbery Man than an actual human.

He took a seat, taking to one of the more overstuffed blue pillows. Upon sitting, there was much rearranging he had to take to. He crossed his legs at his ankles and pulled his jacket forward to hide the way that his waistcoat and shirt bunched. His fingers then came up and adjusted his mask. Fortunately, he sat close enough that he could make out the master, taking a deep inhale of a hookah. Oh my, it was a rather unfortunate time to mention that he did poorly around smoke. Breathe evenly, Benjamin thought.

Mister Spices welcomed them to the Masquerade and let the flow of words die right then and there. Was that all? Benjamin looked around, exhaled, and thought it polite that he said something. All his noble etiquette was still buried where it needed to be. “Thank you for having me—us,” he said, correcting himself as he wasn’t the only one here. “This party has been very nice. Very enigmatic. Mixed crowd. Interesting patronage.” Benjamin then smiled. Look, if others could be vague—he could also participate in word salad.

@Hekazu

Plaisir…

Were not pleasure and pain an ancient continuum, previously acclaimed by the axiomatic Bentham, spurned by the critical Spinoza and experienced by the dreamy Descartes? Biological connections between neurochemical pathways, caffeinated with psychological plunders, bases its acuity upon nociception, the sensitive and physiological transmission of buried signals from primed organs, for instance, the skin to the roots of a dancer’s spinal cord. These same afferent receptors detect not only a spectrum of burns, tickles or caresses, but even the decadent herald of a Master.

“Welcome to the masquerade.”

Layered, with asymmetry, the drivels of an unexcited limbic system must mandate a discernable code to decipher, lest the burden of an unexpectant stimuli be indifferentiable between reward and punishment. Similar to the mind’s eye lost in the merge of smoke and fire. This no longer faint but beautiful signal interjected amongst the noise within the boisterous shindig, to not accept imitations. That which is empty, whose purpose is to be filled.

Was this belle, the golden wheat among the auburn chaff littering the room of this ball? Does this curtsying rose have thorns?

The gambler desired the unknown professor passing by to glean his now encumbered, but polite English, while simultaneously offering any other hidden eavesdroppers her calculated namesake. “Ray, what a wondrous moniker!” Zorkybksi risked the odds that this coryphée was not simply a planted danseur by the coveted Spices, but he had to be absolutely sure. No more riddles or boogying. A guarenteed bet.

If her past and reasons were fabricated, it would be obviously superficial after a careful, subtle inquisition.

“What brings you to this revelry?”

@Sofaking Fancy@Hekazu@Lady Selune

The Ruinous Captain sighed from his position on the wall near the Master and his Constables, taking a drag out of his cigar and blew the aromatic smoke like the smoke shaft on the Jackdaw into the air above from beneath his mask. As per usual, a Master can often raise more questions than they answer, even if one is lucky or unlucky enough to have business with one of the more "plain-speaking" Masters, as if such terms apply to them.

Regardless, Gideon was running low on patience, and was beginning to get bored with the situation. To hell with protocol, he thought, if he was invited for business, he figured he may as well be direct and their patron wouldn't be offended by such a thing. Worst that would happen is that he'd get tossed out and he'd find his own way back to Wolfstack and The Medusa's Head . . . or he could end up spending the night in the Constabulary, but as much as he had no qualms for giving a Constable or two a what-for, he'd also rather save himself the bruises.

Stepping up and walking a few steps to hang around the sitting guests, some of whom he recognized from earlier as various people of more respectable standing than him, and keeping his eyes on the Constables presiding about, Gideon dispensed with the pleasantries.

"Look 'ere Master, grand as this whole business is, and a real show of your generosity (indicating the cigar), some of us are here for actual business moreso than a social call, if you understand my meaning."

He took a another drag from the cigar and spoke again, the smoke puffing out of his mouth as he did.

"Call me forward if you like, but if you're the one who did the inviting, I wager you know damn well I'm not much of a "masquerade"-goer. So kindly either tell us what you and your . . . peer? (glancing over at the more active Mr. Wines across the room before turning back) Want with us, or kindly allow me to excuse myself, take my leave, and seek other prospects. Because right now I hardly see what any of this lot want with me besides to look down upon as trash in the street."

@Hekazu @Sofaking Fancy

Cassius had spent most of the party by himself, preferring to observe the party goers rather than interact with them unnecessarily. Part of this stemmed from the fact that he was unsuited to these kinds of events, the year that his parent had insisted insisted he take some extra classes, alongside his studies at university, for etiquette and other such matters that'd come in handy in social events such as this masquerade had been the year that he had enlisted and when he had returned...well, he had been more preoccupied with other matters than polishing his social skills. And so Cassius stood by himself in a corner, his face hidden behind a plain white bauta mask, his single remaining eye watching the rest of the invitees to the soiree. There were quite a few individuals that had attracted his attention like the woman in the feline mask toting a parasol and the poor man that she had focused on. He couldn't help but feel some pity for the man, it seemed that, much like Cassius, he was out of his element and the whole situation seemed more like a cat that had caught the proverbial canary rather than the typical interaction one would expect between two individuals invited to such a soiree. "Albeit they have seem to find some common ground" Thought the old veteran, he hadn't heard their conversation so he couldn't help but wonder still what had caused such a commotion around them but he was still somewhat glad that things had calmed down.

Next there seemed to be the gentlemen who spoke french and the lady who had been dancing together, he had admittedly not paid much attention to this pair in comparison to the other one though that was probably more attributed to the fact that this latter pair stood out much less. "Probably because they were dancing, rather than making a commotion. Still, it was obvious that the two were talking, I wonder about what." He thought, tapping his chin in a pensive gesture. The final pair that had caught his attention was that of the cat and the Zee captain, a pair which bizarrely enough seemed to have gone unnoticed but, then again, most people often avoided Cats in London. They were creatures full of secrets, and many helped the Duchess, and as such it was best to avoid them, lest one would like to gamble with their social standing...after all, one never knew when something said within earshot of one of the felines would resurface at a most inopportune moment. Still, the cat had seemed to go away leaving the captain alone but before he could continue his thoughts one of the Masters that had suddenly appeared spoke.

This particular Master, Mr Spices if the avoidance that he showed to Wines -and that Mr. Wines showed in kind- was any indication, welcomed them to the masquerade before falling silent once more, a group of people, most of the individuals that had caught his attention no less, gathering around the hookah where Mr. Spices had settled. In truth the appearance of the Masters, and their cadre of special Constables, hadn't been much of a surprise for Cassius, who had suspected their involvement from the start. Still, it had surprised him somewhat when two Masters had appeared instead of one...which meant that whatever it was that had Mr. Wines and Mr. Spices working together meant that there must be some sort of interest in common despite their mutual dislike for one another. With things seemingly getting in motion with the arrival of the two Masters, Cassius made his way towards the hookah, positioning himself next to the Zee captain and foregoing a seat just like him.

He listened as the man spoke, demanding to know what was the reason for them to be gathered together in such an event or to, at the very least, allow him to leave the premises. He could certainly empathise with the position of the man, he'd rather know the reason to why they were gathered here but he'd also like to be somewhere else than this masquerade. But still, there were opportunities to be had in such situations and the best thing to do would be to endure the tedium of the Game and try and profit as best from the current situation. "I'm not one much to talk in this situations." Started to speak Cassius, not addressing anyone in particular "But, I can't help but agree to what was said before by my fellow invitee." He said as he turned to look at the seated Master "I too would like to know what is the purpose behind this masquerade, if our host would be so gracious as to answer our question that is." Said Cassius, bowing slightly to the figure of the seated Master. Normally he would be more to the point, and if the host behind this gathering was merely another noble he'd be so, but their hosts were two Masters of the Bazaar, and Cassius preferred to be cautious when it came to them and, as such, he was more than willing to give them proper deference and hope that Mr. Spices would be gracious enough to answer their query and not have them thrown out of the party and into a cell.

@Templar Knight@Hekazu

Mr. Spices seemed displeased at the hurry the majority had in hearing the reason for the summons. It shook its head under the cloak and took a huff from the hookah before spreading its arms and speaking up in its high pitched voice: "All this laid out for you, and still you would choose to go right into the matter at hand? Despite all the preparations we have seen?" Part of the colour drained from Lady Monica's face. Had they displeased a Master by being more interested in them than all that they had generously offered? Was it offended? Would it not share the knowledge with them now that-

She wasn't quite done with the panicking by the time Mr. Spices set the mouthpiece of the hookah back into its place and laughed. A Master laughed, pleased at something that the Parasol-toting Poet now began to realise. Offerings were quite largely the style of Mr. Wines. Of course! Spices was only pleased that they had... oh dearie her, she had these brash individuals to thank for handling this situation properly. They had won over the Master for her. She should keep count on these people. Do a good turn for them in return one day, perhaps? Assuming she would ever get to know their actual identities... she reached for one of the other mouthpieces and inhaled some of the smoke herself. The steam was pleasantly sweet tasting, and... oh, one could truly feel the Master's expert touch in this. She hadn't had anything quite this fine since... ah, but that visit to the Labyrinth was a whole another matter. It could wait. The Master was speaking.

"There is a certain individual whom we formerly considered an important agent. We have heard worrying news of their latest activities, and... the varying areas of expertise of the people invited here will prove quite handy in chasing them down. You. You have shown initiative. And your very presence here should tell you that we did not find your skills lacking. Now perhaps you can correct the mistake of... no, let me not get deeper into that", it explained, already quite lengthily. It was not the complete story, but it answered the questions asked from them. The Master took another huff for themselves, waiting to see if the more impatient of the folk were going to make good of their promise to tuck tail and move away, disinterested in the whole ordeal laid before them.

Lady Monica, for one, was one of the last to even consider such a thing! To work directly under a Master's command... it was quite the exciting thought for her to be sure! She had, for the longest time, worked only under those that worked for the Masters, her name having risen in their knowledge, but even then that usually amounted to nothing but Mr. Pages sometimes looking the other way when the Ministry had got their fangs on one of her publications. But now... oh dear, what an opportunity this was! More of the hookah steam was inhaled in celebration, all the while she spun her parasol again, the small ribbons flapping quite happily in the air. She was obviously downright giddy!

@Lady Selune@Sofaking Fancy@Gordian Nought@Templar Knight@Mortarion

The Ruinous Captain silently puffed his cigar as he listened to the Master, his demeanour beneath the mask as cold and indifferent as the frozen north, though he did cast a glance at the one-eyed gentleman who cast his lot in with Gideon's. More used to formalities than he was, yet carrying a grim enough demeanor to indicate that he'd seen things that would make lesser men tremble, probably a soldier or formerly. This pleased Gideon, he'd enlisted his fair share of veterans on several voyages, many came to Wolfstack to drown the horrors of campaigns in the same way many Zailors did for their more unfortunate voyages, and often many found a second calling as officers or crew under private Captains if their pensions proved inadequate or they grew tired of sitting in London. Many had seen Hell after all, quite literally, ones who had come back relatively sane and mostly whole were a commodity for people like Gideon.

But the Jackdaw was out of commission for the time being, and Gideon simply kept his thoughts to himself as first the former soldier, then Mr. Spices himself spoke inbetween partaking in his hookah and got to the meat of the situation. He took mild amusement from how their talk had made some of the more elevated persons in their gathering nervous of the Master's reaction, but he knew better than to let that show on his face.

They wanted a certain person found who was formerly their agent. Obviously the agent was of such character that for whatever reason the Masters couldn't just use their influence on the Constables or any of the handful of private investigators known in London to find them, then again maybe they simply hadn't bothered and wanted to make an amusing game out of this whole business? Such behaviour wasn't above the Masters, what with people guessing at their schemes.

Regardless, now the situation was a bit more clear. This wouldn't be the first person Gideon had to track down, he'd done similar jobs for The Cheery Man and his boys or the Devils of the Brass Embassy, the difference now would be that he'd actually technically be doing it on the side of the law rather than to shake down people for their material goods or their more immaterial souls that they thought they could cheat their creditors out of. Plus, the favour of a Master or two can go a long way regardless of one's standing, if they did the task to their satisfaction, of course.

His cigar burned as he took a fresh drag out of it and tapped some of the ash into a convenient ashtray, he gave a slight nod, almost to himself moreso than the Master or anyone else gathered around. He'd have to get to know many of the others, he supposed, if they truly were all to work together. He foresaw that as a . . . interesting experience. But no matter, he'd cross those bridges when he came to them.

"Alright then, one of the more clear statements I've heard all night."

He knew full well the irony of such a notion, given the situation, but he couldn't deny it.

"Consider me interested, Master."

He paused, to preserve the stillness, before flattering mockery spilled its guts.

“Cat caught your tongue?”

The gabby gambler endured as an entranced Abelard, infatuated with the hopeful response by the possible Héloïse, afore him. Behind the camouflage, the stench of a forty year old’s perspiration beaded its permeated sweat and tears. The exudative sorrow of a physique unable to match a younger and exuberant woman, unaldulterated, behind the veneer, always evolved its instruction, stressing the importance of an exacting poker face.

Poised under pressure.

The guise exhumed itself as a shared allegorical tombstone at Pere LaChaise, the famous Parisian cemetery that not only sheltered the corpora of his favorite famed tutor and niece of Fulbert, but his radioactive Polish mother. Perhaps, Spices had summoned him as an exorcist, but after one gander at the watchmaker's dark eyes and cascading copper hair, awaiting the rationale to banish his own demons, it was clear. Lady Luck delivered the pregnant answer to a piercing inquiry in silence.

Soon, the hookah toting Master offered the welcome subpoena’s motivation.

Certain individual? Correct the mistake? A marriage of protest and propaganda, a tactic to stir the people, toiling through selective and manipulative use of facts and falsehoods. Simultaneously. Was it in regards to a mere betrayal? Or a subtle ploy to eliminate the invited competition? A task nothing less than to cleanse the Augean stables of sin and corruption and restore national innocence?

Alfred obeyed rules.

That’s how winners were declared in games, after all. However, he could no more endorse this agitprop than one could fold after checking whilst on the big blind.

He slowly slinked away from Bellerose, marching to the aroma filled host. “Excusé moi, Ray, but I believe we must each call or raise, before the dealer’s flop.”

At least, Zorko was all in.

@Lady Selune@Hekazu

Benjamin felt a moment of panic as they were chided for needling the matter at hand instead of basking in the revelry. But he didn’t really know how to bask, especially not in revelry. Maybe in some warm tea and a good book. This party was toying with his emotions like a cat with a mouse. No, even easier. Like a cat with a perfectly round ball of string. So easy to catch and dismantle, that it might choose not to. Benjamin hoped for that.

It was then that Mister Spices laughed. The scholar said nothing, maybe a little less panicked but still quiet in everything. His breathing slowed, though.

He watched Isolde take a long drag from one of the hookahs. His allergies were bad enough that he didn’t want to tempt his sinuses with such poignant fumes. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap, wringing his fingers together not out of worry—but because he didn’t know how to behave himself in such a situation. The Master started to speak about why they were all here. Benjamin’s brows knitted, but that was hidden by his mask. How could his knowledge be helpful in helping a Master? They should know all about the Fourth City without a bat of a lash. That being said, he was a pathological researcher. Maybe that was the skill they wanted. Maybe.

It was then he was aware of others that surrounded him. His eyes snagged on both the men that spoke up. One was concrete in their pledge, while the other flitted around it like a moth to the flame. Benjamin just twisted his fingers into a nervous knot. He then exhaled, assured that Mister Spices wouldn’t eat him whole because he decided to speak.

“I can definitely lend my expertise,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Though I don’t know how much of a help it’ll be given your knowledge.”

@Hekazu

Cassius listened as the Master spoke, apparently displeased by the brashness that he and the fellow with the tricorn hat had demonstrated in not enjoying all that the party offered. The Inquisitive Veteran tensed imperceptibly, waiting for the hammer to strike the metaphorical anvil that'd spell whatever retribution that Mr. Spices had in mind for them. Then, something unexpected happen...the Master laughed, seemingly pleased by the 'direct to business' mentality that he had displayed alongside the Ruinous Captain.

Just as soon as he had tensed, Cassius relaxed imperceptibly. In hindsight, it had been ridiculous for him to tense for Mr. Spices was the polar opposite of the other Master present at the party. Still, something good had come out of this most importantly that Mr. Spices was pleased with their demeanour and, secondly, that he had made a few of those ingrained with the nobility to squirm slightly by the show presented by the Master in front of them. He knew that, logically, he shouldn't find it nearly as amusing as he did, since he technically was part of the same social group...but the Ashdowns had never quite fit in with high society and so Cassius enjoyed seeing nobles and their ilk squirm in place when reminded of their place.

He listened intently as Mr. Spices explained the reasons behind why they had been invited, and the mission that the Masters had planned for them to undertake. He was intrigued to say the least by what the Masters requested of them, to hunt one of their former agents who had fallen off of the Masters favor or who had betrayed them directly. The request, in and of itself, was nothing peculiar, what truly piqued Cassius' interest was the fact that they'd turn to a group of individuals who hadn't met each other before the masquerade itself.

He listened as the various members that had gathered offered their assistance, some more hesitantly than others, and a smirk slowly appeared on his face. "Oh, this will be very interesting indeed." The Inquisitive Veteran thought, already feeling quite content by having accepted the invitation to the masquerade. "I offer my expertise as well to this endeavour." Cassius finally spoke, bowing slightly to the Master once more. "Well then, I would suggest we all start working, no?" He said to no one in particular, waiting to see how everything would unfold next.

@Hekazu

The Gabby Gambler's approach was initially cut short by the nearby special constable stepping before him and placing a hand on his shoulder, preparing to turn the masked man away, but the hooded individual at the hookah cut such an attempt short. "No, let him. He wants to take a few steps in this dance, he will be allowed to do so", Mr. Spices gave their permission for the 'intruder' to step forth. It required no more than that for the dutiful assistant to make way, excusing their earlier behaviour quickly. But by that point, most had already lost their interest in the man.

Lady Monica at least was much more interested in the approaching figure. New blood among their ranks, huh? And was this not the man who had been hopping around the dance floor with her good friend? Yes, that had to be him. The parasol was tilted slightly to the side to allow her to see the person better. One of the older blood, probably. Rough around the edges, if she had to put in a guess. Right up Renee's alley for acquaintances, not quite for further company if she knew her friend. She might ask if the other woman had picked up any interesting tidbits about this individual, that was to be sure. But for now, others did have a few words for the Master just as well.

One after another declared their continued interest in the case, or perhaps now introduced? How they could not have seen something quite like that was up and coming with an invitation much like theirs was a mystery to her, but one could not be blessed with everything. They had... initiative, as Mr. Spices had put it. They did not have tact or other forms of social intelligence if she had to guess, not like 'Arthur'. Or not. That man was not exactly the most shining example of them either. Oh, one was now even suggesting that they would get to work right away. Naturally. That was what was going to happen. Without them listening to the rest of what Mr. Spices had to say. Good one. The Master would not still be around if they were wholly done, now would they?

And as the poet had mused, the Master spoke up again: "The Royal Beth. That is where the last known lodging of the agent is. Since then, any attempts to reach them have been... unsuccessful. The Manager refuses their assistance, which is peculiar on its own. The Mahogany Hall. The Agent was working on... sensitive matters relating to said location. If more could be told, it would. But there are certain borders that one must cross on their own to truly understand." With that, Mr. Spices began climbing to its feet and moving towards the exit. "You may yet become fists of the Bazaar. But do know that there will be no indiscretions beyond what a neddy man would see." Of course, that meant pretty much nothing. Other than being able to whack rioting dock workers on the head with a stick while constables nodded approvingly.

Of course, Lady Monica was rather disappointed in the fact they would be treated so lowly, if the case truly was this special. Was it less so than what was made to be understood? Or might the Bazaar want to keep their involvement less visible? The latter sounded likely. And mayhaps, just a possibility and a bit of spitballing there, once the deed would be done they would gain the more favourable position. To be the fist of the Bazaar, whatever that was. If that was not simply something that they called undercover agents such as these. She might have to look into it.

She took another breath from the hookah before setting the mouthpiece away and having a look at the other participants. "Now that sounds like a predicament. How do you propose we approach this subject?" she asked of her apparent compatriots. Again, give the word to others first, see how they think, not influenced by the thoughts of another. And as far as she could tell, they were not in any real hurry either. The constables at the door did not seem interested in letting anyone out, spare for the Master who seemed only happy to have moved away from their rival.

@Sofaking Fancy@Gordian Nought@Templar Knight@Mortarion

Fred quickly vantaged the salle, once the constable graced his shoulder, presuming that a team of unseen guards would undoubtedly spew out to cement and herd him off to his unanticipated exit.

However, the caress became a momentary venture.

"No, let him. If he wants to take a few steps in this dance, he will be allowed to do so."

The Master apparent invited the gambler further into the web of masticated smoke. The mythic man sat, simply strewn stoically as a pristine sepulcher, while carving a cherry wisp from the twinkled and somber sheen that lingered from the hookah. Zorkybski caught wind and sight again of the parasol toting Lady’s pretense resting comfortably upon a seated chin, whose lack of gaze suggested judgment. The other scattered high-backed chairs nearby welcomed Parlé, to join the affair of relaxation and to sculpt a throne of his own with his middle-aged body.

Yet, he remained standing.

Swaying ever so slightly, like a crystal chandelier protracted over a banquet’s feast, ingesting those very near to Mr. Spices and other masks within eavesdropping distance. The casino runner knew the dazzling game of reconnaissance. All too well.

“Royal Beth… Mahogany Hall… Certain borders one must cross to truly understand.”

It seemed a valuable Agent was lost. In which the dilapidated knowledge of said whereabouts. Dead or alive, may prove fruitful. He would not preach further, choosing a benediction before dismissing himself from the reverie.

Ah. To be in the future good graces of a Master, no less.

“How do you propose we approach this subject?”

The jarring question from the woman hung around Alf’s neck like a noose, adorned with a resplendent tombstone polished with it as an epitaph. The beginning of a headless prancing, begging fluency with infiltration. The polarity of two locations. To choose between the sun and moon.

“My bid would be to seek further entertainment than to frantic lodging.”

Freddy finally sat, anticipating that the Captain and Professor would also vote against the Hotel as the initial curious incursion.

Especially due to the implications of such baroque idiosyncrasies.

@Hekazu@Sofaking Fancy@Templar Knight