keep the mask on | clue | event two

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

This, my friends, is what we call 'the winning game.'

And I play it well. Always have. I used to be a little girl with big eyes and a bigger future, with hands that reached for everything — and now I'm standing at the top of my family's grand staircase, smiling down at my peers like they even have the right to stand beneath me. Six inch heels digging deep into their backs.

Red.

But I still smile and wave, always playing the part — you have to invite everyone, even the nobodies, to control them all. So I welcome them into my home, and I laugh at their silly little costumes, reaching out a possessive hand to grip Benji's shoulder. I knew he'd arrive late, he always does, so I edited his invitation. Smudged the time a little bit.

It's called adapting. It's what we have to do sometimes. Like when he walked in wearing only a suit, like I knew he was going to, and I placed a pair of sunglasses over his eyes and kissed his cheek. "Here, babe. You can just say you're going as my bodyguard." I'm always playing pretend, but it's okay. At least for today.

My parents are out with their friends, Zeke has made hundreds of cupcakes and three big bowls of punch, there's live music and bright lights and not a single trace of uneasiness. Not here. No dead bodies, no news reports, just the beating of my heart and the way I can't help but to realize that Benji hasn't even told me how beautiful I look tonight.

"My girls and Grady are here, I'll find you later," I tell him sweetly, running my fingertips along his knuckles. He knows my house well, and he knows he is welcome to all of it. I just needed him for the entrance, for the mental picture; then he's safe to go lose himself in my father's study, or to take a nap in my room. I'm trying not to care.

I adjust my suit as I walk down the stairs, moving my fingers up to my tight curls and the flowers braided delicately into the strands. Here's a trick — when they say it's a costume party, never show up in something tacky. Fairy wings and tiaras? How cute. Look at me. Look at how much power I have. I'm wearing someone else's skin, and you think it's mine.

"Cleo, Ally, Grady," I say in a lilting tone of excitement, dropping lower with each name. "So glad you all came, knew you would." Clara is surely somewhere close, but I don't bother waiting around to welcome her. She can see herself in, and then see herself out.

"If it's not easy for you to tell, I'm going as former president Imperiosa Ironsquall," and then I chuckle, hiding my lips behind my palm and blushing. "Or maybe I'm going as the next president." I've always had big dreams. Might as well shoot for the stars.

"Either way, seems you've all traveled a less thought provoking route." It's always fun to make a competition out of nothing. I meet Cleo's gaze in particular, staring deep down into her very soul. She's my dearest, sweetest, oldest, best friend. I truly love her.

"Hmm." I tilt my head to the side, and a trigger clicks into place.

"You knew about this party before anyone else. I was hoping to see a bit more effort."

[cass]

C A S S I U S

You feel like a fool, hands in pockets, eyes cast towards the ground as you mumble through the sentences, you’d been rehearsing them all morning. They come out through tight lips, breathy and tense as you try not to look Naomi in the eye. You aren’t brave enough for this, you aren’t built to stand before someone who makes your heart sing and cheeks glow. It is stupid, you remind yourself, to think that Naomi might even look at you as anything other than a friend.

But then… A friend was exactly what you had always wanted.

And yet, the word feels a little bitter on your tongue. It’s not how you feel about her, it’s not how you want to see her. You hate the way your heart tightens, a racing hum roaring in your ears as it settles through your veins. It was something you’ve never let yourself even dream of. Tucked away within the confines of your mask, glued to your flesh as you try to protect yourself with a desperation that left you as broken as it did safe.

“The party-“ you glance up, her hair is down, falling around her face. The burn on your cheeks increases, heat creeping upwards until you think the sun before you might burn you. “Doyouwannagowithme?”

Fuck.

That wasn’t any better. But you remain standing there, wisps of hope leaching from your eyes. There’s wanting on your face, unhidden, released into the open. It’s rare, a fleeting moment of weakness where the mask you wear has faltered- it has failed you.

“Ghosts are pretty cool.”

---

It was simple, a perfect way to hopefully hide and blend into the crowd. There was sure to be more people with outlandish costumes, ones that stuck out like a sore thumb. You pull at the sheet in your arms, the house rearing its ugly head as you walk closer. You’re not sure why you’ve been invited, and part of you worries about that. You know that the likes of Cleo will be attending, and you wonder if you’re just going to be the next victim of their jokes.

The next-

You swallow, fingers clenched tightly around the sheet as you pause for a moment. The thoughts had been tugging at your consciousness for a while now, wearing you down and trying to seep in at moments of weakness. Were you the next name on the list? Even thinking about that that might mean rooted you to the spot, sweat beading on your forehead as you stare at the long shadows lining the driveway.

Naomi’s already probably there, waiting for you in her own costume. It takes a moment longer, chains bared against your ankles as you build up the courage to uproot yourself. It scares you, being around these people, unsure if the mask you wear is enough anymore. It already feels like a façade, ready to blow away with one strike. Cleo had worn it down, digging her nails under the lip, trying to pry it off.

And Naomi- your foot moves, one uncertain step after another as you slowly tug the sheet over your head. If the embarrassment of simply being at this party wasn’t enough, you’re faced with Naomi as soon as you step into the light that surrounds the front of the house.

Your costumes look completely different. Interpretations of the word ghost that do not align together. You stare at her, thankful that the sheet hides your growing embarrassment as you pause beside her.

“So, I uh, interpreted ghost wrong, huh,” you say, cheeks red and hidden. You flap your sheet arms, a smile crossing your lips- safe within the confines of your sheet. No one can see it, no one can pry away this safety. “You look great, Naomi.”

W E L L S

kaitlin

[charade]

C L E O

It was infuriating that Stella had thrown a party first. More infuriating that she’d gotten live music that was actually good. The cupcakes lined up on the table looked nice, but she’d been expecting a little more. Sure, Zeke was a good baker, but where was the cocktail shrimp? The cheese platters? Even Frankie, God rest his soul or whatever, had managed to get a chocolate fondue fountain at his last bash.

Just because family was cheaper than a real caterer didn’t mean it was better.

Stella came to greet them and Cleo blinked cattily, not so much because of Stella’s veiled insult but because the yellow cat’s-eye contacts she was wearing took some getting used to. No, she hadn’t recognized the costume, but she wasn’t about to let Stella know that. Did her friend even realize how expensive the dress had been?

It was meant to be the focal point, not the horned headband or the fangs in her mouth. What was the point of a costume party if she wasn’t wearing the most expensive thing there? Let alone the sexiest, once she’d paired it with designer fishnet stockings and red heels. Cleo’s gaze dropped to Stella’s shoes and her jaw tightened just a little.

Of course. Of course.

She smiled thinly before turning in a small pirouette to show off the outfit, letting the hem of her dress spin around and flashing a little leg between the slits in the side. The devil’s tail spun with her, lightly whipping Stella’s legs. “Perfection doesn’t require effort. But I suppose you spent hours on your outfit?” She eyed Stella’s ensemble carefully, not finding anything out of place but deciding that it was hopelessly dull. Really? A president? She might as well have dressed herself as a doctor or a lawyer. It was uninspired. “All that time and effort for—this.” Her smile was all teeth as she looked away.

“Grady, I’m thirsty,” she complained, immediately ignoring Stella’s presence before her friend could trade another insult, she delicately pointed one finely manicured nail in the direction of the refreshments. “Punch?” she said, batting her eyelashes and trailing her other hand along his shoulder blades. He was so easily distracted lately, and that simply didn’t work for her. It was like he didn’t care about maintaining their façade.

That was fine, it wasn’t as though she had actual feelings for him. Sure, his parents were lovely and he was tall, dark and handsome, but honestly? He was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Or math class. Really, anything like that. He never opened up to her, talked exclusively about himself half the time, and he still hadn’t gotten physical with her. Was he blind?

She wondered what a real man like Benji or Maverick might think about her plunging neckline.

“I’m going to mingle, find me when you’ve got the drinks.” She left his side and headed for the middle of the room.

It was a party wasn’t it? Now that she had arrived.

B U R N S

kaitlin

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

P R E S L E Y D O U G L A S ;

"Please."

Presley Douglas wasn't above groveling. In fact, he'd found that, of the methods he had tried out in getting what he wanted, the sympathy card was among the strongest in his deck. It was easy for people to see him as a victim: it always had been. He was soft in places that others worked to harden over time. Weak, as it were. Or at least apparently so, which is what he always told himself. Not actually weak, just easily assumed as such.

It helped that his best friend was a murder victim, and that the last time he'd gone to a party had also been the last time he'd seen her alive. And it helped that, for whatever reason, Mav had seen the softness of Presley and chosen not to stab at it with a stick.

"If you don't go, I can't. And I really, really wanna go."

He put on his best sympathy face, complete with his blue eyes widened and his bottom lip puckered out and his hands folded together in front of his chest.

"If you do, I'll let you copy my study guide for History," he said as a last resort. He left out the part about him only barely passing History with a low C.

---

Two days later, and Presley stood in a house that was big, but not as big as his parents' home. It was decorated well- Stella Provence lived here, so he wasn't surprised- but if you asked him, it was still obvious that teenagers had been the ones to line the walls with fake spiderwebs and hang lights from the ceiling. He guessed all the actual work had probably been pawned off onto poor Zeke.

He wore a white toga, kept together on his right shoulder with a pin he'd spray-painted golden. He wore sandals that wrapped themselves all the way up his calf, and there, on the shoulder that was exposed, was a smear of lipstick, the residue of a kiss to match the one on his neck. Don't ask how he'd gotten them. He wore golden laurels and had resigned to telling anyone who asked that he was a love god.

Honestly, he regretted the choice. It was a particularly cold night, and with all the loose clothing, even with underwear there were some things bouncing around just below the surface just enough to be on the verge of, erm, excitement. If you know, you know. It was all he could do after grabbing a cup of punch to find a seat on the couch with a cleverly placed pillow on his lap while everyone else began to show up. He considered what speaking to anyone might mean. On one hand, he could choose this night to officially distance himself from last year, get back on track with being friends with everyone. On the other hand, it required him to speak. And, well, at this very moment, stand, which wasn't exactly ideal.

So, instead, he just nodded, offered a cheeky smile to those who walked past him, and waited for someone to sit next to him.

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

maverick. Walking into the party beside Naomi, you can't help but think about you and her with Grady and remember something from childhood. Three is, you realized early, a very odd configuration of siblings. There is always one left on the outskirts. And from the very beginning, it was always you. You were the one who your father loved, the youngest son and without a doubt the most horrible one. The one who, despite every kindness and bit of playfulness, was also always willing to bite back, to fight, the brother that neither of the others was ever truly willing to get into a fight with because they knew that you would fight back twice as hard. It didn't matter that you were the youngest, didn't matter that you were the smallest—though, you suppose, 6'0 isn't exactly small, it just was comparatively—you were the brother with the meanest right hook, with the sharpest tongue, the one who could cut their throats in half a heartbeat and refuse to apologize for it after. And your father loved you for it. He groomed all of your worst behaviors, taught you that isolating yourself was the best way to live your life, that you shouldn't let people in. You were only a child when he died, only just barely thirteen, and still people knew—it was you he was going to groom to take his place in the company one day. He was better at keeping you from your brothers than even you were. You wonder what he would think about you now, walking into a party you don't even really want to be at with lipstick smudged across your mouth that he would probably think was from anything except for what it was. You wonder what he would think about you and how the second you see Presley Douglas across the room sitting on a couch by himself you're abandoning Naomi before you can even pretend to think twice about it. "I'll see you later," you mumble to her, distractedly, already pushing passed people. You don't care about how you look, not really, but you care about what he's going to think about it, only dressed up in a real costume just because he looked at you. You don't let yourself hesitate or overthink it when you grab a glass of juice and crumple into the couch next to him. If you moved, your knees might knock. "I'm too sober for this."

[gamemaker kelsier]

b e n j i .

"i'm not here
i'm just
a mirror"

There was something oddly touching about the way that Stella knew him. For all the ways that she didn't, she at least understood how he operated and how to use that knowledge to manipulate him. He wondered if he was becoming too easy to predict. Maybe he had just let Stella get too comfortable.

Benji leaned against the wall, boredom plucking at him like a migraine. He preferred to arrive later in the night, when everyone was already drunk and small talk wasn't necessary. He didn't really do well at these things, losing control in front of a crowd wasn't tempting, never had been. The only thing that had ever made it interesting was Scar.

Then again, the world had become a little bit bland since she'd died.

Benji stared at Stella's back. He'd done his duty, stood there beside her while she'd welcomed guests. Once she was done with him, she'd set him free. He resented her for it, just a little bit. He'd never wanted to become a status symbol, let alone a prop. When had he become so lax?

Benji pushed away from the wall to go upstairs. Stella had an excellent balcony and he'd spent many a night up there, architecture textbook in his lap and cigarette between his lips as the party raged below. However he felt about her, Stella's room had always been a sanctuary.

The hung his sunglasses off his jacket, foot on the first step when a blonde head caught his eye. Cleo. His gaze travelled down the small of her back and before he realized it, he was reaching out and his hand was wrapping around her wrist.

[charade]

C L E O

Messing with people for the hell of it was one of the true great joys of life. If stepping on someone to get a boost of dopamine was wrong, then there shouldn’t have so many people who wanted to be stepped on. Cleo zeroed in on Presley, thinking it might be fun to bother him with Clara in tow. The costume was alright, though she wouldn’t have pegged him for an Adonis. It wasn’t something he could really pull off.

The toga on the other hand—

Oh, to pants someone in the middle of a party. That was a prank she hadn’t pulled yet. A glint appeared in her eye. The dangerous kind that meant the idea in her head was going to bring someone to tears while everyone else had a good laugh.

She’d just taken a step towards him when she felt a hand on her wrist.

Who would dare?

Ah, she thought.

Hadn’t they agreed that their little excursion was a onetime deal? Satisfying each other’s curiosity and then pretending it never happened. Of course, she didn’t blame him. Benji was only a boy after all, and she was irresistible. “Ben-Jiii,” she purred, drawing out the second syllable of his name as she gently removed the hand he had on her wrist. “No costume? Or oh, did you go as your usual charming self? Scary.”

The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Still, it was hard not to think about his jaw pressed against the side of her face or the feel of his teeth nipping at the side of her neck. Especially when his eyes did the thing that they were doing. Like he was tracing her outline with his gaze. Peeling her costume off with every blink. Not a good look in such a public place. Grady or Stella might get to wondering, and that, that simply wouldn’t do.

“Can I help you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

B U R N S

kaitlin

[[nyte]]

NAOMI VALERO

I GET A LITTLE JEALOUS, A LITTLE SELFISH

It's like crashing and burning without the fuss and flames, she thinks, staring at Maverick's retreating form. Her halfhearted wave crumples into a fist the minute she realizes he won't look back to catch it. "Don't worry about it." The words taste sour on her tongue, already useless as they chase deaf ears and the atmosphere goes twenty degrees too cold. She sees with glazed eyes like frosted glass, wearing a smile so bright she hopes it distracts from the sight. She's always chasing what used to be, Alice stuck in a perpetual freefall as the rest of them hit the earth like summer rain. Too far away to clasp in fingers frozen solid.

There's a crack in her pocket mirror and she pretends not to remember how it got there - touching up the red spots on cheeks painted pallid and running her tongue across the lipstick that had stuck to a plastic fang. How hard she'd tried to look forward to this evening, how desperately she had thrown herself into costume design and wasted away coaxing thin hair into loose ringlets. All that effort to find herself alone and miserable. Maverick's invitation and Cass' friendship had left her optimistic; she chides herself for not knowing better. There's too much makeup on her face, cracking under party lights. Her dress rests too heavy on her shoulders and her shoes have already begun to wear blisters into her heels.

She smiles at Cass and has to stop herself from waving at Grady, weaving through familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. This is what she wanted, isn't it? Sat comfortable above the bottom rung and no one's close enough to topple her glass tower. And Naomi had made damn sure there was not a single stone to cast either.

Not that anyone would care enough to.

(she's just a pathetic little girl clinging to old memories, forcing herself into places she doesn't belong, she's nothing and no one even sees her as she walks across the floor a vision dressed in crimson cloth, as worthless to them as she is to herself)

Her fingertips tremble against crystal, drinking deeply and not much caring what it is. It's tangy against her tongue, burning its way down her throat and settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes find the clock and for a second she lets herself breathe, shoulders slumping as she crumples in on herself.

Lonely, always lonely.

She counts the seconds.

I'M JUST A LITTLE MESSED UP

[presto]

LIKE YOU

[/presto]

[sidney]

[presto][/presto]

my pretty head, i think i'm dead
everyone's dumb, and i'm no better

Clara followed her sister's lead upon arrival.

They had worked their way through the crowd, all eyes on Cleo probably, but Clara hadn't minded the few gazes that fell onto her as they passed. An angel, wings strapped to the smartest of the two, halo donned and slipping just slightly to the left; and a devil, horned headband hidden between golden locks, red cape flowing a few feet behind. They were a set, two of a kind, matching of course, but both dressed as two very opposing sides of the same coin. Any other day was no different, Clara was just surprised her sister had wanted to go as the evil one. She would have assumed Cleo would have lunged at any chance to paint her sister as something sinister. If for no other reason than to look that much better. 

It had been Presley that Cleo wanted to torture first, grabbing Clara by the hand and leading her over to a couch. She'd pushed Clara down on the boy's left and took the seat on his right. It was hard not to cringe at her sister, the way she purred like a cat in heat at anyone who would listen, even Presley. A rather unimpressive artist, with shaggy hair and a crooked smile. Clara would have assumed her sister would take one look at him and deem him unworthy of even a glance. But much to her surprise, Cleo cuddles into his neck and puts a hand on his chest, willing her presence to make Presley squirm. But just after she asked him if he wanted to play, a few more party goers crashed through the front door and Cleo retracted her claws long enough for Clara to slip away unnoticed and for Maverick to slide in and take the queen bee's spot. Thank god, Clara muttered under her breath as she peeled away from the couch and went off in search of a stiff drink. 

She'd already slipped a few pills in between shots in Cleo's room when they pre-gamed, but Clara would need a very large sip of something soon otherwise she was just going to bail at  this point. There was a blank Chemistry study sheet and an AP English essay she needed to get a jump on if she was going to start the year off right. And it wasn't like she necessarily wanted to be here, but if she hadn't made an appearance, her sister would have officially disowned her. So, she was at least going to have a good time, and by good time, she meant getting so drunk she forgets her own name. 

♛♛♛

Another popped pill and two drinks later, Clara had forgotten about all homework she had, any workouts she may have missed, and her own first name. She knew it started with a C, though, and that it sounded really similar to her sister's name. Oh, yeah! And that she even had a sister at all. But that realization just brought a frown to her face, so she chugged back the rest of the third drink in her hand and emerged from the kitchen a new person. One with no past, no future, no plans, but an unshakable urge to do something. Anything. Dance, maybe? But this wasn't really that kind of party. People weren't moving around and vibing to the music, they were separated off into smaller groups.

Some smoked near a window, chill and sullen, perfectly content mixing their uppers and downers. Others huddled by a chair, deep in discussion, not an ounce of alcohol in their system. A few, carelessly, groped each other on the large sofa on the far wall, not really caring that everyone and anyone could see them. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, not out of disgust, but she'd never admit that. The truth was she was jealous, wishing deep down that someone cared about her like that. Maybe not enough to mug down right in the middle of a crowded room, but you know, enough to at least want to kiss her in the first place. 

But when her eyes landed on Naomi across the room, alone with a drink in her hand, and Clara remembered it wasn't just anyone she hoped wanted to kiss her. 

If there was ever a time to approach her, it was now. When the butterflies in her stomach were occupied with all the liquor she'd consumed. They were busy, and she wasn't nervous. Only eager to close the distance between them. And she does so with a slight curve to her path, wobbling a little with a bump into a tall boy with blond hair that she didn't recognize. She mumbled an apology but pushed past him still determined to make it there before she sobered up enough to realize this was probably a mistake. 

"Hey," she offered up with a grin, a little sloppy, but she hoped it was more endearing rather than annoying. Clara had never really talked to Naomi all that much before. The two didn't run in the same circles, didn't have the same friends. But she'd taken notice one day — she'd caught the brunette sweetly tucking her hair behind her ears, eyes wide and smile so bright — and hadn't been able to look away since. "All alone?" She sighed, regretting her question immediately. That was such a shitty thing to point out to someone at a party. "Me too," she laughed lightly, at herself mostly. "Wanna be alone together?"

Please say yes.