come_sailaway | it's my party and I'll cry if I want to

it's my party and I'll cry if I want to

Who: Gal Friday + YOU
What: Icebreaker party
When: 3/13, evening
Where: Rischie
Warnings: TBA

[the morning announcements alter daily now, by the second week of the month. one week until the party. four days until the party. the party is tomorrow.]

The new cruiser get-together will start at 9PM tonight at Rischie! Remember: The dress code is cruise elegant! Hm? [there is a sound like a crackle and pop of static.] The Captain says he won't be attending, but he'll be paying extra special attention to everybody who does!

[if that's a sufficient enough bribe.

"but we don't have cruise elegant clothing," you cry. but you do! have you not checked the top drawer in your room's dresser, where at most two perfectly suited formal outfits are located? you have? but they weren't there before today? don't ask questions. just get ready for the party.

the house lights in the club are at full brightness, giving everything the sort of uneasy liminal feeling a room gets when used for something opposite its intended purpose. booths line the walls, and small tables and chairs sit between them and the dance floor, which is empty except for one table, holding a series of "HELLO, MY NAME IS..." nametags and sheets of glittery stickers. Friday is there, of course, standing by the table. she's even dressed up! and if your character hasn't corrected her previously, their name tag will have their true name. there are also a few buffet tables with refreshments on them, and trays bearing canapes and flutes of champagne float by. (deftly avoiding minors! excluding Jinx, but only if Venti is within close proximity. welcome to parenthood, barbatos!)

once everyone is settled in, Friday will clear her throat (??) to get everyone's attention and explain the rules of the night. it's an altered version of twenty questions: every person in the room must answer ten questions about themselves, asked by their fellow passengers, collecting stars for every answer considered acceptable. when they have 10 stars, they're allowed to leave!

oh, yeah, the door to the club shut about five minutes ago. it doesn't seem very eager to open back up again.

time to break some ice! breaking ice and cruises always go well together, after all.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[So, haha, yeah, about that true name thing... Ebalon is absolutely not vibing with the fact that the name DANTALION is plastered to his chest now, and, in fact, he's trying his best to subtly-yet-unsubtly keep that name covered up with champagne flutes and the sort because he has introduced himself as Ebalon dammit and this is blowing his cover. There are several lies he will give if asked about this, some of them not-quite lies but rather embellishments, others just flat-out tall tales, depending.

He normally dresses fancy anyway, but he's wearing a stark white suit and a dark blue tie, which makes him look more washed out than usual because he's, uh, already very white in both hair and skin. He does not seem to think that his sense of colour coordination is at all lacking, though.

All in all, he's displeased to be here, and sometimes people might catch him frowning before he tries his damndest to maintain a charade of cheerfulness should anyone approach to ask something. Unfortunately, he can't say no to your prying, so... go for it.]

Subtle yet unsubtle. Yeah, César's had to try that before. He's also not very good at it.

"If you don't want people seeing your name tag, just hide it completely inside your suit." César makes sure to not glance at it, having only noticed him because of the viewing angle of it being blocked, as he gives that cheerful advice.

Look, he's a scientist that builds things where viewing angles are important.

Ebalon looks momentarily shocked at the suggestion, and then politely, faintly smiles with a touch of embarrassment. Yes. Of course. He's an idiot. Sheepishly, he tucks away the nametag. "My, that obvious?"

Like it even has to be asked.

"I appreciate the suggestion. I suppose I'm not thinking on my feet today." He glances inquisitively at César's nametag, following that thought up with, "Am I right to assume the name written is what you would like to be called by?"

Pardon the oft-repeated blurb, but César is wearing a green and very shiny vest with a black back and matching tie over the over the usual white dress shirt and black dress pants. He has on a pair of high end brown leather shoes. Per proper American etiquette (yes, he can actually care), his name tag—HELLO, MY NAME IS César Salazar—is stuck on the right side of his vest. César isn't quite pronounced the same way as Julius Caesar, for the record.

"Yes, César Salazar." The next words he means entirely. "You're thinking on your feet by playing it safe. I only know it's okay because I've watched the less cautious among us not get struck by lightning, so to speak. If my name was something I didn't want people to see, I would have started off by blocking the view of my name tag like you did. ... speaking of which...?"

Ebalon takes a sip of champagne, looking that outfit up and down. Ornate! Certainly more dressy than he is. At the question, he offers a much less sheepish smile, cordial and perhaps a bit over-polite.

"Where I come from, people in my role are addressed by their family names and nothing else." That part is not a lie. "My first name is displayed on the nametag, and for the sake of formality, I wish for it not to be used. Ebalon is my surname — if you could refer to me by that, I would greatly appreciate it."

The part of this that's a lie is the fact that he lacks a last name at all — Dantalion is simply his name, and he's actually impersonating the original man in the aforementioned role, that of Harque Ebalon — has been for over five hundred years now, actually. It's therefore a mega-inconvenience to have his true name plastered in plain sight. While keeping up appearances isn't exactly required here, he'd prefer to keep everything the way he feels it should be.

César can't detect well-told lies worth a crap. Don't worry, Ebalon, you're good. And this outfit is a bit of a lie in itself. César doesn't usually dress this well, except for his boots.

"Ebalon, then. I prefer César." He shrugs. "Salazar is an ill-fitting coat. It works, but doesn't feel right. Only the people I don't like use it back home."

"César it is. A pleasure." He bows shallowly. "May I inquire as to what it is you do for a living?"

That's... the easiest way to make small talk, isn't it? Just ask about careers and then ask further questions and then boom, done, they get to leave? Surely that's the answer here.

... Hmm. César really should have prepared an answer for that question in advance. It's a pretty standard one.

"I'm a scientist, although I've been doing a lot of engineering work as well, recently. A lot of Research and Design with groundbreaking technology. Unfortunately, I can't go into an incredible amount of detail. I've got an NDA."

Ha. Haha. Hahaha, he can't help but be amused that he finally gets to hide behind that document he signed.

...NDAs. Ebalon should start making people sign those. But, he's the type of man to make it magically-binding, because people happily get around keeping their word all the time. That aside...

"A scientist who cannot talk about his work... ah, I'm sure you're quite passionate about it. This must be tough." He's assuming, anyway. "Where I hail from, science and magic are almost one in the same. Almost. There are some discrepancies, but oftentimes magic is utilized within science and vise versa. Is this dissimilar to your work? —You needn't answer if you are legally obligated to keep that information under wraps."

He's only passionate about the lives he's saving with his work, not the work itself. César would normally be much more open about it, but things have changed, and not for the better. He just... can't. Not until he comes up with things he can discuss without turning the entire cruise against him. Something that isn't hyperbole.

César shrugs softly at the idea of it being tough, but then his eyes grow wider, lighting up with fascination. "Very dissimilar. Some of my previous work involved the physical laws of our universe in great detail, but I didn't see any signs of magic. Perhaps our tools simply couldn't detect it... Are you saying magic is real in your world, then?"

"You're correct, yes. Magic is very real to us — it is the lifeblood of Elrios, and in areas without it, they are quite literally barren landscapes with nothing but death awaiting. Not even monsters themselves can reside in those areas. Well... huhu, with some exception. Creatures of Henir, the primordial chaos, can reside there just fine. Henir's creatures are magical in nature, but a different type of magic than what makes the land flourish — the energy of Henir is much different from the energy of the El, the latter being what sustains life."

Which means that the removal of the El can cause many, many fun little problems in the form of apocalypses and localized calamities, depending on how much is removed. Ebalon is... a little too knowledgeable about such things.

He lets out a little huh. Not of outright disbelief, but of fascination. César's going to let himself be open-minded; he can always decide it's false later, but if he gathers enough proof, it likely isn't.

"That's fascinating... Do those that rely on the energy of the El and those that rely on the energy of Henir have differences besides what sustains them?"

Gee, if this wasn't in text, that'd be suspicious.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

it's my party and I'll cry if I want to

Master Ebalon | Elsword | Will match format!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject