"Mesdames, mesdemoiselles et messieurs, welcome to the first Saturday À la Thème of the year!" Éloi's sonorused voice boomed through the Grand Hall. "As you all know, my name is Éloi Desrosiers, proprietor of Le Masquerade and your charming host for the evening" he drawled his already habitual greeting. He took a refined bow, making sure to throw a demure smirk at those in front of the stage. "Le Masque is honored and utterly pleased to bring you—" he took a pause for effect, arching an eyebrow mysteriously "the devious, twisted and rotten Dark Fairy Tales[1]! Mais non?" he smiled charmingly. "Tonight, you may call me The Mistress of all Evil" he said jokingly while making a show of his outfit. "I am intrigued by your choices of costume[2], my dear masqueradians. Do I spot une petit Red Riding Hood? That is très intéressant" he mused, thinking on Gods knew what perverse images. "Ooooh, and a most alluring Huntsman. Hello to you, monsieur" he said amused and very much interested.

"I see we've put your imagination at work, and you have definitely exceeded our expectations, mes amis. Alors, now that we've passed the pleasantries and flattering" he laughed softly "we can move on to the exciting parts, oui? As always, we encourage you to socialize and keep your mind... open, just imagine how interesting the meeting of the Red Riding Hood with the Big Bad wolf would be" he said excitedly, a dangerous smirk on his face. "You will find some special drinks on the trays of our hardworking waiters, that will start circulating amongst you in a moment. Our specialties include magical cocktails, such as the Enchanted Fairy—and it is truly enchanted, you just might find yourself in a daze after it. Keeping with our theme is also our recommendation for the night, the Little Siren's Call. Mmmm, and will it call to you" he said, accompanied by a small mewl of pleasure. "Expect a rise in temperature if you decide to try it" he added in a lower voice, accentuating each word.

"The buffet table, as always, can be found near the bar. I'm sure you'll enjoy the classical French recipes of our own gourmet chef. Music, as with every Fridays and Saturdays, will, hopefully satisfy even the most bizarre tastes. But, as you know we like to keep it in between - shall we say? - sensual and, of course, danceable" he shimmied his shoulders for effect and then laughed heartily.

"And while, we'd all love to dance and socialize together in the Grand Hall, not only do we know you'll soon skitter off to the side doors[3]" he said extending his arms away from his body and pointing at the hallways that led to the private rooms "but we encourage you to do so. After all, one needs some peace and quiet after the agitation of the Hall—" he paused and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a second "or not..." he added in a sultry voice.

"Well then, I hope I have not bored you with my monologue" he said, dramatically clasping his hands over his heart. "Please enjoy the party, and remember we do not have boundaries here, for we are the libertines or—at least for tonight, the darkest, most unashamed whispers in the Enchanted Forest."

"Oh, I almost forgot! If you by any chance meet the counterparts, or other characters of your fairy tale and you feel emboldened by our most delectable drinks, you can take the stage and show us just what exactly makes your fairy tale dark. On the other hand, we would never say no to a monologue or solo interpretation, as well. Ah! And of course, just a little incentive, all those brave enough to face the stage will receive a complimentary bottle of our most delicious absinthe" he licked his lips suggestively, and maybe a note too lascivious.

"Thank you for your time[4], my most adored masqueradians! May the debauchery begin" he smiled languidly and took another flourished bow, before descending amongst the crowd.

1.	Costume inspiration courtesy of the most amazing Zira <3
2.	As stated in the Code of Conduct of the club, it is not mandatory that you wear a costume. Semi-formal/Formal attire still applies if you do not wear a costume.
3.	Feel free to thread your smaller, more intimate parties in the main board. Make sure to date them correctly!
4.	This speech starts at 9Pm, but admittance to the venue has been given from 6PM

After checking in her other cloak and going through the motions that was entering Le Masquerade, Julie finally found herself amongst the growing crowd of masked people. She touched her own mask; a red and black velvety material over a sturdier base. It matched the Gothic style dress she wore, as both pieces were a crimson red. Originally the dress had come with sleeves attached, but true to the version of Little Red Riding Hood that she knew best; she had ripped off the sleeves to show more skin.

In Le Petit Chaperon Rouge[1], as she had read almost every evening before she would retire to bed as a child, the wolf had hidden intentions. He was a seducer, a trickster; luring the attractive and innocent girl into his bed. Before eating her of course, which was always a pleasant way to end one's evening.

Julie tried her best to keep some sense of innocence, perhaps the big brown eyes and long eyelashes would do the trick, but she had twisted the image of Red Riding Hood; turning the tables and transforming herself into a more seductive creature than portrayed in the story. She retied her red cloak on, it's tattered edges and worn fabric playing even more with the darker version of her chosen identity for the night.

She had mingled close to the front where precisely at nine pm, their host had begun his speech. Julie was flattered at the thought of being noticed, but her stomach was all butterflies as she thought of possibly getting up on stage to act out her dark and twisted fantasy of the night. Intrigued by the two drink choice's, Julie chose one at random; and started to nurse the beverage, enjoying the way it went smoothly down her throat.

As she worked on her drink, her next goal was to mingle, and find someone to socialize with. In the crowd of masks, you couldn't tell who was who; and that made the game all the more fun.

1.	Just in case you're interested! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Red_Riding_Hood

"Red Riding Hood, I presume." A male voice with a foreign accent, beneath a jet black hood addressed Julie. The figure was just over six feet in height, slight, and a scythe was clasped in one hand, a lit candle hanging from the blade in a lantern. Pale cream gloves covered the long thin fingers that protruded from the cloak, holding the scythe in the left hand. In the other, a drink by the name of Little Siren's Call nestled with a sip taken from it.

As the figure raised their head a little, beneath the hood was a mask of a skull covering the forehead, eye sockets and cheeks, but leaving the chin exposed, for ease of conversation, and of drinking. Two dark blue eyes glinted, and the mouth turned into a smirk.

"Godfather Death." The stranger elaborated.

Johann had thought back to his childhood, where his mother would read him Grimm's tales from a well-loved copy on the shelves at home.

Godfather Death[1] was a tale cautioning of making bargains - a poverty-stricken family made a deal with death, and their son became a physician for the trade, able to predict life and death of a patient, because he would see Death beside them. If Death stood by their head, they would live, but if he stood by their feet, there was nothing to save them.

The son decided to trick death twice, once with the king, turning his body to lie in the other direction, and then again he tried when the king's daughter became sick - because the king promised he could marry her if he healed her. But Godfather Death was angered, and took the son beneath the earth and showed him candles for every person upon the earth, burning down towards death, and in spite, blew out the candle for his son which was already waning, and so denied him the chance of becoming king.

He didn't fancy himself a huntsman, nor a cautionary tale about trading gold the size of a plate, or a frog prince. Death was in so many tales, but not always personified. The use of costume at this gathering to allow the flow of conversation to begin with complete strangers, over the usual masks, was a joy.

"Where is your wolf?"

1.	Wikipedia & One Version

Anonymity. This was why Hannah had warily answered a strange invitation to arrive by owl into her possession. Life was certainly not at its most pleasant when she was in public. This meant she barely ventured into diagon alley. Instead the witch had begun to remain in one of three places; St Mungo’s Hospital, her bare, unhomely apartment or the ministry of magic for a transformation. Her mother continually pestered her with owls regarding Johann and didn’t wish to see, hear or speak to Knox Greyfriar. The large wizard only served as a reminder that things would not change. Instead they would only deteriorate.

But this invitation had arrived. Offering something different. Some anonymity to be someone different. Someone who the wolf inside her longed to be. A person unknown to Hannah in reality. But the wolf urges sometimes consumed her. They pushed to bring her into the world of darkness to play, to be sociable, to find release from the withdrawn, cold person that Hannah presently fought to be.

But the wolf had won and therefore dressed in a red ball gown, the witch stood amongst a crowd of masked people, wondering exactly what she was doing in this strange place. The event was fairytales, she was been informed. Dark ones. Therefore the healer had chosen one to dress as Liviella, the dark haired pale beauty from Raven[1], an Italian tale told to her by her father. On her wedding finger sat her newest piece of jewellery. Something Hannah wasn’t even sure how it had come to be on her finger[2]. She was still trying to get her mind around the concept of a fake engagement. Or was it a real engagement? The witch really wasn't sure and hadn't been given the chance to ask in private.

So she stood amongst the crowd, brown eyes beneath the mask scanning around the room, suspicious of mingling. The entire process to get into the club had been long. But she had brought the pensive memory, certainly unwilling to allow anyone to search her own mind. That certainly wasn’t acceptable. Now what? After this speech she found herself feeling ever more uncomfortable.

1.	Raven by Giambattista Basile, an Italian poet
2.	Annie and Joey Sitting in a Tree

The woman turned, the dress rustling as she did, and she dipped slightly in greeting to the masked stranger. A hand gliding over the skirt, she nodded; "Or the French version, if you prefer. Le Petit Chaperon Rouge." Her light accent graced her words, and she found it easier to slip into her well-raised persona than ever before. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, maybe the drink in her hand, or the wonderland she'd stepped into.

Godfather Death wasn't a familiar tale from Julie's childhood, but the name sounded a bell in her head. It took a moment for her to remember, but there was a time when she'd read that story as well. And for goodness' sake, she'd hoped that some of the Grimm stories would stay just that, stories.

She chuckled, "I seem to be without a wolf for tonight. Maybe I can find myself one later." Her eyes glistened behind the dark mask as she took another sip of the drink, one that was considerably affecting her thought process at the moment.

From a young age, she'd been groomed to be a social butterfly, to be good at being the center of attention and to be an extraordinary person to converse with. In Le Masque, she found that she didn't need all of the etiquette lessons to be able to talk to people, and that the air of anonymity was pleasurable to those who found it difficult to hold a conversation.

"And yourself?" Julie questioned, "Is your attire supposed to bear a bad omen for the night? Or is there a lighter counterpart among the crowd?"

After a good half hour of someone being able to recognize who she was, Dolly was rethinking having forgone the enchanted boa constrictor Cadi McGovern had first suggested when designing her Eglė[1] costume. It wasn't exactly like it was an extremely well known fairytale; it was Lithuanian for Merlin's sake! Still, she had always felt a certain affinity for the tragic love story and embittered revenge Eglė wrought on her family. As an extra little bonusthe gown itself was stunning and the crown felt surreal in it's natural nesting among her piled curls. She was rather pleased to see the first theme night of the new year going so well for Éloi. Of course she had more than a little vested interest as one of Le Masquerade financial backers.

It was almost impossible to tell who anyone was in general; but tonight made it an extra fun sort of guessing game. She eyed the crowed carefully before making her way to their host, snagging a drink from a tray along the way. She was nearly to her desired destination when she spotted a rather gorgeous (from what she could see anyway) brunette; decked in crimson and looking entirely uncomfortable with herself. She must have been new, The new ones were always fun; they were more susceptible to shock and awe. Had she known it was Hannah Bombay (whom had saved her life but rather had the bedside demeanor of a dourly cold fish) Dolly might have refrained from sneaking up behind her and cooing gently into her ear, "Smile Darling! Tonight life is literally a Cabaret".

1.	Eglė the Queen of Serpents

"Or the French version, if you prefer. Le Petit Chaperon Rouge. I seem to be without a wolf for tonight. Maybe I can find myself one later."

Johann smiled broadly, which to anyone who knew him, would generally be a giveaway to who it was, but he and Julie (not that he knew her name) had not met before now.

"I have no doubt you will." Johann replied politely, not realising his own 'wolf' of sorts was across the room. "Isn't that half of what this little society club is here to help?"

"And yourself?" Chaperon Rouge replied, "Is your attire supposed to bear a bad omen for the night? Or is there a lighter counterpart among the crowd?"

"I think your candle is quite safe if you keep your wits about your wolf, Little Red Riding Hood." He gestured with the scythe, "Your attire reveals much." Johann, not realising what he'd just said, rather meaning, the fact her clothing showed she was young, lean and generally well in herself, not that it showed too much skin. It would be little wonder if someone didn't punch him or hex him before the night was out.

"I'd rather stand by your head," He glanced down, the hood obscuring his face, "Than your feet." His gaze continued in that direction - not staring at her legs, but rather her feet, "I always am curious at how you ladies manage to walk around in such high heels, but you've got boots on. Very... long boots." His eyes returned slowly to her face, and he drank a sip of his cocktail.

"My counterpart?" Drat, did she know who he was, was she referring to the paper[1]?

"I haven't brought my godson the physician if that's what you mean." Across the room, another figure in a red dress made him glance away a moment, but they were obscured almost as soon as he saw them.

1.	Daily Prophet, Jan 5th

Attendees of Le Masquerade had better keep an eye on their first borns tonight.

Rascal Rosier was light on his feet and lighter in his heart as he spun through the masked crowd of the marvelous club, head pitched back in laughter as a witch in glass slippers nearly tripped over the train of her gown.

Slippery snakeskins. This gala was beyond delight. And he hadn't even yet gotten around to propositioning bargains! Naturally not for children - the offering Rumpelstiltskin was most famous for coveting - but there were other desires in sight. Besides, that was hardly the aspect he most enjoyed. The tale was not in the infant but in the name, for whoever could guess his name would have him entirely.

In theory. Rascal flashed the clumsy witch a cheeky smile as he turned to move- and spun right into somebody else!

"Excus--" the wizard began, hand on his mask's long and angular nose. "Oh." Charming. A girl woman in a red hood- with a companion who was most certainly no canine.

The grin returned and Rumpelstiltskin placed forward a foot, bowing in an extravagant gesture at the two. His gaze peered up from within the confines of the mask.

"Milady Red, Master Death..." he straightened smartly. "A good evening to you."

Julie allowed a smile at his comment about her attire, it seemed as if he wasn't meaning it to sound - well, the way it had sounded. A now finished drink left her feeling much lighter, and considerably more... sensual. Her bright and glossy eyes were glancing through the crowd, as the more sensible part of her told her to get a grip.

"They're sensible," she sighed, in reference to her shoes. And it was true, the sturdy heels carried her weight quite nicely. "It isn't so bad." She said lightly, her smile contrasting with the darker nature of her costume. She might be trying to play a new role tonight, but the gentlemen's broad grin throwing her off.

She was about to answer his last remark about his godson, but someone spun right into her; obviously fearing he would lose his mask by the way his hand was placed. At least she wasn't the only one who had sported an idiotic grin, as the character before her looked like he was quite cheery.

Julie curtsied in response to the gleeful character before them, "Good evening to you sir, though I'm afraid I haven't read enough tales to know who you are tonight."

At some point she thought she might actually get around to properly introducing herself, but the evening was for charades; and the brief self-prompt left Julie to adapt a wicked smirk that graced her crimson-colored lips. It was all in good fun, for the sake of the game.

"Smile Darling! Tonight life is literally a Cabaret" the voice was quietly whispered in Hannah’s ear. She felt the warm breath gently brush against her neck. The sensation wasn’t altogether unpleasant but this witch greatly disliked proximity. She therefore stepped away without a second’s thought, her head scanning around to face the owner of the course, dark curls spilling from the updo holding most of her wild hair in place. Why did people insist on being so close? On practically touching?

The witch before her was tall, dark haired and beautiful. She had an aura of confidence surrounding her and mischievous eyes hiding behind a mask of emerald green. The healer’s own gaze scrutinized Dolly, her usual analytic tendencies taking over even in such a bizarre situation as this.

She considered responding with a small smile, to send the witch on her way in the elegant dress. But instead Hannah’s brown eyed gaze lifted to Dolly’s face. This was a carberet. They were supposed to be characters, no?

“I have little reason to smile, madam.” The healer chanced, the edges of her lips twitching ever so slightly. “Wrenched from my bosom was the apple of mine eye, after all.”

"Milady Red, Master Death... A good evening to you." The long-nosed fellow addressed them both after colliding.

"Good evening to you sir, though I'm afraid I haven't read enough tales to know who you are tonight." Red Riding Hood confessed.

Johann narrowed his eyes behind the pale skeleton mask and raised his head a little to see better.

"I think many leave themselves open to interpretation this evening." He assured Red Riding Hood, not so sure himself at this third character's identity.

"Both in costume and beneath." He brought forward the scythe a little, the candle hanging from the blade lighting Rascal's face a little better for examination.

Éloi could practically smell fresh meat in his club, and the lovely mademoiselle in the red ball gown currently being chatted up by Dolly was certainly one such specimen. And he'd know Mademoiselle St. James, no matter her tries at keeping her anonymity. As a matter of fact, Éloi generally knew who each and every one of them was. And for some of them, so did the staff, but whatever the reason, none of them would ever admit it was so. Except for Éloi, of course, he took pleasure in knowing that his members knew he knew who they were. As complicated as that might sound.

So he glided across to the two women and smiled his most charming smile to the both of them. he first turned to Dolly, and took her hand into his, smiling at her dangerously, before placing a kiss on the back of her hand. "Chérie" he drawled, as he straightened back to his full posture. He'd say no more, it would not bode well for the newcomer to be thoroughly scared by the both of them, and between Éloi Desrosiers and his most esteemed investor, Dolly St. James, barely hatched masqueradians did not bode well, especially one that looked as stiff and rigid as the lovely lady.

So, with a small wink to Dolly, he turned to the newcomer - of whom he had just a vague idea regarding her identity - and smiled charmingly, repeating the gallant gesture of kissing her hand, and yet with more more reserve. He most certainly did not want to spook her. "Éloi Desrosiers, the man behind Le Masque" he said with a smile, also without the least bit of modesty or concern for his other staff that actually kept the club running. Le Masquerade was the fruit of his mind, genius and money - of course-  and it would not last a single day without him. He saw no problem in relishing at the idea. "A little birdie told me this is the first time you are visiting us, mademoiselle, mais non?" he smiled. "Sometime tonight, when the time suits you I would like to invite you into to my office to discuss this" he made a broad gesture, encompassing the club "at length, chère mademoiselle."

He turned back to Dolly and gave her an appraising look, before gently touching her wrist to turn her a little around, "Magnifique, although my fairy tale lore is failing me as to whom you represent" he said with his brows furrowed before he grinned broadly. "Enlighten me" he said almost excitedly.

Sitting comfortably at the bar, that ‘alluring Huntsman’ only raised his glass when Éloi looked his way.

Dressed from head to toe in leathers that looked like they’d been through hell and back, Rick was every watchful, dauntless Huntsman ever mentioned in a tale; the layers he wore were thick and heavy-looking, but loose enough for movement -clearly more functional than stylish in design - and his boots -scuffed at the toe and darker in some areas than others- showed obvious signs of wear. At his hip hung several hunting knives (for show, of course); his back, a pair of throwing axes crossed between his shoulders and shrunk for convenience. All in all, Rick had to admit that tonight’s outfit wasn’t too bad; he’d worn worse, he remembered darkly, thinking back on those nights where he’d been forced to wear much less and had his junk grabbed at for his trouble –without his consent. With all its layers, the one he wore now was pretty much the opposite—even comfortably so, in fact. Save for the obvious ‘Dark Ages’ shtick it had going on, it wasn’t all that different from the threads he usually wore.

(Actually, he suspected they were his clothes. One day he’d gone to his closet and found at least three of his jackets missing; a week later, Izola had appeared at the shop with a suspicious-looking garment bag slung over an arm, an equally suspect smile eating up her face.)

Now, if only it weren’t for his hair…

For tonight – and tonight only – Rick’s hair dropped past his temples in coarse, dark waves –just long enough to touch the stubble shadowing his face, and fall in front of pale green eyes. Their unfamiliar length hadn’t been his idea, but Izola’s, and he hated it. Any and all attempts to cut it had only met with embarrassing failure, and it showed with every extra inch it had grown back.

But still. Shit hairdos aside, it could have been a lot worse. With that in mind, Rick was willing to count his blessings and down his drink—his third, that evening. As he often did at parties, the wizard was working up quite the buzz and it showed in the relaxed line of his shoulders and the easy, languid way he let his gaze from one partygoer to the next. Not a trace of his usual scowl was to be seen.

Eventually, it settled on one damn fine figure in long, flowing red, caught between Éloi and another in green; slowly, it slid from the soft curve of her lips, to the bold dip of her chest… and down the folds of her dress, before licking back up to her face with something a little hotter than simple curiosity. Now there went a lady he wouldn’t mind knowing.

---

I have little reason to smile, madam...Wrenched from my bosom was the apple of mine eye, after all.

Dolly's mouth made a small "o" shape and shook her head, offering the woman a drink, "My poor Darling, you too? My family killed the love of my life because they believed they were keeping me from them. The sea just foamed with blood," she heaved a great sigh and shook her head, tone forlorn before she hastily downed her drink and beckoned one of the parading wait staff to bring another with a beguiling smile and crook of her finger. "I find, it is best at times like these to drown our sorrows in as much liquor as possible. It dull's the edge a little and keeps me from lamenting the fact I turned all my children into trees as punishment for betraying their father," there was just a hint of a giggle to her voice on the last remark.

And then there was Éloi, darling man that he was, she thought he might have been dressed as a fairy queen but didn't say so. She just grinned at him from under her mask and sipped her sixth drink of the night. She had started out light with some Champagne, but it was high time to mix in the more heady stuff. One had to be careful with the bartenders at Le Masquerade; they'd been known to sleep her bits of Green Fairy just to knock her for a loop (not that she'd ever particularly minded). She watched as their host preyed a little on the brunette, lips twitching with a small grin she was desperately trying to contain. She felt just a little bad for the stranger, but she might have felt worse if it wasn't sort of a given that if you came to the Masquerade you were either predator or dinner. Apparently Éloi planned on gobbling the other witch up.

Magnifique, although my fairy tale lore is failing me as to whom you represent...Enlighten me

And then his attention was on her and she graciously gave him a full 36o view, "Ah, you're not the only one Love. Apparently Lithuanian folk tales are not as commonly known as I had guessed. There might be a costume change in the not so distant future for me," she sounded thoroughly amused as she shook her head, dark curls bouncing with the movement. "For now, however, I am Eglė, Queen of Serpents. I thought it was rather fitting," she actually giggled before draining her glass, "I lived happily at the bottom of the sea with my Serpent King husband; then it's the same old story of girl goes to visit her family, family murders her husband, girl turns herself and her children into trees. Happens all the time, you've read the Prophet," she was obviously feeling the effects of the alcohol now, "Later I'll be a Scottish Succubus, maybe. Being Queen is pretty good though, if you discount the dead husband".

The anonymity of the this affair delighted him and a slow, boyish grin spread across Rascal's lips as - father? - death neared his dreaded candle. In what other scene besides this would you find such a trinity of characters?

"Our master Death speaks the truth~" An impish light glimmered in his eyes, addressing Riding Hood. "But how could I expect interpretation on so meagre a costume?" He gestured to the whole of his being adroitly.

The fellow appeared rather sharp but he would risk their guess, for none had yet to name him yet. The night was still young!

"Shall I then offer a morsel? A riddle?" Rascal slipped slyly away from the light of the candle, closer to the woman's side. "But there is your clue!" his laugh cut through the sounds of the lavish festivity. "Riddles are my trade, cast with bargains rashly made. And if that still baffles your head..."

A gangly hand reached into his pocket, plucking a spindle of golden yarn that he held before the pair. It gleamed in the moving lights.

"Then look closely at the thread."