The Guising
A slightly hassled-looking Sarah Williams stared at the flier on her kitchen counter. While unpacking the groceries she'd bought in town, the fluorescent piece of paper had fluttered dramatically out of the plastic bag, dislodged when she'd pulled out the carton of milk.
"are you 'too old' to go Trick-or-Treating for Halloween? want to join the festivities but don't have a costume? join the third annual Guising – cheap costume rentals! free food! alcohol available at the event! good times to be had by all!"
The lack of capitals vaguely irritated her, but Sarah pondered the flier – and its event – as she finished putting away her groceries. Mentally calculating, she realized that there were only two days until Halloween, and that the following day she had two papers due. Guising? Dressing up – she hadn't dressed up for anything in ages, for play or for real, not since the semester started.
Shrugging, she tacked the paper onto the refrigerator with a magnet, figuring one of her flat mates might want to go. Sarah doubted she'd have time, considering how much work she had to do. Maybe if the work went faster than she anticipated… It did sound like fun. Maybe, she told herself.
The day before Halloween found her standing in the queue at the Student Union, flier in hand. She hadn't technically finished all her work – her conscious niggled at her for that – but surely, I can finish it all between now and tomorrow night, Sarah rationalized. It wasn't like there was terribly much left to be done – before she could finish the thought, the student before her stepped away, and Sarah moved up to talk to the guy behind the desk.
"Hello, I'm here about the Guising…?" She let her voice trail off, hoping he'd know what she was talking about.
"Right. It's five pounds, you pay here, and that covers your mask and a cloak. If you do any damage to either, you have to pay to get it repaired. I give you a ticket, you meet here tomorrow at eight, pick up your costume, and head out with the group. You'll travel around the town center, then end the touring about at eleven or so for a bonfire on the Sands. You going to get a ticket?"
She didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Sarah hurried down the path through the park, her hand clenching her ticket reassuringly, shivering a bit in the cool air. Her clothes were simple – a faded, rusty, square-necked shirt, dark jeans, and sensible but old-fashioned looking boots. She left her jacket at the dorm, not sure if she'd have any place to store it during the event; Sarah hoped the cloak would keep her warm enough during the Guising. If not, maybe someone would be offering hot drinks somewhere along the way.
A fair number of people loitered about, standing in line for and obtaining their costumes, trying on masks, swirling cloaks – Sarah was relieved to see that the cloaks looked heavy enough to stave off the rapidly-cooling breeze outside, and hoped it would also hold off the cold sea breezes once the party moved to the Sands – and waiting. There was an energy to the group, certainly – they milled about, and called to one another, laughing and jesting, but beneath this, the feeling that something vital to them was just moments away infected them all, creating an impatient, joyful undercurrent that soon swept Sarah up along with the rest of the crowd.
A little breathless, she handed over her ticket to an already-costumed official, who gave her a choice of grey, russet, or black half-masks.
"We have green and navy, too, but those always get snapped up first," the official chattered. Sarah nodded, only half listening, trying to choose a mask. The black mask she rejected almost immediately – it was too flamboyant with its crimson and electric blue details. The grey mask had a beautiful silvery sheen to it, and delicate, icy streaks painted on it, but the russet – this mask was plainer, but her eye kept wandering to it, and her hand hovered over it uncertainly. This mask had no adornment, though it was folded over in such a way that parts of the mask were permanently shaded. Sarah's hand fell, and closed around the mask.
"The brown, then? Here's the cape to match. Next, please!"
Briskly excused, Sarah scurried out of the way, making her way to an empty space by the window. She studied the mask more thoroughly after carelessly tossing the cape across her shoulders. There was a certain sharpness in the angle of the half-mask, she realized, an edge to it along the nose and in the slant of the eyes, that reminded her of Sir Didymus. With a grin, she raised the mask and fastened the ties.
She turned, hoping to examine her reflection in the window, but the reflection was too faint. Disappointed, she turned, looking around the room, trying to find a mirror.
"You could try when we get to the bar," a voice to her right suggested. "There's usually a mirror there."
Sarah turned quickly, taking in her fellow Guiser. He (she assumed he was male, due to his height and his voice) had a dark green mask, boldly embellished with red-gold, and he had pulled his hair back in a short, messy ponytail. He'd wrapped his cloak around himself, so she could tell little more about him, just that he was tall, and lean, and had a nice voice – and a good idea.
"Am I that obvious?" she teased. He grinned, and Sarah was a little surprised to find it unnerved her. She couldn't see half of his face – she couldn't tell if the grin was sarcastic, or encouraging, and the eyes behind the mask revealed little. She needed to see all of the face, not these disjointed pieces of one, to tell what he meant. But then he spoke, and the emotion behind the words reassured her – he was relaxed, teasing, and energetic.
"Everyone's always keen on seeing how they look – it's all part of the fun, not knowing what your costume will be like 'til you get here. Someone's hovering with a camera, and the pictures'll be up on the board later, but they don't help much if you don't know what you look like, yeah?"
Sarah agreed, and told him as much, and they continued the easy conversation for a few minutes, but then the last person had trickled in with their ticket – the last Guiser had donned their mask and cloak – and a woman dressed as a white mare rallied the Guisers, and the lot of them were moving, streaming out the door and into the town, jittery with excitement and laughing a bit too loud.
They tracked through the town, invading two pubs and the local arcade. They were loud, and they danced wildly to whatever music was on, and Sarah thought it was glorious. Behind the masks, people let loose – she barely recognized some of the people by the sound of their voices, and they were uncharacteristically unreserved, secure in the anonymity of the masks and the crowd. He-of-the-Green-Mask faded in and out of Sarah's view; she managed to get another short conversation in with him, at the second pub. He'd appeared rather suddenly, startling her, which she thought amused him. As if to apologize, he pointed her towards the mirror behind the bar, and Sarah was somewhat shocked to see herself: behind the reddish mask, her eyes were brilliantly green, and a wide, feral grin had split her face. The cloak, a darker, earthier shade of brown with a soft green lining and a silvery chain and clasp, draped dramatically over her shoulders. The grin faded as she gaped, wordless, at her reflection.
"Do you recognize yourself?" Green Mask murmured, and Sarah almost couldn't hear him over the crowd. She almost didn't answer, as she thought his question was rhetorical, but found herself responding anyway.
"No," she breathed. "And isn't that lovely?"
She was still captivated by the mirror, and she only saw the reflection of his smile – once more unnerved by her inability to see the emotion behind it – and heard him say, "Truly magical." Her hair stood on end, but when she broke away from the mirror to face him, the crowd had already stolen him back.
Sarah stood, frozen in the whirling mass of people, shocked by the sense that anything could happen, anything might be happening, on this night, at this moment. Then the white mare shouted, calling her Guisers on, urging them out into the night again.
Dazed, Sarah fell in with the crowd again, noticing just how little the street lights cut into the thick, dark night. The arcade, with its jumbled, flashing lights, defied the night that hovered outside, and the jack-o-lanterns that lit some windows and doorsteps gleamed, somehow more eerie than the shadows that skirted these small, futile attempts to drive away the darkness.
The path down to the Sands, really a wide, crooked set of somewhat treacherous stairs, lead the Guisers away from the town, around the small cliff, and on to the semi-circular beach itself. The stone cliff face gave way only gradually to the sand, and even at the waterfront there were stretches of rocky, sometimes jagged ledges. The surf tumbled in gently, too well harbored in this area to beat with any force against the shore, and the Guisers' rowdiness quickly drowned out the sound of the waves.
The bonfire had been set up earlier, and the kindling swiftly caught fire; the larger sticks and branches took longer, and someone pulled out an acoustic guitar – Sarah vaguely wondered if they'd stashed it here earlier or if she just hadn't noticed the instrument during the Guising – and began to play with more enthusiasm than skill. People sang along when they knew the words (and hummed, sort of following the note just played, when they didn't) and waited for the bonfire to start leaping. It took some time, the damp air hindering the flames somewhat, and by the time the fire roared, the manic energy that had gripped the Guisers from the beginning eased.
Sarah edged away from the stifling heat of the fire, wandering over to a rocky shelf beside the water. The raucous noise faded, and the lulling sweep of the ocean whispered. The ledge, at the very edge of the turning tide, had a sharp break in it, and when water rushed in and out of the crack, it burbled merrily. Soothed by the sound, drawn to it, Sarah clambered up onto the rocks and cautiously scooted as close to the rim of the crack as she dared get.
With the fire off to the side, and the town far behind her, no man-made light polluted the sky before her, and between coy and flimsy clouds, Sarah could see stars, stark against the night sky, glittering like crystal dust. Head tilted back, eyes on the sky, her hand rose to brush the edge of her mask, and Sarah thought back to the last masquerade she'd attended, however unwittingly and at the time unmasked. She marveled at how vulnerable she'd felt, but then considered how daunting it would be to join the group around the fire again without her mask. Her fingers passed over the mask's sculpted ridges before passing briefly over her eyes so that she could rub the bridge of her nose, deep in thought.
"Mind if I join you?"
Sarah whirled, her reverie shattered, and blinked at He-of-the-Green-Mask, bewildered. The bonfire blazed behind him, casting his features into shadow, a mere outline. "How do you manage," she asked, her voice somewhat strangled, "to sneak up on me so often?"
"With all this noise? I'd be more surprised if I couldn't!" He held up a bag in a conciliatory manner. "I'm willing to pay a toll… and I have chocolate," Green Mask tempted. Sarah pretended to consider the offer, and then patted the space next to her.
They were quiet for a moment, staring out over the water and listening to the waves – and the gurgling water in the crevice, which, strangely, reminded Sarah now of a cauldron, simmering sedately under a crone's watchful gaze - entranced by the layers of deep grey and black, and especially that thin, darkest stripe that delineated the far-off horizon from the ocean. A ghostly sickle moon dangled high above, and if Sarah craned her head back, she could see it overhead.
"Nights like this," she said, "seem like they could last forever. And if they did, I don't think I'd mind."
"It is… restful," He-of-the-Green-Mask agreed. "Though I can only take so much peace before I get restless."
"What, Guising didn't wear you out?" Sarah's voice was light, though she couldn't help the note of disbelief that slipped into the words.
"Of course not," he snorted. "The night's only just begun; it's barely past midnight, and I'm quite the night owl."
"Midnight! How far past? I have classes in the morning!" Sarah envisioned herself, so drowsy in the morning's lecture that she fell asleep, being berated by the lecturer for not paying attention. She knew the classes were so large that the lecturers likely wouldn't mind one student –and that they wouldn't give her detention, even if they noticed – but the image lingered in her mind.
Green Mask elbowed her gently. "You're panicking. Calm down. It's only a quarter past. When do you have class?"
"Nine," she answered with a groan. "And you may be a night person, but I'm usually up early – I'm rarely awake this late in the night." Sarah sighed heavily.
"I should get back to my dorm, as late as it is, but…" she trailed off.
"You don't want the night to end, huh?"
"Exactly. And I don't want to hand over the cloak now – it's too cold to walk back without it. I need to work up the courage to take off the costume, you know?"
He hummed, a noncommittal sound. "I doubt they expect you to hand over the mask and cloak now; then they'd have to carry it all back up the steps. There's usually a place to return the costumes in the Union the day after." Unconsciously, her hand rose to her mask again, as if to reaffirm that she still wore it, and that it wasn't going to slip away. Then her hand fell, and she, too, hummed a response.
They were quiet again, and Sarah felt herself growing drowsy. He-of-the-Green-Mask tipped her towards him, so she leaned against his shoulder, and she stirred; but her cloak kept her warm, and a sea breeze toyed with her hair, and the ocean babbled in the crevice and whispered along the shore, and she couldn't entirely remember why she may have protested leaning against him. He left her be for a while, and Sarah thought she may have drifted into sleep.
"I think you were right about getting back to your dorm," he mumbled. "Come on, up with you – mind the rocks, you wouldn't want to fall in –" Green Mask kept up a steady stream of encouragements as he helped her stand, and she swayed on her feet, unsteady – she probably would have been just as unsteady on solid ground, but she thought, irritated, that the sand didn't help at all.
"I think you need sugar, or you won't make it all the way back to your dorm." He rifled through the bag he'd shown her earlier. "Would you like a Wish? It should get you home…"
What? Sarah stared at him, sure she'd misheard him. "A… wish?"
"Yes, yes, a Wish. A Cadbury Wish – see?" He-of-the-Green-Mask extracted a small gold packet and offered it to her. "Do you want it?"
Then forget… Sarah suppressed the echo, though she was now very alert.
"What's in it?"
"So suspicious! It's milk chocolate, with, ah –" he squinted at the wrapper in the dim light. "With a truffle centre. The mare was handing them out before I came over here. Would you like it?"
"Would I like a wish," she muttered. "Well, I – I don't see why not. Yes, please, thanks."
He passed it to her with a flourish. "With sugar in your possession, I think you can manage to stay awake. Would you like an escort?"
"No, but thank you," Sarah assured him hurriedly. "The streets are well lit and – I'll be fine."
"Hm."
He walked with her past the bonfire and to the stairs, bowing theatrically as she said goodbye and started up the steps. "I'll leave you here, then. Good night, Sarah."
She halted at the top of the stairs, and looked back, expecting him to have disappeared. But no – there, at the bottom, a silhouette watched, and when she waved gingerly to it, the figure responded in kind. Then she turned again and started strolling back to the dorm.
Without incident, she reached her door and let herself in; she uncloaked without turning the light on, somehow reluctant to face the bright light just yet. The whole night seemed muted, mystical, and she loathed to let that feeling slip away. She hung up the cloak, and hesitatingly untied the mask strings, pulling it off and laying her guise aside.
As she slipped back into sleep, she wondered how He-of-the-Green-Mask had known her name.
Oro: I realize that this is very unevenly split, and (technically) late to be posted... in my defense, I wrote this on Halloween, but I ran out of hours in the day. Hey, it happens.
Quill: (sniffs) No excuse.
Oro: You're just mad that this isn't a comedy, like you intended. And jealous of Hob.
Hob: Hello! I'm the new owl!
Oro: He's also somewhat quieter than Quill.
Quill: Quieter, huh? I'll show you loud - SHE DOESN'T OWN - (strangled squawk)
Hob: Cadbury or Labyrinth. Shush...