I don't know why I've chosen to stay at this petty little inn. Yes, it's more luxurious than my dusty old clock tower, but this place just has an odd sense of... sad.
I struggle to keep the smile on my face. The perpetual grin for once, wants to go away. Perhaps it's the ambience. I don't hear laughter, I hear strangled, forced, and angry retorts being thrown around. The sad drone of music, which at first sounded happy, does nothing but enhance the small inn's feeling of depression.
A sigh escapes my lips, and I finally let the corners of my mouth fall into a straight line. It feels odd. Not having my ears back, teeth showing, eyes no longer squinted. I can see more, but I don't like more. It's distracting. Keeps me from seeing only what I want, and need, to see.
As I move my gaze around the room, the music beings to grow loud. Slowly, yes, but it's getting louder. I don't know if I like it. Perhaps it's just me. Music has never been a thing I've been in to. It doesn't make sense. It's just a bunch of noises strung together to create what people like to call 'a song'.
As the music continues it's steady crescendo, I rise from my chair. Despite my previously mentioned dislike towards the sounds, my curiosity has won the best of me, and I must investigate.
Quietly, as not to disturb or alert whoever must be in the hall, I slide towards the door. Placing one hand above the doorknob, and the other on the brass itself, I inch open the cracking old wood. The music quickly begins to increase in volume, and I deem it safe to put away my 'I must be silent' act.
"Hello, sir," I say, smiling at the man moping down the hallway. His eyes stay glued to the floor, hand perpetually turning the crank on his music box. It appears that he's also come in contact with the inn's vicious, and oh so persistent sadness.
"Hello," he groans. I shut the door behind me, and press my back against the wood, as to make room for the man to pass. He drifts along, taking no moment to acknowledge me further. A spark of anger flickers somewhere within me, but it feels out of place. No need to be angry. This man doesn't know me.
"How are you feeling today, sir?" I ask, quickly catching up to his side. As I move closer, the intense smell of body odor, and what seems to be urine, attack my nose. My first reaction is to cringe and quickly bound away, but then I realize that I must be in the same shape as him.
"Okay..." He mutters, the pace of his music slowing. The sad, accordion sounding notes have worked their way into a repetitive loop, quickly being lost into the ambience of the inn, despite its blaring volume. I finger the fringe of my shirt, and swallow nervously.
"How has your day been?" I'm not good at social interaction.
"Okay..." The man repeats, beginning his slow decent down the stairs. I stay slightly ahead of him, to keep out of his cloud of stench. I probably shouldn't talk so badly about his smell, but coming from someone who's lived beneath a clock and bathed in sewage water for, what I'm guessing are months, it's slightly more acceptable.
I grunt in aggravation. This guy refuses to talk to me. I don't know if it's my lack of social skills, or maybe his, but whatever the problem is, I want to know.
As we reach the landing, I fall back into step with the... musician. My eyes caress the music box, sliding over every crevice of the contraption. The dark, what I'm assuming is copper, bell of the box is beaten and covered with iron patches. The box itself though is made purely of wood. I'm not sure what kind, but it's clearly old. Deep nicks and scratches weave their way over, around, and throughout the instrument, creating an unintentional work of art. I said I don't like music, I never said anything about the instruments used to create it. My eyes follow the marks until they reach something incredible. A mask. This mask is beautiful. With flowing wings surrounding a small, probably plastic beak, the male Cucco mask is stunning.
"Sir," I smile at him," where did you acquire that mask on the back of your music box."
"It's a grinder organ," he mumbles. Quickly raising his voice, he adds," I got my mask from dog who led an animal troupe," he hesitates," stole it."
A dog? How could a dog have come into possession of a mask as divine as this? "Would you mind if I, looked at it?"
"Go ahead," he says, his voice quickly returning to it's normal, almost silent volume. The man opens the door, and I follow him out, leaving the disgusting scent of cinnamon and roses.
I delicately snatch the mask off of the box, and begin turning it over in my hands. The fine curves, elegant wings, and deep ruby eyes are amazing. This mask truly is lovely.
"I love your mask," I state, smiling again. The man looks back at me.
"Thank you, it's quite dear to me," his attitude seems to have changed a little.
"I didn't catch your name, what is it, again?"
"Guru-guru," he says with a nod. The name strikes me familiar. I've heard it somewhere before... Maybe we've met up in the past, or perhaps I've simply heard it in conversation before. Whatever the matter is, this man," this delightful friend," I continue aloud," would hopefully, lend me his mask."
His eyes meet mine, and I know he's torn. Hopefully this street dweller will give me this mask. I'll simply get him to lend it to me, keep it until the three days restart, and voilà! This delicious treasure of mine will be added to my ever-growing collection.
"Maybe..." He says, his voice growing soft again. This man is full of emotions.
Our walk continues in silence. I decide not to press the subject, perhaps I can chip away at him until he gives the mask to me.
The moon is bright and large, taking up most of the sky's space. The red, gleaming eyes have no affect on me, although I've heard a few people state their fear and anxiety towards them, and the rest of the moon itself. The mouth, full of rotting, yellow and brown teeth simply enhances the whole effect, giving it a slightly scarier, and more unnerving tone. I like it.
As we pass the rows of flower pots, the red flowers catch my eye again. I extend a hand, and rip one from it's soil. I don't know what compelled me to take it, maybe its just the color, but it might come in handy later.
"Where might we be going?" I ask, bending to look at the man's face.
"The laundry hole," Guru-guru says," it's where I stay. I wasn't planning on you follow me."
"Ah yes, of course, I just wanted to complement you on this mask. By the way, you never answered my question," hopefully he'll lend it to me," can I borrow your mask?"
"Sure," he says without hesitation. Maybe he was getting fed up with me.
"Why thank you," I say, smiling wide and giving the man a little bow. Ohoho yes, it's mine, all mine. This beautiful piece of art belongs to me now.
"Have a nice day," I say, waving Guru-guru off. He nods, smirks slightly, and trudges off into the depths of night. I spin on my heel, and head straight for the inn, rose in one hand, mask in the other.
A/N
Oh my god finally. Haha it's been FOREVER since I updated this, haha and I finally got around to it. I hope you like it so far, it's one of my favorite stories to work on. I love writing from the Happy Mask Salesman's point of view. The way he looks at things is just... Wonderful. Anyways guys, haha enough of my fangirling- thanks for reading, and have a super fantastic day!
-Twilit Lady of Majesty