The Vileness of Man: Mission Fourteen — Lady Grey's Last Party (Part One)
"Are you sure you want to do this, my Lady?" I asked Emily as kept I close to her heels, fearful of losing her in the dense crowd. The peaceful melody of the background string quartet accompanied with the dull roar of the party guests' chatter did well to drown my words, and I watched as my masquerading empress squeezed past some drunken sycophants to reach the large banquet in the center of her Grand Foyer. The spread was a delicious array of delicacies from far across the Isles, including Serkonan blood sausages and fountains of Gristol cider and Tyvian wine. The aroma of sweet jellied eel and salty brined hagfish mingled with the sharp scent of Morley cheeses, but the savory flavors of the giant tuna marinated in exotic Pandyssian spices seemed to overpower all.
"Of course I do. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. And don't refer to me so formally; you are supposed to be a guest too, remember?" Emily playfully snipped, filling a crystal glass with wine and perusing her crowd for the best place to begin her sinister game of hide-and-seek. That's all this was really—a game intended to fool her esteemed guests into lowering their high guards, as she had practiced on me many times before. Emily was a master of hiding in plain sight, a skill honed by years of practice and one I believe I inadvertently added to. Despite how much I hated putting her so close to these vipers, her sly tongue and cunning demeanor made her the optimal candidate to play this heinous game. Yet her heart was so fragile and her temper renown, and I feared the slightest erroneous statement would shatter her superficial composure.
Large, chromolithograph posters decorated the Tower's interior, indicating the function of this extravagant event with illustrations of a restored Chamber of Commerce and the words, "Rudshore Restoration Charity Ball" printed in script at the bottom. The current date, the 14th day of the Month of Nets, 532 AWC (After White Cliff), was written in smaller text under the title. A scaled diorama of the rebuilt district was stationed at the top grand staircase, and gold and cerulean confetti littered the marbled floors. Everywhere the eye could see posh ladies and gentlemen congregated in small factions amongst themselves, allied by type of wealth, extent of power, and their vexed opinions towards their young empress' dreams. Most carped about how drab an occasion it was, or how scandalous it could be considered for being held on the seventh anniversary of their late empress' death, despite how intentional the date was. Luminous, golden chandeliers and whale-oil wall scones impeded the dreary evening sky beckoning just outside the palace walls and bounced off of crystalline glasses, glistening onto their holder's elegantly concealed visages.
False smiles were obscured by morbidly constructed plates of precious metal or porcelain, and I was thankful to receded behind my old mask for an evening, if only to conceal the scowl permanently contorting my expression and souring my thoughts. I never liked parties. Even when the occasion was intended to be uplifting, all the flatterers and prudes with their twisted sincerities hung as a thick smog in the air, suffocating any ounce of genuine cheer that dared to linger in the open for too long. Jessamine was always so affable, even at the most dreary event, and I constantly did my best to hold her high above the smog so that she may have breathed easy, and yet it rose so quickly I feared my efforts were all for naught. Her daughter, on the other hand, little seventeen-year old Emily (who I'd been courting for three months now) wasn't nearly as oblivious. This is not to say the late empress was naive, only blessed with a sincere heart—one that refused to see the vileness of man.
While I was dressed in my former guise, with hooded coat and assassin's mask shrouding my aged resentment, Emily went as someone entirely new, a persona wholly her own, whom she aptly named "Lady Grey" after her appearance. It consisted of an elegant, grey, short-sleeved pantsuit with long, black, satin gloves, a matching lacy, high-collared blouse, and a full-faced mask. Her shoulder-length, chestnut hair was fashioned into a pin-curled updo and topped with a low-crowned, black mourning cap with painted nightshades and crepe veil that hung gracefully over her silver mask. The mask itself I had asked Piero to create, for discretion and craftsmanship, and embodied an element of sophisticated macabre that only Joplin could capture. It was embossed with archaic, symmetrical designs across the cheeks, and the eye sockets and lips were mauled with gruesomely morose cracks that gave an almost cross-stitched appearance. Even behind that daunting visage she was the most beautiful woman in the room, contested only by the two Boyle sisters, Waverly and Lydia, though I hadn't spotted them yet among the throng of nobility.
"This party is a sham," I heard one of the guests softly sneer, and at his complaint Emily careened towards the sound, hiding a devious smirk behind her mask and concealing her anxious heart with an aloof gate. The man who had spoken was in a group of three and wore a golden mask. His two companions, another man and a lone woman, were also participants of the masquerade. The other gentleman concealed himself behind a two-toned black and red mask, and the lady wore a Serkonan death mask with floral accents.
"Forgive my rudeness, but I couldn't help but overhear. I take it you're not a fan of our empress' little endeavor as well?" Emily inquired, slyly slipping herself into their conversation. The group did not respond at first and shot her snide and haughty glares, and for a moment I feared Emily had been too brash with her eavesdropping and turned them away. Discretely listening to another's words was difficult enough, but boldly inserting oneself into someone's private discussion without raising alarm could be a dangerous feat if they thought you were a rat, "Oh! Where are my manners? I'm Lady Grey, and this is my husband. Surely you've heard of the Grey family of Morley? But enough about me, what were you saying about this party?" she quickly apologized, latching onto my arm.
Husband?! My body flooded with embarrassment, and I was grateful to be wearing something to hide my flushed cheeks. She laid her arm against my shoulder and caressed my chest in a most mocking manner, and it took me all my willpower not to shirk away, for she knew my policy against public displays of affection. How dare she abuse this time to be so bold and broadcast her emotions amidst these conniving fiends! Did she not realize how easily her flirtatiousness could be turned against her? However no one knew our identities, and thought nothing of it beyond a loving wife and spouse.
"We really shouldn't be talking badly about her Grace while in her home. It'll just bode ill for us all later on," the woman of the group suggested uneasily, swirling what little wine was left in her glass.
"Nonsense! If she didn't want us to talk behind her back, then she would have greeted us formally instead of hiding in her room like an ascetic. Personally, I'm a sucker for fairytales. Wouldn't you agree?" Emily protested.
The man in the golden mask nodded in agreement as he continued with the juicy gossip, and he raised his glass slightly in accord, "Indeed. All this opulence is merely intended to provide a false sense of security, and make us overlook the fact that this 'project' is all a farce to cover up the crumbling state of the capital."
"Land is worth nothing anymore," the two-toned gentleman scoffed, his voice thick with resentment, "I hate to invest what little coin I have left in the effort only to lose it all when it's completed. I might as well join the City Watch or the empress' Rudshore Taskforce. It seems as they have more coin lining their pockets than I."
It was clear these people disliked the empress' proclamation, and as they continued to complain I felt Emily's heart grow heavy with sorrow. Had she really done this poorly as a monarch? Surely these noblemen cared too much about themselves to truly see how much of an opportunity this could be for them. If only they would invest a little into this endeavor, then they would see how much could be made once everything was completed. In its peak, Rudshore was teeming with prime real estate opportunities, and wealthy men would leap at the chance to own the smallest chunk of land. Had too much time past for them to realize this could all happen again? But without their help, nothing could be accomplished, and my empress' dream would fade with her lovely smile.
"Well at least the plague it almost gone and the cure is free to those less fortunate. Surely that must account for something," Emily insisted, hoping to regain the faith she had clearly lost in these subjects. However they all laughed at her remark and her tone instantly soured as she snapped, "What's so funny?"
The noblewoman stopped laughing only when she realized the severity of my Lady's tone, and grasped the fact that she was oblivious to the reason for their humor, "Oh darling, how long have you been in Morley? Elixir isn't free. It's about the only thing keeping our glasses filled with this delicious Tyvian wine."
I felt Emily's shoulders reluctantly begin to quiver with both anger and gloom as she held tightly onto my arm. Her silver mask turned to stare into mine, begging for an answer, though I had none to give her, "What are you talking about? The unfortunate don't have to pay anything to receive their elixir rations."
"And that is what makes it quite clever. Indeed, they don't have to pay, but it's all compensated for in their taxes. It was Lord Banister's idea if I'm not mistaken. He's a genius when it comes to finances; perhaps that's how he came into his money," The man in the black and red mask added, "That skill is what our dear empress is gravely lacking, and why this 'Rudshore Restoration Project' isn't getting any of my coin."
When Joplin and Sokolov first created the cure about a year after Emily's coronation, my empress had intended it to be entirely free for all needy citizens in order to end the plague on a wide-spread basis, and not limit elixir to only the privileged. Yet, as these noblemen continued to revel in her ignorance, it seemed as though her seemingly gracious donation had been squandered in the name of money. Was her empire in such need of coin that they would willfully sacrifice the most impoverished that could not pay taxes and therefore were not on the ration list? It seemed being away from Parliament for so long and leaving her court to run her capital had only hidden away the filth and diseased, and not faced them with the brutal reality it was desperately deprived of.
Banister. This incident only made me hate him more. It was no wonder the lower classes disliked my empress and saw her as a "Rat Queen", for she was profiting off of their suffering, despite how legitimate this policy was. It was true that in this policy Dunwall had almost entirely been restored (except for the Flooded District) and that enough people were able to afford the tax to decrease the plague population extensively. Practically all governments financed their endeavors with their citizen's taxes, validating their raise through brilliantly constructed jargon just cryptic enough to escape the commoner's comprehension. Though I was no politician, I knew that tensions were high enough when the taxes had been elevated towards the end of Jessamine's reign. And despite how necessary it might have been, it was cruelty to raise them any further than they were back then.
"Yes, she rather toss us all into debt for the sake of those indigents than realize that sometimes the boldest measures are the safest," the golden masked man concluded.
I couldn't stand it anymore. Their words had sunken Emily's heart and I could feel the weight of her soul latching desperately onto me for stability. How dare they speak so ill of their sovereign right in front of her! Their ignorance didn't matter. They were in her home and should be tossing pleasantries into the air, lest a wandering guard overhear their insults and persecute them for slander, "Safety is a one-sided affair," I spat, attempting to restrain my malice as much as possible, "Perhaps if you would take the silver spoons out of your mouths and open your eyes to the world you would see just how gracious my Empress is being by trying to help out those 'indigents' lining your fashionable pockets with coin!"
"Your empress?" one of them questioned as their mask tilted with snarky confusion.
My eyes grew wide and my throat instantly closed as I realized my error. I let my anger get the better of me, and in my rage had denoted possession over Emily's title. It was a style only the highest court officials spoke, and not something a mere Morley lord would have said. On top of that, despite being away from Serkonos for so long, my accent was still thick enough to question my supposed nationality, as my words rolled with that rustic elegance that only those raised under the Southern skies could foster.
For a moment I was afraid that in my fury I had blown her cover, but Emily was a smart girl and quickly remedied my mistake by urging me away, "Darling, will you freshen my drink?" she stumbled, handing me her full glass and lightly pushing me backwards. I didn't want to leave her alone to these prudes, but what choice did I have? Though I had been initially fearful that in her petulance Emily would have outwardly protested their complaints, it had been I who had let my tongue slip and pushed her farther into their fire. I wanted to protest and curse these ingrates outright, but where would that have gotten me? So I begrudgingly obliged and took the glass, slinking away into the thick masses.
Most of the other guests were sycophants, who marveled at the elegant decorations, or cheerfully listened to the beautiful background music, saying how my empress had spared no expense to throw them a wonderful party, and how this showed her willingness to pamper the aristocracy. But they were liars, all of them, only afraid that their company would rat them out if they boded ill, unlike the brash bluebloods that had torn Emily from my grasp. I retreated back to the banquet table to do as my empress had commanded quickly, for I could barely keep track of her movements by peering through a few other groups lingering around the wine fountains, and my far proximity from her was unnerving. As I neared the fountain of Tyvian wine, my expression cracked into a massive smirk, so much that for a moment I feared it would extend beyond my mask's protection and the world would gaze upon my devious glee. For I spotted Lord Banister, filling his glass to the brim and clinging onto the table for stability. He was clearly rat-legged, as he could not stand on his own without support, and wore only a quarter-faced phantom mask, with emerald green scales inspired after a snake—how fitting. His blonde hair was slicked back and his cheeks flushed from alcohol's sweet embrace. I fought not to openly laugh at his inebriety, thinking instead of what a wonderful position this put me in.
I hated Lucius Banister, if that was not clear enough already, and if I could get him to say something so heinous about this party or my empress' decree in front of me, her loyal Lord Protector, I could toss him into the depths of Coleridge and watch him squeal like the pig he was, well, at least until he regained his sobriety and was released on favors. As I approached him, he turned and spotted me, his glazed eyes fumbling over my appearance as he attempted to stand up straight and look down upon me. He was slightly taller than I, but not enough for it to matter and as he gazed upon my mask his lips curled into a sickening smile.
"Oh hoooow sh-candalous," he mockingly slurred, "A bit outdated, yesh, but I'll give you points for creativity." Shocking, his arrogance was even more profound in this state. As if his opinion even mattered to me. I merely rolled my eyes, improperly dumped my Lady's untouched wine back into the fountain, and filled her another glass.
"So how do you like the party?" I nonchalantly asked, trying not to sound too interested in his response.
His hazy eyes lingered down to my ungloved hands, and his demeanor instantly changed into that of a school child, filled with enthusiasm and astonishment, "You, you even got the hand tattoo right! You knooow, they shaid he could control your mind and fly through the air. I dunno if I believe all that, but they made for good stories." He tried to reach out and touch my face, but I flinched away and his momentum nearly carried him to the floor.
I hadn't bothered to glove my hands on this occasion simply because I was going as a costumed-version of the Masked Felon, and if I was going to do him right, the tattoo was a necessity. None of the stationed Overseers seemed to care, as they realized (or thought they did) that the real assassin had disappeared a long time ago, and that I was merely imitating him. Besides, the mark of the Outsider was not common knowledge, and I doubted Banister actually knew what it truly meant.
"That's nice, but what's your opinion on this restoration effort?" I insisted, irritated that he had changed the subject to rave about my mask.
And yet he did it again, his words tumbling out of his mouth with drunken precision, "I wash there the night that the youngest Boyle went missing. I even shaw the Masked Felon and remembered thinking how clever he was exploiting those terrifying events, and dressing just like you are now," suddenly his face paled, as much as it could behind those booze-induced flushed cheeks, and he stumbled backwards in fright "Wait, wait, what'sh to shay you're not genuine? You've come for me thish time, haven't you? Well you won't take me as eashy! Guard! Hel—"
Before he finished his plead, I stopped time. Shit! This was not the response I was looking for. I had already nearly blown Emily's cover, and now I was about to reveal mine through inquiring members of the Watch and Abbey. Why did this seem as if my mission at the Boyle's residence had been so much easier than now? I wasn't even kidnapping someone here, and twice already I had almost been made. Had I lost my touch, or was this just a horrible streak of bad luck? Either way, I had to think fast, as the fabric of time was slowly beginning to refold itself. I could hear drops of splashed wine slowly crashing onto the marble flooring, and the orchestra was winding back to speed like a clockwork music box. Speaking of music boxes, the Overseers positioned at the entrance and far walls were craning their necks towards my position, towards Banister's cry. That squawking bastard, if only I could choke the life out of him...
That was it! I could choke him out. Everyone was motionless, unable to see my movements and it would only look as if he had downed too much and slipped into a drunken slumber. Besides, it would feel amazing. When else would I get a chance to physically abuse such a high member of court, without it being deemed as treason or lunacy? Decided on my actions, I quickly blinked behind him and grappled around his neck, pulling him into a constricting chokehold. I listened to his throat gurgle painful sounds as he desperately gasped for air to no avail, and he slithered into unconsciousness, like the snake that he was. When time resumed its norm, he crashed onto floor, clinging desperately onto the banquet tablecloth and forcing a few filled wineglasses to tumble sidewise, their bittersweet contents dripping hilariously onto his limp form. When the people rushed to help him, I had already slunk back to the shadows of other party-goers, my mission completed and a sinister laugh uncontrollably echoing from behind my smirking mask. This would be the talk amongst the nobility for the next few weeks—how their seemingly superior Lucius Banister had become so full of himself that he had passed out during my Lady's event, and in his oblivious delusion had uplifted the belligerent aristocracy to genuine fits of humor, so much so that for a sheer moment they forgot their complaints and praised Empress Emily for throwing such an eventful occasion.
HAPPY NEW YEARS! Did everyone make a resolution? Mine is to make it to the climax before March and finish this story by next year, XD. This is part one of this two part-party, simply because it would been god-awful long if I had continued it in the same chapter, and I didn't want to deprive you all any longer. God, this took so long to construct, but hopefully you like it. :) Review?