Masquerade [Kotik & Consulting_Angel]

[Clavicle]

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Eye of gold, thigh of blue
True is false, who is who
Curl of lip, swirl of gown
Ace of hearts, face of clown
Masquerade!
Seething shadows, breathing lies
You can fool any friend who ever knew you
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[Consulting_Angel]

Full Name: Ezekiel Novak.
Nicknam: Ezekiel, Zeke (he hates that one).
Age: 21.
Gender: Cismale.
Pronouns: He/Him/His.
Sexuality: Homosexual (closeted).
Nationality: Half English (British), half-Greek.
Appearance: Ezekiel has short, black hair that is a little wavy, and his eyes are an unusual grey colour. He stands at 5'10'', with a good posture that isn't too formal, but not slouchy. He has an athletic build. He has a dark, swirled birthmark on his left shoulder, but other than that, his dark skin is mostly clear. Depending on the occasion, then Ezekiel's outfit will vary. Most often, though, he will casually wear a t-shirt with a plaid button up over it, and jeans.

Personality: Ezekiel is usually a quiet, cold, yet also very calm individual. He is also quite observant, and may quickly notice some things that others may not have noticed at first or without having to look closely. He doesn't reveal much about himself, and he can be difficult to read, making him secretive. He will seem uncaring at first, but those that grow close to him just might see his hidden depths, in which he's devoted, deeply caring and loyal. He is also rather stubborn, and it is difficult to change his mind, even if what he is set on could be potentially dangerous for him. However, despite this rather cold exterior that he has, Ezekiel does have a hidden, softer side to him. He doesn't like to let others get too close to him, even if they are a good friend of his, and tries to keep them at a distance. He's dedicated to whatever he does, especially if it's something that he particularly likes, and doesn't often put himself out for anything else.

Short Bio: He grew up in a well-known hunter family, with four siblings - three of them younger, and one older. He has mostly been taught about hunting different monsters from a fairly young age, but he honestly didn't have too much of an interest in that. He did quite like reading about them, with all their mythology and history - so he was quite often set to doing research on anything that any member of the family came across that was unfamiliar. It doesn't mean that he hates the monsters any less, though, especially considering all of the stories that he'd been told by his parents. His uncle was killed a couple of months ago by a werewolf, which he's still bitter about. Given the recent influx of parties and masquerades that are being thrown, Ezekiel is sure that he's seen his uncle's prized silver dagger being flaunted about... but he can't say anything. He knows how to play the violin, and still regularly does so. He also rather likes astronomy. Ezekiel also has a fear of heights, and is allergic to stinging nettles.

Other: --

[Clavicle]

x

Name: Jude Vaughn
Age: 20
Appearance: Not a man you’d expect to exhibit any kind of grace, at least not by initial appearances, but who somehow makes his allotted 6 feet and 7 inches work–he’s had a lot of time to practice his effortless ducking under low door frames ever since he hit that growth spurt in his teens. His long limbs have the effect of making every action of his either graceful or jaunty, depending on how relaxed he is or how many stops he’d made at the refreshments table.

Typically seen all buttoned up in clothes just on the side of ‘expensive, but not bank breaking’, with his curly dark hair combed down and a pair of sensible rectangular glasses perched over his somewhat hawkish nose. This lasts until he’s alone, at which point his glasses begin slipping, his hair wins the fight against his extensive morning routine and returns to its regular messy state [his habit of running his hand through it doesn’t help any] and the suit is tossed in favor of more comfortable, casual clothes. His one feature he doesn't bother to hide or fix is the large, splotchy birth mark – in actuality a burn mark – stretching out across his nose from his right cheekbone. It's faded a little over the years, but it's still no less prominent.

He smiles more often amongst his kind, showing off his fangs like they're his best feature.

Personality: Curious to a fault, he will poke and prod at anything that attracts his interest until he's either satisfied or it blows up in his face, or some combination of the two. Regularly likened to a mischievous cat with an eye for the most fragile breakables on the highest shelf, and just as quick as one to disappear after the crash. Though he’s the perfect example of composure around his parents and their colleagues, careful observers might notice his occasionally wandering eyes or a twitch of the mouth, the shadow of an opinion or thought he is trying to clamp down on but is too stubborn to let go. His bull-headed nature manifests in subtle ways up until he loses his patience [most of which is used up on his family and his ever-increasing responsibilities]. Then he becomes insistent and digs his heels in, intent on doing things his way or no way at all.

He's vain, no doubt, if the hours he spends fussing over his appearance before going out in public are anything to go by. But away from prying eyes, his presentation begins to slip. The more stressful his week, the more prone is he to give himself over to his whims, and sometimes those include occasionally day drinking and going out to look for trouble. But more often, he goes out looking for somebody to latch on and complain to. If there’s a couch or chair in the area that he can splay himself over, all the better. During these times, he gives off the impression of a man who is careening straight into a dead end and is still intent on being dramatic about it until he hits the wall.

He wrinkles his nose at stray animals but dotes on his family’s dogs like they’re his own children. Four borzois, each paler than the next. They’re the sleek, regal-looking type of dog his grandmother figured rich people should own but wasn’t prepared to care for. The duties thus fell to him when he was still a boy–his affection for the pups grew as they aged alongside him into adulthood. If some people think his judgmental stares aren't bad enough on their own, they change their tune when four pairs of shiny black eyes join his in unison. It's uncanny, how well he has trained such gentle dogs to appear so scathing.

[Consulting_Angel]

Ezekiel Novak

Ezekiel walked slowly in the hall, passing by what felt like to be at least a hundred other guests - none of them recognisable, due to the variety of masks worn. He subconsciously touched his own mask, which was a rather ornate piece, and possibly one of the more unusual masks of the lot. But it still, surprisingly, did its job, for no one gave him a second glance or a suspicious stare. He then carefully smoothed out an invisible crease in the lapel of the black suit jacket he wore. The rest of his outfit consisted of a crisp, white shirt, a pale gold waistcoat, black trousers and black dress shoes - something fairly typical, with the exception of, perhaps, the waistcoat.

As he walked, he caught sight of a group of other guests admiring something. Ezekiel moved towards them, to take a closer look. One of the guests, upon noticing his arrival, leaned towards him to tell him what they were looking at. "It's oak wood crossbow. Beautifully crafted, isn't it?"
Ezekiel just nodded slightly, just holding back any sort of expression that would indicate anger. He knew that crossbow belonged to another hunter - one that had been a closer friend of the Novak's. He then managed to say, carefully, "Indeed." He stepped away after a few more moments. They would certainly not be admiring anything in a week's time, he was sure.

Ezekiel made his way towards the food table, and he grimaced slightly at the options available - when he'd set eyes on the side dishes. Calamari, tiny mushrooms, and various exotic meats and cheeses did not particularly appeal to him. He'd much rather have something simple to eat instead - not complicated, sophisticated bites.

[Clavicle]

Jude Vaughn
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Jude couldn’t decide which was louder: the orchestra, or his mother’s fussing.

The hired musicians, though playing loudly enough to be heard all over, were all the way across the room. His monster was all but speaking in his ear. The party was already in full swing and still she flittered between him, his father and another poor fool who happened to be within her reach, a tall guest Jude didn't recognize but one who was well-familiar with Lady Vaughn, if his tolerance of her criticisms was anything to go by.

Jude watched her coo over his father’s bone-white mask, and figured his own decision to forego color in favor of a monochrome black suit might’ve been what caused her this evening's upset. To no one's surprise, she’d wheedled her husband into matching his clothes to her dress, a pearlescent gown with pastel blue accents, and was disappointed the entire family couldn’t be a perfect set. In Jude's imagination, they would’ve looked like delicate little teapots. While his mother might’ve thought that to be adorable, he thought he’d outgrown such ensembles a long time ago.

But he hadn’t been too cruel to her; she’d been delighted once she’d seen his mask. It was an old heirloom, a whimsical ivory sheep passed down from generation to generation, although rarely worn. Its golden horns curled up and back along the sides of his head, settling amongst his locks almost as if they naturally belonged there. The mask left the lower half of his face exposed, a feature he wasn’t too fond of. He'd have to watch his expressions.

After having his tie straightened out and his hair gently pulled at for the fifth time that evening, Jude cleared his throat and excused himself from the group. His mother didn’t seem to mind him stepping away very much, as she was already descending on the stranger and his suit lapels. Jude exchanged a glance with him before leaving, a brief connection in mutual exasperation.

He then turned on his heel to face the large room. Finally, he could search for some more interesting company.

There, a flash of gold in the crowd. He eyed the man stalking away from a group gathered around one of his family’s exhibits. It didn’t seem like he shared their appreciation of the weapon. It wasn’t his behavior, however, but his outfit that caught Jude’s eye. Amongst the rest of the crowd, he stood out in his simplicity–Jude could appreciate that.

The man stopped by the large dining table and Jude’s nose wrinkled; he’d have to pass the dance floor to reach him. The music had been building up for some time now, from its slow, quiet drone as the first of the guests filtered in to a dramatic, elaborate performance beckoning the attendees to join in on the revelry. There were couples already in its sway, swinging around each other with fervor. Jude inhaled deeply, closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled and and stepped into the fray.

Not two steps in, somebody flung themselves into his arms, their gloved hand slipping into his with practiced ease. A garishly yellow mask of a wicked cat grinned up at him. He recognized one of his cousins in the green eyes behind it. He’d never been able to tell the three siblings apart, and he wasn’t keen on playing this one’s guessing game this time. He laughed and spun her around in perfect synchronicity with the dancers around them, and by the time she twirled back to face him he was already out of reach. He weaved around the rest as best as he could, stepping in on a couple here and there, part dancing and part walking over to his target.

The crowd unceremoniously spat him out on the other side. He took a moment to fix himself up and straighten his hair again, and then approached the stranger with the gold waistcoat.

He stopped beside the man and leaned in, just a hair further past the acceptable distance of polite company.

“Doesn’t look very filling, does it?”

[Consulting_Angel]

Ezekiel Novak

Admittedly, he could scoff at the selection of food all he wanted - it didn't change the fact, though, that it was essentially the same situation as when his own family (or another prestigious hunter family) hosted their masquerades as well. Food that was meant to appeal to the higher classes and signify sophistication, but really, there was only a small percentage of people who actually ate this food. It also explained why there wasn't a huge amount of it, and there were instead more 'normal' dishes separate from these delicacies. He spent a short while longer, just staring at the table layout, silently criticising it, though attempting to also look as though he was trying to decide what he wanted to go for. He doubted that many people would fall for it, though.

He had considered moving away, to look for someone to speak to - someone that he wouldn't immediately hate having a conversation with - when he heard a voice next to him. Ezekiel glanced towards the other young man - at least, he assumed so, from his voice - and he took a half-step away. He had his boundaries that he'd prefer to not have crossed by an absolute stranger, thank you. He remained silent for a few moments, at first wondering if the other man had been speaking to someone else - perhaps someone that might have been stood on his other side? However, a quick check, and he came to the conclusion that yes, this stranger absolutely was speaking to him. It was also quite the odd - in his opinion - way to start a conversation, though he did have to agree with what was said.

"Hm... I'd prefer to have something that doesn't look like it's got an oil slick coating it," Ezekiel responded, his voice quiet, but clear, and slightly rough. He nodded his head towards one particular dish on the table in indication - the dish in question indeed looking as though it was coated with an oil slick. A guest, at that moment, delicately picked up one of the small bites - it looked like some sort of filled pastry - and ate it appreciatively. Apparently people did like this food.

Then, Ezekiel glanced towards the stranger again - this time taking in what he was wearing. The monochrome black suit, and the clearly old, whimsical sheep mask that he wore interested the Novak. He knew that his own outfit - and even his mask - was probably far more simple in comparison, but that didn't make him feel inferior. He just never felt much need to consistently go all-out at these masquerades. This was also perhaps the third or fourth one that he'd ever attended (not including the ones that his own family hosted, of course), simply because they'd rarely interested him. But his family always insisted upon at least three of the family members to go, if just to scout out and try to find something incriminating to use against the hosts. That task, however, often got abandoned within the first hour of the masquerade starting, simply because it was almost impossible to actually do it without revealing themselves. Since these parties were meant to establish a neutral ground, no one wanted to be the side to start up a fight - that would be most unprofessional.

[Clavicle]

Jude Vaughn
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It took a moment after he’d stepped up to the table for Jude to get his face in line with his thoughts. How wide of a smile was appropriate? Was it better to go with something benign, or be a little more livelier? How long were you supposed to hold it? He rarely spoke to people at these parties—people he didn’t recognize, at least. When the masks were on, that happened to be just about everybody.

He settled on ‘benign’ just as Mr. Waistcoat glanced towards him, but it became stiff when the man took a step away. It dawned on Jude too late, like most things did, that he had approached him like he would approach a friend. Far too close and personal. He suddenly feared he was going to be left alone at the table – and what a wonderful start to his night that would be – but his faux pas was brushed away in favor of something even more offensive: the table’s contents.

Caught off guard, he followed the stranger's nod.

“Ah yes, that…” He trailed off. The corners of his mouth pulled down. Whatever was in that bowl, it appeared to be part of a set. All the food he could see surrounding it looked like it was slathered in something oily. People came and went, a daring few actually stopping to take a small plate of the selection along with them. One in particular stopped a little longer than the rest.

"Indeed." Was all Jude could clip with a click of his teeth.

Whatever it was that the guest settled on, it didn’t want to leave the plate without a fight, trailing a shiny string from where the oil had pooled underneath it. The trail snapped as they brought the pastry to their mouth—It was almost too morbidly fascinating to watch them disregard it. Maybe their gaze was occupied elsewhere. That was the only reason Jude could think of for anybody to willingly eat something that looked like breaded pig fat.

“But it's nice to know that at least somebody here has eyes." He huffed, turning towards Mr. Waistcoat again. He'd have to learn his name. "The rich and influential and their odd tastes, huh? I've never had the stomach for things like this either."

Because he didn't have the stomach for much of anything made with humans in mind, came the thought, but he decided that hinting at his specific diet in any more detail would be gauche this early in the night.

"Though I suppose I can’t fault us for presentation.” He waved towards the many offerings arranged in elaborate shapes and stacked atop each other on expensive stands of glass and polished metal, most of them showing more style than substance with about half of their contents visibly inedible.

“… Even if I you’d have to have surgically removed your taste buds to enjoy any of it.”

His scathing remarks felt weaker than usual, he lamented. He hadn't expected to be criticizing his parents' catering choices when he had decided to be daring and approach a stranger. It was cathartic, in a way, to be able to say it, even if he couldn't ever say it to their face for fear of making his father visibly wilt and go to lock himself in his study to mope. He took his public image very seriously, his father did. Something a simple as a catering disaster could ruin his self-image.

But Jude wasn't here to fret about his parents—they hadn't become that old. He shook himself mentally and turned his full attention back to the man next to him.

"What would you have in mind, then?" he asked, his tone pleasant and only a little bit probing. You could tell a lot about a person by their choice of food, after all.

[Consulting_Angel]

Ezekiel Novak

Ezekiel grimaced, not particularly concerned if his expression was noticed, as he watched the guest almost wrestle with the food that they had been attempting to pick up and detach the increasingly lengthening 'string' of... whatever sticky sauce or oil that it was coated in. He had, quite honestly, no doubts that the guest really would have wrestled with it, if it wasn't for the fact that the mystery oil would more than likely leave a nasty stain on any piece of clothing it touched - regardless of the colour. He internally shuddered at that thought.

Sure, he wasn't one to be overly-concerned with appearances, but he'd never let himself look messy or scruffy. That would be unprofessional, and he certainly wouldn't want to accidentally taint the view that other families would have on humans - if they were to find out or guess that he was human - and deem them as savages. Ezekiel unconsciously ran a hand back over his hair carefully, as if to smooth it down, even though he knew well enough that he didn't need to.

At least the stranger - he decided to refer to him as 'Sir Sheep-Mask' for the time being, at least until he learnt his name - seemed to agree with him. Ezekiel was inclined to believe that he was also a human, but that was unlikely. Still, he could hope that there was at least a handful of other rational humans in attendance - with the exceptions of the rest of his family, who he knew would also avoid this table.

He was almost glad that Sir Sheep-Mask had spoken again, for it gave Ezekiel an excuse to look towards the stranger, rather than towards the table of food. He nodded slightly, "Likewise," he responded, "I have heard of other dishes such as squid ink pasta that might compare to these... I do not see what is wrong with something a little lighter and more appealing like..." he hesitated, as he was trying to think up something that wouldn't immediately give himself away, "...eggs. Have you had them?" he chose to throw in the question there, as to try and throw the Sir Sheep-Mask off any definitive answer.

Ezekiel then couldn't help but half-smile at the remarks made. Yes, the presentation was wonderful, he couldn't fault that - but he also picked up on how it was phrased. Perhaps it was a mistake... or something to throw him off as well?