July 13, 1894 - Dempsey Estate @ Midsummer Night's Masquerade Ball

Behind the silver lace of Lottie's mask her eyes anxiously scanned the crowd around her, lifting on her toes so she might see over the heads of those nearest her. Her silvery gown trailed after her, as if she were stepping from the water she had once drowned in, the top a velvet blue of medieval design, laced simply. She looked every bit of Ophelia, her long hair loose and waving down her back, flowers woven within the small braids her maid had interspersed. Rosemary for remembrance, pansies for thoughts, fennel for Hamlet, columbines, rue, daises and purple violets.

Never before did Lottie tremble with such anxiety before a ball, never had she cared so much of the design of the evening. Yet every detail had grounded her, kept her tight with anticipation. He had to be here. The words flowed through her mind like the rippling currants of a river, tumbling over and over the pebbles of her worries.

Lottie flowed through the crowd no sign of Hamlet, no mask indicating the doomed prince of Denmark. But there were silver threads that wove between the crowd. Lottie followed them, wondering where they would lead, what enchantment would pull her forth. The crowd seemed nothing more than a river around her, a current, a passing thought her mind did not settle upon. Until at last she found herself by the bowers of roses, nestled amid their sweet smell, a spell of their own capturing her. She was the fairy queen's daughter, elfin and impish. A creature made of magic and myth. Hamlet could find her in this bower, her tower of Shalott, shadowed and hidden beside the River that would lead her to Camelot.

Vincent Iago

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Vincent had debated whether he would attend the Dempsey Midsummer’s Night Ball for a long time. Longer, perhaps, than he was willing to admit having dallied over a social engagement, surely. At first when Sabine had sent him a note about it, he’d thought nothing of her and everything of Cassian. (How ironic it would be that they both attend such a ridiculous farce under the pretense of what, friendship? A farce that meant both everything and nothing to them both, especially as of late.) He didn’t have any character he wished to embody, his most obvious namesake an absolute chip on an otherwise healing shoulder, and all in all, it seemed a tremendous waste of mental energy. On the other hand though, it was a strictly upper class event that he had an easy door to glide right through…

The tipping point in the end had come when Sabine at last insisted he attend, rather begging under the excuse that her brother would not pay nearly as much attention to her as was required to fend off horrendous suitors. (She mentioned some embarrassing debacle with Maxime to which Vince only huffed his own amusement. “It’s not funny, Vincent!” “Except that it is so entirely.” Her red face had warned him off any further teasing, but out of duty to his friend’s baby sister, and the closest thing he had to his own, he ultimately conceded.)

It was in this manner then that Vince rumbled alongside Sabine Valenduris in a carriage, tugging at his overly-tight cravat. She had decided it would be infinitely amusing to dress up as Emilia, a statement that she hoped might also keep suitors at bay, while he had chosen to go as some bizarre combination of Lear and admittedly Hamlet. The madness of both certainly suited how he felt day in and day out, like a lost soul slowly succumbing to a great darkness— but there was also that bit with Horatio, and, well, he was feeling a bit resentful and rebellious.

The garden at the Dempsey estate was beautifully decorated, as most in his experience with these sorts of upper class affaires. Vincent would never cease to admire the absolute attention to detail that the staff and hostess must have put into such work. This alone was reason enough he supposed he’d need a wife. Someone to manage these types of things for him, to continue to make a statement but not have it fall on his shoulders…

Sabine made a bee-line for the food, tugging him along, and Vince let her. He knew his role was to stand as close by as she might desire, to prevent any more debacles like that thing with Maxine or that other thing with Twiglett, or better yet, that third thing last February with Mr. Dempsey…? He was here as a body-guard, at least until she found something else to amuse herself with. If he’d also scribbled his name across her dance card in vanishing ink in every slot so that she might tap it once for the name to appear, that was his own business. (“You owe me for this one, Valenduris.” “Thank you, my absolute darling. I promise not to abuse it enough such that rumors abound.”)

In the end, it was just after the last waltz that Vince found himself ambling along the perimeter of the dance-floor, hedging towards the exterior of the garden looking for a respite. He’d been stepped on by a rather clumsy debutant and needed a good drink to shake it off. He paused in a small bower of roses off to the side, taking a drink off a passing tray.

The masque firmly affixed to his face had a surreal kind of enchantment to it, one he’d layered overtop of the base. Sabine had insisted he be recognizable enough to ensure she had a handy scapegoat, but Vince had his own motives in mind this evening. So long as he was away from her, he would be mired in mystery. Perhaps here he might be able to ensnare some unsuspecting bride, once and for all; one of good fortune and handy social standing, preferably.

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Head tilted up to the night sky Lottie's blue eyes scanned the heavens. What would it feel like to dance between the stars, a blanket of blue velvet twirling amongst one's feet?

As if the velvet rustled at her feet Lottie's attention was drawn to the movement of the bushes near her, the movement just like that shushing of velvet. Her gaze sharpened as a shape formed in front of her, a gentleman, with a glass in hand. Pitching her voice an octave lower than normal (although nothing could take the ever present ethereal tilt out of it), "Good evening my lord." She greeted the man, nay, king, before her. His bearing was regal enough that had the mask not hinted at royalty she would have assumed it in such an occasion as this.

Starlight wound around the man, silver threads of enchantment curled like a blooming rose between them. A current that Lottie did not consider as she took in the man, heart beating, wondering if perhaps she might have found the royalty she was looking for.

The following 1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post:1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post
   Vincent Iago

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Ghosts. Ghosts of the past, ghosts of the future, ghosts of the present— Vince could feel them creeping in on him from all angles as he let himself float to the periphery of the dance floor. It was easy to want to disappear as the crowd faded and his mind began to buzz with a sound like scratching telegraph needles. Green eyes flickered closed and a small grimace crossed his face as he inclined his head, hoping to shake the sound loose. Sometimes he still felt it: the gap that James had left, a gaping hole in the back of his skull that the curse ripped open. Sometimes… ghosts tried to fill the void. Memories he was afraid of losing, slipping through the ether as they blazed across his mind. He watched Sabine from a distance, taken to the floor with someone he didn’t recognize, and could hardly summon the will to cut in despite her frantic glance around for him.

(It was in moments like these that it was easy to put pen to paper— sewing shut the hole with a few golden threads, borrowed and tinged with rot over time, but never forgotten.)

A soft voice broke into his thoughts then, intruding before any conscious tug could bring to surface the ache for his would-be friend. Vince turned to see a young woman. She was slight and perfectly whimsical, attired in an ethereal sprite kind of way, standing in the bushes just beside. “Good evening,” he parried back, the scratch of needles still ripping at his focus. It seemed a tremendous effort in that moment to be polite and Vince felt a brusque rudeness tinge his voice. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment to myself.” Never mind the fact that he’d intruded upon her. The frequency of the sound in his head rose higher, causing another small grimace.

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

The following 1 user Likes Vincent Iago's post:1 user Likes Vincent Iago's post
   Shalott Dempsey

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Lost as she was in her thoughts Lottie missed what he said. Instead her head tilted to the side in consideration, the silver threads weaving about them distracting her true contemplation. "You are a king, are you not?" Her heart was racing wondering if she had found her Hamlet amid the sweet scent of roses around them and rosemary in her hair. Starlight blended down upon them, lining the man's face in silver, lighting on the broken crown above his head. Perhaps he was not Hamlet. Or if he were perhaps he were not hers.

Hers. How odd that sounded beyond the scratch of quill to paper. Yet she had done all this for that very utterance. Had dressed herself in rosemary and rue, pansies and daises, all for a chance to find this prince who slipped past each word with the elusiveness of a morning mist lifting from the locks. Rosemary for remembrance, pansies for thoughts. She repeated to herself, anchoring herself to the moment, suspended in time with hopes and fantasies mingling together.

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

The itch on the surface of his skull was incessant. Something had triggered it, some sight or sound or scent— Vince had noticed of late that reminders of the bloody pirate often brought about the buzz. He couldn’t imagine who or what here could possibly have brought it about, determined as he was to suppress that part of his life. Irritation niggled as the woman beside him asked another question, ridiculous as it was infuriating. “What?” He demanded.

Ah. His costume, she likely meant. Rolling his eyes under the mask, Vincent took a determined sip of his drink before responding loftily back. “Sure. If you count a broken soul who loses everything to madness in the end a king, I suppose so.” He inclined his head away from her, a light off the dance floor reflecting for a moment on the broken crown atop his head. It was symbolic, in its way, of the madness that both Lear and Hamlet suffered in their demise. The very same he felt himself so attached to.

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

"Do not all kings not go mad, my lord?" Lottie asked him as she swept him a curtsey, the moonlight glimmering upon her skirts as if it was floating upon the waves of a lake's water. "The crown is heavy on the brow." She added as she straightened up, her eyes seeking his beyond the mask, wondering what they looked like, what emotions they held there.

The silver threads, perhaps her imagination, or perhaps her own madness, her whimsy and light, twisted around them, moving fluidly to surround this stranger, this king. Unbidden she stepped forward on light foot, gracefully moving as if a wind blew her, and stopping again only a step before where she had last been. The scent of roses deepened and mingled with the scent of [Vince's cologne, tbd]. It was a smell that Lottie would remember for the rest of her days, imprinted on her very being by the sheer ephemerality of the moment.

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Passing his glass from one hand to the other, Vince pursed his lips. She wasn’t wrong, he supposed, but he wasn’t exactly one to know such things. He’d have liked the chance to wear a crown before deciding it was too heavy, figuratively and in every possible way. “How should I know?” he retorted with a snort. “I hope to never have the weight of such a responsibility as all that.” (A downright lie if ever he’d told one. Vince was still peeved he’d been so afflicted he hadn’t had a fair chance to run for Minister. Perhaps something would happen to Dempsey yet.) Turning towards the woman at last, and determined to shoo her off, the strawberry blonde paused as the full impression of her hit him.

She was clad in flowers from head to toe, attired much the way he might imagine a drowned Ophelia come to life as a ghost. It was eerie how much her gaze struck him, cast in moonlight over their shoulders, a deep blue that seemed to suck him into their depths. The sharp retort he’d had on the tip of his tongue caught and Vince felt himself hesitate. “Madness is, however, not an affliction that affects only kings, I suppose,” he heard himself say instead. The scraping in his head was dulled for a moment, the whisper of something shimmery holding it at bay.

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

"Truly?" Lottie asked, her head tilting slightly to the side as she considered him. Something about his answer nagged at the back of her mind, but Lottie's mind never heeded such inclinations. Perhaps it was too frequently lost to fancy instead.

The man turned toward her, the air between them tightening, she wondered if he could feel it. There was a pull, as if the silver threads seemed to tighten into ropes, pulling her close. On silent slippered feet Lottie unconsciously moved forward. "No. It isn't." Her words whispered into the night as soft as butterfly wings, lost amidst the roses. She felt seen with those words (in a way she really ought to be concerned by), in a way that went beyond what was behind the mask, but instead in words of ink swirled onto a page, thoughts, moments, impressions all laid bare.

"Hamlet?" The name was hesitant, a bee wary of landing on pollen, a girl scared to step into the world, magic trembling with potential. Her slender hand lifted up, reaching unintentional, wishing, hoping, trusting the silver threads.

The following 1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post:1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post
   Vincent Iago

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Vince could feel the atmosphere around him vibrating. It was as if he’d stumbled across some secret in this little grove that he hadn’t been prepared to navigate. His brain was full of fog and the irritation from earlier had not completed abated, but he could feel something else - something unusually prompting - in the woman’s expression. He was certain they had never met before, and yet… the lingering sensation that perhaps they might have - in some far away land in some distant past - nagged at him.

The Slytherin felt himself frown at the thought. He didn’t need any more past selves or past acquaintances haunting his present reality. With the bloody pirate silenced and his fractured soul half recovered now, he’d had quite enough of the Thread of Life. But this felt more present somehow. More… tangible. A sudden, fluttering thought more delusion than it was memory, curled around Vince’s rib cage and began to squeeze.

Ophelia.

As quickly as the thought occurred, he rejected it for all the vain hope at self preservation he could manage. She moved forward anyway and he held his breath, leaning but not stepping backwards.

Her face now close to his made the impression of her eyes all the more forceful as Vince gazed into them. They were a lighter, more silver blue than Cassian’s— so wholly different that he could not even make the comparison. But it ached nonetheless. He swallowed down every silver-tongued retort that occurred, feeling - for the first time since his resurfacing unto himself - that any slight movement might startle one or both of them and thus never let him realize the potential of this moment. Vince hesitated. Did he even want to know, really? He’d never dreamed of chasing after his benefactor— in gratitude or desire. To be faced with the potential of discovering them now was only a surface temptation of the very shallowest.

A hand lingered somewhere in his peripheral vision and Vincent let out the breath he’d been holding. “God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another,” he muttered softly, not in whole brought about by frustration but also - perhaps - hesitation. It was neither answer nor question, not test or affirmation. In the end, there was no way to know unless spoken into reality the truth of their owl’d exchange and he would not admit anything lest it come to that.

The air seemed to vibrate on a harsher frequency then, only softened by the impression of gold flecks that floated almost near the woman’s hand. Green eyes darted evasively to the side.

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

He didn't move away as if he too were caught in this moment - dew upon a spider's web, hesitating to drip. Her eyes met his, a startling green of forest leaves, of summer fields, of ivy crawling onward all encompassing. Eyes that could led her through a fairy door and watch her dance upon Mab's floriferous bower with nary a second thought.

His voice was deeper now, the words rumbling in a way that reached for her soul. She knew them, had repeated them to herself, read them too many times to count. "O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown." Lottie answered, her words like the gentle rush of water over a brook's pebbled surface. She could barely breathe as the words filled the air between them.

And then those eyes were gone, the leaves of green retreating. A snatch of mask, of hair, of ribbon, and ear, but the ivy slid from the wall away from her and Lottie tried to grasp it back. Look at me. Look at me. Her thoughts whispered, urged, demanded as she stood still willing him to return to her, to let the silver threads tie them together, to follow him into the depths of the whispered promise of ivy and leaves that was his gaze.

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

The woman’s breath in the small space between them brushed against whatever fraying curiosity Vince had as to her true nature. There was no doubt— her words were indication enough, and the possibility of it - of it - constricted the air in his lungs and tightened around Vince’s heart. The fear of being faced with a reminder squeezed his organs until the tightness in his chest made him dizzy. He didn’t want to deal with this now. Couldn’t, likely. Not when he was so freshly freed and the shadows of the curse still lingered on the periphery of his every thought.

Heart hammering in a vain, asphyxiating struggle against the invisible threads constricting its movement, Vince glanced back up at the woman’s face. Little more than her eyes was unobscured and he itched to rip that mask off her face the way one itches to jump when suddenly faced with a great height. He only moderately wanted to put a name to his ghost without really thinking through the implications of it.

(Vince kept his hands neatly by his sides to resist the temptation.)

In the end, there was very little the suddenly aching Slytherin could have done to prevent himself from bolting. He tried to think of something, anything, to say that might discourage whatever communication was transpiring between them without his consent but came up blank. He of self-proclaimed tongued mastery, he the honest Iago, was rendered utterly silent in the face of the one person outside of Cassian who might know (and possibly accept) the parts of him that were most broken. It was inopportune. It was unexpected. It was— impossible.

“Forgive me,” Vince finally heard himself say. “I believe I’ve trespassed on your solitude quite enough.” And with that, he made to turn and dart, unable to bear the weight of this any longer.

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

The ivy was back, reaching into her soul, weaving itself into her being. It was him. It was her Hamlet. Her Hamlet of Ivy, of Ink, of Shadowed thoughts. The moments passed around them, silver threads, ivy, dew drops, as if a hundred years had passed. And yet she couldn't move, dared not. For his soul, his being was reaching toward her - she was sure of it.

In the space between one breathe and the next he was turning, his voice an edge that sharpened and struck. Without realizing she was moving Lottie stepped forward, fingers grasping toward the gossamer fabric of what could be. "Don't." Her voice a demand, a wish as her fingers grasped his coat sleeve.

She was Ophelia risen from the waters, she was a daughter of Mab. This was her destiny, her soul, her life. "Please. Stay."Blue eyes searched for green, longed to linger. The loosened ribbon of her mask slipped with her movement, but nothing could change her back from stone than the very man who stood before her. Hamlet. Her Hamlet.

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

His heart was in his mouth, weighing his tongue down with every fear Vince could have fathomed: abandonment, understanding, acceptance, misunderstanding, recognition etc. He didn’t dare wait this exchange out and see who or what waited for him on the other side. The temptation was not enough to abate the ever rising panic making him trip over his own thoughts.

She zigged as he zagged however and grasped the edges of his sleeve, her voice familiar in its floating weightlessness. In her words, her tone perhaps, he could hear his Ophelia’s rhythm. Like a heartbeat he’d listened to for months, its life-giving beat was recognizable. The earlier part of their exchange flashed in his mind and that, too, only confirmed it. Caught like a deer under bright lights, Vincent froze at her words unable to rip himself away.

Please. Stay.

The words I can’t lingered on the tip of his heavy tongue as green eyes sought blue. He was ready to force the matter, to dart as far away from his flame as a moth might dare. But before Vince could manage a sound the woman’s mask fell away. His breath hitched in his lungs.

Shalott Dempsey?!

He wrenched his arm away from her and tripped a step backwards in alarm.

(Something in Vincent’s heart skipped a beat, then two. The pain that shot through his chest at the utter calamity of this coincidence made everything the hard working Slytherin had ever strived for rock under his feet.)

Blinking quickly, Vince tried to recover. “I beg your pardon Ms. Dempsey,” his voice was breathy and hard. “I think you must have me mistaken with someone else.” Green eyes darted to the side again and Vince determined to be polite. He could find a graceful way out of this encounter, surely?

One thing was certain however: he must do so without ever allowing her to know his true identity.

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Fragile cracks like ice breaking on a steam edged across his face, through her soul. She could almost hear it. Soft as a whisp, confusion marring her brow, fingers wound around his wrist, her voice floated to him. "I don't believe so." In fact it felt right, everything had felt right. Until her name had been uttered between them. Yet she would not shy away. This moment, wound so tight with magic was right. How could he not also feel that. "Did you not write of Hamlet to a stranger? Listened for Ophelia's answers as the days grew dark?" Opaque riddles, rift with magic, thick with emotions. She knew in her heart, in her very soul that this was her Hamlet, that she had not mistaken him. "Please." Her voice was barely a whisper, asking, pleading for so many things she could not put into words the very depth of what she sought.

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Vince’s heart was beating hard and fast in his chest. He couldn’t imagine a worse individual to have revealed themself his Ophelia than the Minister’s sister. Once upon a time he might have relished in the discovery of it; there was an advantage to be gained here, surely, if he exploited it— her. But his career was a wash. His brain was a mess. Cassian was— It didn’t matter. This was not the moment and he was not of the mind to make anything of… her.

She reached for him even as he pulled back both physically and emotionally. Her words rung hard and true in his mind even as he denied them. No, no! Vince hardened and yanked his wrist from her grip. When he spoke, his voice was soft but clipped. “Even if I had, there’s nothing of it now,” he said loftily. “Hamlet is but a madman made tangible and I am but a ghost. There is nothing, Ms. Dempsey, I can offer you.” And with that, he turned on his heel and moved off to find Sabine. This evening, and this exchange, was over.

(A few steps into the throng Vince aparated away, intentionally to lose sight of his Ophelia. He did not find Sabine. He found instead the inside of his own head and a locked, dark flat that swallowed him whole.)

---

Shalott Dempsey & muse song

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me