Professor Benjamin Babbage was quite at odds with his mask. What had gotten a hold of him so tightly that he thought a masquerade would be a delightful experience? First, he had to contact his tailor and have something new and in season sewn for him. It involved a lot of measuring of his body, and then his tailor fervently discussing it with his new apprentice. “A lot of our more scholarly clients tend to be on the heavier side, and so we need to make certain adjustments with the waistcoat. Though, Professor Babbage is also afflicted by having a larger chest and shoulder width.” Benjamin had only been standing five feet away. Could they not have had this conversation at the tailor’s shop and far away from his sensibilities? That being said, the black sack coat and pants, with dove gray waistcoat, and golden cravat, did look quite nice on him. Yet the mask, a thing made of harsh golden shapes, was his problem this evening.

It hid the majority of his face except for his mouth. The woman who made it wanted to make sure his identity couldn’t be so easily discerned with spectacles and his wonderous mustache. So, it contorted the grooves of his face, only allowing for the light to catch the boring gray of his eyes, and his mouth to remain unmuffled as he was not a boisterous speaker. His hair was still in its tousled fashion. His maid had tried to tend to it and gave up after five minutes. It was the best that this mystery host could get.

Benjamin deduced that Mister Wine had to have [i]something[/i] to do with this, but in this cramped townhouse, it was hard to say what for. Benjamin had been archeological dig sites larger than this place. But he wouldn’t dare say that out loud. He was a man of refinement and—oh was that cheese? 

A few vittles and two glasses of wine later, and Benjamin was less upset with his mask. He hadn’t flourished into some charismatic swan. No. He was still his same, ole stuffy self. He was just fiddling with his mask less and enjoying the party more. Though, he still had to squint because he couldn’t see faces that well. His spectacles were in his pocket, but they refused to fit over the shiny monstrosity that dominated the berth of his face. 

Eventually, the professor made it over to a group of people. They were all eagerly chatting about why they’d been invited here and what this party was truly about. Benjamin, not really one to play The Game, had no suggestions. He didn’t know how pawns, like himself, were moved these days. He just accepted the tides of change and road them with a soured grimace. 

His eyes narrowed, being unable to discern concrete shapes, on a woman with a rather ostentatious wig and a blue dress that seemed oddly—disproportionate. He didn’t know how long she’d been there, but considering those that had gathered and were fervently discussing the reason for the party—he assumed she was quite curious as well. He looked her square in the eyes (he at least assumed so) and asked: “what do you think?” Belatedly, he realized he could have complimented her. Then he realized that it would be hard considering they were all supposed to be hiding their identities. [i]Wonderful faux hair and odd dress you are wearing this evening. [/i] Benjamin Babbage was not the most socially graceful of people and so offered an awkward smile afterward.
[@Hekazu]