[h2][b][i][color=008000][center]In This Fine Town Of Arkham[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h2]
[h3][b][i][color=008000][center]A Night At Wilde Hall[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3]
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[center][b]"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown"[/b] - [i]H. P. Lovecraft[/i][/center]
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[center][@Penny][/center]

[b]Mister Slate[/b] nodded graciously at the words of [b][color=008000]Opportunity Knox[/color][/b], but she couldn't help but notice the curiosity on his face as she spoke. The man sitting across from her in the carriage was smartly dressed, of course, as you would expect from anyone bound for a house as grand as Wilde Hall, but Opportunity had developed a good nose for sniffing out old money, and this stranger was not old money. Her answer was vague, but it did not take a particularly quick mind to realise that any relation of the Wildes, no matter how distant or convoluted, was likely to share in the wealth and pomp that the Wildes enjoyed. It did not take a quick mind, and there was something about the eyes that looked back at her from behind the fox-faced mask that told Opportunity that her unlikely companion was far from dull. He was polite, well-mannered, but in those eyes, there was an edge. As quickly as she had noticed it, it was gone, as the man held his hands up, a polite smile crossing his face as he spoke again. 

	[b]"I don't know if I can confess to any sins. Truth be told, my invitation is as much a mystery to me as it is to you, but I am loathe to reject such an offer. I have not been in town long, but I know..."[/b]

	Mister Slate seemed to catch himself, the smile on his face faltering for a moment, before he continued, shrugging apologetically. 

	[b]"Forgive me, ma'am, I forget myself. The invitation called for a masquerade ball, and I should not be telling my life-story to the first guest I meet. I say, what's that up ahead?"[/b]

	Something had obviously caught Mister Slate's attention mid thought, and as Opportunity turned to follow his gaze, peering out from the carriage window and up the road ahead, she saw what it was that had caught his eye. Another carriage, pulled to a stop beside two figures, lamplight casting long shadows across the street. From this distance, and in the half-light, it was difficult to make out many features of the figures, but there was enough light to see that they both wore masks. More guests. If they called out, or knocked on the carriage roof, then the coachman would likely stop, but to what end? They had space in their carriage of course, but by the looks of it, the guests already had their own transport. Opportunity glanced at Mister Slate, only to see that he was already watching her with a questioning look. If they were to stop the carriage, then the decision lay on Opportunity's shoulders.