[center][h2][color=orange] Debora White [/color][/h2][/center][hr]


Professor Green grinned, before turning on his heel, and striding towards the grand house. Looking back at the pair of Debora and Mister Violet, the Professor gestured for them to follow.  “Come, come. I assure you, you won’t want to miss a moment.”

Mister Violet risked a glance towards Debora, shrugging slightly, and walked towards Wilde Hall himself.

Debora put out her cigarette and reaffixed her veil before following the two men into the hall. The scene had stilled. Guests vacated the main room, disappearing through doorways and down the staircase. 

Professor Green led them to its head, his fast pace at odds with his hulking build. He glanced back over his shoulder at the two of them before descending. Debora’s apprehension rose as she neared the top of the stairs.

Mister Violet paused and waited for Debora to walk beside him. As she had expected, he offered a bit of advice, delivered almost inaudibly through the smile still plastered on his face. 

“Keep your eyes open.”

Debora’s mouth quirked in disbelief, and though her eyes remained open, they rolled slightly. [color=orange] “My blindfold’s in my other pocketbook.” [/color] She hissed back. For this, he risked Professor Green’s scrutiny! It seemed absurdly elementary.

She felt another coming and turned to find none other than Corporal Khaki appearing as if from the shadows. He caught her gaze and offered a stiff emotionless nod. She noticed a sheen of sweat on his brow and his chest pumping beneath his uniform. One hand was tucked deep into his right pocket, unmoving even as the man began to make his way down the stairs.

Debora’s mind instantly went to Red. The Texan had been carrying a weapon in a similar way. Had he run to fetch a gun? Whatever he hid in his pocket must be treated with caution.

Debora resisted the urge to put a hand into her own pocket. Accepting that Mister Violet’s advice might hold something more besides the base meaning, Debora glanced around her. 

She noticed another two guests approaching the staircase. An older woman and younger man with their arms linked. There was something about the mismatched couple that gave her pause. Perhaps because it was easy, with the masks, to envision others in their place. What occurrence in their lives had led them to this moment? Did attending the Ball feel like a triumph to them or a burden? What awaited them in the future? 

The last words of the dying man resurfaced in Debora’s mind.

[color=orange] “Be careful going down,” [/color] She urged the two when they neared, [color=orange] “For all the elegance of mask and veils, one can feel like a horse in blinders.” [/color]

“Thank you for the warning, my dear. I only hope that my companion will keep me steady.”  The woman spoke, voice all carefully rounded edges as her dark eyes watched Debora from behind a white and gold mask.

An obvious squeeze of the man’s arm seemed to jolt the handsome figure into life, and he managed a weak smile. His voice too was polished and his mask, molded after a crest, just as ornate. It was evident that they were both well-educated. Or at least, adapt at pretending to be. 

[Color=e5e4e2] “I will do my best.” [/color] And the two passed before her.


Debora took a breath before plunging deeper into Wilde Hall. Her main goal for the evening remained her driving force, but the dying man’s warning rang in her mind. Perhaps she had allies, perhaps not, but failing on either front would not be an acceptable outcome.

She tapped her thumb to the ring beneath her left glove, a quick eighteen times and then descended the stairs.

As she picked her way carefully down the staircase with the last of the stragglers, Debora noticed the floor below was comfortably furnished and warmly lit.

There was a fireplace against the wall and armchairs with worn backs scattered around, but the focal point of the room was the games table. It looked like something from a refined gentleman’s club. Intimate and cozy, or as close as one could get in an overly lavish setting.

The mismatched couple were already making their way through a doorway at the far side of the room where conversation and movement suggested that the promised dinner waited.

Debora lingered yet again; her gaze drawn to the walls. A dozen or so paintings hung there, all landscapes dominated by water. These clashed with the room at large. Something about them implied coldness and darkness. Another reminder of dreams and warnings.

“Madam?”

Drawn from her morbid study, Debora turned to see a smartly dressed servant standing in the doorway. Dipping into a half bow, the butler straightened and spoke again. 

“Madam, if you could make your way into the dining room.”

[color=orange] “Yes, of course,” [/color]  Debora murmured. She cast another look at the dark landscape painting and then pressed onward.

The dining room was busy, more than a dozen guests already sat around the impressive table and more were moving to their places. Debora’s focus was arrested by one particular figure, a man wearing a pinstriped suit, his mask accented with music notes.

In a heartbeat, Mister Genie’s gaze met her own.