Paper Faces On Parade

[Viola Orsino]

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!

Viola had to do this – or so she had least told herself.  This evening, was so long, so large and so expansive that invitations were almost impossible to keep track of and she was banking on that to protect her identity.   She looked like herself- sort of, a few subtle changes to her bone structure, a change of eye colour, a curl to her hair that was not the same as her natural heavy locks, served to make her look different enough, should anyone remember her from school, but the chances of that were slim.  

She had decided to use ‘that’ dress – the one beautiful and fine garment that was left to her – it had belonged to her mother.  It had been hidden away in a trunk, waiting for the one moment when her life would justify that dress.   Today was that - she had had to spell it in places to modernise the back of it, to be more in fitting with the fashion.  But she felt beautiful, magical, and as though she was supposed to be this person and not the sad drudge that resided in a garret and lived her life as her brother.  

She had spent most of the evening, thus far, just sitting – watching the beautiful men and women dance, cavort and laugh secure on the knowledge they belonged in this glittering world.  Viola was mesmerised by the beauty of it all.  The band finished it’s tune, and the crowd clapped, Viola joined, she hadn’t danced this evening, and indeed had barely moved from the seat at the edge of the dance floor, content to watch the evening unfurl around her, and just experience it.  

Viola // Dress


@'Annette Fontaine' @'Orpheus Parkinson'

  

[Orpheus Parkinson]

Merlin, was this evening ever dragging. Orpheus had lost track of the friends he’d come with, and sometime along the line also lost those he’d managed to run into, and he frankly wasn’t too sure- after a few too many cocktails- which ball he was now at, but the evening didn’t seem to be at a close either. Fairy had persuaded him to dance the latest one with a yearmate of hers whose name had escaped him even as he led her off the dance floor, his head spinning from the momentum.

He bid her farewell, sending her giggling back to her chaperone and sisters, and immediately headed to the refreshments table in search of a glass he could fill with some water before finding a corner or cloakroom to skulk in for a bit. On his way, however, he tripped over one woman’s confection of a pink gown, sending him stumbling. Orpheus caught himself on a pillar before he could turn any surrounding debutantes into living skittles, turning around to check he hadn’t ripped the dress or anything. “I do apologise,” He muttered to the unfamiliar woman, “I hope I did you no harm?”

  

[Viola Orsino]

It was him! Mister Parkinson! She stood up and to attention the old habits of Sebastian asserting themselves, for as his valet she was used to standing to attention when her master entered the room. She had seen him enter of course, even seen him dance a bit with one of those pretty rich girls she envied so very terribly, she was ashamed to have been watching him so closely. Now he was apologising to her, asking for forgiveness for a slight against her dress, and while yes the dress was the prettiest and finest thing she owned she thought little of it, as she looked at him.

He did seem on the other side of tipsy, which she would have to remember for the morning when she would be bringing him a potion and some water for the head ache that would surely follow in the morning. But all the better for her now, for she hoped any latent familiarity would be obscured by the dimming veil of alcohol. ’No...eh no’ she muttered, ’nothing wrong with my dress sir.’. She was determined to play the part – no shy wall flower, no blushing maiden, but rather enjoy the anonymity and be the lady she would have been with better luck.

’No harm done, but I do not think that I could let the molestation go without at least a dance Mister Parkinson?’ she teased with a smile. They had not been introduced, but then of course he was one of the most well-known young men in England, and the subject of every mother’s dreams for a daughter, so she very much doubted if there was an unmarried woman in England who did not know who he was. ’After all what young lady can be said to be doing her duty to her mother fi she does press for a dance with the most eligible young man in England, when she has such a slight as leverage’ she teased


@'Orpheus Parkinson'

  

[Orpheus Parkinson]

Orpheus was a little taken aback at her familiarity, but he supposed he was no stranger to fame-hungry young women looking for a conquest to brag to their friends about. “I think that can be arranged.” He replied after hesitating, offering out his hand. “But there are plenty of men with claim to that title.” Orpheus added. Merlin, if he was indeed marked down as the most eligible, he was marked man.

He still didn’t recognise the young lady, and he didn’t think it was just the drinking doing that. Her mention of mother set him slightly on edge, but he didn’t think she was one of the militant Moody matriarch’s brood at least. “Which mother am I gratifying, then, may I ask?” He ventured.

  

[Viola Orsino]

’There are indeed sir, but you appear to be the only one not dancing, and of course, none of the others have threatened the safety of my dress’ it was clear from her tone that she was teasing. She wasn’t normally so brave, or outspoken but this evening she was not Viola- the mousy sister, of the valet of the very gentleman to whom she was speaking, she was someone else, a lady of social confidence who could tease and flirt with the best coquettes in England. She knew that she had nothing to gain from this gentleman, she was so far beneath his notice in the ordinary course of proceedings that the editor of Witch Weekly would die in a fit of apoplexy at the mere notion of Mister Orpheus Parkinson standing up at a ball with a girl who worked for him, and one of such little note.



More than that she highly doubted that if he knew of her lowly station, of the fact she lived in pennyworth, or that this dress was older than she was, that her father had died penniless, that she had no dowry, no prospects and no relations of note, save for a brother who neither recognised her nor himself, that he would be at all interested in speaking with her. From working for him, she knew he wasn’t a cruel man, he wouldn’t have treated with her scorn, but she was sure of the cold indifference of the upper classes to those who lived in poverty. And there was one grand universal truth as far as Viola was concerned, men like him didn’t dance with girls like her.



On the subject of Mothers, she blushed slightly, her bravado faltering for a second, ’None Sir.’ she admitted with a rueful smile, ’my own mother is dead a rather long time,’ she said, although not strictly true she always thought of her mother as dead, it was somehow easier than admitting that it had been easier for the woman to resign her daughter to a life of poverty and misery than to stick around and try and help her. ’So I can assure you there is no mercenary mother in this introduction.’ Viola said, standing from the little pouf and offering her hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world to dance with ones employer. ’Only a dress in need of an apology, and myself in need of a dance.’ she smiled.


@'Orpheus Parkinson'