maskormenacelogs | A PARTY TO DIE FOR

Entry tags:

A PARTY TO DIE FOR

WHO: just about anyone
WHERE: ?????????? Underground
WHEN: first full week in February
WHAT: CLUB HADES? MORE LIKE HEY DEEZ NUTS
WARNINGS: party drugs, discussion of depression, trauma, general edgelord edginess, probably sexual content, please BYOCW

February 1st-9th invitations

Persephone sent out invitations in a number of ways. Some people would wake up from nightmares they couldn't remember, wet tears on their faces, and a scrap of paper in hand. Those were the easy ones. Anyone who'd want to hear her song had at least the shadows of grief in their hearts. A little harder had been letting them slip over the network and into phones. Never to an inbox. No, that would be much to pedestrian. They show up in camera rolls, between pictures of lost friends, they come up instead of Game Over screens. And then, finally the invitations were attracted to destruction. They would appear spelled out in the cracks of impact craters. They were hidden inside communicators crushed by too-strong hands. Any sufficiently violent act of destruction would result in a crisp, ivory card.

But no matter how you found it, they all had a few things in common:

The Destroyer Invites You to Kill Your Death

Those words shine in the pommegranate-pink of Persephone's power. Beneath that, are a nearly incomprehensible set of instructions. They instruct the attendee to enter the Maurtia subway through a specific spot, then a dizzying list of exacting turns and double-backs that can't possibly make sense. Buzz around the network is clear: Persephone's finally opening up whatever it is she's been working on down there.

February 10th

Descent

Following the instructions on the invitation is, perhaps, a bit daunting "Take the third door on the left, then the first door on the left, and the first door on the left after that. Close the door and then go back through it the other way. You will be in a doorless corridor. Take it to the end." and so on.

The path is as impossible as it seems. The pilgrim will pass through utility passages, dusty prohibition-era tunnels, and commercial basements with little regard for which could possibly be connected. You might want to head in with a buddy.

Just when it seems like you'll be stuck in Spooky Cthonic Bullshit forever, the path gives way to natural cave tunnels, lined with glowing pink flowers. It's pretty dang rad.

The tunnels give way to a crystal-clear and deceptively swift river, the only way across is an unmanned toll bridge. A collection box asks for either an invitation or two pennies. But hey, no one's watching, right? Maybe it would be fine to try to cross for free . . .

Arrival and opening acts

Past the river, is a huge natural opening, half concert hall, half cathedral. The floor has been cleared, but the stalactites still cling to the ceiling; some in their natural forms, other carved into fierce figures of beasts hanging over head. All are lined with the same glowing flowers that have lit all of her underworld.

And there, at the far end, is the stage. It's lifted an unusual height off the ground and curled out towards the audience- hard to climb, but not impossible for the accomplished parkour artist, or anyone with double jump. It looks a little more like the alter of a cathedral than your normal stage, and to the side sits Persephone's throne.

The sound system, of course, is massive.

For the first few hours, the opening acts play- all native, and hand selected by Persephone herself. They all have an odd, unpolished sort of sound. But that's only to be expected in a world that's barely heard of Rock-n-Roll. There's a DJ for a while, then a sort of industrial hip-hop, followed by punky metal. It's all good for dancing, and loud as Hell.

As far as refreshments go, the only food available are pomegranates, plucked straight from the vine. Six seeds will be enough to keep the stomach satisfied and the body strong enough to dance, but go ahead and eat the whole thing if you like- there's plenty to go around. There's a smaller stream running down one wall, labeled "Lithe." It is gin. Gin river. River of gin.

There is also some out-of-the-way space covered in crappy old rugs, for those who need a break or to go make out.

The Communion

When Persephone finally deigns to rise from her throne, a roar goes up through the crowd. She raises her arms for silence, which comes, eventually, after the echoes of the cheer finally settle. It looks like she might be about to say something, but instead the song begins.

Here, in her temple, the sound is brighter, fuller, more than it has ever been before. She sounds like grief and true love and the darkness before dawn. She sings for hour upon hour and every moment of it is sweeter and more painful and more perfect than the last.

It pulls up too many emotions at once: fear of the end that all must face and the pain of loss. But also she sings of relief at knowing an end to suffering is promised, that your work can be completed, that no matter how ugly, painful, or unfair life might be, just to exist makes you part of something. They are all, here, part of something that matters and something that will transcend them all.

In the audience some scream, or faint, or climax right there on the dance floor. She keeps singing. The crowd wanes as more and more need to be taken to the carpet to rest, then waxes again as the first wave of casualties gets back up to rejoin them. She keeps singing.

Hours and hours she sings, through the entire night. When finally, as dawn would be breaking up on the surface, she collapses in a hysterical heap at the front of the stage. Her arms reach over and down to brush her fingertips along those stalwart enough to remain at the front.

Stumbling home through dark tunnels while maybe real hung over

Whatever man. Worth it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[one: dead girl walking]

Veronica wakes up with a card in her hand, tears in her eyes, and grief squeezing her heart tight. She blinks down at it, the instructions and the inviting words. The Destroyer Invites You To Kill Your Death. She looks up, sees Heather Chandler's discolored smile, still sharp as a knife, and tucks the invite away into her diary. For another day, she tells herself. For another time.

She's headed down into the underground the very next day in her best party clothes and a blue leather jacket, a flashlight in hand and some granola bars in her pockets. She peels back the wrapping on one as she goes, but the rest are meant as an offering of sorts. That's what you do, after all, when you're coming to see a goddess. Right?

At some point the flashlight gutters out, and Veronica is plunged into total darkness. She curses, smacks the head of the flashlight against her palm a few times. "Fuck! Turn on, dammit."

It doesn't turn on. Great.

—someone's behind her. It's not one of her ghosts, she'd know.

"Who's there?"

[two: dancing in the dark]

[Well, hell.

Persephone has truly outdone herself. Veronica stands in place for a moment, stunned by her surroundings. She pays the crossing fee with her invitation and a couple of granola bars, steps across, and finds herself in the middle of something a hell of a lot grander than Ram Sweeney's place. A little bit creepier too, she eyes one of the carved beasts overhead with some trepidation, but her feet propel her forward. The stage is huge, and Veronica ruefully notes that she'd have some trouble sneaking backstage now.

But that's not what she's here for. She's here to listen to music, she's here to dance, and so dance she does. Sometimes she dances by herself, other times she finds herself dancing with someone else. But it's not until she's made the trip to the gin river that she decides to start asking people to dance with her.]

You're looking a little lonely there. [She holds out a hand, inviting.] How about a dance?

[ But before whoever she's asked to dance can answer, there's a vine taking that hand. And her arm. And then around her shoulders and UP WE GO. There's a dizzying moment of flying over the crowd, and then there she dangles in front of the Destroyer herself. ]

No press pass this time?

[She yelps slightly. She's secure enough in her general self-image to admit that she absolutely yelped a little bit, and then—she's dangling in front of Persephone herself, and the buzz she worked so hard on building has up and run away from the adrenaline rush of being yanked up from the ground holy shiiiiit.

Okay, most of it. She blinks dazedly at Persephone, half-wondering what she means before she remembers: oh, right. She snuck backstage one time.]

Not this time. [She flashes a small, slightly dazed smile.] I'm just here to dance.

Veronica Sawyer | OTA | cw hallucinations and underage drinking

YOINK

WELP

Luci || OTA || CW Potential for drinking and drug use, extreme flirtation, lots of pink

⇒ 3

no subject

The Troll Bridge

no subject

Abigail Hobbs | OTA

Galla aka who let this old lady in | OTA

Descent

no subject

WILD CARD YOU DIDNT ASK FOR

Persephone | OTA

Opening Acts

opening acts!

the afterglow

opening acts