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Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Tarrant. (If you like, you can
'reply <words>'.)
Corian calls, "Uh." There's most definitely a pause. "Come in."
Tarrant enters from the Elevator Lounge.
Tarrant has arrived.
Corian is behind the screen when you enter, and it actually takes a few moments
before she's able to work up the courage to come out from behind it. Once she
does, one gloved hand still resting lightly against the screen, she doesn't
actually say anything, but there's something about her posture that suggests
that she's more than ready to flee. She's definitely not thrilled with this
costume.
Tarrant
Despite a limp off his left leg, Tarrant walks as if he is perennially on stage, ever observed. He isn't a short man, but neither is he excessively tall. He is wiry of build, but not so much so that he could be termed skinny. Rich auburn-brown hair is combed back into a slightly old-fashioned cut, too long to be corporate, too short to be daring. Intense eyes of a grayish-green lurk beneath neatly aristocratic brows. His facial features are almost upper-class, although a great deal of that is because of how he carries himself. He moves with a swagger and dramatic bearing. His voice has a distinct drawl, a purred tone to it, although he is still comprehensible.
Tarrant's clothing perhaps lacks his usual flair, but then he didn't acquire a
costume until the last minute. He's wearing battered blue jeans, with rough
stitches patching a slit along one leg. They fold roughly down over scratched
and worn hiking boots. His shirt is of checked red flannel, the top button
unbuttoned, and a simple white t-shirt beneath. Suspenders of safety orange
and a red stocking cap complete the outfit. A small button fastened to his
shirt reads, 'So many spotted owls, so little time', and tucked under one arm
is a little stuffed blue ox. The ox is made of sectioned plush, and has a
tiny collar and a tag that reads, 'Babe'.
Corian
Whoever this person is under the costume, she--and it's easy enough to
tell that she is, in fact, a she, as the dress leaves nothing to the
imagination--must be fond of green and brown. Brown would be present in the
dress. The scooped neckline is relatively modest, but the rest of the dress
really isn't. The weathered brown of tree-bark, the soft fabric clings to
every curve, hugging her body down to her calves, where the skirt flares out
somewhat, trunk-like. Skin-tight, it accentuates the fact that, yes, this is
an exceptionally skinny woman. The sleeves of the dress reach her wrists,
where they overlap a pair of gloves of the exact same shade. Said gloves may
have been adjusted to make the wearer's fingers look longer and more
branchlike. Her shoes are also that same brown, and not especially tree-like,
but, hey, they're comfortable.
The mask that she wears is truly a work of art. Made of soft, flexible
leather, it appears to be interlocking leaves of varying shades of green.
There are spaces between the leaves for a pair of cloudy gray eyes, and gaps
between the leaves make breathing very easy. The mask itself doesn't curve
around her face, in the manner of those lesser, inferior masks. In fact, the
leaf-shapes go past the oval of her face, making the overall effect much more
realistic.
The crowning touch to the costume, however, is the waist-length cloak.
Like the mask, it is made of interlocking leaves, with many spaces to see the
tree-brown of the dress beneath. Unlike the mask, it is composed of two
layers, the topmost being variegated green chiffon, to add to the ethereal
effect of the tree-lady's gliding, graceful gait. It has a flowing hood that
somehow attaches to the back of the mask, though the occasional hint of
silvery-blonde hair may be seen beneath the hood. That hair, combined with
the easy grace of the woman, could conceivably suggest that the woman behind
the mask is Corian. But how in the world was she talked into wearing that
dress?
Tarrant ambles in, ox tucked lightly under one arm and looking altogether as
comfortable as you are uncomfortable, there's not much more comfortable than
denim and flannel after all. "Good evening, Corian, how fareahhh..." This
last would be as you came from behind the screen and Tarrant's jaw all but
came unhinged. Pause, longer pause, breath Tarrant old buddy, if you pass
out, you look -really- silly. "Wo-ow."
Corian edges somewhat behind the screen at the pause. The pause makes her nervous--well, more nervous. "I did not plan this," she says softly, an element of unhappiness in her voice. "Honalee sent it." She finally leaves the safety of the screen, adding quietly, "Maybe I should not go."
Tarrant shakes his head really quickly, okay, so it's not dignified, but he's male, he's not actually -thinking- right no. "No, no, you should go... You really should. You look -wonderful-, Corian. It suits you... Wow. Very amazingly it suits ya'." He offers a bright and impish grin, "Your great-grandma has good taste if a twisted sense of humor."
Corian, at your words, looks a bit less likely to run and hide. Maybe she's smiling. The mask makes it difficult to tell. "Well, thank you," she replies. "I am glad that you like it, at least, though it seems far too..." She shakes her head. If she says the words, she'll call attention to the revealing nature of the dress, you see, and it does that well enough on its own. "I do hope you do not mind the nature of our costumes. Honalee found it amusing, you see, and it seemed an -easy- costume." Her voice trails off, and she makes a rather uncertain gesture with one hand. "It suits you, somewhat."
Corian, at your words, looks a bit less likely to run and hide. Maybe she's smiling. The mask makes it difficult to tell. "Well, thank you," she replies. "I am glad that you like it, at least, though it seems far too..." She shakes her head. If she says the words, she'll call attention to the revealing nature of the dress, you see, and it does that well enough on its own. "I do hope you do not mind the nature of our costumes. Honalee found it amusing, you see, and it seemed an -easy- costume." Her voice trails off, and she makes a rather uncertain gesture with one hand. "It suits you, somewhat."
Tarrant gestures with the happy ox, "It gave me an excuse to go to a toy store
and ask where the cattle was kept. I was wearing the burnt cow vest. Their
traumatized looks were worth it alone." He gives you another grin, this one
rather twisted with wonder as he regards you. "Absolutely a lovely costume."
Was there the hint of a pause between those last two words? "You'll just
need'ta be careful, or you won't have a dance card to speak of, every guy in
the building's gonna want to dance with you."
A low, bubbling laugh escapes Corian at the mention of the poor, traumatized
storekeepers. At the last, however, she shakes her head. "I have promised a
dance to Riley, and I will most likely dance with Jay and with Niko as well,
as they are family, but I do not know how much more than that I will do."
Painfully modest? Yes, most definitely. "Oh... and with you, of course, if
you like--if you do not think that the ox will mind?" She moves a step
closer, to get a better look at Babe.
Tarrant regards the ox, as if conferring with it by expression. He shakes his
head, "He'll get over it, he'd better. Otherwise I'll hafta' poke him in the
nose." He proffers the ox for closer inspection. "I remembered seeing him
languishing away last time I was out that way, an excuse to rescue him was
too much to pass up." He's still looking floored for the record. That's a
-heck- of a dress.
Corian reaches with one tentative finger to touch the ox. Of course, as she's wearing gloves, she can't actually touch it, but the thought is still there. "He certainly fits with the costume, yes," she approves. She glances towards the door, then says, a hint of tension returning to her posture, "We should probably go soon." And everybody will -see- her, oh, the horror.
Tarrant offers another bow, taking one foot back and letting the other tilt up
in an overly courtly fashion. The ox is a bit slow, but it bows too. It's an
ox, it needs time to learn. Tarrant straightens and offers his arm, a polite
gesture made perhaps silly by the general battered condition of his clothes.
"May I?"
Corian's smile might be visible in the gaps of the mask. It's most certainly
audible. She bows in kind, then moves to take your arm, hand resting lightly
and just so. "Thank you, van'chela. I do not know that I would be able to go
like this if you were not here."
Tarrant tucks the ox under the other arm, perhaps straightening up a hair
straighter as you take his arm. "I'm glad I could be of some small help then,
m'lady. You don't need to worry a pretty little ha...leaf on your head
though, you look marvelous." He heads out.
Tarrant leaves the room.
Tarrant has left.
You leave the room, pulling the door shut behind you.