Unmasked

[Nico]

The Mask Maker


He watched as the last of the clear droplets fell into the basin, rippling along it's smooth surface. …Tremors, like a lover's breath… Dipping his fingers into the water, he immersed his hands in it's warmth, and began to scrub them slowly. The water ran red. Purity, tainted bloody with sin. He smiled beneath his mask; although it had been a short visit, how he had enjoyed himself. "She welcomed me with such... Enthusiasm... I was away for far too long..."

The Mask Maker was in high spirits, having returned from a two day profitable business venture; finally to be reunited with his lovely doll. Drying his long fingers, Amador reached back to skillfully untie the ornate mask's series of ribbons. He stared down at the white porcelain, then reached into his suit's pocket to pull out a delicate brush. Dipping the fine hairs under the faucet, he meticulously cleaned away the spots of red that dotted the mask's smooth surface. Finishing, the brush was tucked back away, and Amador pivoted sharply to stride into his workshop. Placing his old mask carefully on a stand, the Mask Maker retrieved another from his desk. His eyes roamed across it, tracing its intricate designs; it would only serve to cover the top half of his face. Perfect. He had been much too hasty with his little one; his latent emotions overwhelming him greedily in the presence of her perfection. Ah... No. Not perfection... Yes, he had acted too harshly... She hadn't even eaten in two days. My poor pet… Amador smiled.
I enjoyed every second of you.



Somewhere in the dirt and solitude of a back alley, the tattered form of a girl moaned soft apologies hoarsely past the shreds of cloth wound around her head. Bleeding, battered body shaking weakly until it finally collapsed.




Tying the ribbons in place with a set of confusing loops, Amador took the remote-like device laying on the table, and smoothed a hand through his dark locks. He was forgetting something. "Ah, yes." Returning to the bathroom, he pulled from the cabinet a large black case. Snapping the hinges shut with satisfaction, Amador made his way to the grand hall that connected his workshop and his store from the mansion behind it. The walk was not overly long, and soon the hall ended at a large oak door. Procuring a key ring, the man turned the lock, stepping into the grand room.

Amador Decessus. As he was known by clientele. The alias served him well; the gentleman's real identity shrouded in secrets, money… and charm. His buyers did not delve far past his alluring smiles and the estate he had recently inherited. They simply wished their masks be hand crafted, unique pieces of porcelain, by the great artist. To say they owned a piece touched by Un facteur de masque. Amador was mystery. His features unknown; ever shrouded behind the ornate masks he was never without. Of course, wearing them himself did sell, but not so much as did the man's pleasurable pastime. The Decessus Masquerades were the of the highest tier. Elegant, their lists dabbled over and hand-picked… And tonight he was to host the largest yet. Much talk had been flitting past the blue-blooded lips, the mail sent to his estate atrociously gross. There was nothing the notables could do however, if they were not graced in Amador's sight. Only select dignitaries attended the lavish events.


The heels of his boots clicked upon the marble floors and his long strides continued, disregarding the greetings that were stuttered his way. The decor attendants startled by the stately man's sudden appearance. He had not arrived through the large front doors… "Jezebel." Amador's rich voice cut through the sound of a fountain pen scratching on a clipboard. The woman surveying the decorations turned, eyes wide. "S-sir! Ah…" She glanced down at the large case he held towards her. "These are them?" "Use the gloves provided as you set them within the displays." Came the curt reply, dark eyes narrowing slightly in silent warning behind the mask. The case was handed over, the tall man turning towards the large staircase on the opposite side of the large open floor.

"Mr. Decessus, your things have been laid out.." The mouse of a maid shrank away as he ascended up the left wing of the great stairs. "Thank you Marie." The artist replied, not sparing her a second glance. In the solitude of his room Amador welcomed the heavy silence, eyes sliding over the luxury to gaze out the floor-length windows, watching with interest as the sun sank beneath the horizon. It's last rays bloodying the sky in a fantastic display. Ah, a red mask… Edged with gold perhaps? And inlayed… He mused on a new design as he undid his attire and dressed in a simple, black tuxedo and polished dress shoes. Sharply drawing the heavy curtains closed, the lips beneath the silver mask lifted slightly.

Tonight. Tonight I shall find you.

A perfect piece. One as flawless and intricate as the art he created...

 

[IWishThat..]

Today seemed to be filled with disappointment after disappointment. Nothing seemed to be going right. If it wasn't one thing it was another. First. His servant had brought the wrong damn drink. He hadn't asked for a Vodka he'd asked for a Whiskey Sour. Second his suit didn't fit as it should have. It was too small. Even for his small frame. Every movement made it seem like he was about to pop out of it at any moment. At one point the stitching even popped. In the end he had to call for one of his old suits, firing yet another seamstress. They were all useless. Every now and again he wondered why he even asked them to do anything for him in the first place. If you want something done right you must do it yourself. Wasn't that the saying?

Mishka himself was about ready to go along with those words. His hand came up to run through his dirty blond hair, glaring at his mirrored reflection. It wasn't what he had had in mind. The other suit had been the perfect color. A gorgeous dark blue that offset his own bright blue eyes. This one was a deep green, one from a year ago that he had used when his older brother had been married. How was that he, an aristocrats son, had to be in an old suit? It didn't make sense! His father had money, and power. How was it that he couldn't get his own son a better suit!

Grumbling darkly he turned from the mirror, stepping down from the stool they had placed in front of the mirror. It was useless. Mishka knew that he wasn't the favorite son. He wasn't going to be taking after his father. That was they way his world worked. Even if it made him pissed off. Moving through the room he headed for the door, ignoring the seamstress as she tried to placate him. It wasn't working. Mishka wasn't listening to her and it was even more evident that he wasn't when he closed the door in her face.

On the other side of the door Mishka released a breath, glancing down the hall to make sure that he was alone. He wasn't even sure why they were going to this stupid party. That reminded him; he was going to have to choose a different mask now. A masquerade. It seemed like such a silly idea to him. People walking around in masks and being unable to tell who was who. But the man holding the party was rather wealthy, not to mention kind of a celebrity. Mishka heard the rumors and the ladies talk about him during tea. The man was a mystery. One that no one could help not to talk about. What was behind the mask? What was he hiding? No one knew and it was obvious that no one ever tried to just take the damn thing off.

Turning mishka started down the hall, shoes clicking softly as he retreated towards his room. He had many masks from Mr. Decessus; all were gifts from his father. Not one of them were important to Mishka. It was nothing more than a piece of dried clay people tied to their face, wasn't it not? Something like that could never hold his attention more than a few moments. Not when it could be focused on a new car or a new servant to bed. Reaching his room he pushed the door open, stepping inside and gently closing the door behind him. A small smile slipped across his lips at the familiar sight. The room was rather large but simple. Nothing but what was needed. Mishka wasn't one for possessions. He found he got too attached to things and that was never a good thing. Especially if he lost something he became fond of. That's when all hell really broke loose.

Quickly he crossed the room and headed for his closet, pushing the door open and stepped inside. Like his room it held barely anything. Only what he need and the masks. His eyes scanned over them. He had maybe about fifteen of them and they all looked untouched. of course the only time Mishka touched them was when he went to balls like this.. which was never.

Pulling in a breath he stood there for a few moments, thinking it over before he reached out and grabbed one of the masks. It was a beautiful green mask with intricate blue markings that only covered the top half of his face. It was perfect. With a nod he pressed it to his face, shivering slightly at the cold feeling as his fingers tied the green ribbons into a knot and then a bow. Once in place he turned to the mirror in his closet, giving himself a once over before he was satisfied. Mishka himself couldn't deny that he looked good. With a smile to himself he hurried away, making his way out of his room and down stairs. His parents and his brother were already waiting for him, feeling their eyes looking him over before they gave a nod of approval and they were off.

...

The car ride to the mansion was silent, knowing that his parents were still studying him fro faults. He wasn't allowed to have any faults. It would only look back on his brother and his father. Really, it just made him want to scream at them for how stupid they were being. He was himself and the only on responsible for his mistakes was himself.

Once the mansion came into view those blue eyes went wide, staring at the building as if he had never seen anything like it. It was the first time he had been allowed to attend such a party but it was mostly because he bitched about it until they had allowed him to go. The car stopped right infront of the mansion, making mishka give a small gulp as the door was opened for him and he stepped out of the car. His eyes roamed over the building, marveling at the stone structure before he was ushered inside along with the rest of his family.

 

[Nico]

A slight knock at his door, disrupting his peace... His silence. Amador turned his head slowly. "Yes?" The reply came muffled through the heavy wooden doors. "The guests have arrived sir, they await you downstairs." "Hm..." The artist's fingertips traced the carved armrest of the chair he reposed in. "Sir?" The Mask Maker stood slowly with a sigh, opening a drawer and slipping a case into his pocket. "Announce me." "Yes sir."


His presence filled the room as he descended the stairs silently. Tall and broad-shouldered, his fluid motion progressed with the air of one accustomed to commanding his space absolutely. Dark brown eyes cut into the crowd before him. Amador made no effort to ease the hush that rippled over the crowd, nor alleviate the heavy silence that followed. He knew what familiarity bred, and felt no need to pander to the nobles before him. They were nothing more than money. Gold for his craft. He made that distinction explicitly clear. No one was privy to Amador's personal life. His hobbies. What he disliked. Which newspaper he read.... His age. The artist kept to himself- and kept others away from his estate. A recluse? Perhaps. 'But how could one so charming and adept lock himself away?' Came the whispers. Rumors trailed at the man's heels constantly. They were the only thing publicly available concerning Mr. Decessus. Other than his wares.

Lips neither smiling nor frowning as the face behind the mask remained unreadable, Amador stepped up to the thin podium at the base of the stairs.


"Good evening, Honored Guests. Thank you for your attendance." He paused, letting a pleasant smile wash over his features. "Tonight we celebrate a new line of masks, made from the finest materials-" A graceful hand swept to the far right of the room, where five full masks sat in velvet under glass. "The first of this line are on display. The starting prices will be listed. Please direct any inquiries towards my associates." Two men in sharp suits bracing iPads stepped forward. "The silent auction will now begin. Please... Enjoy the Masquerade." Succinct as was habitual, Amador stepped off. He never was one for long speeches, although the deep timbre of his voice could hold an audience in sway with a near regal ease.

The orchestra struck up a waltz. The chandeliers dimmed slightly. Drinks and orderves were catered out on sliver trays.


Immediately the crowd swallowed him; a flurry of baited questions and flowery proposals. Formalities. Amador nodded and smiled, chuckling politely, offering complements where they were due… His crafted replies and frigid eyes were enough to keep dealings at a comfortable arms length. How tedious…


The Mask Maker's eyes scanned the crowd as he murmured polite responses, their dark orbs never staying still. Tonights festivities were not for him, the guests wanted nothing but to flaunt and flirt, excited with their veiled identities. He simply provided the medium. Dressed in their flamboyant clothing, they began to dance. Others of a more base nature moved towards the buffet table... A glass of champagne was slipped into his fingers by a beautiful, buxom woman. Amador bowed his head, apology illusory in his regrets at declining her offer, before moving on through the crowd.

He discarded the champagne discreetly in a plant, smoothly turning to address the next person to tap him upon the shoulder. "Mm indeed, Madame... The feathers are a nice touch." How hideous. "I assume that is Giveldi's work? I always did admire his flowers." Brown eyes flicked up from the woman to catch on a familiar mane of blond hair meandering through the crowds. "Yes. Quite. If you'd excuse me.."


"My friend, I do not know why you bothered wearing a mask." Amador's smile was perfect, his affectionate laugh flawlessly executed, though his gaze remained distant as he offered a hand in greeting. "Your hair will always give you away. It is a beacon. You must buy a wig if you wish to be truly anonymous." He offered the hand to the man's wife. "I hope you enjoyed your newest purchase. It was one of my favorites." His eyes alighted on the slim figure that hovered sightly off to the side. "Ah… is this your son?" What's this now… After releasing the eldest's hand he held it out to the smaller boy slowly. Brown bore steadily into bright blue, then trailed down the boy's physique, before returning to his father's eyes. "I did not know you had a second son."

 

[IWishThat..]

The door's opened to a rather decorative hall, a servant leading them into the ball room where it would be taking place. Of course, like the rest of the house, it was beautiful. There was guests already there and the longer they stayed the more arrived, until the whole ball room seemed to move with bodies. Those blue eyes darted from face to face, mask after mask, growing more and more agitated the longer he stayed here. The very fact that he could not tell who was who set Mishka off a peg. As if he couldn't quiet find his bearings.

It wasn't much longer before the room seemed to quiet down, all heads turning to the servant announcing Amador's appearance, as if his very presence was better than breathing. Of course that was exactly how it seemed to Mishka. Everyone was here to bask in the glory that was Amador Decessus, to be graced by his presence. Really, it disgusted him. Snorting he crossed his arms across his chest, trying to ignore the brilliant tone of the man's voice. It tugged at a string he had never known could be tugged, as if something inside him was yearning to bathed in that warm tone. Of course there was no way a sound could cover you as if it was a liquid but he couldn't find any other way to describe it.

His blue eyes found the man as he moved from the podium, watching as he was completely surrounded the moment his feet touched the floor. The very sight made his stomach roll, shaking his head as he turned his back towards the group and the man. For once he understood why so many flocked to the man. However, he wasn't going to be one of them. As long as he could fight the unusual feeling that is.

The sound of music filled the air as Mishka ignored the host of this party, talking softly with people he knew from childhood. He nodded pleasantly as one such female friend showed him a new fan, gently touching the feathers of it, marveling at the blue color of it. The boy couldn't help but admit that he loved the color, giving her a bright smile as she used it to hide the last of her bare face. It only made her look more unfamiliar in an upsetting way. This world was one of secrets and mysteries and made him wish he had tried harder to convince his parents to allow him to stay home. Change. It inconsistency made Mishka want to run in the opposite direction. Though such a thing here was impossible.

A hand touched his shoulder, turning him to face his older brother. The man looked him other. Green eyes. Like his mother. The only feature the boy had gotten from the woman. With her dark features she was the exact opposite of their father. "Straighten up!" The words came out gruffly, hands giving him a small tug in an upward direction as if to force him to stand straighter than he already was. It was the same thing he had always heard. Sighing darkly Mishka reached up and brushed his brothers hands off, eyes narrowed at the slightly taller male. "Boys." Their mother's voice snipped off, hiding her lips with her fan as her eyes shifted between them and someone coming over towards the family.

The chocolatey voice sent shivers down Mishka's spine, taking a step back and glancing away to keep himself from looking at the mysterious man known as Amador Decessus. His fathers cheerful response made mishka frown. Along with his own brothers response made him want to turn and walk away. His feet stayed glue to the floor, unable to pull himself from the spot. It terrified him. And when the attention fell on him his mind went blank, the world seeming to go into slow motion.

His head turned to look at the man once again, being caught in those brown eyes. He had felt them go across his form. It made him feel naked. As if those dark eyes had pulled his clothes clean off himself to leave him bare for the man to see. All his secrets, all his wants and needs. Fear creeped into his blue eyes, coupled with a small amount of curiosity. What was it about this man that made him feel this way? As it stood he couldn't figure it out.

"o yes! This is Mishka. His mother finally convinced me to allow him to come to these affairs. He is a handful so we have kept him at home."

His father's voice brought Mishka back to earth, stuttering in a breath as if he had stopped breathing. His eyes darted to his father before they moved back to Amador, mind seeming to fill with static keeping him from thinking. Slowly he took a step back in retreat, gulping slightly as he look to his parents once more. Quickly he gave a small bow. "I promised a friend a dance." With those words he turned on his heels and made his way through the crowd. He was barely keeping himself from running to the doors, forcing himself to stay at a quick walk. He had to get away from there before he said or did something crazy. That man was dangerous.

"Amador! I'm sorry. As i said before he is a handful. I will go and retrieve him if you wish it." His father had stepped up to Amador quickly when mishka had turned and left, hoping that the child hadn't destroyed his connection to the man before him.