update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/gala.md

@@ -18,18 +18,18 @@ Dear, despite its claims to the contrary, is quite a good dancer. Given the dive
 
 Rather than the tinny sounds one might expect from such a contraption, however, the room is suddenly filled with the music of a full orchestra. The music: ballroom with just a hint of swing. The occasional blue note. A touch of syncopation.
 
-You wind your way as a stately pair around a rather miniscule couple — Dear appears to have shrunk itself down to dance with…is that a mouse? — and then skirt around the boundaries of some much larger couple — a giant of some sort. Of course the fox would invite such a delightfully strange crowd.
+You wind your way as a stately pair around a rather miniscule couple — Dear appears to have shrunk itself down to dance with...is that a mouse? — and then skirt around the boundaries of some much larger couple — a giant of some sort. Of course the fox would invite such a delightfully strange crowd.
 
 A good dancer, a pleasant conversationalist, easy to laugh and easier to twirl beneath an upraised arm.
-It is in the last few bars of the second song that a shout rings out, followed by a peal of laughter. There are too many bodies in the way, but you hear a voice, still chuckling, say, “It just quit! I didn’t think I was that bad of a dancer. Ah well, no line at the punch bowl.”
+It is in the last few bars of the second song that a shout rings out, followed by a peal of laughter. There are too many bodies in the way, but you hear a voice, still chuckling, say, "It just quit! I didn't think I was that bad of a dancer. Ah well, no line at the punch bowl."
 
-You make it halfway through the third song before the second instance quits. This one just happens to be right next to you, one couple over, so you get a good glimpse of what exactly happens. A brief look of fear flashes across that instance’s face, and then it blips from existence, leading the woman it had been dancing with to stumble and let out a startled yelp.
+You make it halfway through the third song before the second instance quits. This one just happens to be right next to you, one couple over, so you get a good glimpse of what exactly happens. A brief look of fear flashes across that instance's face, and then it blips from existence, leading the woman it had been dancing with to stumble and let out a startled yelp.
 
 The fox you are dancing with quickly masters a flash of nervousness in its expression, its paw tightening around your hand. Still, that bright smile it has been wearing as it discusses the finer details of preparing for this project — so much goes into finding a space such as this! — quickly returns.
 
-What initially is taken as some silly little commentary on the audience’s skill at dancing quickly fades to some other, sharper emotion. With each disappearance, with each fork of Dear quitting, the laughter comes less and less easily, and it takes longer and longer for the fox you are dancing with to pick that smile up once more. It winces at the sound of shouts, ears pinning back against its head in a cringe. Five songs in. Six. seven. The number of couples on the floor has dwindled from fifty down to forty. Thirty. Twenty. The punch bowl is now crowded, though very few people standing there are talking. Hushed whispers, perhaps, but the atmosphere seems to forbid anything louder. Some dance partners do not even cry out anymore. They stiffen and halt in their step, then shuffle off the dance floor with a nervous glance over the shoulders.
+What initially is taken as some silly little commentary on the audience's skill at dancing quickly fades to some other, sharper emotion. With each disappearance, with each fork of Dear quitting, the laughter comes less and less easily, and it takes longer and longer for the fox you are dancing with to pick that smile up once more. It winces at the sound of shouts, ears pinning back against its head in a cringe. Five songs in. Six. seven. The number of couples on the floor has dwindled from fifty down to forty. Thirty. Twenty. The punch bowl is now crowded, though very few people standing there are talking. Hushed whispers, perhaps, but the atmosphere seems to forbid anything louder. Some dance partners do not even cry out anymore. They stiffen and halt in their step, then shuffle off the dance floor with a nervous glance over the shoulders.
 
-The music: livelier, actively swinging. The dancing: faster. The foxes (fifteen…ten…): steadily more anxious. 
+The music: livelier, actively swinging. The dancing: faster. The foxes (fifteen...ten...): steadily more anxious. 
 Echo — Today at 2:55 PM
 That first clenching of her hand earns a concerned knitting of the brow from A Finger Pointing, who feels that unrelenting momentum in its step and carries on, squeezing its paw in turn. And then there is the next, and there is a wary locking of eyes. The fourth, the fifth, she is starting to give it that sly gaze she so often offers. "They are.. quitting?" she questions at one point, stepping out of her meandering style and into the fox's center of balance. That shift from lead to leading is accompanied by a closeness of lips to ear. "Is that your angle?" She comes away with a wicked smile, leaning one way to give Dear's fork an ephemeral swing around their shared center of mass even before it can answer.
 
@@ -152,3 +152,53 @@ The human sighs contentedly, leaning back in her chair. "You know, I think I fee
 She is off at once to mingle with Dear's other guests, fashionably late to the afterparty. «Tomorrow, there will be a show,» she sends from amidst the crowd. «I hope you will join us for the evening revelry after. Plans are still up for debate~. You have my tag!»
 
 ## Story
+
+A ballroom, all vaulted white ceilings with glittering gold leaf accents. A wooden floor — something light, yet durable — which echoed even whispers back to the banks of attendees standing at the eastern entrance. Everyone in the crowd of diverse forms was dressed in their finest, all black ties and black dresses, red roses and wispy white veils.
+
+And before the gathered crowd, a single fox stood alone in glittering white fur and similarly black garb, though whether the attire it was wearing is a feminine dress or some more masculine tuxedo seems to vary depending on the angle at which one viewed it. It stood prim and proper, paws folded before it, smiling confidently.
+
+*"Welcome, one and all, to tonight's ballroom dance,"* it said. *"My name is Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled of the Ode clade. I have invited all fifty of you here, and am grateful for your attendance, as well as your heeding my instructions to arrive alone. We are here to enjoy a night of fine music and perfectly acceptable dancing."* It bowed flamboyantly, adding with a smirk, *"As I can assure you, I am a merely acceptable dancer, however, I do think that we will all have much fun tonight, yes?"*
+
+The fox stepped forward and, with each step, ten more instances of it appeared alongside. As it walked toward the gathered crowd — now muttering, impressed, by the display of forking — it continued, *"I shall remain the master of ceremonies. Should you have any questions or comments, do feel free to ask."*
+
+What followed was a chorus in perfect unison: fifty foxes bowed to fifty attendees, each saying in that same lilting, somehow italicized voice, *"As for me, would you care to dance, my dear?"*
+
+Dear, despite its claims to the contrary, was quite a good dancer. Given the diversity of the attendees, it seemed to have settled for modifying its own form so as to provide an adequately-sized dance partner for all in attendance, and it did a fairly good job of guessing at who will wind up playing the lead for each pair. A Finger Pointing, for instance, wound up with a fox that was somewhat taller than the MC fennec, who had set itself up over by an old Victrola, placing a record on the boxy machine and angling the horn out toward the audience.
+
+Rather than the tinny sounds one might expect from such a contraption, however, the room was suddenly filled with the music of a full orchestra. The music: ballroom with just a hint of swing. The occasional blue note. A touch of syncopation.
+
+A Finger Pointing and the fennec wound their way as a stately pair around a rather miniscule couple — Dear appeared to have shrunk itself down to dance with...is that a mouse? — and then skirted around the boundaries of some much larger couple — a giant of some sort. Of course the fox would invite such a delightfully strange crowd.
+
+A good dancer, a pleasant conversationalist, easy to laugh and easier to twirl beneath an upraised arm.
+
+It was in the last few bars of the second song that a shout rang out, followed by a peal of laughter. There were too many bodies in the way, but A Finger Pointing heard a voice, still chuckling, say, "It just quit! I didn't think I was that bad of a dancer. Ah well, no line at the punch bowl."
+
+They made it halfway through the third song before the second instance quits. This one just happened to be right next to them, one couple over, so she got a good glimpse of what exactly happens: a brief look of fear flashed across that instance's face, and then it blipped from existence, leading the woman it had been dancing with to stumble and let out a startled yelp.
+
+The fox she was dancing with quickly masters a flash of nervousness in its expression, its paw tightening around her hand. Still, that bright smile it has been wearing as it discussed the finer details of preparing for this project — so much goes into finding a space such as this! — quickly returned.
+
+What initially was taken as some silly little commentary on the audience's skill at dancing quickly faded to some other, sharper emotion. With each disappearance, with each fork of Dear quitting, the laughter came less and less easily, and it took longer and longer for the fox she was are dancing with to pick that smile up once more. It winced at the sound of shouts, ears pinning back against its head in a cringe. 
+
+That first clenching of her hand earned a concerned knitting of the brow from A Finger Pointing, who felt that unrelenting momentum in its step and carried on, squeezing its paw in turn. And then there is the next, and there is a wary locking of eyes. The fourth, the fifth, she started to give it that sly gaze she so often offers. "They are...quitting?" she questioned at one point, stepping out of her meandering style and into the fox's center of balance. That shift from lead to leading was accompanied by a closeness of lips to ear. "Is that your angle?" 
+
+She comes away with a wicked smile, leaning one way to give Dear's fork an ephemeral swing around their shared center of mass even before it can answer.
+
+Five songs in. 
+
+Six. 
+
+Seven.
+
+The number of couples on the floor dwindled from fifty down to forty. 
+
+Thirty. 
+
+Twenty.
+
+The punch bowl grew crowded, though very few people standing there were talking. Hushed whispers, perhaps, but the atmosphere seemed to forbid anything louder. Some of the remaining dance partners did not even cry out anymore. They stiffened and halted in their step, then shuffled off the dance floor with a nervous glance over the shoulder.
+
+The music: livelier, actively swinging. 
+
+The dancing: faster. 
+
+The foxes (fifteen...ten...): steadily more anxious.