Gesturing to Mister E that he would like to figure it out himself, Simon takes a walk around the room.
Simon was a little confused by how the costume room was organized. Trying to reverse-engineer some sort of sorting algorithm, the clothes on the tables were organized by… culture? Time period? Class? He couldn’t place a finger on how it worked, but every time a character surfaced in his mind, he was seemingly able to find a perfect set of clothes to complete his idea in little to no time.
He started thinking about Clark’s character. Chesh. God, Chesh is so fucking stuffy… If no one is around to keep him in check, people are going to start dying out of either boredom or sheer contempt…
Right. Someone to keep him in check.
He sat down on one of the chairs, thinking about the sort of character who could make sure that Clark doesn’t get himself into trouble. And whom Chesh wouldn’t push away immediately. Mister E poked into the room a couple of times to aid an another straggler who ended up picking a nose ring and nothing else, apparently too embarrassed to get naked in front of Simon to put on something else. Fair.
Not completely confident about his occupation yet, he just decided to put on something formal and fancy, dressing up in a white shirt, tuxedo, fancy shoes, the works. Oh, and a detachable white collar. How could he not.
Confident about the “I could work any serious job” look, he almost stepped out of the room before remembering that he needs a mask, too. Spotting a Siberian tiger head, he chuckles to himself and quickly puts it on.
“He’s a cat, right? Gotta one-up him with a tiger costume.”
Stepping out into the entryway, he’s greeted by Mister E.
“Ah! There you are, I was getting worried you were too intimidated by the selection,” the host said politely, taking a passing glance at his watch.
“Oh-. N-no, it’s fine, Mister E, I think I figured it out?” Simon said, a little anxious that he might’ve taken up too much of the masked man’s time.
“Of course you have. You are?..” the man replied, awaiting a response. Simon felt as if the man had raised an eyebrow, though he couldn’t really see it through the mask, could he now?
“I’m, uh… Simon, we met like fifteen minutes ago? Oh, right, like, the character, shit, I’m… A-Amure Felinad?” Simon stuttered out, somewhat uncomfortable with being put on the spot.
“Right, you’re Amure Felinad, and your occupation is…” Mister E waved his hands around, expecting Simon to complete his sentence once again.
“It’s, um… complicated, but I’m essentially an… attaché, is what you would call it here? To, um, Clark-. Prince Chesh the Third.” Amure completed, figuring that calling himself an attaché would keep his options open.
“Oh! An attaché to the Royal Prince himself, why, I shan’t be keeping you any longer, Mister Felinad. Remember to follow the rules, though I might not have had to remind you.” Mister E responded in a cheery accent, happily stepping away to take care of other matters. Simon wandered around looking for Clark until he found some sort of gathering hall.
He arrived just in time for some sort of announcement. Stepping into the room, he heard the sound of a spoon hitting a glass repeatedly until the room was silent. Shuffling into the crowd, he made out the visage of Mister E, as well as Clark’s cat mask in the front row of the crowd.
“The final guest has arrived.” Mister E said purposefully, looking around at an eager crowd. “The festivities shall now begin in full. Feel free to mingle with one another, partake in the in events held all throughout the manor, sample the drinks, savor the banquet… and remember to stay in character. As always, voting for the best character will start in two hours and finish at midnight. Remember to vote in the living room.”
Finishing up the announcement, Mister E walked out of the room, crowd parting for him. The conversations between guests lit anew, filling the silent hall with sound once more. Simon cut his way through the crowd towards Chesh-. Clark. Chesh. Whatever.
It seemed that Chesh found himself a pair of gangly-looking conversation partners. One, some sort of tall rabbit in a top hat and a fancy suit, spoke loudly and eagerly as all three men laughed knowingly. Two, an... otter? Marten?... Weasel?... Mustelid, complete with his own form-fitting business attire projected his own aura of confidence as the short man seemed to joke at the prince’s expense, nudging the cat with his elbow, to Chesh’s great frustration, albeit… fond frustration?
“I’m a prince, damn it, stop putting your hands on me as if I were a common courtesan,” Chesh hissed, trying to get into character.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Your Royal Highness, or someone might just decide that you should find yourself in such a compromising occupancy,” the marten quipped with a mischievous tone, turning his eyes towards Simon approaching the trio. “Who might you be, my good sir?”
Looking at the three of them, Simon thought quickly. He-. He wasn’t really sure yet. He’s supposed to be in character right now, right? Shit, shit, okay, let’s be vague for now. “Evening, sirs, Your Royal Majesty, I’m Amure Felinad, I’m on Prince Chesh’s staff, I’m dreadfully sorry for taking so long, I was held up in the dressing room,” he rolled off eloquently, adjusting his posture a little.
A look of recognition flashed under Clark’s mask briefly, and one of interest under the rabbit’s and mustelid’s.
The marten, seizing the initiative from the rabbit and most importantly the cat, pursued the line of inquiry eagerly. “What a prestigious position. What duties do you perform, exactly? Might you be a… bodyguard, with that nice tall, strong build of yours, or maybe a… ooh, translator?“ The eyes on the man’s mask practically sparkled. “My, my, his Royal Majesty’s German accent can be so hard to understand for us Britons at times-.”
Flustered, Clark busts into the conversation.
“Fuck no, you Norman bastards can understand me perfectly fine, stop trying to-. Amure is-.” He stopped, with a subtle hint of a German accent poking through, having realized that he might be putting himself in a situation rather unsuited for… Chesh. Or that he might lock Simon into a role the tiger didn't want to play.
The rabbit, with a slightly pained smile poking from under the mask, continued the conversation with a slightly reprimanding tone. “I’m sure a member of the prince's own bloody staff can remember what his duties are, Smith." The lanky man coughed, acquiring his gaze on Simon. "Apologies for the commotion, I'm Haren Robb, a British CEO and a friend of the Prince, my mustelid friend (who really ought to remember to behave) is Martingue Smith, whom might as well be a jester based on his behavior. I apologize for him saying anything unbecoming of your vision of whom you're supposed to be. Mister Felinad, would you mind enlightening us, your occupation is…”
All of this commotion bought the now-taller Amure time. Unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, feeling slightly constrained by the now tight attire pressing in his pronouncing muscles, he gives a brief thought about what the rabbit just told him about the whole vision thing, but feels like he doesn't have the time to linger on it and confidently answers:
“I’m a…”