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All Hallow's Ego-Eve! October 31st

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EgoTrip, Rhy'Din's hottest dance club, presents a bone thrilling experience of nonstop chills to celebrate All Hallow's Eve where the freaks come out at night and won't stop till the sun comes up!

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Sample a few of the specially brewed concoctions such as the Bloody Bathory, Alien Brain Hemorrhage, Twilight Tea, and the Black Cat!

https://www.klonblog.com/images/2015/10/halloween-cocktails-klonblog.gif Bloody Bathory

http://cdn.skim.gs/image/upload/v1456339474/msi/unnamed_cdbt5j.gif Alien Brain Hemorrhage

https://i.imgur.com/ny1dwoc.gif Twilight Tea

https://i.imgur.com/5OfjP6M.gif Black Cat

EgoTrip brings back the fae-phenomenon DJ Mori Midori to keep everyone on their feet while mixing in mash ups of Halloween classics and cult movie themes! With special guest, DJ Yassidy!

https://i.imgur.com/LMsr7Zg.jpg DJ Mori Midori

EgoTrip has taken a turn into the dark with special displays of holographic monsters and late night slashers, skulking zombies that bust out into break dancing, with walls splashed in gobs of red!

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Enter in the costume contest for a chance to win $1,000 dollars and become the Pumpkin King or Queen of the night! Second and third prize winners will receive their own gifts and titles, too!

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OOC: Everyone is encouraged to show up and have a good time! This is a board event only! All those that participate will receive a special icon! Costume contest winners will receive their own special icons as well. Costume contest winners will be chosen by a RNG in the order that they are posted. Please feel free to post Polyvores that you have already made for Fright Night or make a brand spankin' new one! The cut off for entering the costume contest will be on November 1st! While usually underage patrons are not allowed, a specific bouncer by the name of Pauly will be taking small bribes for all those with out the proper identification! Please feel free to use the setting and post within this thread, and as always, HAVE FUN!

Starring Charlie Kowalski as Holly Golightly

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After a six-week absence from society, her first appearance is at All Hallow's Ego-Eve and all evidence suggests that she's been somewhere tropical or was a week ago, give or take, given the warm glow of a well-settled bronze tan more suited for summer than autumn. A new ring joins the overpriced engagement rock bestowed upon her at the most recent Beltane bonfire: micropav" diamonds in an oversleek platinum setting, so understated and unexpectedly delicate for a Harry Winston piece, but it glimmers when struck by the right light just so. As unpopular as the coupling has been at times given the false perception of infidelity or overlap, it appears to be sticking nonetheless and Charlie Kowalski has never before seemed so incandescently happy (ecstatic, really) in public as she is at this event. Not that she isn't customarily radiant, for there is a certain luminosity about at all times, a dreamy otherworldliness, a lightness"no, it's far too easy to fall under the spell of that lavishly puffy-mouthed, doe-eyed nymphet, fairylike and mysterious and Tinkerbell tempestuous"but there's something about her tonight that shines brighter than any star. Light shatters where it hits the surfaces of eyes so dark a brown that they border black, giving the illusion of diamond dust scattered across an unfathomable night sky, but even in the corners and in-between places where the shadows gather the thickest, they hold that illumination as if it comes from within. Or is it only a trick of the light, one of Queen Mab's fevered dreams"

Entering the costume contest, tonight she is Audrey Hepburn's version of Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany's. Comfortable wearing perilously short skirts and barely-there dresses, she's audacious and somewhat indecent in a tuxedo shirt borrowed from her husband's closet, the cuffs undone; nothing else, just this, and it hits relatively high up on the lean thigh of million dollar legs further showcased by nude stiletto sandals from Dolce & Gabbana. The shoes themselves boast only two ultra-skinny straps, one winding around the ankle's curve while the other crosses over neatly painted toes; this serves as a substitute for bare feet and as little as there is to them, it is a clever deception. Instead of earplugs, pale and softly violet-like tassel earrings sway with an undeniable joie de vivre and her hair is an elaborate recreation of the actress's, pulled back away from her fey-pretty face, but left otherwise down. There's always so much of it, excessively thick as it is, but the espresso-dark curls have been smoothed right out over the course of a couple hours in front of a vanity mirror with a straightener until they've all been polished out meticulously. Cosmetics lean toward a cleaner, more natural fashion like Hepburn herself preferred, but the lipstick she wears is a few degrees separated from the film character's in order to compliment her own coloring (richer, more red than peach) with her blush understated where it dusts the apples of high-boned cheeks (add a nearly imperceptible glimmer for holiday sparkle.) Her eye makeup is beautifully dream-smudged as if from sleep after a long night partying, delicately and masterfully implied for she has a resum' a mile long full of evenings like that.

The breathtaking finishing touch is a replica sleep mask purchased from Etsy that rests upon her hairline and just a couple breaths above overlarge eyes that dwarf her elfin features, a decadent turquoise silk-satin that has the weight of quality fabric trimmed in braided gold, gilt brows and fanciful long eyelashes to match. In the company of her Paul Varjak in his handsome three-piece suit, she revels in the festivities once she's bombed enough to stop startling at the ghoulish tricks the club has set up for its patrons. Mostly, it's white angels for her, the martini that Truman Capote describes in the novella that is one-half vodka, one-half gin, no vermouth, yet she does peruse the house special cocktails: the Alien Brain Hemorrhage is too gruesome (hence the grossed out face she makes at it as she shakes her head and shivers dramatically on a bounce of heels), and as tempting as the Black Cat is, she avoids it for fear that many black things tend to stain white teeth. For one reason or another, she also eliminates a Twilight Tea, but she indulges in at least one Bloody Bathory.

Ray Kowalski wants to leave the party after the first thirty minutes, quite the wicked satyr, but his captivating wife that must be at least half his age has more Dionysian appetites to satisfy. One martini after another and soon enough, the night begins to blur and skip like old vintage film, but it's bar, dance floor, bar, dance floor, bar: rinse and repeat on a loop. Music moves through Charlie as if she's been sculpted with it in mind as much as a piano or violin or guitar, her body an intuitive instrument that's as comfortable swinging artfully around poles as it is in a Shakira-hipped salsa or a close-proximity club grind, and she never misses a beat no matter how much she's imbibed. Her hand begins on his shoulder, but as the hour progresses, it travels to his ribcage under his suit jacket as her petal-blossom mouth parts tremblingly, doe-dark eyes locked on the impossible blue skies of his (yin and yang, his sun-loving and hers moon-worshipped.) From his ribcage to white-edged fingernails bracing themselves on his belt, touching leather in order to taste the texture of it on satin skin, and if the smolder in his gaze becomes too hot to endure, she twists to press her back to his front. He receives the sensation of nails at his nape, gentler (distractedly so only) along his jawline, until their fingers interlink and lift in the air, arms loose at the elbow while the boneless drumbeat undulations of her body threaten to make him go utterly mad.

A time or two (or six or seven), they lose themselves"one electrifyingly slow brush of lips leads to more with all the rapacious hunger of half-starved predators in the wild, fingers undoing a button upon his suit vest before she catches herself, dares to wrinkle his pressed shirt with a restless knot of white-knuckled fingers another time, and they surrender to the impulse to conduct themselves like infatuated teenagers falling irrevocably in love if they have to wait too long for their drinks, kissing there on their feet as though nothing else in the world exists. There are other things to do than make out with one another, such as the incident when they tried to creep off to somewhere more private before having the hell scared out of them by holographic horrors jumping toward them out of nowhere, leading to a high-pitched yelp and tumble that almost has her on the floor. This leads to uninhibited, full-bodied laughing fits, at least on Charlie's end, that have her smiling so wide that her cheeks hurt, and for awhile after, there is animated conversation as they dance close, her eyes lit up expressively, her lovely dulcet voice trembling with excitement, broken by the errant, alcohol-saturated giggle fit. Other times they still just talk, her fingers stroking through his hair, but there's an air of intimacy that implies the tone is more serious, perhaps even more tender, the mouth-to-ear exchanges that denote conspiracies or secrets shared.

On the off chance that they encounter a familiar face amongst the cavorting masses, the exchange is usually brief " a Happy Halloween! Good to see you! or Amazing party! You look fantastic! shouted over the music; if they encounter one Eve Holloway, though, she will insist that the other girl dance with them for at least a song or two before they set her free, should she comply. Inevitably, her Paul Varjack places a stamped pill on the bed of her kitten-pink tongue and she swallows, then around the two-hour mark when he brings up getting out of there again (can't remember by then if it's the third or fourth time.) Her teeth tug her bottom lip, a sure sign of impending surrender, and she yields, following him through the heady thrum of the club that remains in her veins for hours until it's a throbbing little echo come morning.

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The costume contest was a bonus, though Kate didn't have much hope of winning. Nah, this was about cutting loose and having a damn good time with Lucy and all the other familiar faces in RhyDin. More importantly, it was a chance to get drunk and dance her ass off all night.

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Lucy arrived as the White Rabbit, a companion costume to Kate's Mad Hatter. Which was perfect cause her plan was to get drunk and dance her ass off next to Kate the whole night.

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It's been weeks that Ray Kowalski and his girl (wife now) have been seen in public here in Rhydin - they've only just arrived back in Chicago a couple of days ago, and when Ray doesn't have obligations (back to work already, plus a reception now that they've returned from weeks abroad), all he really wants to do is spend time with Charlie. That helps to convince him to go to the event, however - he does like to party with his girl.

The costume isn't completely perfect, because he's wearing his wedding ring, and Paul Varjak certainly hadn't had one, but it's pretty damn close - a three-piece suit in varying shades of brown, dark brown wingtips, and, a rarity, his hair flattened out and combed to one side. Maybe it adds something to the couple's costume that the shirt his Holly wears really is pilfered from his closet (and really, he doesn't think twice about that - she steals from his wardrobe pretty frequently already, band tees to sleep in or to wear out with a micro-mini and a leather jacket).

Ray's not quite into the party at first, but once he's adequately inebriated (two Black Cats and an Alien Brain Hemorrhage), he gives up on trying to convince Charlie to leave for a while - dances with her instead, dances and drinks, gets caught in the starlit night skies of her eyes, is occasionally swallowed up by the sensation of kissing her, makes out with her shamelessly like a damn high schooler.

The holographic ghouls definitely get him laughing (especially considering he's pleasantly drunk for most of the night), even if they stop him from getting some private time with his new wife. Besides, even when he's in public with her, he's still paying her most of his attention - making jokes with her, trying to get her to smile, to laugh, cheek to cheek in quiet conversation with her - doesn't matter. That doesn't mean he's standoffish, because he smiles at the people there he knows, dances with Eve if she happens upon the couple.

Still, that doesn't mean his patience is infinite, and he knows it'll wear down Charlie's to give her a party favor to help her mood along, and he's right - only takes him asking one more time to get his Holly Golightly to leave with him for the night, though neither of them will likely be sleeping much until the sun comes up.

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"Music has always been a matter of energy to me, a question of fuel. Sentimental people call it inspiration, but what they really mean is fuel. I have always needed fuel. I am a serious consumer. On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio." - Hunter S. Thompson

Seeing Aaron Murray dressed up as Hunter S. Thompson made sense. Aaron seemed like the type of man who would have been right at home wandering through the infamous gonzo-writer's rebellious pages - where his nicotine stained, whiskey-soaked, drug-inspired way of living didn't seem so out of place. Thompson's characters drew breath from the legendary rat-a-tat rhythm of his truth-at-all-costs weathered fingers punching phrases out of an old vintage typewriter about living fast and dying young, people who could never be anything but themselves, flawed and aware of it; still passionate despite being tragically wrong, horrific things that happened during picturesque golden sunsets in the city.

Everything about Hunter was a middle-finger to authority - he was obsessed with anarchy and the Fear & Loathing ensemble represented that quite well. It had Aaron clad in a slim fit of khaki pants and a button down t-shirt that was black but covered mainly in yellow floral patterns; a Hawaiian shirt design with the top few buttons undone to hang open a bit messily along his inked chest. So contradicting with his legs clothed in business and an upper body flaunting the laid back aura of vacation. On his head was a ragged looking cream colored bucket-hat, reminiscent of something an elderly fisherman might wear. His blue eyes were behind the golden tint of aviator sunglasses and a burning Newport hung connected to a Cruella Deville-esque cigarette extender that hung from the slant of his mouth most the night, going through a lot of cigarettes throughout the evening since it was an active part of his costume.

Aaron wasn't much of a dancer. The sea of bodies writhed and danced and gyrated in the darkness like some kind of hive-mind organism; a mass of entities working as one, connected to the pulse of music through inebriation and a like-minded desire to get lost in the sinful maze a party like this created. It was impressive to watch - which he did at times, but Aaron could be seen stalking the bar area mostly, the side tables, the darker corners - each table a small city to stop and lay low in for a while with it's own unique vibe to advertise, different flags and colors. He spent a while blowing lines with a couple he wasn't familiar with, had a rambling nonsensical coked-up argument about alternate dimensions with a girl dressed up as Barb from Stranger Things, and at one point ended up making out with the female version of himself; a woman who had dressed up in the same literary disguise. Hunter on Hunter action - even if she was far prettier. There was no turning down that level of twisted fate.

If Eve happened to be in attendance, he'd spend a moment pestering her and say hello. The possibility of a verbal lashing in response was high, but there were no guarantees on Halloween. At another point he caught sight of Charlie and Ray dancing among a sea of bodies dressed up as the couple from Breakfast at Tiffany's. He watched them the same way a vindictive, spiteful runner-up might watch the Prom King & Queen during their first dance with idle malice in his eyes. Mostly because he was intoxicated. In a sober state of mind he would probably wish them well at this point, but toxic ingredients seemed to breed toxic reactions.

Once he was out of smokes, the night came to a quick end. The allure of his costume faded considerably without the burning essence of a cigarette; so after a while of loitering around outside in the parking lot with his glossy eyes trained down on the glowing screen of his cellphone, sending drunken texts, eventually he found his way into the backseat of a cab and made his exit for the night.

"Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives" and to the "good life", whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.? - Hunter S. Thompson

In a bit of (meta) Triplet Trickery, Evia showed up dressed ever so similarly to her identical counterparts. Were there three Wonder Women wandering the crowd at EgoTrip? The undulating masses made it hard to tell for certain if it was merely a trick of the light unless they were seen together.

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Didn't everyone want to be Wonder Woman for the holiday' Halloween was all about Tricks or Treats.

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"What the **** is a hamburgalar?" She asked her bandmates while they waited in the obscene line to get in.

"Like that thing from McDicks, ya know?" Michi explained with some vague gesturing.

"For the millionth time, I'm just a regular robber. Maybe a jewel thief. Like my shinies?"

There was a lot of shiny, half of it on loan (likely from Renegade Regalia). Ro was the cop to her robber, complete with shiny handcuffs, a lethal looking nightstick, and plenty of distraction for the Trash frontwoman. The blonde haired bruiser was so very good at that, after all. Her smiles were pretty things, the stuff of perfect stage performances, but only those closest to her might realize that they were exactly that, a performance. Once, Halloween had been her favorite time of year but only this time last year she had lost someone so dear to her that she wasn't quite sure her heart would recover fully. It was the sort of occasion that could persuade her to drink but ever conscientious of her rather contentious (and dare we say, precarious) sobriety, she limited it to a single Twilight Tea before drinking water the rest of the night. The remainder of the evening was spent lost in the thumping pulse of Mori Midori and Yassidy's beats, in the company of a boy she couldn't get enough of, and friends that tied the whole thing together.

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Continuing along their tribute to the roaring 20s, Ed and Goshen attended the party together, dressed to look as if they were torn directly from the strip of an old black and white silent film, complete with layers of body paint to give them that back to Pleasantville look. They stuck together the whole night, danced only with each other, and had the time of their life.

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Forget the costume contest, Zan had other endeavors in mind. Chances are, he wouldn't win Boyfriend of the Year, but he wanted to at least crack the top 1000 this time around. And to do that, he'd have to perform the proper tasks that a responsible man did during Halloween.

For one, he'd dress up with Verity in her choice of couples costume, Legends of the Hidden Temple, trusting her assurance that it was actually a real thing that people may recognize. He'd squeeze through the crowded bar and grab as many drinks as she needed. And most importantly of all, he'd avoid ogling any other woman, no matter what costume they'd wear. Tahlia as Harley Quinn" He only looked to admire its accuracy, nothing more. A woman dressed as Wonder Woman' Shrug. Two of them' Triplets, even" Okay wait, this was an exception; he knew them. He'd encourage Evia (at least he was 33% sure it was her) to come to the RDI more often, or at least tell her parents to create more of their super brood.

And with all his good work and socializing done, Zan would take his teammate home to search for the hidden temple.

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It was hard to say just what Ancelin had dressed up as, and he had a different answer for every person who asked. But he signed up for the costume contest anyway, and really....did it even matter?

It's Show Time!

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Being able to float, and vanish would help things quite a bit when the Drow came dressed in a the striped suit, his hair all askew and white painted on his face.

Maybe a little extra creepiness with his glowing red eyes. He had the cackle down, though, and would attempt to bribe the DJ to play a little Harry Belafonte. A few drinks a bit of face time, and a bit of dancing in the air, before he would just fade out.



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Troshen entered.

Tonight he'd left his usual duster and wide-brimmed hat behind for his costume. "Sure, I'll play along," he'd thought to himself. "Now, who to go as......"

Ah, but of course. Someone with great swordsmanship. Someone with presence. Someone chosen!

It took some doing. The crown especially was difficult to acquire. Not too many real life crowns in Rhydin, but when you want just the right costume you'll go to any length to get it.

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And what luck! A group of others had the same idea and were dressed as knights!

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After a few of the amazing drinks, he even was able to throw in, "This new learning amazes me Sir Bedevere. Explain to me again how sheep's bladders may be employed to prevent earthquakes."

He even convinced a friend to go as the Black Knight.

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"Don't mind the mess, everyone! Sorry about the blood!" He called, faking an accent. His friend, according to plan turned round and "stumbled" spraying fake blood on anyone too close. "Sorry!"

And of course, he finished the evening as any king would, always looking for.....

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"Only the dead know the truth." - Leonid Andreyev

No one noticed the lights flicker when he made his way inside. Who had their wits about them anyway in the chaotic sprawl of music, alcohol and bodies" Adorned in the ROC Special Forces outfit his creativity wasn't lacking but his sense of humor was a no-hitter among most. You would be hard-pressed to say his costume was remiss, with a signature touch being the sound-sensitive LED mask he wore. As the loud hits ebbed and flowed so did the lights that illuminated where his face should be.

He came fully equipped on the night to pursue his dream of ultimately killing his liver by egregious drowning in Stoli. Within one of his utility pockets was his fabled pack of Sobranies and he wouldn't make it too long before eventually breaking character and helping himself to one. The night's mistakes started with an Alien Brain Hemorrhage and led to a Bloody Bathory before he lost count with some Black Cats.

Through the drunken stupor he found himself wading through he could hear the occasional shouts or screams followed by laughter as his smoke rose forever. Every so often, "are you on fire"!" would catch his attention only to be sorely dismissed. There was the irrational edge that he sought to dissuade, every crawling along his back in this hell of a city, but he did his best to ignore it. He wasn't sure whether or not he would be needing another special box tonight but he was pleased that he hadn't prepared one. It was a blast without his theatrics.

Costume contest winners:

1st Place: Mach Prize: Crowned Pumpkin King & $1,000!

2nd Place: Lucy Mitford Prize: Gift Certificate to Renegade Regalia!

3rd Place: Darcy Prize: Free Breakfast at Russel's Bayou Bakery

( OOC: All icons have been sent! )