Masques and the Ace of Spades (Sarah Jane and 4)

Somewhere in the crevices of time, deep in the back woods of a Slavic nation near the 1950-some odd year, rested a massive castle that was the center of historical intrigue and pivotal to the history of mankind. The castle, with it's gothic architecture and Medieval influences, housed ominous gargoyles and terrifying looking tapestries of rather homely looking inhabitants. Busts of former tenants rested on pedestals in enclaves lit by primitive fire torches and gas lamps.

Echoing through the stone chasms of the castle was laughter, aromas of feasts large enough of kings, and a steady 3/4 beat signaling a hefty and popular waltz was entertaining the masses. Deep inside of the castle was the (originally the dining hall) massively large ball room, alit with chandeliers large enough to fill a small water closet or a large flat in New York. Buffets and dining tables rested on either side of the room, centered by (what could only be described as) small orchestra. Populating the massively large room were people of all shapes and sizes, fluttering ball gowns and flapping costumes.

Accompanying the steady beat in the ballroom was the constant underlying din and chatter of the people. Nevertheless, a recognizable figure twirling in the middle was a tall, slender man in a velvet jacket (about a size and a half too small for him) complete with ruffles and the most bedazzled looking feathery mask imaginable, who was holding a petite and slender figure complete with her own ridiculous outfit.

When the waltz ended, the Doctor immediately burst into applause, shaking the ruffles on his shirt with massive and humourous appeal. After creating quite the scene with applause, he adjusted his jacket, showing his uncomfortability with it, and turned to Sarah.

"I miss my scarf." Continuing to adjust the jacket and fiddling with his ruffles.

One of the things she really loved about him was the fashion challenges he unknowingly threw down in her path like glove after glove.  All with that imp grin on his face.  She'd insisted on shopping, and he'd insisted on visiting one of his smelly old scientists while she did so.  In the end, they'd had quite a grand romp involving an artificial volcano and some very pointy headed aliens.

All had worked out for the best, most of all, the outfit she'd scored.

Only Sarah Jane Smith would find a way to be shocking in a group of elite who had the best of artists in their pocket.  However, she had time on her side.  She used it to full advantage, and had caused quite a stir. She'd pretended not to notice, but she was enjoying the show very much. It added just a touch of spice and magic to an already velvet-rich evening.  She was giddy drunk with it all, though she hadn't had a single sip off the fermented drinks here.  

All around them fair reveille and opulence was wonderfully tainted by a friendly edge of depravity.  Every generation thought they were the inventor of such an aesthetic, but in truth it had been going on for a very long time.  All in all it was a safe rumpus and a grand time.  The Doctor had come in a suit that fit his narrow frame, but not his exceptional length.  It left him looking like an ever so gangly and oversized little boy blue of sorts.  If little boy blue had been prone to wearing feathered masks that would put the best of Las Vegas show girls to shame.  He just may have over done it there, but he certainly had the noble head to pull it off.  Not to mention the nose.

So apt at the dance were they that she could spend her time drinking in all the people and costumes, the grand hall itself and the massive and merry fireplaces.  The whole place smelled like spiced drink and roasting meat.   With the dance, the heat had gone to her cheeks, but she and the Doctor kept up a fine tempo, both of them fond of such things.  They easily counterbalanced each other as they made their way around again and again.  Feet slipping past feet.  Sometimes she could feel the fluff ruff of his fancy silk sock against her own calf, but they never collided.   The Doctor's dance frame was exemplary, as she always appreciated. Sarah Jane had learned her perfect dance frame back in Catholic school.  

She had not learned to dress in Catholic school.  Sarah Jane was not wearing a dress at all.

Sarah Jane Smith was wearing a Jester Suit of fine satin and silk.  Black and deep bronze in a diamond pattern.  It was tailored tight to her form, and it was only the garment's richness and her slight frame that made this even remotely acceptable in an age where women rarely showed an ankle.  The very best part, however, was the bird she was apparently wearing on her back.  It's head was her hat, coming up on a long, graceful curved neck to stare indignantly out at whomever might be facing Sarah Jane.  It's beak was entirely bejeweled with red glass beads, and it gave her an extra 7 inches in height which she was enjoying enormously.  It seemingly clung to her back and it draped down her arms as a brief silk cape cleverly painted to look like wings.  It's tail feathers made a small fan of a skirt to give at least a passing nod to propriety.   Her high, black suede boots did not.  All in all, she'd caused quite a stir.

Somehow another song had ended.  She wasn't ready to stop yet, and hoped the musicians wouldn't take a break yet. She joined her applause with the Doctor's and others, hoping to convince them to tough it out a while.

She was grinning a lot and panting a little with the excitement of the dance.  She waited to catch his eye and see if he was having as much fun as she, though she already knew he was.  Well, except about the scarf, apparently.  She ribbed him, face a little stiff because that is part of the joke.

"It's a fancy dress party Doctor the whole point is to wear something different."

She kept close to him, standing beside him instead of facing him to help greet anyone who came along.  She did not want to share her dance partner. Claiming him.  She liked the way he danced.

With a sharp elbow to the ribcage (which had begun to bruise from the amount of times Sarah had managed to find the flesh there...), Sarah signaled her mild humor of wanting an evening away from the scarf and reveled in his oddly familiar velvet that reeked of sandalwood and high-end cologne, penetrating the smell of roasting meat and drunken stupors.

The music had stopped, but the chatter and liveliness had not. The conductor, modestly accepting the applause and bowing accordingly, announced to the crowd that the band was going to break for a moderate amount of time, and urged the crowd to feast and drink once more.

Perhaps it was the deliciously vintage wine that had started to fuzz up the Doctor's visions, or maybe it was that finally his own insatiable curiosity began to dig and grind at his rather relaxed self. The Doctor felt a sudden urge to explore the house. This castle, surprisingly enough, was a place that the Doctor had never been to before. The TARDIS (in it's infinite knowledge of space and time) and it's listings of extravagant parties that one could attend without altering history had listed the famous Masques party of 1950-something or other in Castle Rominishlavinsky as being prime to visit.

The Doctor turned down to Sarah, feathers following his sharp movements and flitting in the breeze. "Sarah, let's see what else this castle has to offer."

Gently tugging on her silken arm, pulling her through conversations and couples snogging, and passed through the massive wood doors and into the corridor outside. The air was lighter, cooler out here. Air that was centuries old, mixing with the warm evening breeze passing through the open windows on either end of the hallway. The Doctor took a deep breath, letting the air penetrate his lungs and refresh himself.

She was just about certain she could convince him to dance without music, he upped the ante, suggesting a Castle Crawl.  He knew her so well.  Hand absently brushing his wrist as though to keep track of him while her eyes took in the room. The evening had gotten along deep enough that people had become involved with those they'd come with rather than ogling the other party goers.  They just might get away with it.

She shot a look at him that was an unequivocal 'yes', and he caught her hand with his.  They held hands like children as they slipped silently through the dissipating dancers. and out to the wind-kissed periphery of the grand structure.  They had a glimpse of sky and some star-struck couples before they were making their way through a heavy door and down  a hallway lit only by slivers of starlight through arrow slits.  

The wall hangings stood in rows on either side, the fibers of them rich enough to be almost luminescent in the dim light.  Ghosts of people and animals, glorified battles, heavy harvest days, sceens she didn't even understand were depicted by the hands of very well paid artists.  Bronze wall sconces.  A standing suit of armor made her nearly jump out of her skin once, but she laughed when she realized it was empty.  She passed a junction in the hallway and stopped.   Far enough away that it seemed dim and watery, she could see a light.  Not fire. Something else.  Light from something that had the faintest hint of cold green and none of the warm yellow of burning wood.

She took a step toward it, but realized that at some point she and the Doctor had let go of each other.  She turned to find him.  "Doctor, look at this here." she said, beckoning him.   The bird on her head seemed equally earnest for his company.

The Doctor, feeling that insatiable burn of forever curiosity, began to cautiously step towards the green glimmer that seemed to beckon nothing but a pied piper's enchantment. Walking down the corridors with Sarah by his side, the hallway seemed to darkle the closer they got to the door at the end of the hallway.

With scents of sandalwood and light wafts of smoke and charred cherry wood, the Doctor glanced down at Sarah. Despite the long stream of light that poured out from the room, the Doctor's eyes seemed to pick up every ounce of light and sparkle with the look of "shall we?"

Extending his long, spindling fingers, he pushed up against the wooden door, releasing a terribly loud and obnoxious CCRRREEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK! Immediately stopping, the Doctor held his breath in the off chance that there wasn't anybody inside of the room to hear the noise. After a few moments of silence, the Doctor reached into his deep pockets and pulled out a familiar instrument: his sonic screwdriver, along with a small vial of dark crimson-brown liquid.

The Doctor held the screwdriver up to one of the door's hinges, adjusted the settings, and pulled the trigger while pouring a drop of the liquid of the vial onto the hinge itself. A small, metallic rumbling came from the hinge as the pin vibrated inside of the hold. The Doctor repeated this on the other two hinges.

After performing this mysterious action, the Doctor once again reached out to the door and pushed it seamlessly open, without even a pip from the wood. Looking smug at Sarah, he put away the two tools. "Come along, Sarah."

At her whisper, he came to her and they went quietly forward, as though not to startle whatever might be emitting that water-cool light.  The air was sweetly pungent and she wondered if they were coming upon some sort of spare kitchen, or better yet an apothecary.  She dare say they'd find things of interest either way.

 No one really knew except maybe the Doctor, but she often lifted small items everywhere they went, and added them here and there to the corners of the TARDIS.  However, looking around the TARDiS, it was clear that she was not the first to cultivate such a hobby.

In the dark, she kept her fingers out, feeling for the brush of his coat.  She could see him just fine, but her eyes were busy being everywhere.  It was usually easier just to keep a hand on him.  This also went a long way to keep him from randomly disappearing, which he was want to do, though not usually voluntarily.  They matched each other step for step, shoes making a delicious sound on the stone floor.  

She glanced up at him to find him glancing down at her.  However civilized his clothing, his eyes reminded her of Puck from "A Midsummer Night's Dream".

"Shall we?"  He asked her, though he knew the answer already. She grinned at him and gave him a vigorous nod.  They reached for the door at the same time, but it was his fingers that made the door cry.

"You're hurting it." She teased, then waited with a comedically sulking rock of her head and glance to the watch she was not wearing while he quieted the hinge.  However, as she knew he would, he got them in. The door pushed open silently.  Time Lord he might be, but that seemed almost secondary to his tinkering nature.  He was a tinker as much as she was a journalist.  

The Storyteller and the Tinker.  They were more citizens of the Galaxy than their own respective races.  They were Travelers.  And right now, they were probably trespassers as well, but only tourists of curiosity, and not intending any harm.  Her friend slid the tiny tools of his trade back into his endless pockets.

"Come along, Sarah."

She squeezed his elbow and slipped inside the door.  

The door opened into a magnificent sight: a luxuriously plush lounge, comfortably large and fairly expansive. The walls, from floor to ceiling, was lined with bookshelves and books, spines of various shades of aged leather and gold-leafed titles glimmering in the dull firelight, which roared from a not-surprisingly massive fire that roared in the hand-carved white marble fireplace.

The room was dark, but was surrounded by the delightful lick of orange that came from the fire. Exquisitely velvet chairs and couches surrounded the fireplace, with delightfully carved side tables that held crystal vases full of carmel brown scotches and bourbons that refracted the firelight with a delightful brown hue.

A large, dark wood desk sat in the corner, barely touched by the light of the fire. The room was scented by a delightfully relaxing burnt cherrywood fog. The room, to the Doctor and Sarah's perspective, looking seemingly empty. Hesitantly, the pair entered the room and swiftly shut the door as to not alert any passer-bys of their presence.

The Doctor entered the main area of the room, making sure to look around and keep close tabs of all the minute details of every corner, but struggling to see through the fog of intoxication. He stumbled over to the desk, curious as ever to see what it's many drawers and cabinets could hold.

Getting behind the desk, he immediately stubbed his toe on the leg of the desk. Before he could have a chance to scream out in agonizing stupidity, he saw that there was a pair of legs sitting in one of the chairs closest to the fire. The Doctor immediately bit his tongue, and waved menacingly to Sarah to prevent any further noise from being made.

It was rich and quiet in there. One didn't notice how stone echoed until suddenly it was richly muffled with wall hangings and rugs. Her fingers trailed over velvety furniture. Real velvet. Hand polished wood. There were the scents of clean wool and lingering spirits. The fire crackled and kissed everything with light. She went slowly, hands extended, lightly touching this and that. She went to the curio cabinet, he to the desk.

Tiny, well crafted figurines of all sorts stood on rough glass slabs. She saw it was not wood, but onyx. She sipped air as she drew her finger across it. From there she followed the mantel around, whirling as the Doctor made some small noise.

She opened her mouth to tease him, his face far too worried over a simple thump. Before she could get out the first syllable, he was waving her off, his teeth grit and his brow troubled. She followed his eyes and saw the legs. She saw that she was almost even with the chair, but whomever was sitting there didn't seem to have seen her at all.

She could see the limp hand, then. Sleeping. She gave her friend a little shrug. There was a party here tonight, surely they wouldn't be thrown into the dungeons simply for wandering. She wanted to see if he was sleeping. One more look at the Doctor, as if to prove she could do as she liked, and she came around to better see the man in the chair.

The Doctor could get to worried sometimes. It was just a party.

As his toe throbbed on the inside of the boot and teeth ground inside of his mouth, the Doctor limped up and wobbled over to Sarah, who was opposite him and the snoozing gentleman sitting in the chair. The Doctor, through the haze of his partying hours, leaned in close to the man.

His breath reeked of expensive booze and remnants of the large feast that was present earlier. A long strand of spittle dribbled down from his loose lips, staining his delightfully droll jacket and silken ascot. In his hand closest to Sarah, he held a nearly empty glass of brown liquid with a few small whisky stones settled at the bottom. Perspiration from the chill created a ring of wetness on the luxuriously plush velvet.

After realizing the snoozing man was stone-cold unconscious, the Doctor relaxed a bit and laughed at the tension of the moment. The Doctor stumbled over to the fireplace and leaned against the mantlepiece. He was basking in the crackle of the flame and the chill of the marble when...

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

He'd stubbed is toe, that was clear.  Although she had a slight concern for him because his face looked like it really hurt, well, frankly she'd seen him dead a couple of times before and a barked foot didn't impress her very much.  It was more fun to see the magician stumble a little in his routine.   The fact that he'd been bothered by it enough to flash and impatient hand at her made it more difficult not to chuckle.

However, she did wait to be in step with him before seeing who was in the room their with them.  A dear, sad sack, it seemed, the luckiest one at the party. Whom else would be so bold to fall here so casually with a snootful?  A snoot that had rather run over, to be more accurate.  The nodding dear seemed safe at home and she found herself looking to her friend with glee to discover this new subset of humanity.  The idle rich of the 15th century, that somehow managed to be unimportant enough to not be weighed down by nosy servants. Somebody’s Lucky Uncle.

it was like finding a rare bird, and the way to write it in her bird collector’s book was to meet the Doctor’s eyes and share a glimmer before their ongoing curiosity pulled their gazes apart again.

BAM Whaa! BAM BAM

The second sound had been her, her hands flying first to her own face, then reaching toward the Doctor.  Her eyes rush from dark door to the sleeping man to see if he had been wakened.  He hadn't. She looked to the Doctor. Would they hide, or stand here as though they'd been invited?  She was ready to copy whatever he did.  It wasn't that she was afraid, but she felt like kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Without thinking, the Doctor grabbed Sarah's wrist and pulled her towards the desk in the opposite corner. With catlike nimbility and the grace of a mountain lion, he pulled her down below the line of sight and peeked his head ever so slightly over the desktop.

The door creaked open, but no one came in. Not at first at least. The Doctor held his breath, trying to create as much silence as he could. Keeping an eagle eye on the door, he watched as a pair of legs, hinting at being clad in black lace hose and bright crimson high heels slowly peek past the large, wood door. The legs (if you could call them legs, as they looked more like a tree trunk due to the tight fitting dress) were attached at the hip to a woman who could only be described as a woman of haute couture and many riches.

Her mild, aged beauty was obvious to the Doctor even with the dim sparkle of the crackling flames. Her hair was hidden beneath a skin tight hood and poncho cape, framing her face like an expert mime and creating a form fitting silhouette of beauty and austere severity. The woman shut the door and turned around to face the chair the man was sleeping in.

Her sharp features were amplified by the dimness of the room, casting shadows across her face that made her look like a Greek muse. She let out a smile that sent chills down the Doctor's spine. She swooned, and wagged her hips as she walked towards the man, echoing movements comparable to that of a tiger stalking an antelope.

She reached the man, leaning over the chair and wrapped her arms around the man's neck. She gave him a small peck, laughed, muttered something inaudible, and kissed him again. She walked around the chair and sat in the man's lap, continuing to hug and kiss him, apparently unnoticing of the man's unconsciousness.

After what could have been a very interesting spectacle, She gave him a small slap, hoping to wake the man and surprise him. The woman's charming and spooky smile began to fade away as panic began to replace it. The woman started to shout and scream, hitting the man more and more, until she got up from the man and began to back away. She looked around the room, panicked, and ran out of the room.

As she got up, she knocked the glass off the arm rest, letting the contents spill out and shattering on the hardwood floor. The Doctor looked down to Sarah with his usual raised eyebrow/frowny face that signaled "perhaps we should check it out?"

They jumped spot quick behind the desk.  The Doctor went too fast, but the grip on her wrist kept her from toppling over as they popped into place.   She settled on her haunches and yanked off her bird hat.  She cranked around  now to see if her friend was alarmed at all or not.  Not.  But he was peeking over the top of the desk as if he didn't have a hand span of wild curls in a poof atop his big head.  She grabbed a handful of his sleeve and tugged him down, giving him a look.  She pushed and leaned until they were both peeking around the side, from down in the shadows.  

Neither dare to make a sound, but as events unfolded she tapped the back of his hand with urgent fingers first to convey her amusement, and then of her concern.   The woman was very striking, and in more than one way.  Her subject did not protest.

Sarah Jane didn't know what she thought was going to happen as that strange and sophisticated woman had glided hotly across the floor, but this wasn’t it.  She didn't often compare herself to other women, feeling perfectly contend with herself, but somehow this woman was grand enough to make her feel small, and  Sarah Jane found she had expectations of her. Of some sort of civility.  Instead, she was petty and pounding, her frustrated, frightened cries somehow managing to sound selfish.

All this while she and the Doctor waited, pressed in that small space, her shoulder and the  the line of her jaw against his velvete sleeve so she could see what was happening at all.

When the woman began to really strike the limp man in the chair, Sarah Jane blocked the view of her right eye, tucking closer against the Doctor’s sleeve.  She’d closed her eyes by the end of it, right until that glass broke and they popped open.

Her gaze found his, and she knew that instant that he thought the goings on to be as strange as she had, and he was as teaming with questions as she was.  He was as worried and curious as she as well, for the nature of the disturbance had been rather unsavory.

“Perhaps we should check it out?" he said.

“I should think so!” She said, sounding aghast as she clambered out with him from behind the desk.

“Doctor, why would anyone get so angry as that? Why, I can’t imagine it!” She said, still in a half whisper and feeling quite flabbergasted from what she had just witnessed. “It’s such a lovely party and he’s just sleeping off a bender . . .?"

The Doctor jumped up, and ran over to the man. Apparently in the time span it took to hide from this slinky woman he had sobered up substantially. He leaned over the man in an effort to observe his current state. He put his fingers near his throat, feeling for a pulse, and frowned. He leaned in to his mouth, taking a minor sniff of his breath. The Doctor grimaced with disgust, then stood up to Sarah.

"Sarah, this man was poisoned. His breath smells of almonds and his tongue is mildly blue. Sign of either an allergic reaction or arsenic. Although why anyone would want to kill a man who doesn't seem to have any big significance in history is beyond me..."

The Doctor pondered his query, and began to pace a bit. Before long, voices had started to make their way into the hallway and the screaming woman could be heard echoing through the corridors. The Doctor looked to Sarah, then looked to the door. He walked to the door, gave a "come along" nod to Sarah, and headed out into the hallway.

"Oh, that's horrible!"

"Stop thinking like a Time Lord.  Humans don't kill humans because of their 'historical significance'.   It's always over money.  We'll have to follow the money."

It suddenly felt silly to be standing there in their clownish finery.  She assumed the irony was lost on the Doctor, especially since he couldn't possibly understand the level of her disgust.  The distaste on his own face was over the waste of a life. She felt the same, but it was all redoubled by the whiff of necrophilia and death in the room.  She'd recoiled a few steps back, dropping her hat  to let it lay forgotten where it fell.

Not to say she wasn't intrigued by what was going on, she just wanted to get away from death part of this puzzle that was starting to reveal itself.  His bright blue eyes were on hers, conveying the first embers of his outrage.  Good. She felt outraged as well. Still, when the screaming started, she couldn't help the touch of a smile that hit the corner of her lips as she nodded back.  She was on his heels through the doorway, and at his elbow once they hit the hallway.

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The Doctor looked down both sides of the hallway, scoping out the place for possible people coming down towards them. The woman who ran out screaming would obviously draw a crowd in no time, but they needed to get out of there sooner than later. He grabbed Sarah's hand, and pulled her out of the room.

The hallways seemed longer than before, with macrospans in between torches and longer looking carpets. The Doctor began to run. He felt the tugging of an even slower Sarah behind him as he tried to find (or remember) where he had parked his TARDIS. But in his drunken fog, his mind was slipping and his grasp was falling.

When the Doctor and Sarah reached a corner, he turned, and immediately fell into the hands of the butler and domestic staff. They screeched, and the metal platters with glasses and such created such an ado as they all fell backwards with the Doctor atop. He felt a small tinge of pain in his leg.

He pulled himself off of the domestics, then stood up. The sharp pain in his leg grew, and he began to feel a warmth around it. He looked down. A fairly large steak knife was sticking out of his thigh.

She bumped into his backside as he hesitated going through the door. Clearly he was on high alert, for he wrapped her hand up in his and lead them out. In just a few steps, they were running. He was really stretching his legs and it was all she could to to keep her feet under her as he dragged her along. Had he seen something she hadn't? Smelled something she hadn't with his great nose? If he got one more turn away from where she was pretty certain the TARDIS was (a left and a right behind them now) Sarah Jane was going to dig in her heels and -

That thought was broken off as she was suddenly released, and the Doctor was diving forward. She bounced a hip and a forearm off the wall, eyes wide to see what her friend had run into. It appeared to be a small portion of the staff, all in a lump now under her tall and spangled friend. She was reaching for him to pull him away and continue with their unplanned escape when she saw the knife handle sticking out of him. She recoiled, her hand flashing first toward her mouth as she let out -

"Oh Doctor!" in a hasty breath. Then she was reaching for the knife for just an instant before realizing she shouldn't. Now she looked to those that he had flattened, ready to cut someone a new frontal lobe with the sharp edge of her tongue, and get a Doctor there for them on the March.

"Oi ! YOu lousy lot-!"

She felt a little shake come on in her worry for her friend and the metal inside him, but she ignored it, and if she kept her hands in fists, her voice did not waver.