It is a clear night tonight. Not a single cloud glides across the sky above Rephidim, nor has one since Ophelia's departure from the airship and subsequent carriage ride to the Noble Quarter countryside. Only recently has Ophelia arrived at the manor, as directed by the invitation to the Procession Light Ball. A well-dressed Kujaku now leads the Sylvanian countess along the path through the garden after a short walk around the manor.

"Lord and Lady Deshetres will simply be delighted you have come, Countess," the Kujaku twitters as he carefully keeps his feathers clear of the torches while leading the noble unicorn lady along the path.

"I'm well-pleased to have been invited," murmurs the countess as she allows herself to be led along the path. She makes a quiet dry leafy rustle as she walks, the sound of the hundreds of starched silk autumn leaves of which her dress is made rubbing over one another. "Such lovely decorations… "

Unlike the other paths one can see, this main path seems to have been carefully cleaned in preparation for the ball. Quite likely even dusted, in fact.

"Oh the mistress does love her garden so. Why, it is quite the envy of Lady R-… Oh, I doubt you wish to hear about that. But yes, she has excellent taste. And may I say you do as well? Delightful gown," the Kujaku tells the Aeonian in a gossipy ramble as he walks. One can begin to spot the patio from here, as well.

The unicorn rustles along, looking and sounding vaguely like an animated leaf-pile. She cranes her neck a bit, trying to see who's on the patio without being terribly obvious about it. A spray of the bittersweet that's wrapped around her horn works loose and drops in front of her face. She hastily pats it back into place. "I'd expect this must be a terribly popular invitation?"

"Yes, I believe it is very popular! In fact the Deshetres have held this particular ball for generations. I do believe that is where your invitation came from – yes, a rather old invitation list that had been lost some time ago and was recently found. Better late, than not at all, yes? Of course some we would never invite. Why, I could just list them. Lady… "

As the Kujaku continues to gab on about just who would never be invited, he leads the unicorn closer to the patio. One can begin to see beyond the trees and vaguely begin to identify races. A majority of them seem to be poodles, while other races seem to be rather rare: a Jupani here, another Kujaku there, and the Savanite slaves. There also seems to be a group of Rhians gathered around some wooden instruments in a corner of the patio.

Ophelia absorbs this in silence as she tries to recall if she's ever been invited here before. She decides it really doesn't matter. She's likely to have outlived any previous guests anyway. She rustles along, leaving a loose silk leaf on the path behind her.

Eventually the Kujaku, despite his ability to talk incessantly about those who were not invited, leads Ophelia to but a short distance from the patio. "… and yes of course, we would never invite Lady Racine! Oh! Here we are!" The peacock man stops and takes a few steps up a ramp before turning back to the unicorn. He bows while gesturing back toward the patio – just in time to put his tail feathers into the face of a poodle who had just come down the ramp. "Awk!" squawks the Kujaku as he is gently ushered to the side and out of the way of the poodle.

"Greetings, Countess Ophelia of Northern Shore. I am Jean Deshetres. Welcome to our Procession Light Ball," says the poodle, a rather foppishly dressed man in fall colors fit for nobility.

Ophelia curtsies. "Msr. Deshetres, I'm most honored. It's so kind of you to invite me. I fear that I'll seem somewhat the rustic here. We simply don't have affairs this grand on the Northern Shore."

As the Kujaku ruffles his feathers back up into perfect order, the poodle inclines his head respectfully in return to Ophelia's curtsey. "Such a shame, that. Perhaps you should consider some sort of party? I can recommend wonderful designers that would simply make any festivity the talk of the town."

The poodle shifts his gaze up towards the sky and studies it for a moment, before turning looking back to Ophelia. "But I am certain we can speak of that later, perhaps in correspondence. The Procession is quite clear for all to see, and I should not take up your time, lest the sky become cloudy while we speak! No, no, that simply would not do. Come, mingle, and do talk to my wife. She is the hostess, after all."

The poodle smiles politely, then turns back towards the patio and walks up the ramp. He pats the Kujaku on the shoulder on the way. "Do be careful with those feathers of yours next time, Edmond," he tells him.

Ophelia follows her host to the patio, nodding greetings as she passes other outlying guests. The bittersweet drops down into her face again. With a quick look to make sure no-one's watching, she nips off the offending sprig between her fingers, and pops it into her mouth, disposing of it in a few quick chews.

The poodle man turns to the unicorn again once he is well onto the patio. He lifts his hand and gestures around to the people. "Here we are. Do feel free to mingle. We will start the dance shortly. Oh, and enjoy our selection of hors' d'oeuvres. If you have any special dietary requests, feel free to call upon one of my roaming slaves. They understand Rephidim Standard quite well, of course. Do enjoy yourself." He smiles once again and reaches over to take a hors' d'ouevre into his delicate paw before wandering into the crowd.

Now alone, Ophelia finds herself surrounded by the other guests. A group of poodle women have gathered at the farthest opposite from the band while a similar group of poodle men are gathered not far from them. The Jupani walks amongst those guests not gathered into the two major groups, while a rather tired-looking poodle sits in one of the unoccupied corners, twiddling his fingers.

The unicorn helps herself to a likely-looking hors d'ouevre, and stands munching indecisively. She spares a few moments to gaze up at the sky while she eats, and then wanders over toward the poodle women. She strolls slowly, inspecting the faces as she goes, wondering if she knows anyone here. She rustles to a halt on the periphery of the group, and inserts herself into an opening in the circle, her ears swiveling to and fro as she tries to pick up the thread of the conversation.

"Oh, do not tell me it was you who bought the dress from Zyman Market?" asks a poodle woman dressed in a deep purple sequined dress.

Another poodle woman, this one wearing an orange and red colored zolken ball gown responds. "Oh, who else would it be, Ignace? You should know quite well, I am at the very head of zolken fashion."

The sequined woman frowns slightly and tilts her head. "Oh, yes, as always… I was so hoping that I… " she pauses for a moment as her eyes turn to regard Ophelia and study her for a second.

The other woman does quite the same, but also addresses Ophelia. "Countess Ophelia. It has been … well, ages! I am so pleased to see you have come. I am Veronica Deshetres. Welcome."

Ophelia dips her head slightly in acknowledgment. "Charmed, Mme. Deshetres. It's so kind of you to invite me to your lovely garden. I'm quite overcome – I'm afraid we've nothing this nice on the Northern Shores."

Lady Deshetres smiles brightly as she folds her hands in front of herself. "Yes, that is a shame. I hear Sylvania is dreadfully dreary. Perhaps a nice summer home in Rephidim might help tha – " the woman says, stopping as the deck jostles slightly. A few of the women mumble amongst themselves about it.

"Oh my," gasps Ophelia at the sudden instability of the deck. She turns her long neck gracefully to and fro, looking for the cause of the disturbance.

There does not seem to be any obvious problem, actually. Most of the guests have begun to speak amongst themselves again. Even that Jupani and the sitting poodle seem to have gotten into a conversation, with the Jupani speaking with the male poodles, and the poodle who was sitting over in the corner now seated by the band and talking with them.

The countess returns her attention to the conversation, a bit puzzled about the minor disturbance, but following the other guests in dismissing it as being of no importance.

Most of the other women have turned back towards the hostess now. The hostess herself, smiling, speaks to calm her guests. "One simply never knows what may happen these days, yes?" The other women voice their agreements mentioning various problems they have encountered lately.

The unicorn raises an eyebrow. "Are you troubled with odd events even in Rephidim, then? One expects a certain amount of such occurrences in the north. I'd not thought that they were common here as well."

Lady Deshetres sighs softly before lifting a gloved hand to gesture slightly in the direction of the Temple. "I … would not think odd so much as troubling. Such tension between countries simply will not do. Quite unlikely as it may be, a war would simply ruin the atmosphere of a social. Do you not agree, Countess?"

Off in the background it would seem the band has finished its preparations, and has begun playing a light melody. Two of the Rhians play upon flute-like wind instruments while the third plays on what resembles a wooden xylophone.

"I think that's safe to say, yes," the countess replies. You can just about hear the gears whirring in her head as she tries to connect the possibility of war with the recent unsteadiness of the deck.

"Oh! The dance will soon begin! I see our performers have finished with their preparations. Well then, I should be off to locate my husband. Au dieu," exclaims the hostess.

The deck again shakes unsteadily before it is once again calm. The hostess shoots a glance towards the very same Kujaku who lead Ophelia to the deck. The Kujaku merely tosses his hands up with a look of confusion.

Ophelia disengages herself from the conversation, and makes her way back to the hors d'ouevres. She helps herself to a couple, and then takes up a place alongside the dance floor, where she can watch without being in the way. She tsks as she notices another leaf shedding from her dress.

Those gathered take their places along the railing as the hostess meets her husband in the center of those gathered. The guests, their faces once hidden by the groups they gathered in, are not quite visible. Most are poodle nobles who have attended with their spouses as well as the other Kujaku, the Jupani, and that same poodle who had been sitting in the corner earlier. The latter three seem to be without counterpart, and have spread out amongst those gathered, the poodle again in yet another corner.

"Welcome my dear guests, to the Procession Light Ball – a celebration of the generations, of the stars in the sky, and of the prosperity of Rephidim," begins the hostess as her husband stands quietly beside her.

Ophelia perks her ears, and listens with polite attention.

All eyes are on the hostess as she makes her speech now. Even the band has stopped playing to allow her to talk without raising her voice. "For many generations, the Deshetres family has held this ball in honor of our country and the passage of time. I, Veronica Deshetres, welcome you all to a fantasy night beneath the stars." Finished, the woman lifts her hand closest to her husband. The male poodle takes his wife's hand and walks with her towards the center of the deck.

And after a few steps the deck again jostles, this time swaying slightly. The pair pauses to regain their balance. The woman's ears can be seen to redden slightly.

The countess looks about herself once more, searching for someone who appears more enlightened than she. It seems to be a common activity, she notices. Seeing little to explain the occurrence, she dismisses it and starts on another hors d'ouevre.

However just as Ophelia begins upon an hors d'ouevre someone jostles her with a bump. "Oh, do excuse me! Would you be so kind as to move out of my way? I need to be … well … past now," he tells her with hurried and whispered words. It seems to be the man who had been sitting in the corner earlier, but now seems to be making a trip around the patio.

Ophelia smiles politely, if a tad insincerely, as she steps aside. "Yes, of course." She looks with some dismay at the hors d'ouevre which has splattered to the deck, finally contriving to surreptitiously kick it over the edge. "Whatever can have him in such a hurry?" she wonders to herself.

The poodle man quickly moves around the unicorn and behind most of the other guests, excusing himself as he bumps into a few of them. He reaches what seems to be his destination, the one corner he has not been spotted in, and leans back against the railing with his hands tucked behind him.

The hostess and her husband finally make it to the center of the deck and the music again begins to play as the two smile and prepare to begin.

The countess, curious, follows in the poodle's wake, although somewhat less rapidly and with a good deal more grace. She ends up against the railing herself, several arm-lengths away. She watches the dancers, occasionally swiveling one ear toward the poodle in a nonchalant fashion.

As the music begins in full, the two dancers step into each other's arms and begin. The other guests look on quietly as the two gracefully move about the cleared deck, clearly having some talent. And as they dance a rather unusual sound can be heard. A faint sort of rattling noise emanating from the direction of the poodle in the corner.

Ophelia spares a brief glance toward the unexpectedly noisy poodle before returning her gaze to the Deshetres. She makes a resolute effort not to focus her ears on the fellow, although the near one twitches a bit in response to the rattling.

Rattle, rattle. Snap. Then there is nothing but the sound of the poodle pushing himself away from the railing and the music that fills the air. He begins walking towards the railing near the ramp as other dancers now begin to join in with their dance partners on the dance floor.

And as they do, the patio shifts slightly from side to side. It certainly did not do that before.

The unicorn steadies herself on the railing as the patio rolls a bit. She sees the object of her curiosity receding toward the ramp, and begins to follow him in a circumspect manner as before, pausing her pursuit only for more hors d'ouevres.

The poodle continues walking, his pace increasing somewhat. He walks behind and out of the way of the others as he nears the ramp, tucking something into his coat as he goes. Unaware of the poodle's departure and the swaying of the deck, the rest of the party has gathered to dance on the dance floor.

Ophelia pauses by the entrance of the ramp, curious about the bizarre behavior of the poodle but not wanting to abandon the party. Inertia wins out, and she turns back to watch the dancers, flicking an ear now and again toward the path as she listens for a repetition of the odd rattling.

The poodle departs down the ramp and makes his way into the garden, departing the party in some hurry. When he passes beyond the arch, there can be heard to be a rather ominous, and jarringly loud, snap. The deck lurches, causing those without something to hold on to, to fall to the deck. The patio lilts now partially in the water. The sound of loudly creaking wood offers that this may soon be a pool party.

The countess' finger food splatters to the deck for the second time that evening, this time closely followed by the countess herself. She gives a loud equine snoof! of surprise as she ends up sitting flat on her tail. "Oh dear… ," she exclaims, more in consternation than alarm.

A loud, final crack signals the demise of the patio. The wooden structure, complete with guests, plunges into the water with quite a splash. Ophelia, and all of the guests (save for one poodle) now find themselves in about five feet of water, soaking wet. Many a glare can seen converging on the hostess and her husband. The hostess's eyes seem to be stuck in a look of perpetual shock as she glances between the disgruntled guests.

Shortly after the disaster, the now very soggy guests drag themselves from the pond and begin making their way toward the awaiting carriages. The hostess remains with her husband's arm wrapped around her, trying her best to smile to the others. "Do come back next year!" she calls after them half-heartedly.