Parties are something humans do. They're not something Corwin has ever much enjoyed, but he keeps trying, in case maybe he's simply doing something wrong and one night it will just click and he'll suddenly know how to "party". At the very least, he's grateful that there are masks involved in this one, and costumes he can use to cover the rest of him. After all, he's hardly a pretty sight.
He lingers about the edges of the room, huge and awkward-looking at six and a half gawky feet tall, with his long hair ragged around the white, featureless mask, wrapped in a cloak. He's seen these creatures on television, animated demons of hunger. It suits, he supposes, well enough. When he tries to make small talk, his gravelly voice puts people off, but he tries, anyway.
"Are you well tonight?" he asks. Or, "Have you had enough to eat so that you do not have a headache in the morning, with all that drinking?" Or maybe, "How is it that so many can dance so well? Is it an easily learned skill?"
Maybe he's not so great at small talk.
II.
Corwin has been watching the proceedings for a while. He hasn't gone inside the bus-- his stature would make that uncomfortable, and he would probably fighten people more than the actual haunted house actors once beyond it, anyway-- but he has been watching with an avid and somewhat greedy curiosity.
"What frightens people about this?" he wonders aloud. "Do they enjoy being frightened? Or is it that it is patently false that makes it enjoyable?"
Corwin | OC
Parties are something humans do. They're not something Corwin has ever much enjoyed, but he keeps trying, in case maybe he's simply doing something wrong and one night it will just click and he'll suddenly know how to "party". At the very least, he's grateful that there are masks involved in this one, and costumes he can use to cover the rest of him. After all, he's hardly a pretty sight.
He lingers about the edges of the room, huge and awkward-looking at six and a half gawky feet tall, with his long hair ragged around the white, featureless mask, wrapped in a cloak. He's seen these creatures on television, animated demons of hunger. It suits, he supposes, well enough. When he tries to make small talk, his gravelly voice puts people off, but he tries, anyway.
"Are you well tonight?" he asks. Or, "Have you had enough to eat so that you do not have a headache in the morning, with all that drinking?" Or maybe, "How is it that so many can dance so well? Is it an easily learned skill?"
Maybe he's not so great at small talk.
II.
Corwin has been watching the proceedings for a while. He hasn't gone inside the bus-- his stature would make that uncomfortable, and he would probably fighten people more than the actual haunted house actors once beyond it, anyway-- but he has been watching with an avid and somewhat greedy curiosity.
"What frightens people about this?" he wonders aloud. "Do they enjoy being frightened? Or is it that it is patently false that makes it enjoyable?"