Carnivale

(This is a little character I've been bouncing around in my head. Lets see what you guys think.)


The masquerade was going wonderfully!
Mr. Edward Tillman's estate was bustling with guests, the wine was flowing, the laughter was booming, colors and masks danced in crazed circles through the air.

Mr. Tillman had just made another small fortune in investments. Chalk it up to luck that the poor little family had up and dissapeared, and their will for the property never recovered.
As long as the wine flowed, and the music played, nobody asked how. Nobody cared.

Except for one man.

Amongst all of the hustle, and all of the bustle, and all of the red and blue and gold and silver, there was a cloak of simple, elegant velvet. It was black like midnight, and seemed to move unhindered through the crowd, despite the flying legs, swinging arms, and drunkenly oblivious heads which should have collided with it.

Atop the cloak was a simple, black, tricorn hat. three points that formed a sort of arrow straight into the heart of the party.

Straight at Mr. Tillman.

Between the hat and the hooded cloak was an ivory mask. Like everything about this figure, it was simple and elegant. It would have borne a permanent half-smile if there were anything of a mouth, but all that it did was come down to a simple, elegant point. The mask was supposedly symbolic of Casanova. A man who was not simple, but elegant.

"Mr. Tillman!" came the voice behind the mask as it wheeled the bearded man around.

Mr. Tillman's mask had a long, crooked nose, and was adorned in blue and red and gold. His cloak was scarlet with golden trim. It was most expensive. It almost put Mr. Tillman's various imported cars to shame.

Almost.

Mr. Tillman, slightly drunkened by wine, tried to focus on the guest in front of him.
"And you would be?" he yelled over the dull roar of the party.

The figure leaned in close, so that the conversation was private.

"You could say that I am a debt collector." the mask said.

Mr. Tillman laughed, merry with wine and willing to joke. "Debt? I have no debt, my boy!"

The mask returned the laugh, hollow and chilling. "My dear friend," he said, in the way one says friend right before they become very unfriendly, "you have no debt in money. You, sir, owe a debt to a family of four that is lying face down in the bottom of the creek that runs under Downey Bridge, just five blocks south of the intersection of Wallace and Turnwood, which happens to be where a new apartment complex is being built. And I, Mr. Tillman, come to you as one business man to the next."

Mr. Tillman was no longer drunk. Mr. Tillman was stone sober. Mr. Tillman was not jolly.
Mr. Tillman was trying not to scream.
The mask knew everything.

"I can pay you!" Mr. Tillman stammered.

"Mr. Tillman, you indeed CAN pay me. I've actually come to collect my payment. Conducting some business if you will."

"Blackmailing me, are you?" Mr. Tillman said, trying to work up a good rage.

"Mr. Tillman, the media already knows. I've already given them the lead, the sources, and they will arrive shortly. I am a business man, Mr. Tillman. Surely you understand, I do what I must to be successful in my business, just like you, Mr. Tillman."

Mr. Tillman never had a chance to scream for help. The blade was sharp, the mask's aim was true. It looked like nothing more than a friendly embrace. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Tillman!" the mask said with cheer as it's gloved had moved the bloodied blade back into its cloak.

The way Mr. Tillman collapsed was simple, and elegant.


Howard, in his silver suit and basic, golden mask, didn't seem to take notice. He simply sipped his champagne one more time, and left. His friends said that they would see him at the country club tommorow, and he said that he might be late.

He had laundry to do.

The mask glided through the party once again, and stepped outside. The mask and cloak and hat stared into the simple, elegant sky. The moon stared back. The cloak and mask seemed to sigh, went rigid, and collapsed into nothing but a pile of discarded costume, waiting for the next act.

Atop was the blade, and a card:
"Carnivale"