Ordinarily on such an occasion Thalia would dust off the old favourite, the laughing golden comedy mask - but without Melpomene and her juxtaposing tragic mask, wearing it seemed somehow... wrong. She'd briefly toyed with the idea of simply going to the masquerade in a two dollar pair of Groucho Marx glasses before deciding the visual gag probably wasn't strong enough to last out an entire evening, and had settled instead on a red and gold jester mask. Coupled with a dress of flowing red silk, she looked quite lovely, and yet as she gazed around the ballroom at the growing crowd of gods and goddesses in all their finery, she felt... gangly. Awkward. Out of place.
It was an unpleasant sensation. Thalia had never suffered from stage fright, she wasn't prone to shyness. She loved being around others, loved to meet new people, and she wasn't afraid of making a fool of herself. She wasn't used to feeling this anxious, and it worried her all the more.
She cast a hopeful eye around the room, looking for a familiar face (eight, even). She wasn't even sure if any of her sisters were coming - she hadn't had the courage to ask, dreading that the answers would all be nos or, worse, simply silence. Still, she searched, hoping despite it all for a glimpse of Melpomene's russet curls, Clio's slender frame, any of them...