Squirrel Theatre | Break out those powdered wigs, we're gonna party like it's 1899!
 

-cough- AHEM! Welcome, welcome one and all!

After a long, philosophic discussion with my wonderful Sprinkles cohorts, we have decided that... well, not nearly enough people give credit to squirrels. So join us here!

We have merriment, pranks, gags, general silliness, and of course, FANCY TALK~! So grab your squirrel and your fanciest powdered wig!

KEEP ALL OF YOUR OOC HERE, LOVELIES~!

TIME FOR THE BALL, LOVELIES. IT IS HOSTED BY MYSTERIOUS LORD CHESTERNUTSHIRE, HELD QUITE LOVINGLY AT THE HORTON MANOR. DRESS IN YOUR FINEST! <3
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Some of the wonderful regular squirrels:

“Gwendolen! My hair, it is not nearly high enough! For heaven’s sake, I can nearly fit through the door frames.” Lady Trufflebottom groaned as she primped and poked at her tail in the large, gaudy mirror. Well, what she could see in the mirror. The bigger the better, that was how she raised, so she always simply had to have the biggest, fluffiest tail, the tallest wig, and of course, the largest number of petticoats. It was impossible to tell if she was sitting down, as the yards of fabric had entirely swallowed her.

Gwendolen chittered and scurried about. “Where is the tea? And for your sake, i do hope you have gotten the freshest crumpets this time. A lady is judged by the quality of her crumpets, you know!” Trufflebottom continued to chatter on, primping herself more in the mirror, tugging her ears, smoothing the fur around the rather inexpressive, black eyes. “Oh dear Gwendolen, when do you suppose the ladies shall come? They simply must see my hair before gravity makes the worst of it!” She cried in such a serious way, fanning her face as if she might just faint at the very thought.

There was a gentle knock on Lady Trufflebottom's dressing room door before it was shoved open before waiting for a reply. In squeezed Phillis VanNuttenhorn, whose lavender frock barely wedged it's way past the large entrance.

"Ofelia, be a dear and send over your servant to give me a tug, that's a good girl. You should really look into getting these doors adjusted. One can barely fit through with ones dancing gown. Ohh, are those crumpets I see? Well, don't mind if I do!" Phillis sashayed over to the table and picked up a buttered crumpet, careful not to drop a crumb on her lavender silk clad chest. "Darling, how do you fancy my new wig? Is it not simply divine? I hear tell that 100 yaks had to dye to for the hair, and 1,000 butterflies kicked the bucket to get just the right shade of purple. Papa does spoil me does he not?"

"Stop touching your head, Miss d'Wormtongue!" said Autumn's hatter, "you'll mess up my lovely hat!"
"But I can't help it, Hatter, must there be so many feathers?" whined Autumn
"And what is wrong with feathers, my dear? They are quite becoming on you."
Autumn turned to the door to see her aunt Aurelia waddle in. Of course she'd think feathers are all good and well, her being a duck and all. "I think you are a little biased my dear aunt, but fine, I shall wear this hat, but I don't want to wear stockings"
The room got quiet as Autumn crossed her arms over her chest. The hatter scurried to pick up his fabrics and tools and moved out the door at quite a speed, but Autumn knew what was coming, because her aunt hated her stockings too, she just didn't want everyone to know it.
"Fine, fine, do as you will, just make haste, it is getting late and you must make your entrance" said aunt Aurelia as she made a dismissing motion with her fluffy white wings, "Let's just get your frock on, shall we?"
Autumn reached for her pale orange dress and slid it on over her head. Aunt Aurelia clasped the buttons that went up the back as Autumn pulled on one petticoat. Pish posh if she was going to worry about having the biggest dress, she didn't care what any other squirrel thought. Once she was all ready she gave her hat one final tug, hugged her aunt and walked towards the lady of the houses dressing room.

Scurrying about, Gwendolen placed the tray of crumpets, fiddling with Lady Trufflebottom's lacing on her dress. One could never be suffocating too much. "Gwendolen, help Lady Nuttenhorn with hers, I do fear she is not quite wheezing yet, and a lady who does not wheeze is very unbecoming!" The squirrel tugged and tugged, places one furry paw upon Lady Nuttenhorn's rear (protected by the yards of fabric) and pulling far tighter. "Enough, enough. Lest she wheeze more than me, Gwendolen." A simple wave of her hand dismissed the frazzled squirrel, carrying off various other dresses and wigs that had been rejected.

"Just 100 yaks?" Started Lady Trufflebottom, fanning herself in a rather delicate, yet high obnoxious manner. "My finest wig called for nearly 150 yaks, and mind you, far larger than the normal yak!" She gloated, chitter in such a haughty way, so common of her character. "My dear Nuttenhorn, I do believe you're three petticoats short, a terrible shame, my lady, let us hope the others haven't gotten word of this, or I fear deeply for your reputation." She continued to fan herself as she laid out on the chase, the various folds and ruffles spilling over, engulfing the furry form. "Gwendolen!" She squeaked, calling for the maid. "Call for the carriages, I do not think we'll be able to ride with each other, otherwise I fear we make choke on each others petticoats. And has Lady Wormtongue arrived? Always late, that one is!"

Rather miffed at Lady Trufflebottom's astute counting of her petticoats, Phillis menouvered over to the table to where the tea cakes were displayed and picked at a rather large one with sugared flowers on it's top. "These were the finest yaks in Nepal my dear," she twittered. "Hand picked by monks in a secluded village for their fine hair. No need to tack on 50 extra yaks with fur of that caliber. Only the finest for the VanNuttenhorn family. Oh and d'Wormtongue? Last I saw, the hatter was scurrying out of my dear little Wormy's chambers, a flurry of feathers everywhere. No doubt she will arrive soon, bedecked in enough tail feathers she may very well fly herself out the window, should her petticoats allow it."
Phillis turned quickly towards Lady Trufflebottom with a wicked grin on her face that light up her beady little eyes. "I have a secret to tell my dear. I have it on good authority that Lord Liam will be at the ball this evening. If you recall, the last time Autumn and Liam were in a room together, all she could do was make calf eyes at him. This will be interesting to see how he reacts to her feather coif. I think he is allergic to down, dear."

A soft pitter-patter could be heard just outside the chamber doors, followed by another polite knock. But this time, Gwendolyn had time to scamper over to the doors and open them to receive the Lady d'Wormtongue who was in a softly hued gown without all the frills and extra flounces that Ofelia and Phillis seemed to prize.

Autumn waited a brief second before she walked into the room towards Lady Trufflebottom and Lady VanNuttenhorn. She saw that from the waist down they were of a bell shape, they had so many petticoats. "Ding dong" she mumbled under her breath as she took a seat next to the window. Autumn was feeling a little naked as the two Ladies stared at her with a raised eyebrow. She brushed a feather out of her eye; that darn hatter and all those feathers at her aunt's request. When was Aunt Aurelia going to understand that she is a squirrel and a far cry from a duck.
"Good evening Lady Trufflebottom, Lady VanNuttenhorn," Autumn said nodding, "How are you this fine day?"

"Allergic to down? Oh dear, that is quite a trifle." Lady Trufflebottom proclaimed, just as Gwendolen was opening the door to allow entrance. She primped and poked at her petticoats, making them larger than even before. A lady could never be too big. Never indeed. A rather delicate, yet insignificant wave was all the attempts she made at acknowledging Lady Wormtongue. "Fine indeed, Young Autumn!" She exclaimed, snickering at her rather... feathery headdress. "But I fear we must close the window, else you fly away from us and miss the ball tonight!" As to empasize her point, she motioned towards the window with a delicate, gloved paw. "Gwendolen, if you would."

"I've word that three of the five Mapleshire brothers will be in presence at the ball tonight! Such scoundrel those men are, are they not, dear Phillis?" Ofelia sat up so quickly that she nearly fell forward off the chaise. "Did you not hear? They've been seen running with those horrible De'Brittle sister! I hear they never wear stockings, and sometimes, not even one petticoat! The nerve..." She chittered on, shaking her head as if it was a most serious matter indeed.

Lady Diamanda Von Rubena D'Willowtail groaned in annoyance, "Mother!!! I will not be seen wearing such a dreadful outfit."
"Diamanda! You will were this or no acorns for a month! This is simply the peak of fashion right now and I will not see my only daughter in nothing less.'
"No mother, my dresses are no more than 3 petticoats and you now that. Now leave me to dress in peace, and I need no ladysmaids." Diamanda huffed in frustration and glared at her mother until she left, "Really," she grumbled I don't see why I must go anyway, those ladies are complete airheads and if the words out of there mouths are about clothes then they are about whose the dreamiest man in the room. Ugh!" Pulling on a simple, and 2 petticoated puprle dress that's only embellishment as a ring of amethysts encircling the waist. Diamanda would never admit it but she had a thing for jewels, all her dresses were embellished with at least some sort of gemstone, it was the only way she'd show her class. Soon she was ready without any wig or stockings to put on, getting ready was a fast process and she headed out the door for Lady Trufflebottom's room already dreading the insipid conversations she would encounter tonight.

"Make haste, make haste, good Duke!" scampered and squeaked the bossy attendant of Vincent, Rotterwood. A nasty little mouse with a worm looking tail nearly twice the size of his body, the vulgar creature bounced around a rather bored looking squirrel, who was in fact sitting at a table with one leg crossed and sipping from a cup of tea. Why this was no mere cup either! One of the finest craftsmen of porcelain and ceramic, why a pure artiste!, was in charge of handling the commissions for new china for this over the top family, the Cherrytails.

A high pitched, feminine whine erupted from the throat of the aforementioned Duke. "Reaaaally now?" he whined again, in a clipped, British accent that was more than likely fake. "But I don't want to go to the ball!" Such an impetuous, childish tone! He fussed a bit, puffing up his grand, and long orange tail, its tip seemed to have been dipped in a dark umber red. That was, in fact, the origin of the family name. Now if the members of the family were vain enough to dye the tips of their tail, we shall let the reader be the judge of that.

Rotterwood made another squeak, fussing a bit behind Vincent as he straightened the squirrel's ridiculously high, white, curled wig. "Sir, sir, you must stand and allow us to finish dressing you!"

Letting out a louder whine, Vincent stood, his whiskers twitching up and down like a metronome. This was, in fact, a sign that he was about to let loose of a vicious tantrum.

"Now, now, sir! There will be music at the ball! Perhaps-"

"PERHAPS I'LL GET TO SING?!" Vincent cut off the mouse, who was only going to suggest dancing. Much to Rotterwood's chagrin, the boy still hung onto the silly fancy that he carried a beautiful singing voice. The mouse made no comment, and in a flurry of quick movements, he tightened straightened the fine coat that he slid over the boy's body, plumping the grand tail, and jauntily placing a tall top hat on the boy's noggin. Now while the women were fond of their excessive petticoats, our dear men were keen on having the tallest top hat. And Vincent was keen to outdo them all, for while he acted as if balls were an absolute bore, he did love the frivolity of them.

Handing his master his cane, Rotterwood jumped up and down, "Sir, sir, we must go! The carriage awaits!"

Another sigh, and our prissy boy flounced out of the room, the smell of sweet roses wafting in his wake.

"Well now, I suppose you can call up one of your man servants now my dear Ofelia and order our three carriages. We shall be late you know, but better late and stylish as can be than early and drowning oneself in punch because of one of Lord Battenhammer old war stories. For the good of the nation indeed..... If he hadn't been the father of one of the finest red squirrels in the county, I would hardly know him." Phillis' eyes went misty thinking of Lord Battenhammer's eldest son, Valdimar. "Come now ladies, before the Lady von Trufflebottom's petticoats walk on out of the room on their own accord."

Two hours later after being thoroughly crammed, stuffed, and well, twisted in two the three large carriages, the ladies finally made their way off to Horton Manner, Lord Archibald's family seat, where the grand ball was being hosted that evening. The carriages were delivered slowly by fine white pure bred rats down the lane, as to not jostle about the delicate ladies in their finery. The Lady von Trufflebottom had insisted that her ostentatious gold and white carriage, complete with cherub faces carved into the wheels (as she so kindly pointed out as being superior to normal wheels) go first, followed by Lady VanNuttenhorn's lilac carriage, and lastly the Lady d'Wormtongue's yellow duck shaped ride. Every so often on the way over, the other two ladies could hear Ofelia's shrill voice carry over the wind, "Have a care Hopkins, or I shall arrive with my wig askew!!"

Phillis leaned her fuzzy, powdered head on her hand and stared out the window, watching the countryside slowly change. She sighed, and plucked at her false eyelash a bit, fiddling with the crystals stuck to the end. Her petticoats itched and pinched at her midsection, but she would never complain. Little did her so called friends know that her family's fortune was fastly dwindling away thanks to her brother's misguided faith in speculating. This was her chance to snag a well endowed gentleman before the whole community knew of that her fortune road on stock of hazelnuts and pecans.

"Bloody pecans," she mumbled, "Had to go and have a blight, didn't you?" Still, Phillis knew she would have to uphold the family honor and marry well and fast. Blah de blah blah blah....even if it meant seducing every wayward rich man she laid her beady little eyes on tonight....

Ofelia groaned and fiddled with her wig as she was helped from the carriage. It took one of the footmice to crawl through the other side and give her bottom a good push, as the petticoats hardly would budge. "We simply must widen the door on this carriage! I hear next year, the minimum amount of petticoats shall be near twenty." Beady eyes scanned the lane as more and more carriages lined up, waiting to allow the passengers free. It took near twenty minutes just to get Ofelia out of the carriage, and thus... well, she always was good at making her presence known. She continued to chitter on as her petticoats were fluffed, and her wig realigned. Really it was a mystery as to how she planned to dance with the young and handsome squirrels she hoped would be in attendance.

"Phillis, Autumn, come now! We're running out of time to be fashionably early, you know. Never should a lady be on time!" With a delicate, yet rather gaudy fan, lined with a heavily embroidered fabric, trimmed with lace, and dripping with fine jewels, the overly done squirrel fanned herself. The reds and golds of the fan matched her dress, all with the various lace and the likes, layers upon layers of fabric, and nearly a mile of lace made the dress, and yet, if anyone knew Ofelia, it wasn't near enough.

Ofelia scurried off in such an excited manor, her beady eye catching the sight of young Lord Willowshire, an heir to the Brittle empire that now stretched across several continents. "Oh Lord Willowshire!" She cried out, as it was rather difficult to get to anyone quickly, weighted down so much. "I have, on good authority, received word that you have been abroad as of late, have you not? Certainly, I do hope, that you did not catch anything strange. So many queer things abroad, don't you agree?" She carried on. "Come, come Phillis. Agree with me, wont you?"

By the time Diamanda had arrived at Lady Trufflebottom's chambers the ladies were long gone, she groaned and huffed a bit. Of course they would forget her, afterall none of them approved of a squirrel with the audacity to were less than 10 petticoats much less one who only wore two! Trudging through the hallway Diamanda arrived outside where her family's obstentatious carriage awaited. She glared at it as she climbed in side and set on the plus velvet seats. While Diamanda might not be one for flair and flash, her family certainly was. She knew the carriage simply had to be making a scene the entire thing was painted GOLD! and there was every inch of flash on it her mother could fit. Diamnada thought it looked simply gaudy, but her mother would here none of it. She stepped away and out of the carriage gladly when it pulled up to the mansion and looked around for the other Ladies.

Phillis leaned in close to Lord Willowshire, noting his weak chin and slightly crossed eyes. She smiled and batted her eyes, fluttering them with such speed as to make a grown man dizzy. "My family has recently made their way back from America my Lord. Perhaps we can...swap stories of our experiences." She flashed him a pearly white smile and fanned herself delicately and demurely.
"I am sure that my good friend the Lady Trufflebottom would not know what to make of it, being so inexperienced herself." She giggled and sashayed away, over to Lady d'Wormtongue's carriage, where the woman in question was struggling to get through with her feathered hat intact.

"Inexperienced? Why I never!" Ofelia cried, stopping her foot in annoyance. Not that anyone could see under the mountain of petticoats. "They say, Lord Willowshire, that an experienced lady is hardly a lady at all. Willing to swap stories with any young gentleman that comes about! It's simply atrocious, is it not?" She questioned, more to herself than anyone, as the Lord stood, completely dumbfounded. "Yes, yes, a lovely chat it has been, but I must scurry off. Never should a lady spend more time with a gentleman than at all necessary, lest they think that she is kept!" And thus she did scurry off, likely now to find another young victim in which to subject to such an... interesting conversation. As much time as she spent complaining, she could have found herself a wealthy squirrel with a fortune even greater than her own.

"Come on ladies, we should make our entrance, lest they think that we didn't arrive at all!" Fanning herself, she hurried towards the grand entrance, barely able to lift her hind paws high enough to climb the marble stairs. Working her way through the large entry way, thankful for the double door, or else she may have been held back from the ball for even longer. The pleasing sounds of trumpets blaring, announcing her entrance as she descended the large staircase, leading to the main hall, where the ball was being held. Already it was packed enough, not by people, but the ladies, all in their finest numbers, took up a great deal of space.

As was customary, many heads turned as she climbed down the stairs, teetering on the edge, gravity threatening to take the petticoats, and thus, her with them. Her nose twitched at the smell of toffee nut cakes, a delicacy she would afford herself tonight, if only she could get through the throngs of lace and bushy tails. With half-hearted greetings, and delicate, yet haughty waves, she worked her way through the overly done wave of squirrels in attendance. Paying special mind to give an extra wink, or flick of her bushy tail to a eligible young Gentleman.

By the time our dear leading ladies arrived to the ball, Vincent was already inside. He was sitting at a table with a gaggle of women and men, all of whom were prattling about some nonsense that he had no interest in. Fanning himself with a fine lace instrument, he peered about with a mild yawn, not attempting to mask his boredom.

A few of the ladies made offended little gasps and squeaks, while the others attempted to engage him in conversation. He was, after all, quite the catch. Good breeding, and a good fortune, he had a lot to offer a potential bride.

There was a slight problem though: His personality.

Just as one of the closest squirrels began to open her mouth, Vincent's ears perked up at the sound of a favorite song.

"OH I MUST SING! I MUST!" He exclaimed, jumping up to find join the side of the pianist, making no goodbyes to his previous company.

Just as the our ladies would enter the ball, they would be greeted with an odd, shrieky sort of voice, one of a male singing far too high for his natural key. It was in fact, the Duke himself, shrieking in a manner he thought was singing.

Diamanda finally caught sight of Lady Trufflebottom, at the bottom of the stairs and Diamanda slowly began her own descent down the stairs. Hearing offended gasps during her whole descent. She rolled her eyes, was that seriuosly all these twats cared about. Diamanda frowned, she hated these parties, truly but it would be truly offensive to not go. Plus, Diamanda was already broaching the age of old maid, she needed to find a match and soon, someone who stand her strangeness. At least that's what Mother told her, Diamanda was perfectly fine staying unmarried. "Lady Trufflebottom," Diamanda called out when she reached the foot of the stairs

While munching happily on one of the Toffee nut cakes that had assaulted her senses, she heard a shrill call. "Lady d'Willowtail!" She cried out in an almost horrified response as she saw the squirrel approaching her. "My dear, I do believe I see a figure, hardly becoming of a lady, to have their figure showing!" She chittered on, brushing off the front of her gown, being sure to remove any traces of crumbs from her indulgence. "However do you expect to entice a man dressed in so few petticoats? Surely such a lacking ensemble is bound to send any eligible and respect man astray."

The lady fanned herself, as if this was such a trifling ordeal that she was simply going to faint.

"Perhaps, I'll attract a sensible man who realizes that a women shouldn't need a shoehorn to fit threw a door." Diamanda threw her own look of disdain at Lady Trufflebottom's many petticoats. "Plus who needs any of these useless fops. I would much prefer to be an old maid than marry one of these insipid fools." She cast a disdainful look over at the Duke who was feeling the hall with such an awful noise, "Seriously. I don't even see why Mother makes me come to these things..."

Ofelia huffed and shook her tail, staring at the lady in such a manner. "Like it or not, Lady d'Willowtail, your family is of the highest class, and thus must find themselves present everywhere, lest their rein fall. You could have nearly every gentleman in this hall spilling over you, should you just dress like a lady!" She cried, wondering how the girls mother or dressing-maid could even allow her out of the house in such a way. "Like the Duke indeed, sure the wail is enough to drive one to insanity, but he is of respectable wealth and class, and old money, I am told, which is the best. Far better than new money, you know. Plus I've got, on good word, but please do keep hush that I've relayed this to you, that the Cherrytail's have come into even more wealth, some company in India! India, can you believe it? Such a queer place indeed, is it not? Very queer indeed." She continued to prattle on, holding her chin up high (straining it, really) as years of wearing such a large wig had surely strengthen her muscles.

"I couldn't stand it" Diamanda muttered, "Everyday of marriage would be torture with such a husband. There is more to life than money, besides the dowry mother plans to offer will surely draw a husband she sees worthy no matter what I do, though I'd much prefer to marry for love." Diamanda looked around, "So where is our mysterious, host?"

"Marry for love? Such a peasant thing to say!" Ofelia cried as she gasped in horror and disgust. "To be kept by a man of such respect and wealth will surely be a pleasant life indeed, all the fondest of parties, and the freshest of crumpets." She swooned, looking around at the gentlemen of the ball. Indeed, what more could a lady want than to find herself in the manor of one of these respectable gents? Sure in all her best petticoats, and the largest wig she did own, she would catch something. "Lord Chesternutshire? I do believe he will be fashionably late, as he always is. Should he even grace us with his presence, that is! Ever since he assumed such a name he has gallivanted about the town, frivolity and all. Do not worry, dear, he will make his presence known when he arrives. Not that it should be much of a concern to you, in a garb like that, hardly would he even glance, let alone take a gander."

Diamanda almost snapped she much prefer to be a peasant than live this stupid life but held her tongue, for once. Instead she sighed and said, "Money is all well in fine but this excessiveness is not. I'm sure if the latest fashionable thing to wear a codfish on your head, you would all follow willingly. Blindly following anything makes us no better than the mice." Diamanda said, already weary of this conversation, and of the party but knowing she had at least a few more hours of this to deal with. For once she wanted to have a conversation of value with somebody, but she feared no such squirrel existed.

"A codfish? That is simply ridiculous, my girl!" Lady Trufflebottom snickered as she fanned herself. "I do not know where you get such talk from, your mother is such a pleasant lady..." She trailed off, knowing best to never speak too much about ones family to a member of it. Strange, considering her general like of gossip. "I simply cannot take this nonsense of talk about codfish, hardly the conversation for a lady of my wealth." She proclaimed as she took a small curtsy, and scurried off, her whiskers twitching at the very thought of another one of those wonderful Toffee nut cakes. Besides, never would she allow herself to be compared to a mouse, such... peasent-like creatures they were.

Cake in paw, she worked her way towards the duke, wishing to strike up a slightly interesting conversation, if at all possible. The Duke was known to gossip, or so she knew, on good word. Whoever supplied this good word, could not be said, if there was anyone at all. "Oh Duke, duke!" She cried out, moving near enough, do hoping that he would stop his wailing, her ears twitching ever so slightly.

Diamanda took a snack from the table and a glass of champagne before wondering off into the crowd, wondering if anyone here was thinking of anything more than the latest gossip. She eventually found a corner to pass the longer hours of the ball in. She could at least sit in relative peace over her, though her mother would be annoyed that Diamanda had once again returned from a ball without any prospects, Diamanda just didn't care.