“What have you come as?” She joked.
“I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me.” He retorted, wittily.
It was obvious what they’d both turned to up the party as; their attire a beacon, showing the world what they wanted to be and what they had to say. When they entered the hall holding hands, there was a stunned silence.
Two weeks earlier they’d been the talk of the town, having pushed the boundaries and what not, with their ideas and their big questions that no one was supposed to ask and everyone was sure that they’d paid for it handsomely – they’d been assured and reassured. But here they were, bold as brass, rocking up at a celebration they had most certainly been uninvited to. The sea of black and white parted as they ran, their colours curling like flames, leaving a trail of it behind them, a bright smoke billowing and not a single one catching onto the surrounding crowd.
When they reached the stage, their DJ ally handed the boy the mic whilst simultaneously peeling off his own black dinner jacket to reveal flashes of colour underneath.
“Now, I bet you’re wondering about us and our choice of clothing for this evening and how inappropriate it may seem for a such civilised occasion,” the boy said.
The crowd were unresponsive. Waiting for something to happen – for someone with authority to direct them, a leader from the crowd perhaps? But nothing came and no one stepped forward.
He handed her the mic. “Well, we think your costumes are beautiful,” she laughed. “The costumes you wear tonight and those you wear daily.” She smiled and looked at him again, still holding his hand and now that of the DJ, who had come out from his booth to join them.
The three of them started to undress, stripping away their colours and standing naked on the stage, before falling to the ground and landing in a heap. They were still holding hands. The curtains closed over them. Somebody re-started the music. The crowds cheered and resumed their dancing in their wonderful costumes – each one a slight variation of the next.