I love this game. I suck at playing it. I never managed to develop a strategy that worked. Never winning has never curbed my appeal for the game. I happily roll the die and plop my plastic pieces in any nearby room and cheer the winner when a successful accusation is made.
The game was originally published in England, I believe, in/around 1947? (Don't quote me on that, my knowledge is rusty and I'm too lazy to research it this week). Several spinoffs exist, but the original is still my favorite.
When the movie starring some of my all-time favorite actors was released, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Quotes from the film wind their way into my daily speech often. I'm a geek that way.
I offer the following in response: The Deception Hour
Anastasia peeled the mask from her face, disgusted at the whole affair. Gaudy wealth dripped from every inch of the masquerade. Prancing puppets, she thought, retreating from the dancers to the library. Spying candlestick after garish candlestick wedged between leather-bound books, she scowled on principle.
“May I offer you a drink?”
She tilted her head towards the voice. “Thank you,” she accepted the small crystal-clad cordial from his silver tray. “A fine mess this is. Butlering for us must be dreadful.”
A sly smile surfaced to his mouth. “Dancing among you would be worse.”
She laughed, “Agreed. They are vultures, vampires seeking blood and bragging rights. And, according to my mother, the elite from which to choose a spouse.”
His smile grew toothier. “M'lady, isn’t it scandalous to discuss such matters with servants?”
She displayed her mask to him, “No one here is who she appears to be.”
“Have you yet seen the gardens?” he gestured towards the glass doors to the patio. “I understand the Scarlet Pearls are quite lovely to behold.”
She paused. Her mother would be furious, but the servant was the most promising companion of the evening. “Are you at liberty to escort me?”
“I am…for you.”
Anastasia welcomed the crisp air as they escaped to the outdoors. At the edge of a sculpted herb garden, she forced introductions. “Anastasia Dumarche.”
He kissed her hand. “Arik Lyon, Count of Monteschell, your humble servant.”
Her heart flitted like the hovering stars above. Her mother would be pleased.