---

---

Drunken friend? Sloane gave Jack a look that lacked the typical vacancy in her eyes, showing her confusion and indigent rejection of the statement. Drunk? She didn’t like being drunk and she liked how she felt right now. She felt warm and tingly, like she was in a hot, steamy bath while sipping on a hot chamomile tea and reading a steamy romance novel. She wasn’t drunk. She couldn’t be drunk. If she were drunk then that meant she had been overserved, and the waitstaff were responsible professionals. Perhaps Jack was drunk. That must be it, of course, that was it, Jack was clearly drunk because ooooh! Ooooooh!

Anya. Anya was drunk. Obviously Anya was drunk. Yeah, Anya could hardly even stand up out of her chair. Sloane covered up a little smile with her hand as she followed Anya and Jack outside. She had never seen Anya drunk before, but wow, yeah, the way she walked in an almost perfectly straight line out the door made is sooooo obvious that she was trying as hard as she could not to appear completely wasted. Wow. Anya really hadn’t been holding back tonight. She must’ve desperately wanted one fun night to forget about all the terrible things in the world right now almost as much as Sloane did. Except obviously Sloane wasn’t drunk unlike Anya, who was clearly drunk and not like Sloane who wasn’t. Drunk, that is.

Where were they even going? The festival was the other—wait!

Before Sloane could protest against Jack teleporting them it happened. She felt like her body was dumped inside of a cocktail shaker and vigorously shaken over ice until she was nice and frothy, then she was flipped in the ass over head by an amateur bartender trying to show off but failing to snap the lid all of the way down as they tossed the shaker in the air. Sloane spilled out from the teleportation, a desperate and lucky catch upon Jack’s robes the only thing keeping her from becoming a human party foul as she just avoided spilling out onto the ground. Her body stopped but the world kept spinning. She let go of Jack, tilted her head back, covered her face, and held her breath as her body continued to swirl and mix because of Jack’s stupid teleportation spell and nothing else.

She pulled her hand away from her eyes, blinking rapidly at the chorus of singsong voices chanting toga, toga, toga. As Sloane was about to turn to take a look when Anya stumbled into her (because she was, despite how well she hid it, obviously soooo drunk, and the teleportation probably didn’t help with that). Sloane let out an absolutely foreign sounding girlish giggle as Anya “steadied” herself by bracing her hands on Sloane’s shoulders, allowing her friend to steer her so that she wouldn’t fall even if it meant being spun quickly in a half circle.

”...Best to get work out of the way so we can enjoy the rest of the night!”

“I mean I should but…”

She had only even mentioned her stall to further push the conversation away from Drake.
It would be fine, really. Her employees were handpicked by her after all. They would really only need her if there was an issue they couldn’t fix, and the amount of things that qualified as that had become smaller and smaller and smaller. Sloane still got heavily involved when dealing with certain parts of her clientele and anything involving antiques of substantial value, but the souvenir side of things was essentially self-sufficient. Tonight should just be about fun and honestly, those strangely familiar voices chanting about a toga sounded like they were having a ton of it.

Sloane tried to turn to get a look at the party, but as she turned her head Anya shifted her in the other direction. She turned her head the other way and Anya shifted them again. Another strange sounding giggle saw the wardens had their backs turned, hopped the fence, and fled out from Sloane’s mouth before she could block it with her hand. Jack said something she couldn’t register as she tried to look back at Anya and once again found herself steered the other way. It started to make her feel like she was on a boat in choppy waters, the feeling of nausea making her clinch her eyes shut.

“Anya, how much did you—” Jack teleported them again. Acid and alcohol bubbled violently up to Sloane’s chest and quickened her heart rate as she nearly collapsed, just barely keeping herself from both sprawling and spewing onto the ground, hands grabbing at Anya for support. “—driiiiink. Ugh”

Sloane righted herself and held up her head to bat away any raised concerns.

“You know, I am quite capable of walking by myself, Mr. Hawthorne. Just because you were gone for ten years didn’t mean that I’d lost the ability to go places. I got around just fine without you,” said Sloane, the acid that still lingered in her throat reacting with the embarrassment burning in her cheeks, making her normally cold tone sound heated. What am I doing? Maybe, possibly, as ever so unlikely as it was, she could’ve been just a little, teeny tiny bit drunk. She held her head up and took a large breath in an attempt to calm herself. “If I need a magical Uber, I’ll tell you. I just…”

She couldn’t find the right words to express how she felt. Sloane only wanted to have a nice night, but now she only had a head full of steam. She didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like she was actually angry at Jack. Sure, perhaps he could do a little work to perfect his teleportation spells so that it didn’t cause motion sickness, but that wasn’t really the problem either. Everything just felt off. She wasn’t having fun anymore. She had just wanted to have fun. No, more than that: Sloane had wanted to pretend that she was someone else, but right now she was just a shitty and drunk version of herself dressed like a cartoon character from a television show she’d never even watched.

An annoyed sigh exploded out of Sloane as she sharply turned, violently flicking her hands out before shoving them down into the pockets of her red trench coat, hunching her shoulders, and walked away without caring whether or not the others followed her. Sloane stormed past her own stall, a surprisingly festive display staffed by a trio of witches selling a mixture of cutesy halloween decorations like tiny straw voodoo dolls in Halloween costumes, spooky bitch essentials like incense burners and tarot sets, and basic souvenir shop bullshittery like mugs with the cityline of St. Portwell on them and t-shirts with slogans like “Straight Outta Cracker Island” printed on them.

A man dressed in an Italian suit with slicked back hair was casually chatting with one of the witches. The witch waved and shouted at Sloane as the man turned with a smile that quickly faded as the woman in red blew right past them without even an acknowledgement. The smile fell from the man's face as he looked back at the witch who, looking apologetic, immediately began saying something. The man shrugged and stepped away from the stall, putting down the three-faced voodoo doll he had been holding and pulling out a cigarette. He was about to light it with a match when he paused, looking in the direction of where Sloane was heading and then back in the direction of where she’d come from. His eyes skipped over the shrouded Jack and lingered briefly on Anya. The little smile returned to his face as he lit his cigarette and turned, heading off in the opposite direction of Sloane.

---

---

For over ten years Sullivan McPherson had been scared, gripped by a fear so strong that sometimes awake, nearly paralyzed and having to fight himself to get out of bed and go to work. It was a fear that had made him give up on his dreams, a fear that had pushed him into accepting a life of irrelevancy. It was a fear that not many of his peers seemed to have, despite how many of his peers tended to trigger the fear inside of him and cause his stomach to tighten with dread just by their very existence. It was a fear aggravated by grabbing drinks with the boys after a hard day's work and hearing their life stories, all of them that started with a “yeah, I could’ve been somebody if” and ended with them in the same bar as Sully drinking a light beer and bitching about their back.

Sully was simply afraid that he’d peaked at eighteen, as saving the world was hard to top—even when his role in it was being nothing more than a glorified waterboy. However, in this moment as he drunkening led a parade of revelers in togas through the Halloween Festival he no longer felt fear. This was his greatest achievement in life: his Mona Lisa, his Godfather, his Jordan Game 6. It was the Prince Superbowl Half-Time Show of spontaneous toga parties. It was his magnum opus. He was a man with a magnum away from being mentioned in the same breath with the likes of King, Kennedy, and Lennon. Tonight, he had truly ascended, going from the party god, to the God of Parties.

Unfortunately, there was absolutely positively no way he was going to remember a single damn thing, as he had already been a few drinks in when he made the decision to fully commit to his now forgotten “Sully” costume and shave his beard into a mustache. Yet in this moment he was glorious.

The toga party wasn’t just an excuse to be drunk and half-naked, although being drunk and half-naked was a perk. The toga party was about coming together. It was about putting down differences and embracing the things that really matter—the person right in front of you (otherwise they couldn’t have a conga line). But think about it, really think about it. They had Sycamore chanting with Greenwood. They had Greenwood sharing a drink with 8th Street. Even 8th Street was getting friendly with Sycamore, although it was hard to tell if Drake could breath given how hard that one girl was squeezing on to him. Three Covens, One Line. Can you dig it?

But of course Sully had no time to preach to his magical brothers and sister about how through unity they could run Cracker Island. He was too busy filling the Chalice, passing it back, chanting toga-toga-toga, leading the cult of Dionysus through the crowded fairgrounds and recruiting true believers. Sully wiped sweat from his eyes and smoothed his missing beard as the line snaked through the stalls. It was only through happenstance—no, no, it was fate, divine intervention—that he looked when he did and made direct eye contact with Linqian. He always liked Linqian. He especially liked partying with Linqian. She might not be a sister yet, for no matter how close the dress of her Little Red outfit was to a toga it was not a toga, but she was still a friend.

And she had just made the grave mistake of using a cell phone. Linqian may not have realized what she had just done, but Sully had transcended. He knew the rules. He knew what happened to people with phones. He had to save her. He would save her.

The moment would be documented in the camera roll on Linqian’s phone in a choppy stop-motion: Sully’s eyes widening in horror, his mouth dropping, his hand reaching into his toga. A balled up toga palmed in his hand, his arm raised and cocked back. His hand thrown forward, fingers spread, mouth still shouting, the rest of his face obscured by a balled up toga that had just been released. A toga spiraling like a football through the air towards the camera screen. Getting closer. And closer. And closer as it began to unravel, leaving the next few photos nothing but a blank white screen as the toga continued to fly towards Linqian.

“Linqian! TOGA!” hollered Sully, a bit late on his warning despite his purest of intentions. Inside the conga line she’d be safe from any kidnappers or brawlers who hated phone users. Plus, maybe she would jump between Drake and that one chick and let his boy stop having to worry about cracking a rib.

Long legs strode toward raucous noise in the short distance, boot covered feet covered by half a night gown held at the waist by a belt. The top portion folded down, the limbs dangled behind him across the ground, and Leon was strutting with the might and poise of a circus ringleader as the pack of Greenwood members poured through the alleys of the festival. His ears, adjusting with the ethereal energy of Lady Lelou, began to pick out individual voices as they drew closer and closer with each extension and retraction of those tree trunk-like legs.

He didn't realize until then that he was smiling. Not just that, but widely, like a kid who knew a surprise party was coming but managed to hold it in all day until it had to be released. He heard people congregating and being jovial, and couldn't help but think to himself that it was just what the doctor ordered! No worrying about his siblings, or how Mom was feeling about things. Hell, she'd probably be just as likely to jump into some kind of cross-coven revelry if she were to see it, I mean... It was great news! Unity, cooperation, love and understanding under the banner of New Light in the dawn of Eden! He felt like Jesus, undaunted as he drove his body headlong toward the cross to absolve the sins of Adept-Kind.

Leon's mind imagined his Father's face as the words got louder and louder in his ears. The biggest man he'd ever known, a seven foot-two raven haired blue eyed Orange Lux powered juggernaut that was his Dad, cheering at him with veins in his neck buldging and those two massive hamhock fists balled up tightly. He was screaming it, fully in unison with the small crowd that had gathered up in that clearing between the midway and the Ferry Docks. He had true fun in his eyes and his voice as he shouted:



The corner was coming soon. He'd be within visual range of them. It sounded like they were all facing him.



Here it comes!



His massive frame burst from around the corner of a nearby booth, but Leon already knew who he was looking for. That goofy face he'd known for so long was staring back at him like the last day they'd seen one another. His eyes welled with pride to see the sight before him; the Maestro de Bacchanal, the Mardi Gras Mauler, the King of Keg Killing. He'd heard he was back in town, but frankly after they'd left off, Leon didn't want to come to Sully from the same moral high ground he'd stood on before. Before he had been slapped with the responsibility of Lady Lelou, Leon had been far more heavy-handed in his beliefs and opinions.
It was time to fix that. People were dying, and he never wanted to regret missing the Little Brother he chose rather than the little brothers he was given. As he joined in on the chant, he pointed directly at Sully.

“Dionysus, your Brother Ares wishes to REVEL!”

"Le..."

There was a moment of hesitation from Sully, impossible to tell if it was just drunken sluggardiness or something else, and then a toga was launched towards Leon.

"Yes brother! Come drink and make merry with us! Toga! Toga! Toga!"

"Hey, bro! You can squeeze in here," hollered Vashti, indicating to the space between herself and Emily.

Holy shit, that's seriously Vashti Nour and Emily G. Reed...

A deep part of Leon's body had already gripped ahold of him and his psyche... Or, it wasn't him.
"Warm blood and bone; flesh on flesh, my carnal beast. My pleasure cries for your attention, Leon... Indulge... Release me."

His flesh was at once riddled with goosebumps as he ripped at the cloth surrounding his body. The shirt split in two, the dates of his fight tour on the back fluttering to the ground as he began to wrap this long white cloth around himself in the fashion his father had taught him. As the cloth covered him and he slipped into the spot in front of the Bitch of St. Portwell herself, he gave the same inhuman strength over toward ripping his loose fitting nightgown out from under his belt along with the baggy burlap pants that went with the getup.
For a second, he'd accidentally exposed Emily to the entire harvest moon before he managed to tuck the toga between his ass and the belt above it, then settled into the motion of the Toga. His hand reached over Vashti, patting Drake on the shoulder.

"Fucking ZOOOOOOOS!" he shouted, raising his fist. "Toga! Toga! Toga! Toga!"

---

They were walking just fine... Everything had been just fine! But she had to be a little snoop, she had to go taking a picture! Now she was getting roped into something that none of them had expected her to get roped into this close to the front of Cracker Town: A multi-coven Conga line! You know who banned conga lines? The Cuban government! Why, one may ask? Because more often than not the drunken lines would become disorderly moshes that almost always devolved into significantly more dangerous levels of chaos and violence depending on who was involved.
And right now, Leon was converging on the pack to be reunited among his drunken kinsmen in Sully McPherson and Drake fucking Blackmore. Jocks. The Jock Squad. His hand tensed on the release for his gun, imagining the instant and total devastation the magical bullets would wreak upon the half drunk and totally unaware cast of nimrods. Wasn't there a murderer on the loose? It was fine, he felt, that he didn't care: As long as it wasn't him, why would he ever care? Instead, the people who should've been most aware and alert were getting the most foolish.

A gaggle of other people were not far behind Leon, including Adora Phoenix-Prescott, whom he was almost sure was going to get into some kind of conflict with Linqian who was bound to start it.

He had to get her out of there.
But his head swiveled. Britney was there. It was going to be okay.
"Any ideas on how we get her out of this without getting sucked in?" he asked to one side at Layla, then the other at Sabrina and Britney. If it didn't end in an all-out war, he didn't know what the next move was; not even a little bit.

---

---

Sloane giggled. Giggled. it was almost... Cute? Wait, since when did Anya think anything was cute? Ah. Must be the shock of hearing such an unnatural sound coming from Sloane's lips.

She couldn’t give it much more thought Jack suddenly teleported them - something Anya wasn’t prepared for even though she’d expressively begged him to help prevent Sloane from seeing Drake, and he’d said before it was going to happen. Honestly she'd been looking for a distraction to help her steer Sloane away - with their legs. Her stomach roiled, all the alcohol she’d drank threatening to spill back out the way it had come. When Sloane grabbed her to not fall over Anya also nearly fell over. It was only thanks to the handy Jack next to her, whose arm she grabbed, that she and Sloane didn’t comically fall onto a pile on the floor. Thankfully Anya was sober enough to save them both.

But Sloane was much drunker than she’d expected. And they’d had the same number of drinks, yet Anya was perfectly sober. Well, perhaps lightly inebriated. Only lightly. Anya’s lips twitched up into a half smile. Drunk Sloane really was quite cute. Ah, there was that strange thought again.

”I drank the same amount as you?” Anya answered the question Sloane had asked mid teleportation, quite a bit after it had been asked. She had been saving them both from dramatically falling, after all.

But unlike the totally not drunken stumble from both of them, she wasn’t able to prevent Sloane from storming off over… who knew what. It was often the way with Sloane. Something would upset her and it would be obvious (to Anya), and then Anya had to slowly pull it out of her. Normally Anya at least had an idea about what it was. Was it because she was so clearly drunk that she was acting erratic? Because she’d almost fallen?

Anya was stumped.

She could only watch as Sloane walked away, right past her own stall and the man perusing her wares who she didn’t recognise- until he turned around. Anya’s eyes widened slightly. Everyone in the city knew of the Vanburens, and anyone in business knew of the more influential ones. Anya was looking at the most influential of them all - the new head of the family, the one who’d inherited the majority of his father’s money and businesses, Ezra Vanburen. And Sloane had walked right past him without even an acknowledgment.

They were definitely having another chat about politeness later. When Sloane was sober again.

Anya’s lips twitched up into a slight smile when he looked at her - at least, that’s what appeared to be the case. Her gaze then flickered between Sloane’s retreating back, and the richest man in the city.

To do the socially acceptable thing and go after her friend to ensure she was alright, or try to talk to someone who could be incredibly beneficial to her business and future goals.

It was a difficult decision. On one hand, Anya did genuinely care for Sloane. She was one of the three people Anya would even consider putting aside her own priorities for. Surely even considering it proved that she cared, even if she didn’t follow through in setting it aside?

Why was she even trying to justify it? It wasn’t like either of them could read her thoughts.

But, perhaps it wasn’t as simple as her goals and checking up on a friend. After all, someone had to perform damage control for Sloane’s impolite actions.

Damage control. Yes, this was damage control after Sloane had stormed past one of the richest and most influential men in the city. Anya had noticed the way his smile had dropped. He might consider choking Sloane’s business and running her out of town! He’d put down the incredibly creepy doll he’d been considering buying! Sloane was done for!

She had to rectify this. She had to save Sloane.

"You go after Sloane, I'll catch up,” Anya said in a low voice to Jack. ”I need to make sure she doesn't lose everything after offending the man who practically runs the city.”

At least that was the excuse she would tell Sloane later if she was upset about it. It was all for Sloane, not a single selfish thought in Anya’s mind at the moment. She definitely wasn't hoping for an investment in her business or just a powerful contact. She was only ensuring her friend didn’t lose the business she’d worked so hard to build.

She really was the perfect and amazing person Sloane thought she was.

”Excuse me, Mr Vanburen,” Anya interrupted Ezra as politely as possible before he could get too far away. She gestured in the direction Sloane had headed in and pasted a polite smile across her lips. ”I’m sorry about my friend. Sloane- Well, she’s had a difficult night. Please don’t hold it against her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to ignore you.”

She totally did. Anya knew Sloane was perfectly capable of following enough social conventions to not walk past someone without even acknowledging them. She sighed softly, considering pulling out a business card but deciding it would be tasteless at that moment. ”Ah, I should introduce myself. I’m Anya Baksh, close friend of Sloane Farris’ and a fellow businesswoman.”

---

---

One minute, Linqian was taking hilariously embarrassing photos, the next a toga hit her right in the face.

”What the fuck, Sully?!” Linqian yelled, removing the toga from her face. Where the fuck was he carrying spare togas? What the fuck. ”First time properly seeing each other in years and you throw a fucking toga in my face? Shit, what am I supposed to do with this?”

She looked around - they were right in the middle of the stalls. The toga line was edging closer to her, dangerously so. She was still within view of Sabrina, Britney, Layla and Edict (not that he mattered, he’d already seen everything). Loads of strangers were around. Unsurprisingly, not a changing room in sight. Did she even need to wear this? Sully had given her a strangely terrified look. Were people who didn’t wear togas more at risk of getting attacked during the festival? That did track with everything she’d experienced so far.

Before she could think any further of it Leon appeared - she saw him before she heard him, and it fucking hurt her head. He shouted for the whole fucking island to hear - she bet whatever crackers were on it were broken by now from his fucking yelling. He was much more onboard with joining the weird ass conga line, and stripping down to pull on a toga. Damn. She definitely didn’t eye him up at all while he did it.

”Fuck it, give me a drink of that,” Linqian shot forward and grabbed the chalice from its current holder. She took three big gulps of the wine, sighing as it slid down her throat. Much better than the lukewarm beers she’d been drinking. Once she was done she handed it back… realising who she'd actually taken it from.

”Heh, fancy seeing you again,” Linqian smirked at Vashti, feeling a lot less nervous about the possibility of dying with another dose of beer and wine in her system. She then glanced her up and down. The toga suited her surprisingly well. Huh. And she was clinging to Drake like she wanted to jump on his dick- she probably did. Seriously, of all the available people? ”The toga looks good on you… but you should really go for someone more available. He,” Linqian pointed to Drake, ”Is too busy pining over his wife and punching pathetic losers. But there are plenty of other hot singles on the island down to bang.”

Linqian gestured towards Leon, winking at Vashti. Then she took a few steps away from the line.

With the liquid courage she needed to change in public, Linqian awkwardly pulled her red cloak around herself and over her head. It was just about big enough to cover everything as she stripped off all her outer layers (her underwear was still on, it wasn’t that bad) and very clumsily stuffed it into her bag. She then pulled on the toga. With everything just about covered up, she pulled off the red cloak and tied it around her waist as a finishing touch.

The toga just covered her ass (clearly wasn’t made for people with a bit of booty) and her choice to wear a black bra was a bit unfortunate because it was slightly visible through the white fabric… but no matter! She was pretty sure it looked good on her. All the Greek gods had been sluts, right?

She didn’t really know anything about Greek mythology, to be honest.

It was at this moment, toga settled on her body, that Linqian realised she’d made a massive fucking mistake. She was right beside the conga line. She’d gotten into a toga (because honestly, she looked hotter in it). She was getting that tingling sense that someone she fucking hated was in the area (or maybe that was just the alcohol working its way into her system). Someone was definitely going to try and drag her into the conga line. She absolutely did not want to be in that. Fucking hell no. Even drunk off her ass she wouldn’t go into something like that.

”Alright, I put on the fucking toga to stop whatever horrible thing you thought was gonna happen to me, but I’m not joining this fucking conga line,” Linqian put up her hands and started to back away to where she’d come from. She held one hand up in front of her, ready to get real hot if she needed to fend off anyone dragging her into the conga line, while she threw her other hand behind her. She gestured at Edict, Britney and Layla with a thumbs down at first then a series of desperate waves. She had no fucking clue how to show that she needed help in case someone toga jumped her… but it was pretty clear she’d realised her fuck up and wanted out. ”I’ve gotta get back.”

She kept moving away, slowly, as if she was fleeing from some kind of wild animal. Really, she was. The wildest animal - a toga line of drunken god wannabes. She was prepared to fight for her life if any of them made a move towards her.

Halloween Festival, Outside of the Haunted House
_{Mentions: @Punished GN, @AtomicEmperor, @Fernstone}

---

“Aww…” Layla gave a mock sadness as Mr. Devola outbidded her on Linqian's drink. The smile was quick to return to her face, though. There was something father-like about him.

”Sorry, Layla, but the money has spoken. Don't worry, I'll get you some booze when we're off fed island."

Layla's smile brightened even more at that, and she happily pocketed her bills. Linqian was so nice.

That was when a strange sight came into view, attracting the attention of Linqian as well as Layla. Was that a… toga-touting conga line? There were familiar faces she thought she'd never see together before.

Amazing.

Her gaze was only torn away as something cool was shoved into her hands. Linqian's beer.

“Hold my beer. I gotta go get a picture of this. I’ll be back in a moment.”

And she was off. To her own misfortune, as the beer in Layla's hands was now very, very appealing. She turned away from Mr. Devola and Britney, discreetly pressing the can to her lips.

"Any ideas on how we get her out of this without getting sucked in?”

The only response from Layla was the suck of air as she stood there, can a vertical tilt over her face. Which was also now empty. With a satisfied smirk, she set the can against the gazebo’s step, and glanced at Mr. Devola.

“No idea!”

She looked back in time to catch Linqian's frantic hand motions. Did she need help? Was she feeling shy to enter the conga line?

Layla could help with that.

Layla approached Linqian and the conga line, stepping around so she was at Linqian's back.

This was what Linqian needed, right? Some moral support?

Nodding mischievously to herself, Layla placed a hand on Linqian's shoulder, guiding her ever closer to the encroaching conga line.

“Let me help~!”

Jasper once again traced his fingers across Luca’s back, moving slower and more deliberate as if he wanted to feel every available spot in his path to his side. Jasper felt how close Luca got for the photo, and Jasper wanted him just a little closer still. As his hand reached Luca’s side Jasper grabbed just above his hip, his large hands easily covering the real estate, before he pulled at his friend ever so gently and pulled him closer.

”Alright Luca,” Jasper paused as he looked over to Luca and smiled. He looked back towards his phone, raised it to the perfect angel, and hovered his hand over the photo button. “Three, two,” his smile grew ever so slightly as he felt Luca on his side, “one,” as he finished the countdown he flashed the camera a big smile. This photo was the greatest photo he’d ever taken. And it was all thanks to Luca. Jasper looked over at him and smiled again. “You always have that amazing smile, instantly made that photo twice as good” Jasper said as he let go of his grip on Luca’s side, “I might steal a few more moments from you if you’d let me!”.

Jasper did not know what he meant by that. More photos? More hand holding? A close hug? Maybe a…. Jasper shook his head. There was absolutely no way Luca felt like they were anything more than buddies, best of friends, comrades, compatriots, allies , associates, homies, bros. Absolutely no way. But Jasper looked at how close Luca had moved, he was practically sitting in his lap and his head was practically on his shoulder, still. This was not something that was found in the very accurate bro code. He needed more information, he needed to gauge how he felt. And he needed to do it slowly and with purpose.

“Hey Luca,” Jasper paused as he leaned in oh, so close to Luca. His hand rose up and placed his hand on Luca’s shoulder. “I hope you know that photo was just the start,” he paused as he thought over what words he would use to begin his investigation. He found the perfect sentence, and showed Luca the amazing photo he’d just taken. “You know, your smile always brightens my day.”

---

“… Then don’t.”

Lila turned her head back towards Meifeng. This bitch. Lila’s hand managed to find her drink without the use of her eyes and she pulled the straw out and pulled the drink to her lips. She drank, without break, until the drink was completely finished. A strong taste of alcohol lingered on her lips and tounge, and Lila was not done there. No, no she was not done. Her hand found her second drink and she once again removed the blemish that was a ‘straw’ and once again forced the alcohol into her system. Tonight may have been a wash but it might get better if she got drunk. Meifeng was a cunt, but maybe Lila could eke out the rest of this meeting if she was just a little more drunk. Lila hoped that her pre-gaming and general lack of food tonight would help her see this shit-show through to the end.

“It won’t ever happen again; I can only promise that.”

Fuck. This bitch. This colossal bitch was lying, lying, to Lila right to her face. It didn’t matter that she was on a short leash, it didn’t matter that her agents were upset about the raid. No.. She was a biiiitch. Lila knew she was a bitch. This alcohol was just making the thought that much more powerful. Lila shot her eyes over to the other side of the table and saw Lynn still had a few beers in front of her, and Lila pointed towards them. Lynn’s thumb up was all that was needed. A hand, suddenly feathered, shot across the table and grabbed one of the beers. A second later it was back at Lila’s side, open beer in the clawed hand. A singular feather floated down to the table below, a beautiful and vivid black color. Lila did not seem to notice, nor care as she began to drink from the beer. She did not seem to notice that her eyes slipped back to that pitch black color as well.

Lila wished there she could just keep an eye on these federal fucks. Just a few eyes, a thousand plus eyes would be a few. She’d be able to make sure she’d keep them to their word. Catch them in the act when they fuck up or something like that. The more she thought the more she felt something different in her mind. She felt power, authority, and command. “We’ll see,” Lila's eyes twitched as the sound of a thousand faces shifting at once filled the area around them. The entire murder had shifted their focus onto the PRA agents. Lila’s eyes shifted and caught the feathered hand once again and could only mouth a ‘fuck’ as she shook her hand trying to get it to turn off. Another feather fell as she did and this one landed right in front of her. This was killing her mood. She needed another drink, she needed excitement, she needed fun. And she knew she could find something fun to do. But most importantly, she needed to get away from the PRA agents when she was birding out. No, most importantly she needed to find that fun that she so craved in this moment.

No. No, no that’s not what she needed. She needed water, she needed rest, and she needed to suck it up and stay with her group. Not just for protection, she needed to be here for Luca. She needed to talk to them. And if that meant she’d get drunk while half bird with a bunch of feds then so be it. Actually she would need to be much more drunk. She looked to Stormy with a look in her eye that she hoped read as ‘sorry, I will pay you back for this but you brought this on yourself’ before she looked to the bartender.

“A Moscow mule,” as she ordered she turned her attention to Jasper and Luca. The way Jasper was pulling at Luca made Lila smile. She was going to protect them, and she wanted her crows to do so much to do so. She felt that feeling return, that command and authority. She thought to herself that she wanted her crows to keep an eye on the 8th street, on Emily in particular. To never leave sight of her new enemies. In an instant her crows took to the sky and flew across the island. Anywhere an 8th street tread a hundred crows would follow.

---

Lynn was not going to let Lila hog all the free drinks. “Make that two Moscow mules,” Lynn said as she winked at Stormy. She was not going to let Lila drink herself into oblivion… alone. And she was enjoying the conversation to this point. “To greener pastures, and to the friends who help us get there,” Lynn raised her drink up towards Bianca.

Lynn watched as the entire murder departed from the scene and raised an eyebrow back to Lila who had suddenly turned into a chimera once more. “That one worries me,” Lynn whispered hopefully to herself but it was loud enough that Bianca may have overheard. She shook her head as she took another sip from her drink. What she would give for her one true love to make an appearance right now. Lynn shook her head, the chalice would appear when she needed it most and she knew this.

Lynn shook herself from her dreams. “You still got your same number from before,” Lynn pulled out her phone and pulled up the contact card for Bianca, “since I’m back in town we should catch up, away from the chaos that this festival,” Lynn paused as took another sip, making room for the Moscow mule that was put in front of her. “Off the record, of course,” Lynn chuckled as she drank from the new drink.

---

“Why are they doing that,” Alex whispered as their eyes locked onto the most strange display of adulting they’d ever seen.

“I suppose it’s fun,” Jordan pondered as he stroked his beard, “like they’re bonding over a moment of public intoxication and humiliation?”

“It’s got to be deeper than that,” Lori chimed in.

“In what way,” Zeri shifted in place, raising an eyebrow as they did.

“I mean look at that one,” Lori pointed with her violin bow at a tattooed woman trying to make her move on the douchey looking dude, “obviously this is some weird coven mating dance..”

“What,” Jordan sighed as he rubbed his temple, “no, it’s literally not. They are just drunk and having fun, there’s nothing more to it..”

“You’re right,” Zeri said as she pointed at an out of place dragon under a toga. She just caught a singular glance at the face of the woman underneath but there was no mistaking who it was. “That, right there, is Emily Reed.”

“No way she’s allergic to fun,” Alex scoffed as they searched the area for Emily, wasting several seconds before they gave up on the search.

The group all pondered on the information. Alex was right. If Emily Reed was here it was nothing more than it seemed. Emily was well known as an anti-fun, anti-sex, tyrant who ran the 8th street with a viciously tight fist. If she was involved in the toga conga line, that would dispel any chance that these covens were up to some freaky sex ritual or anything of the sort.

“I told you,” Jordan smirked.

“I was wrong,” Lori sighed.

“These covens and their,” Zeri gasped

The group gasped. They all looked on as one at a giant of a man as he ripped his clothes off in front of them, and they all saw the pillar and stones that held up the body of Adonis. Jordan shifted his glasses up his face with his mouth agape, Lori fanned her face with her bow, Zeri tilted her head as her mouth dropped open, and Alex turned their head away from it all, their face a shade of red that Bob Ross would have used to paint his autumn trees. A second later the offending jewels were thankfully put away and the group looked at each other.

“Okay that changes nothing,” Jordan coughed. His eyes searching the heavens above for distraction.

“He’s just a little too drunk,” Lori lowered her gaze as she mouthed an ‘oh my’.

“These covens and their hot members,” Zeri gasped.

The group gasped. They all looked on as one as little red riding hood changed into an toga underneath her cloak. While they did not see anything, the fact that two sycamore’s had stripped down, in public, with families all around, had stunned the art world. Jordan pulled his glasses off his face and wiped them with his robe, he mouthed a ‘what the fuck’ as he did. Lori fanned her face with her bow as she stared a little too long. Zeri’s eyes were back on the Adonis of a man, meanwhile Alex had decided to walk towards the conga line.

There was a curiosity in their eyes. This was something that they had never quite experienced before. The brazen disrespect for those around, the public intoxication, the weird fun. The 317 had their fun moments but there was always so many arbitrary rules that the leadership broke all the time. They looked at the toga’s and then down at their button up shirt. Would they need to strip down as well if they joined? They quite liked the costume, and did not want to ruin it by taking it off. They sighed. Obviously they could just put the toga overtop.

“Alex,” Jordan whispered as he rushed up next to Alex, “careful, they might rope you in to-“ Jordan paused as he looked over and saw the toga line too close. “Alex,” Jordan sighed, “you want to join don’t you?”

Faith’s word echoed in Alex’s mind. They wanted to have fun, they wanted to brave the weird crowd, the noisy situation, the gross smells, and the complete lack of personal space. Or did they? Their head tilted to the side. No, no they did not want to. They just wanted to go home, get some snacks, and just listen to their music as they painted and… Alex’s face snapped up as they saw the giant man with a mustache getting closer and closer. A decision loomed. And Alex needed to make it.

“Hey,” Alex spoke somewhere between a question and a statement, directed towards the ringleader of this circus “can I join?” The sudden flutter of wings pulled Alex’s attention as they shifted their eyes. The crows were back, and they had eyes for the dragon and the tattooed woman.

---

---

Ezra politely stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of his polished shoe as he clocked Anya’s approach. He kept the butt of the cigarette pinched between his fingers instead of just littering on the ground. He gave Anya a polite smile, one that did not waiver even as the woman started to make excuses for her friend and further wasted his time. If Sloane Faris didn’t want to speak then she didn’t want to speak, it was as simple as that. He knew more than anyone else how nice it was to not speak to people. Besides, getting ignored like he was just some other Joe Schmo was a rarity for Ezra Vanburen. He’d been surprised by it, sure, but it hadn’t annoyed him. If anything had annoyed him it was knowing that what followed would be another round of charades where people were just needlessly polite to him to protect some kind of fragility they presumed he had, as if he were a Fabergé egg instead of a man who owned several.

However, this woman was more than just some toady trying to do a quick round of PR to protect her peer. It had been by no accident to mention that she was a businesswoman. Anya had a look in her eye and a rhythm to her speech of someone doing some advanced mathematics. This wasn’t just a mere bootlicking apology, it was an angle. Ms. Baksh was doing trigonometry. Before she had only had Ezra’s politeness, the kind of unfocused standby state he could exist in while being around people he did not want to deal with, but now she held his actual interest.

So, there were two ways to take what she had said. Either Ezra could take it at face value, shake her hand, and wish her a good night, or he could go with his assumption. He translated what Ms. Baksh had said from the apology that it had appeared as to the offer that it actually was: “I know that woman. You’re wasting your time with her. I am a much better investment.” Perhaps he was just reading into it too much, but he didn’t stay as successful as he was by having bad hunches. Now all that was needed was to test her mettle. Find out what kind of person she was.

“Please, you can just call me Ezra. Mr. Vanburen was my father,” said Ezra, offering Anya a handshake. “From what I hear Ms. Faris has many difficult nights. I had been hoping to discuss relieving her of some of those burdens, but it appears my timing was off yet again.”

Sloane’s red hat was vanishing into the crowd.

“I would love to hear more about your business, Ms. Baksh,” said Ezra, eyes following Carmen Sandiego as she made her great escape. “I wouldn’t be keeping you from anything, would I?”

---

---

Bodies, bodies, bodies were exciting, -citing, -citing!

Soft curves and hard abs slick with sweat. Teeth and nails wet with blood. The deliciously sweet scent of musk. The pervasive and clinging stench of death. A tight, form-fitting sheet awarding those with zero imagination while providing fuel for the future for those who simply have too much but can never get enough. A black, form-covering sheet, rubbernecked by those imagining the possibilities, the casualty of someone who just can never get enough. A writhing mound of flesh, hard to separate where one begins and ends. An mass grave found beneath the floorboards, impossible to tell what belongs to who.

People were social animals and so was she.

Until today she didn’t believe in Heaven, but it was real. Turns out it was located between two big hunks of hard iron. Good thing for all those other people. Leon was a killer too but hey, he went to church so that absolves everything right? She was going to become a praying girl again. First prayer: dear god, let his wild side come out tonight. She’d tug his leash, make sure he was a good boy, teach him to roll over and play fetch, then forget about him the second he goes out to play in traffic and gets hit by a freight truck. Just replace him with another dog. Hey, big guy upstairs, ya listening right? Don’t make her fuckstart the apocalypse before they had their own personal rapture.

God, her thirst was unquenchable. She backed up just a little bit more now that Emily wasn’t on her ass. Hey, what happened to her drink—

“What the fuck, bro?” whined Vashti as the Chalice was snatched from her hands by Linqian, a splash of wine staining her white toga with droplets of red. Vashti wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at Linqian, her hands a bit too preoccupied with careful positioning to lash out at her and snap her neck. She didn’t just want “available”—well, she did, obviously, look at him, goddamn—she wanted her dumb, sad muscle boy too. She wanted to make him forget all about his bitch wife, make him get down on his knees, produce a ring with a little bit of grave dirt on it, shit his pants in excitement when she says, “Yes, yes, oh yes, a thousand times yes, bro!”, leave his ass up on the altar, block his number, steal his sweater, and make him sadder than ever.

Why was that so hard to understand?

She stared at Linqian as she walked away. Then she really started to stare as Linqian began to change. Leon’s dog ears might pick up the high pitch sucking of air as Vashti bit back on her lip. Drake would certainly feel her nails dig into his body. She squirmed between the two strong men, not with the earlier ecstasy but with the panicked determination of a mountain climber who had become wedged between two rocks, in an attempt to escape and pull Linqian into the line beside her but she was stuck. She was stuck. They had caged her in and locked her up with a honeypot of dumb meaty men.

A trickle of thin blood dripped down her lip.

Or maybe it was just wine.

---

---

Sully visibly cringed as the toga-ball spiked Linqian in the face, flopping (he hoped) harmlessly over her head. His passing game had always been a weak point. He mouthed an apology towards Linqian as words were near impossible to hear over the chant that had become like an incantation. It was hypnotic, really, casting a charm over the whole festival and pulling people to it like rats to the piper. It even managed to reach Ares and draw him away from sharpening his swords and fletching his arrows. Leon called out to join the toga line and Sully accepted in response.

Yet there had been a moment of hesitation.

In that moment Sully experienced a sudden spike of anxiety, a syringe of adrenaline jabbed straight in the heart that made him feel like his chest was about to explode and filled him with the urge to run away and hide in a toilet somewhere. Here’s the thing: Sully liked Leon, Sully looked up to Leon, at one point Sully probably thought he was in love with Leon before realizing (probably) it was more of an adoration (maybe) than an actual emotional attraction (surely). However, the last person he would want to see him belligerently drunk while sweating through a toga and looking like a stupid fat fuck out of shape piece of shit who thought they could pull off a mustache was Leon.

However, there was also a troubling thought: what would happen if Sully, the conductor, abandoned the line? Would the charm break and everyone go back to meandering around in their essential worker but sexy costume? Or would the crowd turn and the toga party become a toga travesty? He had to keep going. He had to keep the train on the tracks. He couldn’t let it derail. For the sake of the safety of all of mankind he’d stay. Plus, despite how inferior Leon’s mere existence made him feel he still wanted to see his Big Brother. As long as Leon kept the proselytizing to a minimum and didn’t wolf out Sully was genuinely happy to have him around.

Unfortunately there would be no moment to catch up and no chance to catch up as more revelers were coming. Linqian had adorned her toga and became—well, honestly, the one semester of Greek Mythology that Sully took in college because it sounded easier than any of the other classes was wearing a little thin. Souvlaki? He was pretty sure Souvlaki was one. Souvlaki was being delivered across the River Styx by Charon the Bee. Meanwhile, a curious pack of muses were arriving to witness the gods. Even the birds had to stop and watch the spectacle. One of the muses stepped forth and asked if they could join.

“Of course, friend! The Toga Line is for all!” shouted Sully, tossing a toga Alex’s way as well as one towards their towering and very distracting friend that was nearby. Sully wiped his lip with the back of his hand. That guy fucks.

There wasn’t really enough of the Chalice to go around at this point. Plus, frankly, he’d kind of lost track of it, but he was sure once it was empty somebody would pass it back up front. Nevertheless, they needed to secure more drinks or cups at the very least.

“Come little bee! Guide us to the nectar,” said Sully to Layla, before calling back over his shoulder. “TOGAS! TO THE DRINK LINE! TOGA, TOGA, TOGA!”

Continuing to drive the line forward, Sully reached out towards Linqian and Layla. Unless Linqian was able to break free, she’d be swung back somewhere to the middle. Layla, meanwhile, would take point in front of Sully and guide their parade, and perhaps serve as a stand-in for Sully when the inevitable call of nature came and he had to slip away to break the seal.

---

Perhaps Sloane was just a bit more hammered than she appeared. Once they teleported, she started mouthing off in Jack's direction about how he had been gone forever. Jack was, admittedly, caught off guard by that. A drunk person's words were a sober person's thoughts. Sloane held it against him for retreating into the Void and never leaving so much as a voicemail, didn't she? Of course she did, the entire coven had the right to do so.

"I got around just fine without you."

It didn't show, thanks to the shadows concealing Jack's face, but that comment didn't sit well with him. This whole time, she could've said something. She could've pulled him aside and asked, "why didn't you come back?" or, "What was so important that you never returned?" But it took four strong drinks for her to even imply she took offense to it. Jack would've admitted to the fact that he should've come home sooner. He would've taken the blame, she didn't have to hold onto it like that. Sloane didn't have to wait until now to throw it in his face.

"You go after Sloane, I'll catch up, I need to make sure she doesn't lose everything after offending the man who practically runs the city.”

Who?

"Who...?" Jack didn't recognize that man. Why would he? He didn't seem like anything special.

"I'll be back," he said, concealing his discomfort at Sloane's jab as Anya walked off.

Jack stepped into an alleyway, and teleported up to the rooftops, following Sloane in secret until she came to a stop. She was easy to spot, in that bright red trench coat of hers. Meanwhile, no one would be able to catch a glimpse of the ominous shade flickering in and out of the background as he kept up with her. Tonight was meant to be fun, and Sloane wasn't having any. Did he really get under her skin that much? Was coming back a mistake? Had she been waiting for an excuse to tell Jack that he should go back to the Void? Jack trailed Sloane long enough that, hopefully she managed to cool down at least enough to be interacted with.

And then he stepped out into the open, pulling his hood off to reveal his face again. Not a trace of emotion was on it. Sloane, what is it that troubles you tonight? It isn't Drake, or me, is it?"

---

"Then don't."

Well, there it was. They didn't care enough to commit. There was no conviction, no determination in what Meifeng was trying to pitch. The moment she met resistance, she bent. Stormy felt that he was being clinically objective in his dissecting of her excuses. And by all accounts, he felt Meifeng was genuinely sorry about the incident. But she wasn't sorry enough to dwell on it, and he couldn't expect her to. As one of her companions explained, Director Alcott simply didn't have the time to care, so it was up to the PRA to decide if keeping good relations with the paranormal scene was worth their time. Stormy wasn't sympathetic to her response, but he saw the point in it. And he saw the point in what Bianca provided. It was hard to be mad at Bianca in particular, she was a survivor of the old days, and blood like that ran deeper than most were willing to accept. If he were there, when the attack happened, Stormy would've gone to a maximum security paranormal holding facility for the bloodbath that he'd leave behind. Or, at the very least, for trying. He understood that protective streak, it was what made him who he was.

He saw the look Lila gave him. Stormy accepted that. He'd accept every hateful, bitter word from every last member of the coven for this. Someone had to at least try and make peace before things escalated into a cycle of revenge. Even if things would only be made worse in time by Stormy's actions, he could say that he handled things with dignity, that he tried to do the best he could; An error of compassion beat an error of malice. Stormy reached into his jacket and pulled his wallet out...

“A Moscow mule.”

“Make that two Moscow mules,”

"Make it three, and bottled water if you have it."

Stormy sat two $100 bills down on their table, in the center to pay for the drinks.

"Actions speak louder than words, that's true." he acknowledged. "So let me be a man of my word." Being a senior-level college professor, Stormy had plenty of cash to spare when he was in the mood.

"I'm not going to patronize anybody here by implying that we are destined to be able to make amends properly. But I want to, at the very least, try to make that a possible future. We're dying, you know this already. And the truth is we've got nothing to show for the investigations we've conducted," to say nothing of the fact that their investigating amounted to a disaster thus far. "Bianca is in danger, no less than any of us. We both want to protect our people, Meifeng. That means protecting the ones we care about from Father Wolf. If there is a chance that mine will live one more day by speaking like this, then I'll it my responsibility, and mine alone, so no one else has to sit through this. "

They could share information, and use apply it together to take the bastard down wherever he might be. Survival brought everyone together as kids, it could bring them together now, even if they were bound to divide again afterwards. "And if anyone holds it against me, just know that I'll respect that," he said, looking to his fellow covenmates. He knew Lila was the most pissed, and Stormy wanted to acknowledge her feelings, since they were unquestionably justified.

"But for now, drink to your hearts content, everyone. I meant what I said, it's on me tonight."

---

---

---

Britney wanted to get the hell off this island.

The Halloween Festival was a bust in her eyes, and there was no way to fix it, not with Emily G. Reed, Vashti Nour, and the 8th Street Coven on the same island as them. Running into Vashti almost caused a Paranormal brawl in the middle of the festival... what would happen if she ran into Queen Egomaniac Emily? A complete and utter disaster that Britney was not here for. Despite her past mistakes, she deserved a night of fun free of psychopaths like Emily and Vashti and other stressors. She still needed to get with Lila to try to figure out what in the world went wrong with the sealing!

Britney didn't notice Auri or Greyson's averse reaction to her even in the slightest! She just charged headfirst towards the Ferry, and she was going to hop on, and maybe it'd end up being more relaxing than being here was! However, she noticed that Edict tried to penetrate her emotional field again, and she felt it. However, she turned her head towards Sabrina, who noticed it but was oblivious to what it was - likely even from Edict! She would probably tell Sabrina later. Probably. It wasn't high on the priority list at the moment.

At least Edict apologized.

The next distraction came in the most bizarre sight in the world... and affirmed Britney's views that she (and her friends) needed to get the fuck off this island. A fucking Toga party which, currently, consisted of Sully, Drake Blackmore, one of the girls she saw during the fight with the Wolfpack... Vashti Nour and Emily G. Fucking Reed. The two people that she didn't want to see, but thankfully, they seemed distracted by dying inside and partying (a contrast that would be hilarious if it wasn't an egomaniac and a psycho). It was funny, but all they had to go was walk the fuck-

And Linqian decided to go in to take a photo. "Linqian, let's just—" Britney tried to protest, but it fell on deaf ears, sadly, and Linqian dove in and became part of the Toga Cult after Sully (who seemed scared about something) threw her a toga! Then freaking, Layla dove in, trying to push Linqian (who already looked ready to kill Layla) back into the Conga line...

Then fucking Leon (another person Britney didn't want to see) came in with Adora and all those people that participated in the Wolfpack fight. A part of Britney wanted to get their side of the story for what happened to Alizée... but the last thing she wanted to do was get the attention of Emily G. Reed. Somehow this situation was ending up more nope than the drink line!

"Any ideas on how we get her out of this without getting sucked in?"

Britney stared at Edict.

Edict stared back.

"... We don't," That was when Britney turned on her heel and kept going towards the ferry.

However, their silent friend, Sabrina, had stayed behind. She created two long, thick threads that were thicker than a rope! They came out of both sleeves of her outfit, and before Linqian could incinerate Layla, the two of them were snatched away. They were thrown back towards Britney and Edict and hopefully towards the Ferry so they could get off Cracker Island.

---

---

"... Look, I just thought it'd be a cute costume! I didn't think it'd end like this."

Victoria said to Amanda and Nikki as she sat on a bench with her face in her hands... the Blackmore Triplets were resting in a stroller, still dressed like a three-headed dog. She let out a sigh.

"Well," Amanda laughed as she slapped a hand on Victoria's shoulder. She kept a wide, toothy smile on her face as she continued, "You got Drake, Sully, and their goofball friends in one place; what did you think was gonna happen?" Amanda laughed.

"Yeah, you should have known that was going to go south..." Nikki ran a hand through her hair.

"But am I really to blame for all that... ?" Victoria asked.

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Fuck you t-" Victoria tried to respond but then remembered her own rule. "... Damn it - and there I go again..."

She rolled her eyes.

Halloween Festival, Outside of the Haunted House
_{Mentions: @Punished GN, @Fernstone}

---

“Come little bee! Guide us to the nectar.”

Layla's face lit up, and she practically skipped with glee over to Sully, who aimed to make her the leader of the great conga line. But before she could get any further, and before Linqian could react to Layla's helpful hand, she felt a rope-like thread snake around her waist.

“Wha-”

Yank!

Layla looked back as she was dragged, seeing Sabrina with a focused look on her face. Layla's eyes widened, before looking back. The conga line grew smaller and smaller, blending into the crowd of the festival.

Layla threw out her hands as she was dragged away, wailing dramatically. “Noooo!”

At least she had the taste of beer in her mouth still, warming her belly. With a resigned sigh, she let herself get dragged away, and began walking on her own two feet towards the docks.

She could see the ferry in the distace, and smiled. There was still lots of fun to be had with her friends, on such an auspicious night.

If she was lucky, she'd ask Mr. Devola for a top up near the conclusion of the evening.

She wondered about Sabrina's house. What was it like? An apartment like her own, or an actual house?

Her head turned to Sabrina, curiosity in her tone. “Where's your home, Sabrina?”

---

Halloween Festival, Temple's Booth
_{Mentions: @AtomicEmperor}

---

Tonight was the one night a disguise would never, could never be questioned. And in her line of work, a disguise, blending into the crowd or the scenery, was necessary.

Her own outfit was a form of nostalgia for any anime-lover, wearing a ghoulishly bunny-like mask over her face, hood raised and hands in her hoodie pockets. The mask's lack of expression was slightly off putting, despite appearing cute.

She leaned against a tent pole on the opposite side, staring across the sea of people at her particular target for the evening. Curiously, it wasn't the Sycamore, like what Mother Cards usually asked. No, this time Luna was watching the Temple.

The hustle and bustle of a busy kitchen. Customers coming to get their plates filled, and leaving to enjoy the rest of the festival. Actual Temple members conversing with one another as they worked within the tent.

Her vigil was interrupted as a certain drunkenly obnoxious conga line matched its way across her field of vision, causing Luna to roll her eyes under the mask. The one night she wasn't watching the Sycamore, they go and make a spectacle of themselves. She spotted Drake and Sully easily enough, strangely with Greenwood and 8th Street members. The moment the Sycamore-Temple Leon joined the conga line, Luna was on the move.

The Temple was left with one less defense. The Temple lacked its Sycamore tie. If she was going to learn any more tonight, she had to move now.

Luna waited in the line until she made it to the front of the Temple's booth.

“I'm so hungry, can you load me up with your best dish?”

She was watching the individuals on the other side of the table, particularly a certain Mr. Salamente, from behind her mask.

---

---

”What the fuck are you doing?” Linqian hissed when Layla approached and tried to lead her closer to the conga line. It didn’t do much because Layla was a fair few inches shorter and weak as fuck, but it had forced Linqian to stop moving backward so she didn’t walk into Layla.

Maybe she just should do that.

Her temperature started to tick up, from normal to like a heated rock under the sun- then Sully grabbed her.

”Sully, you piece of fucking shit, I said I didn’t want to join!” Linqian started mouthing off - but she didn’t take the action she would against anyone else grabbing her, which was turning really fucking hot. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. Almost anyone else was fair fucking game, though.

Unwilling to hurt Sully, Linqian was swung towards the toga line.

In that moment, it was like there was some kind of magical pull to it. The closer she got, the more she thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to be in there. Maybe it was because of where she was being thrown to - right in between Vashti and Leon. The thought of being pressed in between two very hot (in completely different ways) toga clad bodies was far too appealing.

She’d felt the way Vashti stared at her when she changed - and Linqian openly stared at her now as she was swung in her direction. It was like everything went in slow motion. She bit her lip, lips curving into a playful smile as her eyes narrowed enticingly. Leon didn’t avoid her suggestive, lingering gaze either. She looked back at Vashti, lips parting to say something-

When a thick thread wrapped around her waist, and pulled her away from the conga line. She stared at Vashti as she was dragged away, like she was Juliet being dragged away from Romeo right before they finally got down and dirty. She landed just a bit past Sabrina, barely managing to keep her balance and not fall on her ass. The massive drink of wine she’d had was really fucking with her.

Just like that, the magic was gone. Linqian shuddered. She wasn’t that desperate, what had she been thinking, wanting to end up in the most embarrassing situation ever (a conga line)? Still, without the conga line but with the togas she still absolutely would. Still looking at Vashti, she held up her hand to her ear in a ‘call me’ motion. A very alcohol based decision… Not that they’d exchanged numbers.

”Thank you,” Linqian said to Sabrina. Just the words, which she spoke rarely anyway, didn’t feel enough. She’d almost lost herself to that toga line. But the Vanburen’s were rich, right? She couldn’t just buy her a cheap beer. ”If you, uh, ever need a favour, give me a call.”

She hurried to catch up with Britney and Edict. As much as she wanted to get laid, being the perfect combination with alcohol to forget all her troubles without drunkenly sobbing it all out, she wasn’t willing to stick around that. There were other ways.

”Fucking hell, I think someone in that line is using some kinda enticement magic,” Linqian complained, shooting a glare over at Layla. She wasn’t going to forget her trying to push her into the conga line from hell. ”At least I look hot as fuck in this toga.”

She gestured to the new outfit that left very little to the imagination. The combination of alcohol and her still increased temperature meant she didn’t feel the cold either. She was glad they were heading towards the ferry, and could finally get off the island to somewhere without the risk of running into people she hated. Then she could get properly fucking drunk, and-

”Jiiiiieeeee.”

She must be hearing things. There was a voice in the wind that sounded an awful lot like her brother.

”Jieeee!”

Oh no. No, no, no. Linqian’s eyes widened and her expression turned incredibly ugly. Not when she was with Edict. He was the last person she wanted to meet Henri. Honestly, Britney too, on the off chance she went back to her old ways and forced an apparition on him.

”Oh shit, let’s hurry, we might miss the ferry.” Linqian raised her hands to start pushing both Britney and Edict towards the ferry - though with both of them being taller than her, and her not being particularly strong, they could easily just not let her. She didn’t care if Sabrina or Layla didn’t keep up - one didn’t know her at all, and the other was too young and Edict drugged up to be a threat.

If any of them looked towards the source of the yelling, they’d see a tall, moustacheless Mario barreling towards them. Dark curly haired spilled out across his forehead from his red cap. As he got closer, he would look familiar - similar in appearance to Jinhai when he’d been an older teenager, with a softer jawline like Linqian’s.

”Jie, why are you moving away? Why did you change? Jie, waiiiitttt!”

”Who the fuck is this crazy guy, must be drunk off his ass, let’s go,” Linqian hissed, still trying to push Britney and Edict.

---

---

---

---

---

"I'm not going to patronize anybody here by implying that we are destined to be able to make amends properly. But I want to, at the very least, try to make that a possible future. We're dying, you know this already. And the truth is we've got nothing to show for the investigations we've conducted. Bianca is in danger, no less than any of us. We both want to protect our people, Meifeng. That means protecting the ones we care about from Father Wolf. If there is a chance that mine will live one more day by speaking like this, then I'll it my responsibility, and mine alone, so no one else has to sit through this. And if anyone holds it against me, just know that I'll respect that,"

The pivot that Stormy made did not go unnoticed by Meifeng. She agreed with most of what he said, but ultimately, the Sycamore Tree Coven was, as it stood, not worth notice. Director Alcott wanted the Stygian Snake; they also wanted the city of St. Portwell to be under control before the powder keg ignited. Meifeng hunched her head forward and drank out of the straw until she quickly felt the liquid flow stop. She looked down and saw that she and Cindy had finished their drink and were in the mood for another; however, she would not ask Stormy for another drink. Meifeng looked up at Cindy, who smiled at her, but the former kept her facial expression flat.

"Now, allow me to speak if you don't mind," Maximilian Cornell said. Meifeng tilted her head in his direction, "Before I say anything, I'm officially nothing more than a rank and file agent, and I, in no capacity, can speak for the PRA or the St. Portwell office. I understand how you - oh, as Agent Manalo said, I'm Maximilian Cornell by the way - I understand how you all feel."

"... There he goes playing Superman again," Cindy whispered into Meifeng's ear, laughing.

"The PRA overstepped; there is no way around that. There is no way we can fix things over some drinks and a polite conversation," Maximilian began his speech. "That is an example of the behavior that Director Alcott and I wish to avoid. In my opinion, say whatever you want about 'the Feds'; the PRA is meant to protect people from what they cannot protect themselves from. That doesn't mean we should brutalize little factions like the Sycamore Tree Coven, isn't that right, Agent Liao?"

Again, Maximilian spotlighted her, but Meifeng sighed, closing her eyes...

"... We're not on duty right now, Maximilian; you can call me Meifeng," she began. "And that is correct."

Cindy smirked.

"... Yeah, she's acting like she wouldn't have been in a Coven when she was y'all's age!" She then laughed, and Meifeng's face went red.

Her face went red as her friends teased her, but there was another matter that they had to address: the serial killer, Father Wolf. Initially, Meifeng dismissed it when Kali and Bianca brought it up to her as a matter for the mundane police (Her office was stretched out as is!). Now that there's a connection, Meifeng knew it could have something to do with the Stygian Snake. Even if it were not related, eliminating a serial killer would be beneficial.

"As far as Father Wolf goes..." Meifeng paused for a moment. "By my own admission, I originally dismissed it: it. However, I will give anything not to lose Bianca or any of the other Agents under my command, so maybe it's something that I will look into..."

"We're stretched thin, though," Cindy added. "I wish we could magically wave our hands and get rid of that psychopath." She laughed as she leaned in.

"But the people we have here are good, real good," Cindy laughed. "We'll probably take care of him in no time - trust me - but as a show of good faith, we can share information that's not like top-secret, right Meifeng?"

"That's fine," Meifeng said. "Unfortunately, our two Intelligence Officers are on leave and won't be back until next week, so you'll have to give us some time here."

"But for now, drink to your heart's content, everyone. I meant what I said, it's on me tonight."

"Come now,"

Meifeng leaned forward, putting both hands together as she stared at Stormy. "I was fine getting one drink for free, but I cannot milk you for drinks in good conscience."

"How about we get you a drink, Mr. Carson?" Cindy said, laughing.

Meifeng awkwardly coughed.

"Um, hey..." Fiona finally pipped up, looking at Lila's arm. "... Are you okay there? Do you need help at all?"

Then, all the other PRA Agents looked at her.

"What? Are you getting ready to fly away? Caw caw!" Trevor said, flapping his arms like a bird.

---

---

---

Following Leon, Adora and Greenwood made it to the... Toga party?

Adora's jaw dropped, her face twisted up at the mere sight because it was certainly a sight to behold! A whole ass Toga party that Sully was leading, and Drake Blackmore was there too - two people that she hadn't seen in over ten years. Along with someone that she never wanted to see again... Emily G. Reed. Adora narrowed her eyes at her and could never bring herself to be civil with her because of how she treated Lisa. She remembered getting into a few fights with her in the Old Coven over her treatment of her late friend... Hopefully, she grew up and found something better to do with her life than harassing people weaker than her. There was that part of Adora that wanted to find out for herself, but she knew time would tell.

Meanwhile, Adora just focused on her new Greenwood friends... When Greenwood got there, they all looked at each other in astonishment. However, James laughed as he cupped his hands together and shouted,

"Ruby!"

Ruby whipped her head around to see her friends, then spoke to the Toga party, "Save a spot for me!" That was when she disengaged, hopped out of the toga party, and went over to her friends.

"... I see you're enjoying yourself! Ha!" Jessica laughed, putting her hands behind her head.

"You turnt up!" Naomi laughed.

"Here I thought I'd never see the day you'd break bread with Emily G. fuckin' Reed!" James laughed, crossing his arms.

Ruby shrugged.

"Consider it a Halloween Festival truce," She said, then laughed. "Where the hell were you guys at? I was texting you all day!"

They all facepalmed.

"... We were looking for you!" Jessica laughed, her hand still pressed to her face. She pulled out her cell phone and pointed at it, laughing some more. "Did you even check your phone...?"

Ruby reached back... only feeling her butt in the process. "... Oh yeah."

"Wait..." Naomi circled Ruby to get a look at her back (No, she is not trying to look at her ass). "... You're not wearing anything under this! Your whole booty hanging out!"

"Eh, the best way to party, in my opinion," Ruby shrugged, then her eyes landed on Adora, "... And you guys went and recruited someone without me...?"

Adora leaned back, putting her hands up.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, sister," Adora began, "I just met you all like ten minutes ago... but I take it you're Ruby?"

"Heh, I see my reputation proceeds me," Ruby smiled, "In the flesh."

Adora extended a hand, and Ruby took it.

"Adora, just Adora. Not Appie..." Adora glanced at Leon, who was already partying. Then she sniffed deeply and realized that this chick reeked. "Maaaaaaan, you smell like a walking hot box..."

"That's just the new fragrance," Ruby said, "You hangin' with us?"

Adora shrugged.

"... I guess,"

"Good," Ruby said, raising a fist, "Now everyone! Get naked!"

"Huh?" Autumn raised an eyebrow.

"... What in the world?!" Naomi recoiled.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Jessica shouted, unbuttoning her dress shirt.

Adora shook her head and said to both of them.

"... It ain't that kinda party, sis,"

Ruby turned around and whistled, then shouted,

"... TOGA!"

Ruby stuck out her hand, and someone threw a toga at her, and she gave it to Jessica. Who had already stripped out of her outfit, throwing the toga on. She quickly handed her clothes to Autumn,

"Watch this for me, will you?" Jessica said.

"... S-sure!" Autumn stammered.

"I'll participate, but I'd like to keep my clothes on!" Kashmira laughed.

"... TOGA!" Ruby shouted; a toga was sent her way, and she handed it to Kashmira, who put it on over her saree.

There was something oddly endearing to Adora about their interactions... it had been ages since she had cut loose. Maybe... Maybe this was something Adora needed. To cut loose. Do something - anything - to distract herself from her troubles.

"... You know what?" Adora put a hand on her hip, "Show me how to cut loose. Toga me, sis!"

"I thought you'd never ask," Ruby then whistled and shouted, "... TOGA!" A toga was thrown into her hands, and she gave it to Adora.

"... You look like you need to cut loose,"

Adora couldn't help but finally crack a smile that she would call cutesy if she had a mirror right now.

Amelia took off her "costume" (as in she only took off those damn cat ears) and stuck her hands out, and a toga was tossed into her hands. She put it on the Toga over her clothes, and Pearl did the same when she got a toga.

"Um, someone has to stay with our stuff..." Autumn said as she neatly placed Jessuca's clothes on the stroller.

"Ya'll having fun, but we're gonna stick with Autumn, make sure no one messes with our... valuables, you know!" James said, placing a hand on Naomi's shoulder.

"Homies old and new!" Ruby shouted, "LET'S PARTY!"

All the toga-wearing members of Greenwood (and Adora) shouted, raising their fists in the air as they hopped on the conga line, shouting in harmony with the others,

"Toga, toga, TOGA!"

---

---

When Lynn ordered another drink, Bianca quickly calculated how much she’d had to drink… A couple of beers and a cocktail, barely enough for her to feel tipsy. Being able to handle her alcohol was pricey, but good in this situation. And if Meifeng had a problem with her getting another drink, she could just stop her. ”Make it four!”

Her eyebrows raised slightly at Lynn’s attempted whisper about Lila, which she could hear just fine. She didn’t comment on it. She wasn’t even planning to use it, unless it was to help. Bianca only vaguely remembered Lila from ten years ago… but she hadn’t been one to cause problems.

”Yup, same number,” Bianca nodded. Changing number was a hassle, so she always made sure to move hers over… It also meant that Linqian could keep her blocked if she wanted. Or not. She held up her hands and grinned when Lynn suggested they meet up, but off the record. ”Hey, I like to keep my work and leisure very separate. Unless you try to kidnap someone, it’ll stay off the record. Us feds need to have private lives too!”

She laughed, finishing off her last drink and moving onto the new one. ”We should definitely catch up. I can drink much tonight, so let’s meet when I can drink as much as I want! Next time I’m off, maybe, which is…” she frowned. ”No idea, actually. It’s infrequent and random.”

”Bianca is in danger, no less than any of us.”

”However, I will give anything not to lose Bianca or any of the other Agents under my command, so maybe it's something that I will look into....”

Hearing her name a couple of times, Bianca shifted her attention. ”Well, I am in a much safer position, spending most of my time around other qualified agents along with being one myself. Wait-” her head snapped towards Meifeng. ”Is that why you haven’t given me a day off all week, and I keep ending up on overtime with Trevor? To keep me safe? Aww, you really do care.”

She grinned, sipping her new drink. ”I was pretty clear about it being a cross country threat, but I also didn’t expect him to get Kali…”

Bianca trailed off. No point dwelling on that right now, rather than the future - and drinks.

”I, on the other hand, will drink you dry,” Bianca laughed, winking at Stormy. She didn’t actually plan to have much more after this one, with the whole being on duty thing, but she had no qualms about using Stormy’s money. With his job he probably earned more than she did!

Her eyes flickered over to Lila again. She’d already noticed the arm with Lynn’s not so subtle whisper. Any of them interfering probably wouldn’t make the situation better, so she didn’t say anything, and just watched.

---

---

Jasper was holding Luca’s waist.

Jasper had his arm around him and was holding his waist. Luca’s heart fluttered desperately in his chest as if it was trying to burst out and fly away. He could feel the warmth of Jasper’s palm against his skin through the thin dress he wore - it almost felt like it wasn’t there at all. It was difficult to properly pause when he felt like he might stop breathing, but Luca forced through it - smiling brightly for the camera. And he did feel happy! Really happy to be this close to Jasper, and taking photos like this. His smile was somehow even brighter than normally. But he really wasn’t used to physical contact. At all. He couldn’t do it because of the rot! So this was a lot.

His brain was frazzled, his thoughts completely confused. He’d moved closer for the picture and because he wanted to, but he hadn’t expected Jasper to pull him in even more… and to put an arm around him! A hand on his waist! So smoothly!

”No, no, it’s your smile that makes the picture so good,” Luca gestured vaguely, cheeks turning bright red. Thankfully, Jasper let go, and Luca could breathe a bit easier again. The butterflies desperately trying to free themselves from their rotten cage within his chest calmed down slightly.

”Yeah?” Luca made the mistake of turning his head towards Jasper when he called his name. His breath caught in his throat - Jasper was so close to him. Their faces were way too close, even with the height difference. His hand was on Luca’s shoulder now. It wasn’t his waist, but it was still on him. And he was so close. ”Uh, what comes after the photo? There’s more?”

He tilted his head to look at the photo… and it was really cute. Like, they both looked so happy. Luca was definitely going to get it printed and then put it somewhere in the apartment he wouldn’t go near but could see. But it was difficult to think about it just now when Jasper was right there, compliment him. Phew, was it getting hot in here? Why was he feeling so warm when wearing so little? Must be the lack of the rot. Yeah. That was it.

”Yoursmilebrightensmydaytoo!” Luca practically vomited out the words. He was obviously flustered, unsure what to do with his hands as he moved them to the table, then back to his lap, then up in the air. He didn’t move away - couldn’t really… because he also liked being this close. It was also a lot.

"What? Are you getting ready to fly away? Caw caw!"

”Huh?” Luca’s attention shifted from Jasper, the fuzzy panicked feeling in his chest turning very harsh. Lila’s arm was covered in feathers again. Her crows had all disappeared. He shot up from his place beside Jasper, wincing as pain shot through his legs and they nearly crumpled underneath him. With one steady hand on the table he gritted his teeth and pushed through it. He had to for his friend. This much was nothing anyway. Luca made his way over to Lila as quickly as he could and reached out to grasp her clawed hand.

”Are you okay?” He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. ”Do you want to leave? We can go somewhere else, maybe back to the festival- or my place! We could continue the party at my place!”

Jasper blushed as Luca vomited out his words. His mission was a success, With just one phrase he now had a little bit more information about where Luca was, and he couldn’t help but smile wider at the revelation. He kept the smile up as his thoughts began to race. These thoughts were still very new to Jasper, the thought of what might come next was scary. Like, really, really scary. He kept telling himself that this was not a feeling that he wanted to confront tonight but he could not help himself from feeling them. He knew that he would need to slow down, not only for Luca’s sake but also his own. He thought that but did not mean it. There was something deep within him that made him want to experience more firsts with Luca. Jasper would need to confront these feelings before long but he once again told himself that tonight was not the night for it. Too much had happened, and much more might happen later in the night. Still, he found it hard to pull his eyes off his friend.

Instead of pressing the advantage while he had it, Jasper kept his smile up as he looked over the group again. He listened to the PRA as they explained themselves further, and listened to the agent named Maximilian as he smoothed things over. Jasper let out a deep breath of relief as he said the right words in the moment. They were still words, and Jasper would want to see something more concrete than those, but it was still progress. Sycamore Tree was the new kid on the block, and having peace with the town’s ‘police’ would be useful as time passed. Also, if the Snake ever managed to free itself, all-verse forbid, he knew everyone would push their feelings to the side, even Lila and Linqian. Jasper turned his head towards Stormy. He managed to play the diplomat well, and his natural charm, confidence, and teacher's voice allowed the coven to get an explanation and an apology from the PRA agents who had hurt them. Jasper would need to thank him later. He flashed the diplomat a smile before he turned his head towards Meifeng before his head was drawn towards Luca standing up. His first instinct was to jump up alongside him and help him to wherever he needed to go but Luca had this determined look to him.

Jasper watched as he walked to Lila, and he raised an eyebrow at the mention of continuing the party at Luca’s. That sounded much more fun than talking to the PRA, facing off with 8th Street, and even going through with the rest of the festival itself. That was not because he did not want to eat the festival food, visit the haunted house, hang out with the coven, or anything like that. He was more concerned with making sure Luca, and Lila, were okay. And if that meant he needed to stop at the store on the way home to grab a maid outfit then so be it. ”Yeah, we’ve been through a lot tonight already Lila. Plus, if we do have an after-party we can be selective with the guest list. Do you want to head home?” Jasper looked at Luca and knew he needed the same. ”What about you Luca?”

---

Lynn whispered a soft “yay” as Bianca confirmed she had the same number as a decade prior. Lynn knew that the text history was empty, but she also knew that it would not remain that way for long. Lynn grinned at the comment about kidnapping someone. “I’ll need to find a sidekick for my kidnapping schemes then,” Lynn chuckled before she took a drink from her drink. Lynn sighed happily as the buzz was finally here. She wasn’t drunk, however, she was feeling pretty good. Right now all she wanted to do was drink slowly to stay at this level of drunk, get some good food, make some poor choices with a man or a woman, and then have a great night's sleep. She took another sip. If life was good she would be able to stick to the plan. If life was not good she would be able to adjust the plan as needed to ensure she maintained this buzz.

Lynn pulled her focus back to Bianca and smiled when she confirmed she would want to catch up again soon. “I can always check for you when you might be free, or I can leave it a mystery for you. Regardless,” Lynn paused as she raised a glass, “Whenever you are free I am sure it will be great to catch up in a less chaotic setting.” Lynn watched as Stormy put his money on the table and raised an eyebrow as a smile crossed her face. He seriously doubted her liver at that moment by putting that little money down. And then, Bianca made a comment about drinking Stormy under the table and this caused Lynn to smile the hardest she smiled in a while. “How did we never hang out more ten years ago?”

Lynn pulled herself away when the Pink Power Ranger began to ask if Lila was okay. Okay, they noticed the obvious and the obvious was strange enough to force the entire PRA congregation to stare her down. Lynn did not like that. Lila was having a moment unlike any other before, and right now her power was not only unpredictable but also unable to be suppressed by Stormy sitting nearby with his aura on. Lynn knew they were making amends with the PRA right now, however, if Lila was going to become a threat she worried they might shepherd her away. Lynn quickly slipped into the possible future, checking to see if Lila was in any danger from the PRA and if Luca’s suggestion was the right move for her. Her eyes glazed over in an instant and her head remained steady for a few seconds, coming back to the present a second or two after Jasper finished speaking. She had a bewildered look on her face as she looked towards the festival and the faint sound of a conga line was present in the air. Lynn looked back to Lila with a concerned look on her face, and her eyes shifted to Lila’s dress.

“An after-party sounds much more fun than what is coming our way,” Lynn paused as she pointed in the direction of the toga crew. “Sully and Drake are drunk and have formed a toga conga line, and it is heading straight towards us right now. Emily and Vashti are in the line and will not be happy to see us. If we leave now, we can avoid all of that,” Lynn paused as she waited for Lila to respond.

---

Anxiety, Lila’s old friend, had returned in full as she caught sight of just what happened with her hand. It wasn’t the feathered arm or the claws that caused her heart to sink, but rather the crimson-red color that dropped down from them both. She felt the stares of the table as the one PRA asked if she was okay. Lila was anything but okay. She did not know why, but this transformation had ended up feeling different, and painful, like the claws themselves had dug their way through her fingers to get out. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the tips of where her fingers would have been. The skin was broken and bloody, and the claws themselves carried with them specks of both flesh and blood. Her fingernails were in pain as they were forced upward at a sharp angle to make room for the claws and she felt like the bones in her fingers were misaligned or pushed out of place. It hurt. It hurt really, really, bad and that pain was finally allowing itself to be felt in this moment. The pain wasn’t localized to her hands either, all up her arm she felt like she had experienced a hundred cuts where the feathers had pushed their way through her skin. The bones in her arm also felt like they were not where they were supposed to be, and she felt something ielse alongside them. Under the canopy of feathers, she felt the steady, consistent trickle of blood which alerted her to the bleeding. Lila tried to take a deep breath but all she could manage was shallow and quick. When her eyes drifted down to her dress she could see a splattering of her blood on it.

What the fuck was going on? Lila thought back to the first transformation she underwent earlier in the night. Did this happen then and she did not notice? She would’ve remembered the pain, but she did not look at her arms after the claws and the feathers went away. Was the Maiden hiding the pain from her then? She looked over to Lynn who was staring at her dress and Lila made herself look even smaller in response. Maybe? But then again, Lynn and Luca would have noticed if she was bleeding. Jasper would have been too busy staring at Luca to notice a thing. Something changed with this latest transformation, and she wondered if it was the ‘gifts’ becoming permanent. She took a deep breath and looked back down to the clawed hands that rested on the table. They looked familiar as she looked them over like she had seen them before many times in a forest far away. This was beginning to scare her.

Lila pulled her hands back across the table, claws digging a path clean into the wood before she hid them under the table. She did not mind that she had a feathered hand, or arm, nor that her eyes were as black as the sky above if it were devoid of stars. What she was worried about was looking not in control in front of these PRA agents. She needed to calm her mind, she needed to push out The Maiden, and she needed this to happen right now. Thankfully, Luca showed up and gave her an out. His words had a calming effect on her mind, he had gone through something like this many times and had managed to pull himself back out the other side. He had The Rot inside of him for the better part of the past decade and he was still here, and still able to live a normal life regardless. If Luca could do it, Lila could too. Lila took a deep breath and shook her head up and down. She thought about the after-party at Luca’s. They could just put on a crappy movie, eat some popcorn, invite everyone who was chill, and then go to bed. Before the party she could take a shower, fix her hair and makeup, and make herself look and smell cute again. The thoughts calmed her mind even more, and a moment later pain in her hand doubled as the claws began to pull themself back into her hand. Slowly, inch by inch, they retreated back into the holes at her fingertips before the claws were gone from sight once more. As they retreated she felt her bones inside her hands and arm readjust and she nearly collapsed over in pain. The holes remained, more or less, and they would not be able to grab, grasp, or use them at all. All across her arms the feathers also found themselves pulled back inside. As they left sight, they left a feather-width hole in her skin. While not large, it still continued to allow blood to flow out easily, and soon her arm was covered in small streams of it.

As the final feather disappeared, and her eyes returned to normal, Lila looked to her friends and smiled. “We’re good, but let’s get out of here,” Lila shifted her focus to Meifeng, shifting it to Cindy, and then to the next agent as Lila still could not look at the maids without blushing, “I’m fine, Emily said something that messed with my head a bit and my power is tied to my emotions,” Lila thought to herself ’ apparently’ as she shook her head, “could I borrow your healer, if they are here?” Inside, Lila vomited. She did not want to ask for help, she was fine. Totally fine. There was nothing wrong with what was going on, the bleeding was normal and happened to everyone who was cursed by a fucking bird. She was cool, calm, collected, and confident. She was not panicking. Lila knew that asking for help was her way of telling the group that she was cool talking to the feds now, and that she was okay with Stormy playing the diplomat and nothing more. There was nothing else it could possibly be. Right? Lila forced a smile across her face, a pained smile. She held it as she forced herself to look at Meifeng and stared her in her eyes. She hoped that the stare read along the lines of ’‘we’re cool, we’re chill, nothing else is going on and we’re totally okay and nothing else will happen tonight I promise, and if something did happen tonight it totally won't spiral out of control, I'm not that drunk so you don’t need to worry about me……………please.’

---

---

Faces and masks blurred and became static as Sloane pushed through the gathered crowd huddled around the vendors. She moved with no actual destination in mind, only following after the kneejerk that told her she had to get away and clear her head before she started saying too much. Harsh words were like a stick of dynamite with a wick cut just a bit too long—they could be used to clear out the rocks in someone’s brain, or it could be picked up by someone quick enough and whipped back at the sender, falling at their feet right beside a wooden slat crate that read filled with TNT. It wasn’t as if Anya’s pleas of her attempting to use tact fell entirely on deaf ears. Sloane had been trying (poorly) to keep her sharp tongue tucked away for the past few weeks, but somewhere between drink one and drink four the scabbard had become loosened and liable to slip.

She just needed to be away from the others, otherwise she’d cut someone and get hurt in the process again. Only she didn’t want to be away from the others. She wanted to be a part of them, accepted as one of them, treated as one of them. Sloane wanted to attend slumber parties and summon demons. She wanted to wrap herself up in a bedsheet and parade around like an asshole. She wanted to tease and flirt and make out and hook up and act like she was a teenager again because when she was a teenager she didn’t have the chance to act like that. She wanted a redo. She was tired of being the responsible one. She was jealous. She had always been jealous. She was sick of being around not because she was actually liked and wanted but because of what she could offer.

Wait, no, oh god, the world tilted. She wasn’t just metaphorically sick, she was actually about to be legitimately sick. No, no, no. Her heart tap danced in arrhythmic panic. Her eyes darted around for a place of privacy in a sea of stalls that warped and bent like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. She felt a chill run down her spine. She stumbled, a clammy hand shooting out to catch the corner of a table for balance. The world righted itself. Sloane took a deep breath. She was fine. Of course she was fine. She wasn’t drunk. It was just thinking about the others that had nearly made her violently ill. She was totally in control of—oh no no nonono! There was another sudden surge as she clamped a hand over her mouth. Her cheeks puffed like a croaking bullfrog and then diminished with another false alarm that turned out to only be a muted and dainty burp.

See? She gestured to the world that was paying her no attention. Not drunk.

Sloane looked up and for a moment thought she was about to experience another wave of naus—sorry, “vertigo”—as she came face to face with a canvas painting of bright swirling colors arranged in seemingly random, chaotic patterns. Generally abstract art was not her bag, but it was both somehow absolutely beautiful and deeply unsettling. Was it a Jackson Pollock? A print, obviously, an original wouldn’t be displayed in some booth run by what appeared to be a wild pack of bohemian hipsters. In the center of the painting, isolated away through the waves of warm and vibrant colors by a sea of black, was a lone drop of blue. Sloane felt her throat tighten with a choke, as she never felt a deeper connection in her life to something than she did the little drop of blue. She must’ve gotten something in her eye, too, as it began to well up. Through her blurry vision she saw the initials signed near the bottom corner of the painting: JW.

Jasper Wilde.

The well went immediately dry, the blockade in her throat cleared by a ragged, heated breath. The abstract dashes and drops became concrete images corrupted by memory. The little drop of blue didn’t just connect with Sloane; it was Sloane, with the black the clothes she had once dressed in to seize some kind of identity with a hope to connect to others. The forest greens and golden yellows and fiery reds spiraled out with splayed roots of a tree, representing the members of the Sycamore Coven, none of which dared to grow near her. She recalled real moments of rooms growing quiet when she entered, of shoulders turning from her when she spoke, of plans being made in front of her face without an offering of an invitation. The faces in the memories were blurred abstracts like those in the crowd mixed with the paint on the canvas except for one that prominently stood out: stupid Jasper, shining and adored by all and irrationally intolerant of her.

It was a simple leap in logic. Everybody liked Jasper. Jasper didn’t like her. Therefore, everybody didn’t like her because of Jasper. How could someone be so petty and so fucking obsessive to paint an ode to another person’s loneliness, a loneliness that they should be held responsible for? Her lip quivered. Her teeth clenched. Her fist tightened. She punched a hand into her jacket and pulled out her wallet like it was a gun and she was about to go postal. She drew the attention of the art dealer, a young woman with a head full of tight curls and wearing as much jewelry as she was clothing, with two snaps of her fingers followed by a jabbing thrust towards the 18x24 insult.

“How much?"

When Jack decided to stop being Sloane’s shadow and actually approach the woman she had shifted away from the 317 booth and towards the one of the pop-up bars, unaware of the presence of the offending artist, the rest of Sycamore, or the PRA due to the mere separation caused by a few tent flaps. Sloane had found herself an area of privacy in the crowd behind the gathering of drink tents and bars. It wasn’t quite an area that was obviously off-limits, but it was clearly not meant to be an area for festival goers to gather. It was its own isolated bubble, popped only by the murmur of the crowd and the rumble of approaching toga chants. However, at any moment the chance glance between tents would reveal the lady in red behind them.

Sloane huddled by a stack of empty crates, the painting wrapped in brown paper sitting upon them like a makeshift easel, a drink in one hand, the other gently massaging the bridge of her nose that still stung when she touched it. She didn’t even jump when Jack appeared, merely giving him a slow glance. Her dark eyes were hooded and hazy with a deep disconnect and the drunkenness, and moved with the kind of choppiness of a video that was constantly buffering. There was an entire five seconds of blankness before Sloane’s lips twitched in confirmation that she acknowledged his existence.

"Sloane, what is it that troubles you tonight? It isn't Drake, or me, is it?" asked Jack.

“Nothing troubles me, Jack. I apologize for earlier. To be blunt, teleportation never sat well with me. I think that I’m simply just a bit old fashioned in that regard,” said Sloane. Her words were slow and slurred and accompanied by another strange giggle that didn’t match the somber vacancy in her eyes. She jiggled the red solo cup in her hand to emphasize the pun and pull her focus away from the memory of her parents so confidently rushing through a portal and leaving her behind just like everybody else does. She took a sip of the drink, made a pained expression, and choked out, “I’m good. Really. Say, do you like art?”

Sloane let go of the cup but it did not fall. Instead, it hung in suspended animation about four feet off of the ground, her hexmark etched next to the recycling symbol on the bottom of the cup. She had one hand in her pocket on her channeler while the other pulled a knife out from underneath her coat. With three quick and shockingly precise slashes she cut the brown wrapping paper around Jasper’s painting, leaving the bottom unsliced so that it draped down from the painting and over the crates. Like the cup, the knife hung in the air as Sloane let go of it. She pulled her channeler out of her pocket.

“Jasper made this piece for me. Can you believe it? Anyway, I love art. When I was a little girl I wanted to become an artist of some kind. It didn’t matter what, as long as it was creative. Only I was no good at it. My father said I just wasn’t born with the knack for art. My mother was more honest about it. She told me I just didn’t have any talent and that I should stop wasting everybody’s time. In retrospect, it was a pretty harsh thing to say to a seven-year-old.” As Sloane spoke, she began to trace a hexmark onto the painting with her channeler. “I wonder if Jasper’s mother told him the same. I don’t have the talent, it’s true, but I still have an eye for good art. He should’ve listened to his mother instead of wasting paint on this derivative piece of shit.”

She pulled her channeler back, reached forward, and booped the little drop of blue with her finger. The blue circle and orange cross of her hexmark glowed and then vanished as the paint on the canvas glitched. It became wet again before cascading off of the sheet like a waterfall, splashing off of the brown paper before it tumbled to the ground and sprayed up onto Sloane’s boots. The canvas had been completely reset except for the initials in the corner. It was a beautiful painting of nothing by Jasper Wilde, a critical self-reflection on what the man’s opinions were actually worth. Sloane blinked, grabbed her knife, and turned to Jack.

“I hope you really didn’t come here because you were worried that I might be upset at you, Jack,” she said, closing the knife and putting it back in her jacket. “You shouldn’t obsess so much about what other people think about you. It is so terribly unhealthy. As long as you’re doing the right thing it doesn’t matter what they think, say, or create. Got it?"

“An-y-way,” Sloane grabbed the old fashioned frozen in the air and took a drink. “Since you’re here, could you transfer that piece to my apartment for me? I don’t want to have to carry it around for the rest of the night. Oh, actually, you know what? Perhaps you should take it instead. Consider it a gift. Hang it up across from your bed. That way you can wake up every morning, see Nothing, and think of me. Then you'll be able to remember exactly what else, besides precisely what I may have already asked for, that I need from you.”

Sloane turned her crooked nose up, waved Jack off with a dismissive shooing motion, and drained her drink.

Edict was absolutely ready to turn and run with Brit, but he felt Sabrina's hesitation. It was obvious she didn't want to go without their tagalongs, and frankly Edict didn't want to leave Linqian in the rut despite the rapidity of her conversion and the hilarity of the situation as a whole. And God forbid, some White Luxer comes around, they'd be tipped off about his intrusion into Layla's mind immediately. It wasn't worth it, he needed far more time with Layla than just those few minutes. True saturation could take days, weeks even...

"Brit, wait! One sec!"

So when the seamstress took her shot and yarded both of the ladies back from the brink of the Togapocalypse, he was more ready to back her up than he was ready to chase after Britney. Of course that wasn't entirely true, but he had plans and people watching who needed to see results. It was an important deal for his personal independence, and a cause he believed was worthy of his dedication. Caught once again between his love for his job, and his love for another... The woes and plights of the Pink Lux Adept, to be forever trapped between love! Great, massive stones beset me upon all sides, and I am a prisoner of passion... I am the sad clown begging to be loved back...

Sometimes we go about in pity for ourselves in spite of a great wind carrying us across the sky, don't we My Pale Son?

Edict spun at the voice of his Mother, who he knew wasn't there. There was a moustacheless Mario slowly making his way toward them, a fairly surprised look on his face as Linqian was trying to shove him onward. Instantly, the Warm Little Center of the Lotus unfurled. It was reactionary, he was moving with intent! But then Edict heard the voice... And as it did, he felt the weak wash of pink break across a robust emotional field with very few cracks. And in that instant, Edict's eyes locked with Henri Han's eyes... And he grinned like a Crocodile watching the gazelle moving toward the muddy watering hole.

Henri froze like a deer caught in the headlights, just staring at Edict. His very open gaze shifted from confusion to realization, flickering to Linqian then back to Edict again. His whole face screamed 'what the fuck?' as he started to move towards them again.

Edict couldn't hide the shock on his face as he turned fully, blocking his side to Linqian so she didn't see him grip onto his glasses and cast another spell as quickly as he could.
Pink Lotus’ Precious Recollection: Living in Color.
The image shattered across Henri's emotional field as intended, leaving his vision mostly open save for a comically out of place set of giant cartoon lips, which zipped closed. Following it, the phrase Don't Panic! rolled across the bottom of his vision.
It would be an interesting test, he figured... To see if the boy was smooth enough to keep his cool and play along... From everything Edict had gotten from Linqian's mind, however, it was unlikely. He figured he had to take the reigns regardless.

Henri panicked. Don't panic?! How?! His eyes were wide, his mouth still hung wide open, and he was walking much faster towards them. Then he looked at Linqian and visibly paused. He forcefully closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes in a very awkward, trying not to look panicked look. He grinned very awkwardly. Perfectly not panicking.

Oh he's absolutely not ready.
As he shoved his hand into his pocket, he let twin bursts of Living in Color rush across Linqian's and Henri's Emotional Fields. For her, it spat out the words "Play it Cool!" in bright letters across her vision. Along with that was something like a neon sign pointing down at Henri. Six large beer glasses all poured themselves out.
For Henri, it had to be spoken into his mind: Edict mustered every bit of finesse he could, weaving together some of the latest contemporary hits in his mind in order to blast Henri with an auditory hallucination. Magic MAaaAN - She dooooooesn't knoooooowwwwww!!!!~ Your secret is... Safe with meeeeeee...- Now if y'all care to sing-a-long-" It was an incredible mishmash of song snippets, and as he felt it transfer, Edict found himself rather proud of it. His only hope was that the kid had some vague sense of self preservation and would, in fact, "sing along", as it were.

"Gosh, well you were right about them being drunk Linqian; but you think I don't know who this is?"
He grinned at Henri.
"Go easy on him, huh? You remember being his age."

Then Edict tipped his hat at the young man and spun around again full circle to catch up with Britney. He knew Linqian didn't want him around her brother, but that little exchange the two of them had in that moment couldn't be taken from him. He'd find another, far more private opportunity. For now, they had a ferry to catch and a seriously devolving situation to escape in equal parts.

---

The night was winding down for certain "Dining" tents; the ones who were serving full blown meals just couldn't keep up in terms of raw product. By the time Luna had arrived at the booth for The Daybreak, the restaurant Andrade decided would get the spotlight for advertising, the menu had just about entirely been eighty-six'd. Kebabs and salads were rushing out to the final diners, and some of the crew behind the counter seemed to be switched off.

It was a funny thing; for a place that suggested the essence of the morning, they were all in awfully dark attire. It was like someone told them their uniform was meant to be witches. Not like... Not real witches of course, those silly cartoon ones that would stand over a bubbling green cauldron. It only took knowing the group a little while to understand that nobody had to speak about it... It's just how the Richouxs dressed. Standing primarily as first contact, the youngest sibling Mia shot the masked figure a smile.
"Oh, geeze... Elise!? Get the man flesh!" she called over her shoulder as Luna asked for their best dish. Her finger came up, pointing for her older sister to look.
The response was somewhat cold, confused even as Elise's brow furrowed and she tossed her hand up dismissively. Mia laughed to herself, shaking her head and turning back to Luna.
"Sorry, Touka-chan, she just wouldn't get it. We don't have much left unfortunately, we've got an improvised Kebab and Salad combo that we're doing at five bucks with a free drink. Sound okay?"

Andrade and Furio heard Mia taking another order, and both threw back their heads in rapt frustration, wishing the day would just be over. The two were kings of commiseration, one finding himself in utter despair while the other was boiling with rage.
"Woah, Mia, you're giving away money Babe! How's about you tone it back on the fuckin'-"
"Oh, Foori, they should be so lucky, eh! Better than throwing it at our fuckin' heads..."
"Don't start that bullshit with me, Dre, you know how the Big Lady's gonna feel if we didn't bleed it out!"
"As if it doesn't all come from the same pockets, just shut up and turn the kebabs!"

Mia widened her eyes at the bunny mask.
"Long day for some of us I guess!" she smiled, waving them off.
Mia wasn't exactly careful when it came to security and similar things, but frankly she didn't have to be. While Elise Richoux would never be one of her Mother's Maidens, operational security was just as much her responsibility as the wolf-man who was now running around with his coven pals in a naked toga. Where's Mom when it's funniest? Probably watching him make a fool out of himself from somewhere.
While Mia had gone for the usual hippie-goth, Elise had gone for the Lolita style costume so it wouldn't look entirely out of place that she was carrying around a stuffed bear, and she channeled her White Lux into a common spell that pulsed for magical aura nearby. Getting too many readings was overwhelming, however, and the entire area was saturated in magic. It was no good trying to suss out anyone in particular. But like a bell being run, it did make magic things almost vibrate in her vision... And for a moment, she thought she saw the masked figure at the counter ripple.

Elise tensed slightly. She could be wrong; and all of her upbringing told her that she was wrong... But instinct screamed at her from a hot, bright place. While she didn't turn her head, the head of the teddy bear turned between her fingers in a purposeful manner, button eyes now staring at Luna like she was a foreign pathogen in a white blood cell's domain. White Lux energy saturated the bear, causing gentle smoky wisps to curl from it like steam from the grass on a summer morning.

---

The Stygian Snake could come back right now and not have a chance in Hell of breaking this line. Leon wished he still had his White Lux so he could bathe in the absolute madness of Lux Auras. He remembered the old parties, the flashing colors all around him as orange and white stripes danced across his flesh like a tiger. By now, the old taste of the Chalice's metal rim had mixed into the hellish brew of mixed alcohols that the thing constantly refilled like a cocktail from another dimension. He was five heaping gulps deep, Lelou's seals comfortably loosened at a full body cowl of two percent. Having her own sensory abilities made things more intense, and while he couldn't see the colors anymore; he was sure he could smell and hear them.

The music of people's emotional fields ringing as they accidentally bounced against one another played like echoing chimes, each color having a different frequency with which it hummed among the cacophonous shouting and chanting all around him. The scents were more difficult, but red lux smelled like meat to him, and green was the scent of the forest. There were associations that told him the environment was saturating all around them, magics mixing into themselves to convaless into the winds. Things were only going to get weirder from here, and the moaning carnal voice in his head wasn't doing him any favors when it came to keeping a lid on it.

"I crave it! Their blood, their flesh, the softness, the tactile sensation of ramming myself into them until they're paste on the floor for me to lap up like the wine of life! Give in, my Carnal Beast! Give in and unleash me upon them, that we may copulate upon a bed of their bones!"

Leon's face scrunched into an uncomfortable frown as he was accosted from within. He had to do something, anything to ignore it. Without a second thought, his hands fell forward and down, wrapping as much as they could around Vashti's waist.
"Alley-oop!"
In a smooth motion, like a mother plucking a child from their crib, Vashti was being hoisted over six feet into the air, the cloth of the toga falling just into place so she wasn't bare ass riding on his shoulder. The size, the width of that shoulder, made it feel like it was some kind of seat meant to be taken by a jockey or some kind of rider. His arm wrapped around her legs by the shins, keeping Vashti stable so she couldn't lean too far backward or forward and fall off her perch.
"Yes! Yes! Drive her into the ground and devour the legs like a snack!"
Leon simply looked up at her and pumped his free hand as a fist into the air.

---

Jack was many things. Egotistical, clever, vindictive… Foolish was not one of them.

“Nothing troubles me, Jack. I apologize for earlier. To be blunt, teleportation never sat well with me. I think that I’m simply just a bit old fashioned in that regard,”

”Your apology is accepted, but I don’t believe you,” he said, blunt as a hammer.

Jack watched her unravel Jasper’s painting. It had an abstract charm to it, putting him in the mind of better, albeit more dangerous days. Those two had always had a hard time getting along, and apparently he made something for her? Strange.

“Jasper made this piece for me. Can you believe it? Anyway, I love art. When I was a little girl I wanted to become an artist of some kind. It didn’t matter what, as long as it was creative. Only I was no good at it. My father said I just wasn’t born with the knack for art. My mother was more honest about it. She told me I just didn’t have any talent and that I should stop wasting everybody’s time. In retrospect, it was a pretty harsh thing to say to a seven-year-old.”

Jack took a seat on the boxes beside her. ”My memory is frayed. But if I recall, your parents live in a fantasy world of delusions and bitter feelings. I wouldn’t trust their opinion to hold water in a thunderstorm,” he joked.

“I wonder if Jasper’s mother told him the same. I don’t have the talent, it’s true, but I still have an eye for good art. He should’ve listened to his mother instead of wasting paint on this derivative piece of shit.”

He could understand why, from her point of view, the painting seemed like an insult. But to him, Jack saw it as statement. Sloane was an outsider, on the periphery of a circle that should’ve been home. She was an outcast, and exile among her own people. Art had a way of saying what words could not, did there exist a world in which this piece of art reflected something deeper than spite?

Apparently not, as she erased it all into a puddle that splashed across the ground. She was freezing, and there was a fire outside her reach.

“I hope you really didn’t come here because you were worried that I might be upset at you, Jack. You shouldn’t obsess so much about what other people think about you. It is so terribly unhealthy. As long as you’re doing the right thing it doesn’t matter what they think, say, or create. Got it?"

“An-y-way, since you’re here, could you transfer that piece to my apartment for me? I don’t want to have to carry it around for the rest of the night. Oh, actually, you know what? Perhaps you should take it instead. Consider it a gift. Hang it up across from your bed. That way you can wake up every morning, see Nothing, and think of me. Then you'll be able to remember exactly what else, besides precisely what I may have already asked for, that I need from you.”

She tried to dismiss him. Maybe in another time or place, he would have been gone in the blink of an eye. But while Sloane thought she projected an uncaring attitude, Jack saw something different. He saw the same woman who he stood up for at the Dairy Queen, on the night of Alizee’s death. He saw the same woman who had held up St. Portwell so others could not, only to be struck across the face by someone she trusted.

So he did what he should’ve done ten years ago. He stayed.

”Needs and wants are very different things, Sloane,” he countered, looking her right in the eyes. ”You need us to work together, because our lives depend on it. You may not need to be thanked for what you have tried to save us all, but you deserve it. And… You have every right to want more than a derisive painting as thanks.”

”I followed you because something is on your mind. Everyone else is enjoying themselves without a care in the world. But you feel that you don’t have a place in all of that, don’t you?” He fully expected Sloane to get defensive, so he continued. ”And before you tell me that what you want or feel does not matter compared everything else we face- I want you to understand that it matters to me.”

Because he felt very much the same way, returning after being a stranger for so long.

”You deserve to be more than a small blue drop, untouched by all the roots you helped to grow. Talk to me, I worry for you.” He wanted to say that Anya worried as well, but that would’ve defeated the purpose of what he was trying to get across: I am your friend.

Halloween Festival, Near the Ferry
_{Mentions: @Punished GN, @AtomicEmperor, @Fernstone}

---

The security blanket Mr. Devola had wrapped Layla in was still strong and all-encompassing. The feelings of nostalgia and sugar-pop happiness deep in her veins, matching the out-of-place smile on her face.

It almost covered up the sound of a dog barking in the distance.

Almost.

Layla's heart did a little jitter, knowing all too well who’s raspy barking that was. She could instantly feel it. Skin crawling with goosebumps as she peered into the darkness, trying to discern the threat.

No. Everything was fine. Even if her curse was following her, she wasn't afraid. She couldn't be afraid. She felt too good, too on-top-of-the-world.

She stepped on a twig, and its audible snapped caused her to shriek in fright. Shivering.

No. No, everything was fine. She was fine. She was with her friends, Britney, Sabrina, Mr. Devola, Linqian. Her curse wouldn't dare to touch her now. Not right now, no.

A phantom hand crept up her arm, curling around her shoulder. Layla jumped, her head snapping back. Instead of seeing a hand, she instead saw… Mario? Running towards them.

”Jie, why are you moving away? Why did you change? Jie, waiiiitttt!”

Linqian seemed to react strongly at their presence. She pushed Britney and Mr. Devola on, trying to get some space between them. Layla stared on in confusion.

”Who the fuck is this crazy guy, must be drunk off his ass, let’s go,”

Layla pursed her lips. Linqian was acting downright suspicious. Why?

"Gosh, well you were right about them being drunk Linqian; but you think I don't know who this is? Go easy on him, huh? You remember being his age."

Huh. Mr. Devola recognized Mario. That meant the kid had to be some kind of friend, right? Actually. Layla narrowed her eyes as she looked at Linqian and Mario. They had an uncanny likeness. Were they… Family?

Layla cracked a smile, waving her hand at Mario.

“Hey! You should come join us; you know Linqian, right?”

---

Halloween Festival, Temple's Booth
_{Mentions: @AtomicEmperor}

---

“Remember, it's not so much him, but what he holds that you need to ascertain.”

Entrancing pink eyes stared over Luna as she looked up from the floor. A hand wrapped around Mother Cards's slender fingers, almost worshipful in its embrace. Luna couldn't look away even if she wanted to.

And she didn't want to.

“How will I know it's the right one?”

Mother Cards held a finger to her lips. “You focus on him. Tensions are high in the city. No one is going far without their ward.”

Luna nodded, pressing a kiss against Mother Card's fingers before she stood. “Consider it done.”

---

Luna blinked behind her mask, brought back to the present moment.

"Sorry, Touka-chan, she just wouldn't get it. We don't have much left unfortunately, we've got an improvised Kebab and Salad combo that we're doing at five bucks with a free drink. Sound okay?"

A fellow anime-lover. Luna pressed her mask, pretending to be overcome with fellow weebness momentarily. It looked as though she had slipped under the radar, and although she didn't know anyone here beyond her target, she had a feeling Mother Cards would give her the run down before long.

“Sounds great, thank you.~” She did a little twirl in her cosplay before fishing out a wallet and passing over some bills.

“Here, this should cover it.” She said, watching the exchange between Mr. Salamente and his fellow kitchen worker.

Interesting. Dark colors. Yet a sense of family. Of community. They were close enough to be frank with one another. Not likely to toss one another under the bus, or abandon the other.

So when the hammer eventually struck, it would need to be a good strike, one to shatter a block instead of a bundle of sticks.

Luna stared for a long and silent moment, before a chill shuddered up her spine. She turned to see a brunette, curled and wispy hair, dressed Lolita style and holding a bear. A bear of which's eyes were… staring directly at her. Looking ethereal with the smoke drifting off it.

Luna stared back, before her eyes narrowed flatly. She had to be looking at a ward, a channeler. The only question that remained was what it was for, and what it could do.

She was counting on Leon being away from his other members, his family. To give her an in. But in the face of this uncertainty, she wasn't entirely sure the place was left as unguarded as she once thought.

No matter.

She was here for one thing, and one thing only. Her gaze shifted to Mr. Salamente as he worked on her order, and paid special attention to his hands.

Did he have his knife on him?

---

---

Anya raised an eyebrow. What did Ezra Vanburen know of Sloane’s many ‘difficult nights’? To Anya, those currently boiled down to three things: Trying to protect a city that didn’t want protected, trying to protect herself and an unruly rabble from a magical serial killer, and having all her artifacts taken by an unknown thief. None of these were things Sloane would have told him… probably. Was there another issue Anya didn’t know about?

Well, that didn’t matter right now.

”Call me Anya, then,” Anya smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. It was a well practised and well done action - firm enough to show purpose, but not too firm to be overbearing. Her hand was small and smooth, with soft skin that was carefully taken care of. She didn’t balk away from eye contact, gaze confident and neutral. Two shakes, and she retracted her hand. ”I’m the third Ms Baksh, so I’m not too fond of that. It is rather unfortunate Sloane is facing so many problems… And it is difficult to have the right timing with her. Sometimes you have to force it.”

She followed his gaze towards Sloane’s rapidly disappearing back. Of course, the good friend thing to do was to follow Sloane. The honest thing to do would be to completely ignore Sloane, and push her business. Of course, Anya chose to toe the line of both - acting like a truly caring friend, while still pursuing her own desires.

"My other friend is going to talk to her," Anya gestured towards Jack... Who had disappeared. Because of course he had. He was too reliant on his abstraction to just walk anywhere. "The two of them need to discuss their issues without me there. I would just be intruding unnecessarily. I have approximately fifteen minutes until I’ll be needed. If I’m wrong and needed, I’m sure she’ll call me."

Anya carefully opened her handbag and pulled out a business card. It was neat and to the point, with ‘Boundless Dreams’ written in dark purple, cursive text on the front along with, with the s curling out to a cloud. Underneath was her name in much smaller writing, and on the back was a phone number and address.

”What I do would be most simply described as consultations, with a focus on dreams, and specialised services.” She watched him carefully as she held out the business card. There was no point going into the details if he was going to dismiss it immediately. Of course, he was someone she’d try her hardest to impress… But if she couldn’t convince him to take a locator stone (for free, of course), to then prove her services, she wouldn’t get anywhere. ”That’s just the basics, of course. There’s much more to it than that.”

Ezra took the business card and ran his thumb over the print, his reaction to the initial pitch quite muted. Frankly, it would be impossible to tell if the tightening of the brow and quick twitch of the lip when Anya mentioned dreams was a dismissive smirk foreshadowing the conclusion of this conversation or simply the face of a man trying to read the small font in poor lighting. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a sleek and polished dark steel card holder, flicking it open with a satisfying snap to reveal a daunting spectrum of other business cards. Ezra didn’t give the impression of being the kind of man who’d tolerate clutter with his personal effects, meaning there was quite the horrifying possibility that the dozen and a half cards or so had all been handed to him today. His hand turned ever so slightly, masking where in the holder Anya’s business card made it, as he tucked it back into his pocket.

“One would hope. It’s niche. It’s really niche,” said Ezra, almost to himself, his arms crossed with the look of a proper skeptic etched on to his face.

“However, niche doesn’t equate to bad. There could be a market. Some people always want to share their dreams and try to grasp meaning from what are essentially just random images caused by the firing off of neurons, but most people also tend to glaze over when someone recites their dream to them, typically around the time the third or forth ‘it was you but it wasn’t you’ is being uttered,” said Ezra. “A hirable consultant lets the one camp share to their hearts content while sparing me from having to hear about how my sister spoke with an angel yet again.”

Ezra smiled to show that he did not intend to offend even though his words were coded with condescension.

“I’d want to hear more about these specialized services, but before that I’d like to know more about you, Anya, other than how it sounds that, like me, you’re also burdened with siblings,” said Ezra. The smile lingered, as did his gaze. “What are your qualifications? Your credentials? Why go to you instead of the shrink down the hall?”

Anya was unbothered by the clearly condescending words. When you were confident in yourself and your abilities, and knew your worth, other people's opinions rarely affected you. It didn't matter who those opinions came from. At the end of the day, she knew she would make it, with or without his investment. It would greatly speed up her future plan, but wasn't necessary. She wasn't intimidated by his scepticism or the sheer amount of business cards he already had. It would be his loss if he didn't invest in the end, after all.

"If dreams are, as you say, random images caused by firing off neurons, then so are all our thoughts," Anya said evenly, her smile not wavering. She had perfected smiling, and all the minute changes to make to go from a joyful friendly smile to a more polite business one. "Dreams reflect the aspects of us we don't even see. Along with this, our sleep quality affects our ability to function during the waking day, and this in turn is affected by dreams. Say you dream of being late to work, and wake up panicked about that - your day is already off to a bad start and that anxiety will linger. Dreams can often point to the problem, and solving dream related sleep issues can massively improve quality of life."

She spoke calmly, with enough passion for it not to appear like she was reading off a script but not so enthusiastic it was overwhelming. Of course, she was genuinely passionate about her work, but she knew the correct way to show that.

"I am significantly less burdened than you," Anya laughed lightly. She only had three siblings, after all. "As for qualifications... I minored in neuroscience, though I took enough extra credit courses that it was close enough to my major. Unfortunately, my major itself is useless for the business - Chemistry at my parent's behest. I am currently pursuing a part time masters in Cognitive Neuroscience around my business. I have at least four certificates in dream analysis and psychology, and I've been independently studying it for ten years. I've read the majority of books about the field. Some are absolute nonsense, of course. My business related qualifications are lacking, but I have experience aiding both friends and family. I helped my older brother set up his business and took my own from something I ran out of my living room to an independent shop. As for why anyone should go to me, rather than another? Expertise. A normal therapist has a much broader but shallower understanding. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that no one else knows as much about this subject as I do."

Her lips pulled up into a wider smile, the spider painted on her cheek creasing slightly. It was confident and more genuine, her dark eyes lighting up slightly. Perhaps it was because she had gotten to talk about all her own achievements, or perhaps it was confidence in what she was about to say. ”And I can guarantee that I'm the only one who can actively change people's dreams for them.”

Ezra laughed, but it died when he realized Anya had not just been blowing hot air. The other shoe was right on time just moments after Anya had legitimately impressed the man with her knowledge and accolades. Often he expected the people he was dealing with to be working some kind of angle, or padding their resume, or just outright lying, but he had detected no falsehoods in any of Anya’s statements. Even the impossible guarantee had been spoken with such an earnesty that for a moment Ezra had actually believed that she believed it.

“Anya, I’ve unfortunately been raised to be an honest man. While it pains me to do it to someone who seems so wonderfully driven and thoughtful, I am required to call bullshit,” said Ezra, actually sounding sorry. “I’ve been forced to attend enough TED Talks on magical thinking and the power of belief to know that while you could influence what a person thinks and dreams, there’s no actual tangible way to guarantee that any of it sticks and they don’t go back to standing in front of their classroom naked. False promises like that are liable to doom a potential prospect.”

Ezra gave his words a moment to sink in and then continued, “But having said all of that, let’s pretend that I’m a dishonest man. I owe that much to you for giving me advice on how to handle Ms. Faris. So assume that instead of saying bullshit, I said elaborate.”

Ah. Anya did regret, for a moment, bringing up changing dreams. A drunken slip up, perhaps. It was the least believable to people more grounded in reality, even if it was something she could do. Sticking to her very real and impressive qualifications would have been the smarter move, and one she would have made if she wasn’t three cocktails in. But words couldn’t be taken back, and there was no point dwelling on that. ”Point taken. I’ll take that one out of the next pitch I make.”

She smiled, seemingly not upset in the slightest about him calling it bullshit. It was only a reasonable reaction. Loathe as she was to admit it, that had been a blunder on her part. Thankfully her friendship with Sloane was once again showing its benefits.

”There’s no magical thinking or power of belief involved.” Only actual magic itself. ”Dreams are essentially just electrical impulses in the brain, which can be studied and influenced. It’s possible to generate signals for the brain to read that influence dreams - from subtle changes to make them slightly better, to completely dictating what a dream should be piece by piece. The process is… complicated, but entirely founded in science. It’s based on a combination of neuroscience and dream psychology. By studying the electrical signals the brain creates during a specific dream, it’s possible to recreate it or figure out entirely different ones.”

Anya opened her handbag again, carefully looking inside it. She pulled out a small, black box. It looked rather unassuming but it was actually filled with complicated circuitry. Of course, that didn’t do anything she’d described. That was all nonsense, of course. As qualified as she was, and as good as she was with neuroscience, something that could influence the brain’s signals wasn’t feasible with science. The black box was merely the presentation she’d chosen for a dream locator object in this situation. For most who sought her she went for crystal, as they were already spiritual people. That wouldn’t work here. She was glad she’d brought one of these, which she had a lower supply of. Though she didn’t need him to take it to get into his dreams, she did to prove the machine ‘worked.’

”Of course, I don’t expect you to just believe it. You already called ‘bullshit’, which I completely understand. I wouldn’t believe it either. But,” she held up the black box, ”I can demonstrate it for you with this. Not right now, as it requires the user to be asleep and dreaming, but tonight. If you wish to try it.”

The skeptical look crossed Ezra’s face again as he reached out to accept Anya’s box. He held the device that sounded like it was straight out of science fiction up to his eyes as he inspected it. A sleek little black box that rests on a nightstand and guarantees the user better dreams that leave them more energized and ready to take on the world. Sweeter dreams, happier days. Catchy, easily marketable to housewives and middle managers hoping to bring a spark back to their suburban nightmare. An invention that would make the world a better, brighter place. The kind of thing any honest man should champion.

A dishonest man would see another path. If dreams could be tailormade, they could be mass marketed. Imagine dreams that continued to reaffirm with yourself how fat and ugly you were so you’ll buy in to the next fad diet, dreams paid for by the next sociopathic television star trying to kick start their political career to get you to vote for them, dreams that told you to consume and buy and reproduce and obey. A dark dystopian future until someone figured out how to install an ad blocker in the box.

Fortunately, it was bullshit. Except with every new idea there was also the person who cried out that it’d never work. Ezra didn’t want to be the exec laughing off the idea for the smartphone or the man in the cave screaming about how they didn’t need agriculture when they could just go hunt dangerous game instead and live to the ripe old age of thirty. So even if it was bullshit, he had to know for certain.

“And let’s say I don’t remember my dreams?” asked Ezra with a smugness to his smile that all but vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “No, you know what, fuck it. You’re the first interesting person I’ve talked to tonight, which is impressive considering I typically find someone talking about dreams to be a conversation killer. Plus, most people would hear me call something bullshit and immediately start falling apart or pushing back, but you rolled with the jabs and cooked while under pressure. How do I go about setting this, this…thing up? You have a name for it?”

"Well, when most people talk about dreams, they really just want to talk about themselves and their boring lives. That’s the conversation killing aspect, is it not?” Anya’s eyes crinkled at the corners, clearly pleased. ”And anyone who breaks after merely being questioned a little bit doesn't deserve to be in business at all. It’s unnamed right now, beyond being boringly called a dream box. Here."

Anya reached out, a delicate finger tapping the top right corner of the box, where there was a slightly indented circle. A red LED appeared next to where her finger had been. She was glad she'd had her brother, with his electronic engineering firm, manufacture these for her in exchange for her occasional help.

"Unfortunately, it's quite limited at the moment. It requires complicated programming that only I know currently, and it needs reprogrammed for a second use. This is something I'm working on, but it's a difficult problem to overcome." Infusing an object with even a fraction of her dream manipulation power was incredibly difficult. While she could infuse them for good dreams, specifics were a lot trickier. She was trying to at least infuse a specific dream into an object, but it was difficult. Her real goal was to combine her pink-white-orange lux to have an object that could read a user's desires, and then manipulate their dreams towards it. That was a very far off goal. "The short term goal is to have ‘preset’ dreams, with a much vaguer specification. For example, a relaxing dream in a field, as opposed to the specifics I offer currently. It is something of a bespoke service for now, but I’m actively working to change that."

She spoke clearly and concisely, open about the current issues in her business while also presenting the solutions. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone, pulling up a program connected to the box. Of course, it didn’t actually program dreams, but it would change the LED colour. "What do you want to dream about? I can program it from here. Then, it’s as simple as pressing the button and putting it beside your bed at night."

“Dealer’s choice?” suggested Ezra. He reasoned that the validity of the test could be tainted if he offered a suggestion. He pulled out a business card of his own and handed it to Anya. “You can tell me what you programmed the dream to be in the morning. If, by some stroke of insanity, it actually matches up, we can proceed with setting up an actual business meeting later. Even the best startups centered around the greatest ideas and run by the best possible person can still fail. We can discuss how to avoid common pitfalls, as well as the potential of future investments and perhaps a partnership.”

“Assuming, of course, that is something you would be interested in,” said Ezra with a smile that said he already knew the answer to a question. “Sometimes I get ahead of myself. Don’t feel like a yes now means you can’t say no later. It’d just be further discussions. Nothing is official until you sign your name on the dotted line.”

”Dealer's choice it is.” Anya took the business card from Ezra and held it between her fingers as she typed on her phone. It was easy to pretend to be typing something complicated when she was really typing a simple program, and some nonsensical comments. Dealer's choice made things easier for her - all she had to do is enter his dreams, add a few memorable elements, and that would be her job done. At the same time as 'programming' she sent a text to both Sloane and Jack, asking where they'd ended up. Once that was done, she pressed a button and the LED on the box lit up green before disappearing. She then slipped her phone into her pocket. ”It's done. We shall see in the morning if I meet your lacking expectations, or exceed them.”

It was clear she'd take the offer to both of them, but the words still had to be said. ”Of course it is something I'm interested in. It is the... dream,” her lips curved up in amusement at her word choice, ”of many small business owners to get advice from someone so successful. I'd be a fool to turn it down.”

She took a step back, raising the business card still between her fingers. ”I'll contact you with the details of the dream in the morning. For now, I should go after Sloane and ensure she's not chased off our other friend. It was a pleasure talking to you, Ezra.”

”Of course,” said Ezra, shifting to head on his way. ”Thank you for your time, Anya, and for not being a waste of mine.”

Anya smiled, and inclined her head towards him, turning to head in the direction Sloane had disappeared.

See you in your dreams tonight, Ezra.

---

---

Linqian’s eyes narrowed as Edict’s images played across her vision, shooting him a glare. Play it cool? There was only one reason she didn’t want to play it cool - him. But it did seem like her brother was actually drunk. He was swaying as if there was music playing in his head, and staring at them like he’d suddenly forgotten why he was coming over there in the first place. It took everything in her to not just fucking explode at everyone. Fine. Play it cool. She could do that.

When Henri was bombarded by a hallucinatory mashup, he froze again. The words played through his mind, immediately calming his panic. Linqian didn’t know, and the magic man wasn’t going to tell her. He let out a soft sigh of relief, half swaying to the songs playing in his mind. At the same time, he was blown away by the magic itself - it was so cool! So impressive! He grinned like a drunken fool at that, inadvertently playing into the role he’d been given.

"But you think I don't know who this is?"

Edict’s words sent a shiver down Linqian’s spine. Her heart rate increased and breathing got a little more difficult. She tilted her head to look at Edict, eyes scarily expressionless and lips twisted into a dark frown.

Of course it was obvious who Henri was. He looked like so much like Jinhai had at that age- fuck. There were too many similarities between them. Perhaps if the fake moustache had still been there… no, that was unlikely to change anything. Shit.

”When I was his age, I was working my ass off to keep him fed,” Linqian muttered.

But it wasn’t the worst case scenario. Edict had walked away just like she wanted. He’d recognised Henri, but hadn’t talked to him. It was fine, she could tell Henri to go home and then enjoy the rest of her night-

Then Layla did the worst thing possible, and invited him to join them. Linqian’s head snapped around to shoot a heated glare at Layla. She wanted to tell her to fuck off, to shoot her temperature up to one hundred and grab her by the shoulders until she cried from the pain. This was the second time she was trying to ruin Linqian’s night. The toga push she could forgive - it only hurt her. But this? No.

But she couldn’t do any of that in front of Henri.

”Oh yeah, Linqian’s my big sister!” Henri grinned widely at Layla, waving back. She looked a lot younger than his sister and the man with the magic… Closer to his age, perhaps. He didn’t know Linqian had friends his age! She should’ve invited him along. He quickly caught up to them with his long legs. ”I’m Henri Han, nice to meet you, I guess you’re one of my sister’s friends… Hell yeah I’ll join!”

He then looked at Linqian as if asking permission.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, holding back an exasperated sigh. She wanted to say no. She should say no. But Henri was hitting her with that adorable look of his he used when he wanted something from her. ”Fine. But no more drinking.”

”Yay! I promise I’ll be good!”

Linqian rolled her eyes, spinning on her heel and hurrying to catch up with Edict - having to jog a bit to do so. She fell into step beside him. If Henri was going to be with them, which she wasn’t happy about, she had to make sure he didn’t try anything. She moved close into his side, pressing into his personal space, and leaned in and up towards his ear so there was less chance of her being overheard.

”If you use any of your pink lux bullshit on him, I’ll burn your dick off, got it?” Linqian hissed. She then lowered herself back down to her normal height, expression relaxing as if she hadn’t just threatened him. With that out of the way, she was willing to be somewhat chill about it because Edict had walked the fuck away just like she wanted… it was Layla who’d invited him along. ”You know, I am going pretty fucking easy on him by not dragging him home by his ear. Fuck! Now I have to babysit. Staying cool really worked out.”

Though her brother was an adult, she often felt like he hadn’t matured past his early teens. Perhaps that was on her and Jinhai, as the ones who raised him… but she was pretty sure she’d taught him better than that.

”Hey, Jiieeee, introduce me to everyone!” Henri piped up, coming right up behind her. He practically loomed over her thanks to being much taller. For once his eternal happiness didn’t make Linqian feel any better. Hopefully he’d grow bored of hanging around them on the ferry journey and then she could send him home. ”C’mon, Jie, don’t be so grumpy, I want to get to know your old friends! You used to talk about them all the time. C’mon, introduce me, introduce me!”

”Keep being this annoying and you’re going home,” Linqian snapped, switching to Chinese instantly. ”I said you could have one drink, Yi-er. I also told you to not disturb me unless it was an emergency!”

”What, was I just supposed to ignore you?” Henri whined, replying in English. ”That would be rude!”

”Yes, that’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

”But you always taught me to be polite. Also, Jie, isn’t it rude to talk in a language not everyone can understand? When I was younger you stopped me from talking Chinese to another kid at school, saying it wasn’t nice. Aren’t you being a bit hypocritical?”

”That wasn’t-” Linqian pinched the bridge of her nose, swapping back to English. ”It was what you said, not the language you said in it.”

Henri grinned, completely ignoring that. ”So, introductions!”

”Fine.” Linqian really didn’t want to, but in the time the two of them were bickering they’d reached the ferry dock - and her chances of getting rid of him were getting slimmer and slimmer. She gestured between the other four, pointing to each as she said their name. ”Layla, Sabrina, Britney, and… Greyson. This is my brother... Henri.”

”Henri,” Henri corrected with the proper French pronounciation, compared to her more American one. But it was fine, since she never used that name for him... she used his family only Chinese name. He grinned at them all, entire expression full of shining joy. It completely contrasted Linqian’s tight lips and narrowed eyes, and for those that had known Jinhai well was jarringly different to the smug smiles he’d often had. His eyes lingered on Edict a little longer than the other three - after all he had magic! But he looked away as Linqian looked his way. ”Nice to meet you all! I’m guessing you're all the old friends her and Ge- uh, Jinhai- used to talk about! That got close and supported each other during that weird disaster ten years ago!”

He then turned to Linqian. ”Oh, Jie, do you still have the food you brought? Can I have some?”

”Fine.” Linqian carefully opened her bag, shoving aside her red riding hood clothes to cover the gun that was still in there and pull out the tupperware she'd been carrying the whole time. She held out the one filled with finger foods to Henri.

Henri grabbed it with a grin, cracking it open and pulling out a dumpling which he shoved right in his mouth. He instantly grabbed another and then held out the container to everyone else. It was filled with a mix of food - dumplings, both small and large, baozi and spring rolls along with potato skins, chicken wings, (homemade) pizza rolls and all sorts of other finger foods. ”Want any? They're really good!”

Linqian just sighed, looking tired. She needed another five drinks, right now. But could she even drink with her little brother around? She certainly couldn't pursue the one other thing that would take her mind off the shitshow. She was definitely sending him home early. Or leaving with him, dumping him at home, and going back out to a club to get smashed in both ways. ”... Let’s get on the ferry.”

@Punished GN@Atrophy@FernStone
Halloween Festival - Kid's Section

---

Worthless.

Clancy seethed, shards of broken plastic compressed into his palm. The phone had been a dud. Functionally and practically worthless to him in every sense. And one of the few people in this town that seemed to have any leaning towards where he needed to be had disappeared on him in the blink of an eye. one person of interest had disappeared on him, leaving more questions and-

"Holy-... are you OK, son?" A voice in his blindspot, some probably-middle-aged dad, acutely aware of the cane lodged through his eye.

"Hey, call the first aiders-" another voice, a woman - this time in his vision, an expression of horror spread across her features. He ignored them, pacing forward. "Fuck that, kid needs nine-one-one!"

"It's part of the costume." Clancy growled, working to maintain his composure. He was acutely aware of the cane's presence, not least because - while he was himself - it rendered him half-blind. Pain was a non-issue, something he did not and never would fear. He was past that point. But he had failed, and left with more answers than he came from.

"Jesus, he's in shock-" the same, masculine voice chattered away in the background, just noise to him in the midst of it all. With only a peripheral view of the cane's ornate handle spearing out in front of his nose, he reached upwards, fumbling for the length of it, and tightened his fingers around the shaft. When he tried to pull, he felt the strangest sensation of cracking inside his head.

"Woah-woah stop, you'll make it worse!" Someone stepped in front of him, and their voice matched one of those that had been talking about him; a bearded man with a faux-fur and leather jacket that almost resembled the leathers that his brother had once worn, in a memory stored away from what now felt like years ago. That same man reached out to him, trying to shop his hand away from the handle, a well-intentioned irritation encroaching on the boundaries he set for himself, until one of those meaty hands gripped around his wrist.

"Do not touch-" he growled, his voice briefly shifting away from what it should have been that primal, inhuman pitch that overlapped his own, and for a moment he felt the illusion of self and self-control slipping. Clancy twisted and pushed back hard enough that, amidst the sound of splintering wood, he felt the man's wrist strain under the force of it, and sent him doubling over in agony as nerves caught up to damaged bones and muscle tissues.

"-just leave me alone." A warning, uttered in his own voice. In the struggle, he'd broken off the end of the cane, leaving a splintered stake spearing out through his eye socket. As if to emphasise his point, he threw the broken-off handle at the feet of his would-be samaritans, then paced off.

Trying to get the remaining length out of his eye would mean doing this in front of dozens of witnesses, potentially unmasking himself in the process, and he recognised that he was not the only one in the neighbourhood, let alone the whole town, that had strength and power. He needed to leave, there was nothing of use for him here, and plenty of opportunity for things to get worse. For the most part, he'd cleared a small path, pacing through a crush of sugar-addled kids, teenagers and eventually some half-drunken "adults".

"Toga! Toga! Toga! Toga!"

A hint of reefer intermingled with the collective pungence of sugar-barbecuefLeSh-liquor-mEaT!, and it was there that he spotted some familiar faces amond the intoxicated as he moved through the explicitly 21's only pavilions, although he had to squint with his one good eye to see through the eyehole of his partially-torn hood. The faint chanting of "Toga!" was hitting him in a way he couldn't quite understand, as the drunken revelers speared through the crowd in a disorderly conga line. A sense of a loss he hadn't felt. Was this something he would miss out on?

The thought withdrew as he recalled what he'd witnessed that night at the cemetary.

"Fuck off."

Were they really Ashley's friends? Could he trust them? That he doubted in spades. He wondered if things would've been different if he'd been there. Maybe so, but for different reasons than most would've guessed.

Remember.

Pushing the thought to one side, he was also conscious that some of their circle had broken away from, or never been involved with the celebrations, and instead were preoccupied by the G-Men from the church, talking to them. Although they weren't uniformed, he'd been close enough to get a glimpse of their facess on two occasions now, and the impression had stuck with him.

These aren't your friends, he reminded himself, not family, either.

There was nothing for him here. He pushed on through the crowd, past the line of "Toga!" chants, in the direction of the dock.

Off on the horizon, the silhouette of a ferry awaited a small crowd of people waiting a return to the mainland, mostly younger families. He stopped in his tracks, then reconsidered.

Of course, crowds consisted of people, who asked questions when things seemed out of place. Like the jadded end of the cane, still protruding from his skull. Questions that led to the same people bothering him again, like the one he left nursing a broken wrist.

No.

Agitated, hungry and about as close to tired as he'd felt in a long time, he thought it better to take the direct route this time. Clancy tore the canvas hood from his costume, irritated enough by the situation that he could tolerate the poor visibility no longer.

Then, approaching an elevated section of the beachfront, he found a smaller fisherman's dock that wasn't swarming with departures and arrivals, where the lights were dimmed and pnly a few idle visitors slumped in various states of fatigue and intoxication.

Clancy stepped out as far as the structure extended into the sea, until he reached the very edge, then continued forward, his costumed form disappearing into the black water with little more than a splash amidst the raucous celebrations and ambient noise of waves lapping against the shore.

---

---

Luca looked at Lila’s arm and winced. To outsiders, it was probably no worse than the rotting wounds across his own arms, but to him it absolutely was. It was someone else, and was caused by feathers physically pulling themselves inside her skin. That must be excruciating. At least his pain was constant, if increasing.

”That’s their healer,” Luca said to Lila, pointing at Trevor with his incredibly recognisable voice. ”If they don’t help I have painkillers on me, and plenty of bandages and other stuff at mine!” His voice grew softer, so that just Lila could hear. ”We can talk too. About this.”

He smiled at her and took a step back so hopefully Trevor could come around and heal her. He got closer to Jasper again, half leaning against him. The walk over to Lila had taken a lot out of him. His legs were aching, and he felt a tiredness deep in his bones. He knew that it would hit him even harder tomorrow, especially after the rot came back.

”Yeah, I think heading home is for the best,” Luca eventually replied to Jasper with a nod. The Halloween Festival had been appealing, and they hadn’t done much of it but… at the end of the day his friend’s comfort was more important. Lila’s comfort. And he wasn’t really physically able to enjoy it. There was always next year!

If I’m still around next year.

”Oh, we can watch some more horror movies, since I downloaded so many!” He glanced at his friends with a grin, gaze settling on Lynn. ”And avoid drunk toga conga lines… what even is that? Is that a normal thing?”

As he thought about that weird concept, a petal floated past his eyes. Then another one. Suddenly broken up bits of flowers were flowing all around them, like a gentle snowfall of petals. Luca reached out to catch one, holding it between his fingers and smiling at it. He hadn’t touched a flower in so long. But where were they coming from? It wasn’t a freak flower weather event was it?

He craned his neck to look up, glancing around the sky- Oh!

”Is that Ken?” He pointed to the familiar floating figure, before waving. It had been a while since Luca last saw Ken, but he was one of the people he'd been able to keep contact with. It was nice to see him again... he could come along to Luca's place as well if he wanted to! ”Hey, Ken! Kennn!”