"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
The spirit rubs his gnarled, clawed hands together as he giggles wildly, watching them from his cauldron. They scour and search as they hunt for him but he doesn’t step foot from his hiding place despite their best efforts. He leans a little further over the bubbling potion to see them all hunt until the stem-handled lid of his head comes tumbling out and into the concoction. Oh my god, how embarrassing. He scrambles to scoop it up from the cauldron and curses wildly when the boiling liquid touches his skin. God, this is not how this was supposed to go at all. Oh jeez. And they can hear every word as he scrambles to recover himself. Crap. Crapcrapcrap.
A few of the seeds from his head add to the mix, however, and throughout Beqanna his lackeys begin to appear. They dance and skip and snarl as the accidental magic births them into reality. For now, they bide their time and simply snicker from the shadows, waiting and watching with eager, beady eyes. Jack can only watch in utter shame as his mistake manifests itself. He holds his orange face in his clawed hands and takes a deep breath to recollect himself. It can’t be helped. Time to move on.
He clears his throat and scoops a bit of bone dust from a saucer on the table next to him, sprinkles it into the simmering mix to save face. All across the land, little pumpkins sprout from the ground with faces to match Jack’s. They nestle into the roots of trees and in the depths of caves, serving as red herrings for their hunt. This had all started as a fun game but now he’s got to hide his shame and really avoid them.
His mother was right; he should have been a doctor.
“Never mind all that mess before, now’s the part that I adore! Set your traps and gather your b-bait, lure me out and make it great,” he says but his voice cracks, betraying his bruised ego. Still, he’s determined to keep this game going and prove that this wasn’t a terrible career choice. “But mind the shadows and beware the dark. My children are eager to make their mark.”
He has to improvise now as he scratches his chin nervously. The henchmen are obedient, however, and they remain where they are while the players begin to assemble their lures and traps.
NOTES:
Jack is still trying to be scary despite the mess he’s made of things. Feel free to taunt the poor guy while you set up a trap, if you’re feeling like a bully, or maybe take pity on him and leave out some gifts for him. Explain why your trap or lure will draw him out. Feel free to change up the scenery with more Halloween decorations of your own because god knows what else Jack spilled into his potion in his frenzy to get his lid back. Has his potion perhaps changed your character in some way? Show off your creativity and do anything you want in this round. (The henchmen will be fully revealed next round so don’t worry about them for now.)
Same rules as before. This round ends at 11:59pm CT on Saturday.
Jack O'Lantern
O! Ghostly friend, thy hair's on end! What fearful fate do you portend?
Hardship will teach you soon,
While the day becomes night,
That the people love, lose, cry and mourn.
- - - -
Magic.
It crackles in the air like electricity set loose, looking for a place to land. Clouds gather and thicken, shrouding the world so completely that not a single star is left in sight. Robbed of her companions, the ocean rages, sending foam-tipped fingers crashing wildly on shore. Each time she comes up empty-handed, save for a few sun-bleached bones, and each time she comes back harder, and stronger, until even North feels a sliver of trepidation.
She reminds herself that sirens do not fear the sea, and tonight she is a siren.
North continues to hum the tune she started. She does not really understand what is going on, but when she hears the pumpkin's voice drifting across the moonlit sea-mist- "Set your traps and gather your b-bait, lure me out and make it great," she takes a deep breath and she begins. This has all been very carefully thought out as she put her outfit together-- and yet she feels like the idea was always there inside of her, waiting to be heard. The tune she was humming gains its wings, its words:
"Sofdu lengi, sofdu rótt, "
North has never sang for an audience before, not even the sea, and when she begins her eyes are closed and her voice quiet. She can barely hear herself over the ocean's rage. The tune is delicate and haunting and, to her, heartbreakingly personal.
(this is the song of scraped knees and sleepless nights, this is the song of her mother and her mother's mother. This is the backbone of her youth and, respectfully, her adulthood. This is the beginning, and likely the end, and possibly the mystery that ties the two together. This is the only song she knows, and she doesn't understand a word of it--
but songs aren't about words anyway.)
The magic starts in the ground and weaves its way throughout the beach. It buzz, buzz, buzzes in every cell, every atom, and the dead are the first to react. They respond differently according to their state of decay. The furthest along, no more than a scattering of bones, rattle against each other-- at first first quietly; a snap of half-broken teeth to her right, two femurs knocking together somewhere to her left. And then louder and louder-- partially decayed corpses, the ones that are still mostly flesh (but no eyes, never eyes- the carrion take those first) begin to kick their hooves where they lay, as though running from something. Or to.
In the shockwave of magic the beach is a sudden symphony of sound- the sea churning angrily, the clatter of bones, the spray of sand by hooves that run, run run, going nowhere. Her hair stands on end (even beneath the heavy layers of seaweed) and she feels that cold chill of fear as she realizes that maybe she did not realize what she was getting into.
But, you see, the magic reaches her, too, and it settles her resolve.
Her voice grows stronger and clearer for it. Her song becomes more haunting and the moonlight, what little of it manages to its way through the thick clouds, plays tricks on her face. It becomes, somehow, beautiful. North is many things, but she has never been beautiful-- Pretty, yes, but never beautiful. There is a fine difference. The pearls realign in her mane into something neater but not perfect- it is a sort of chaotic beauty. A dried sea star about to fall relocates itself neatly behind her ear. These things are all honestly annoying but not particularly distracting-- her song carries on, only growing louder.
"seint mun best ad vakna."
Her voice remains strong even as the clatter of bones grows louder and louder. She realizes they're trying to stand when a half-decomposed body struggles to its knees then, slowly, its feet. Another joins it, and another. She swallows, focuses on the magic in her (it is clear and warm and reminds her of home, wherever that is anymore, and also the feeling of hunger) and she continues her song.
"Maedan kenna mun thér fljótt,
medan hallar degi skjótt."
The corpses slowly turn to face her. She is keenly aware of her heart racing now and it tints her song with a sort of desperation. She thinks- though she cannot be sure- that her song is luring them to her. This was the intended effect (she is a siren, after all, at least for tonight) but certainly not the intended audience. She's after that idiotic pumpkin, not Beqanna's bone collection. She takes another breath.
"Ad mennirnir elska,"
Her teeth slowly begin to grow sharp- it is a horrible feeling, even numbed by magic- and it begins to feel a little difficult to breathe. But she focuses on her song, and her quest, and the unpleasant side effects sort of just crumble into the background noise of sea and bone. The corpses stand clacking their teeth where they are, spellbound, and she begins to walk among them slowly once more in search of the pumpkin. As she moves, they turn to follow her with eyeless faces.
"missa,"
Her voice wavers when she finds him! She leaps to the round orange shape (it is dark, so dark) and noses at it roughly. There is no response. "I found you," she mutters quietly to the lifeless pumpkin, keenly aware of the many eyeless faces pointed at you. "Hey, enough with the walking dead, okay? I found you." There is no response-- and that is when she realizes there is no fire behind those triangle eyes. Damn games, she thinks with a snort. I'm too fucking old for this. But she's dressed in seaweed and donned in pearls and she still feels the magic in her veins, and hears it in her voice, and she knows she's come too far to stop now.
So she continues to sing her haunting, heartbreaking song,
"gráta og sakna--"
and the skulls continue to watch her, and she continues to search.
- - - - -
N O R T H
ooc: North is singing this creepy icelandic folk song
(A river. A mermaid. A hazel.)
(A bloodied shoreline. A sunset. A beacon.)
A dream, she’s decided - and one that’s strange, and feverish.
She must still be sleeping soundly among the wildflowers with the cool, clear spring air around her - because it can’t be real. The fog can’t be real, her legs can’t be real, and the voice (the voice!) she must have conjured out of the farthest depths of her imagine; crafted it from syllables spoken by all the voices she’s ever heard before. Because all of her memories have been realized in flesh, and it can’t be.
“Never mind all that mess before, now’s the part that I adore! Set your traps and gather your b-bait, lure me out and make it great.”
And she hears it stumble then, the voice, and she thinks it's because she’s on to the facade - is tearing it apart by its very seams. Glass doesn’t know she wants to find him, only that the desire fills everything left of her that is genuine.
Perhaps another mystery.
Perhaps another shot at importance.
(A river. A mermaid. A hazel.)
(A bloodied shoreline. A sunset. A beacon.)
“But mind the shadows and beware the dark. My children are eager to make their mark.”
There are dangers, she knows. Deeper in the fog she hears the rattle and clash of teeth on teeth; them. ‘Monsters,’ she thinks. Loveliar would have told her to run. Loveliar would have screamed at her to run. But her mother wasn’t here, and against her better judgement she chooses to play along (to burn), to stumble through this fever dream with everything she can. So Glass finally rises from the river, and she turns to face the meadow again. She will lure him in with a story, one that is as beautiful as it is awful.
(A river. A mermaid. A hazel.)
(A bloodied shoreline. A sunset. A beacon.)
From the ground sprout orange pumpkins from invisible seeds. She eyes them warily as she wanders through the fog, and as she nears each one finds a jagged smile carved ruthlessly through the flesh of them. It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand, but she has nothing to fear.
This is a dream after all.
When she is in the centre of the meadow with the wildflowers all around her, she plucks a handful of pearls from her crown and lays out a trail that leads back towards the river’s edge. The trail circles the hazel tree, and ends with an ‘X’. She marked the ‘X’ where she remembered Spyndle dying the first time, where Cordis found her bleeding out, but brought her back.
(A river. A mermaid. A hazel.)
(A bloodied shoreline. A sunset. A beacon.)
And then she walks into the river.
The water is colder than she’s ever been before, but Glass doesn’t consider going back; she wades into the water, until her thighs, her waist, her shoulders are all submerged. She swims to its middle, where an island built up of stones is waiting and in its centre another hazel tree. What comes next is not a natural choice for her, but its the only one she wants to make in the fever dream. She sings. And while she sings her appearance changes, her skin shifts from pink to silver to gold, from alive to dead. It flickers between them because as long as she is singing she is Glassheart, and Spyndle, and Cordis - altogether.
She sings about rivers, and mermaids, and hazels.
She sings about bloodied shorelines, and sunsets, and beacons.
She sings about worlds, and vivisections, and skin that burns like magma when someone you love touches it.
She sings about them.
Cordis and Spyndle.
Because theirs is the most compelling story she’s ever known.
"One can never have enough socks" - Dumbledore "Unless one is a horse." - Revel
Well, nuts. This was not how he had planned things to go at all. Beard stuck to a tree limb as poor Jack mutters and curses as though he’s lost something. Revel didn’t think he’d meant for all that to be heard. Unless, of course, his intent had been to come off as clumsy, silly goose. Or, well, pumpkin head (hahaha don’t judge me).
Ohh, but wait, what’s this? Revel’s eyes go wide as grinning pumpkins begin to pop up around him, carved teeth gleaming in the chill night air. The heavy fog swirls about him, adding to the spooky mystery. “Hmmmm, he mutters, feigning much more wisdom than exists in him. “Methinks this feels like a trap.”
It’s stuff and nonsense, but maybe he does have a point. If he can ever get himself unstuck from the tree. With that in mind, he jerks his head sharply to snap the white beard free. Except that… it hurts!
“Ow!” he yelps, ducking his head to rub the offended chin against his knee. As he does so, he realizes the awful fake beard he’d donned no longer wiggles and bounces on his chin. Shaking his head, understanding soon dawns that the thing had become quite stuck! Almost as though his beard is no longer… fake.
Well, well, isn’t that quite the stroke of good fortune. Watch out Dumbledore, we got a new wizard in town. Seriously though, where’s a magic wand when you need one?
Oh, ho! But he isn’t quite done here. Seems Mr. Lantern is challenging them to lure him out with their best tricks and treats. And boy, does he have a doozy up his sleeve. Maybe. Sort of.
Well, actually, he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Oops.
Ok, so. What do we have here. Pumpkins. Leaves. And vines. Oh my! Pumpkin spice latte? No, he doesn’t have a clue how to make one of those. Pumpkin pie? Nope, still no clue. Maaaybe he should steer clear of the baked goods for a bit. And the pumpkins.
Exceeept…
With a suddenly gleeful thought, Revel chuckles in low tone, quite pleased with his sudden inspiration. With brisk steps, he weaves through the trees, head ducked as he hunts down his supplies. A lovely grinning pumpkin, some vines, a couple branches, some berries, and a few pretty flowers to top it off. Amber eyes focused, he mutters to himself as he assembles his haul over a handy stump, occasionally chuckling at the vague shape that has begun to form.
Soon enough, a grinning look-a-like is perched precariously before him. Or rather, a female grinning look-a-like. With a crooked smile stretching his lips, he admires his handiwork.
It does look rather fine if he does say so himself. The pumpkin he’d plucked sits atop a bundle of vines and leaves he’d fashioned to look like a dress, with branches for arms, carefully concealed to hide their… branchiness. The berries had served to provide some color to her features, a femininity that, let’s be honest, looks more than passingly odd on a pumpkin. But hey! Revel… er, Dumbledore is a horse, what the hell does he know about pumpkin sensibilities?
Besides, he’s got to imagine poor Jack doesn’t see a lot of women pumpkins around. And, well, he’s gotta have a hankerin’ by now, right? Right. We’ll go with it.
But it’s still missing something. With a frown, Reveldore peers around, trying to discern what it is he missed. And there! Just in the trees beyond some thick white spider-webbing and a string of ghostly lights (just imagine those light strings with little plastic ghosts, super cute and not at all implausible) is a wig clinging to a low branch. With a bright peal of amused laughter, he trips through the trees to pluck the black-haired wig from the branch and flop it onto the pumpkin head before tucking a few flowers haphazardly amongst the strands. Stepping back, Dumblevel admires his creation with a satisfied nod. “Mhm,” he intones thoughtfully, “I think I shall call you… Linda.”
With a cackle of his own, he spirits himself behind a nearby tree, peeping out from his impromptu hiding space to see if he can spy Jack. After all, how could he resist his stunningly beautiful creation?
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
She may look like a ghost between the redwood trees and the sea mist luring into the night – yet, the pumpkin-headed figure that has asked her and the others to disguise themselves, does not show. Somehow, she had not expected him to; it might just be too easy that way. Besides, there’s literally nothing that says she is facing any fears right now like he’d promised. No, something seems to be wrong.
It’s not much later than that, that she hears him curse wildly, and there seems to be something landing not far away. Shocked, she stares at it; but it doesn’t move, Jack tells them about these things being his henchmen, and well, honestly, it is forgotten for a moment, because it’s not the only thing changing around her.
Pumpkins seem to grow all over the redwood forest. She has to move sideways so as not to get squished between two of them, growing way beyond normal size – but she’s never seen a pumpkin before, to be honest. How would she know this is not supposed to be? Simple: this Jack figure had not meant this evening to go quite this way.
She sighs a little, and moves forward, looking at her lure she’d brought. She’s gathered fruits from her homeland, sweet things, and cute as it is, a smaller pumpkin (big for a normal-sized one) has grown right beneath it as a sort of table. She kicks the pumpkin; it smashes, and fruits and pumpkin mash make up a pretty, and tasty, display in the little field she’s in. The moonlight from above shines on her white figure as she watches it, content a moment, then cocking her head at it and moving around, shoving bits and pieces together in an image. A pumpkin-headed horse, for good measure.
Perhaps this will lure him out. It’s made of pumpkin, candy wrappers that she found landing next to the pumpkins, and the fruits. But when she overthinks her lure, then, there’s the changing. Her legs seem to shorten a little, bending in places; and her head takes a weird round form. Staring down at her hooves, they have changed into something horrendous. No longer are they hooves, but parts of her leg have given up on hair, and the hooves seem to split into weird sausage-shaped things, things that she can move about but has no use for while standing on four legs – little does she know, the five-fingered appendages are hands, and she’s leaning into her palms. She has just about wriggled and moved the new fingers, when her hind falls to the ground – there, sits a human being, hair almost as orange as a pumpkin’s skin, though perhaps slightly redder; skin and dress, white as a ghost; her eyes dipped in some kind of stain, her disguise is still not lost. Perplexed; she sits there a moment. Then, she backs up on hands and feet, and her shocked amber eyes take in the scene before her.
Wondering if he’ll still come, wondering if she’ll ever be changed back.
At least, now she is a horse with hands. And as she absent-mindedly runs her fingers through her dark-red-orange hair, and looks at the things, she supposes that she can find them useful.
For trapping and such, you know?
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
A sound like dried leaves getting crushed under foot tickled in his ears. The brittle bones of those long gone from this world dusted under his small weight with a crunch. He held his head high with a prideful flick of his little nub tail as if he were the one to have put them there, killed every one of these long-forgotten bodies, ripped their souls from their worldly vessels. He may as well have. He would, you know.
Father would be so proud of him one day.
His lip curled and he snarled as three glowing jack-o-lanterns appeared out of nowhere, lighting up the solid darkness with a soft, orange light that danced over his iridescent skin. One was instantly smashed the second it appeared, a youthful hoof striking through its face. Its life-force blinked out. The second was obliterated in a shower of pumpkin mush as he turned his face away to avoid the gore, sparks flying as it, too, darkened and died.
And then there was one.
He lifted his head and smirked down at it, eyes lit with the confidence of knowing exactly how this night would end. Because he was in complete control of it. He was the final scene, the curtain call. The only one left still standing. That was the only way he'd have it.
“...But mind the shadows and beware the dark. My children are eager to make their mark.”
The creature spoke again, its voice hiding on the chill night air like the coward he was. It was the last part that pulled another dark smile to Decimate's lips, though. He chuckled softly, a cruel sound that injected fear and uncertainty rather than mirth. When he responded, his small voice was smooth and unwavering, certain with truth.
"I am the shadows. I am the dark. I am the end to you and yours, and all that are here."
He had already proven it. It was only fortunate to the innocent that a mere three were all that had crossed his deadly path thus far. It was further fortunate that those had not included other creatures not conjured by magic. Not yet, anyway. But that wouldn't stop him. His path only had one end and nothing would deter him. The storm was coming. A force like Decimate could not be stopped.
The gold and green of his metallic dragon skin shimmered, flared momentarily. He looked down at his chest as he continued walking at a leisurely pace. Then his face lifted again with a wicked grin. He was becoming real and he didn't wonder why. It must've been Father watching over him, or the death of those magical pumpkins. His wings had melded to him, too, nerves and tendons connecting, manifesting. He flared them out with a harsh laugh and a bold lift to his chin.
This was only the beginning.
His head, neck, and chest were dragon skin, spreading to his wings, his front legs, and no further. The back half of him was still blue, still beautiful indigo like his mother and sister. That wasn't all this magical creature would give him. He'd make sure of it.
"If you care at all for these people..." He glanced around, senses slowly sharpening to something supernatural. He didn't need it though, not really. He was a force all on his own. He was the son of the Dark God. They would see. "You should give me what I want before they all die. One by one." He shrugged as he kept walking, kept searching without haste. "And if you don't care if they die," he smiled, his young muscles rolling beneath glimmering skin.
"Just know you are the target."
The rest were just amusing collateral damage.
They were promises of what's to come.
"I will find you regardless. But you can end this sooner. You can spare some lives, save your little minions from me." He laughed, a raw scrape in his throat.
"For now, you still have a chance to live."
And that wasn't a promise he could keep for much longer, as his patience grew thinner. His tolerance for these games would come to an end.
Ah, yes.
"And don't think death could be your escape from me. I can walk through the afterlife too."
Perhaps his twin really was useful after all. He would need to keep her close.
Okay, so. Creepy-ass setting aside, the mastermind behind this weird dream was starting to look more and more pathetic and weird. Thankfully in her old line of work, Dizzy was no stranger to the pathetic and weird. Equally thankfully, one of the extra little props she'd tucked into her purse was a green flask with a hand-inked label that read Worm’s Wort - code for mezcal, though this bottle didn’t really have a worm in the bottom, thanks. She pulled it out, unscrewed the top, and took a long pull. Heaven knew she was gonna need it.
Okay. Baby needed to be lured out, did he? Well she had a few treats she could use to do just that. She reached into her purse once more, pulled out her phone and restarted her playlist. A wicked little grin spread slowly across her face as the world around her reacted to her poor, adorably bumbling villain’s clumsiness, sprouting jack-o-lanterns that stared at her from the trees; she always did like a bit of an audience.
Mmm, and wasn’t it so, so convenient, like his potion knew just what she needed even if he didn’t? The Nightmare Revisited album started playing, the first few minutes just buying her a little time as a stage raised itself up out of the forest floor, complete with a black and white striped pole just for her. Bats and ghosts and spiders sprang forth from nothing to dangle from the trees and set the mood overhead. Cobwebs clung to the treetops, and another wave of fog rolled in as moonlight shone down in a handy little spotlight ready to follow her wherever she needed.
The rich, crooning voice of Danny Elfman coaxed her audience to come settle in, perk up, and watch. Not exactly her usual music to dance to, but it was what she had, and somehow it felt appropriate. She strode out onto the stage, putting a little extra sway in her step, slowly stripping off her patchwork dress to reveal a bra and panty set a deeper, slightly more vibrant blue in the same hue as her body paint, accented with black lace.
She stroked her hands across her belly, her brow furrowing as she noticed the way the paint seemed to soak into her skin, like it had washed away and left the color behind. Danny Elfman faded out and Marilyn Manson’s cover of This Is Halloween began, and she started to dance, letting the music wash over her, channeling sexy monster as she took over the stage.
Come out and play, Jack, her body beckoned as she made her way to the pole, the world around her dancing to the music too. Pumpkins screamed in the dead of night, the wind whispered through the trees and slid fingers through what was her wig moments ago but had now become her deep red hair. She whirled around the pole, motion sleek and sinuous from years of practice, arched and danced and spun to the rhythm of the music as it coaxed her very own Skeleton Jack out to play, or at least to watch the show.
She begged him with her hips, with her hands, body rolling with a hint of jerky undeath to the motion, coaxing and cajoling as the music built, calling out the Pumpkin King to receive his accolades. Who else could he be but their very own beloved Jack?
It’s okay if you screw things up now and again, we’ll still love you and help you set it right. Don’t you want to come out? Come out, baby. Come out and salvage the rest of the night, dance and touch and taste and revel, maybe get a little action if you’re feeling lucky.
It came back so easily, selling desire with the motion of her body, making false promises with her bedroom eyes. Come and get it Jack. I’m yours for the taking.
As her words echo through the forest, she stands still. Attentively hear ears turn and twist around, ready to catch any and all sounds coming from the eerie silent forest around her as dusk approaches. Faolin even holds her breath, in order to make sure she does not miss the tiniest sound of Jack’s approach.
But there is none. He isn’t coming.
A hoof collides roughly with the ground in annoyance, but the petite female does not yet give up. Her brown orbs dance along Taiga’s thick redwood trunks, narrowing ever so slightly as she tries to find something else that possibly could lure him out. Then there suddenly is a loud ‘splash’, followed by series of muttered words, and faint stirring sound. Well, that couldn’t have been pretty. The corners of Faolin’s lips curl up as she realises what has happened, and she softly nickers to herself.
The sound is cut short as she suddenly realises that different sounds are now coming from all directions. Something is brewing in the eerie redwood forest. Hands clawing, feet dragging, and soft snickering sounds coming from the shadows. However, as soon as you turn your head towards the sound, it stills, only to then come from a different direction. Faolin had been willing to play his game, but she isn’t yet sure if she wants to play the same game with them.
Her head tilts back to the sky again, her painted face lit by the last light of the day. “Oh Jackie, where are you? You know I’m waiting for you,” she calls to him, her melodic voice carrying the syllables from Taiga to wherever it is where Jack is hiding. She does not think it will lure him out, but oh, his game is so fun to play with. Anticipation nestles as an excited butterfly in her stomach, making her feel light and almost giggly, but Faolin does not rush. Jack would come once he was ready to show himself.
Once he had gotten himself over his little slip up. Best to not mention it yet, though Faolin is pretty sure that he is aware that she knows. But even so, why putting salt in an open wound, if she still needs to get some things done from him.
A flick of her tail, and a narrowed glare towards her left – in the direction of one of those snickering sounds – later, the painted lady turns around, to go back the way she had come. Around her, Taiga is changing. The night has now fully chased away the sun, but the light of the orange lanterns that decorate the trees offer just enough to compensate. The light sources on the ground come in the shape of hollowed out pumpkins, with candles burning inside them. The sight puts a smile on Faolin’s lips, putting a sway in her step as she walks. As she walks through Taiga, she softly whistles a trick-or-treat song to herself, while watching more and more decorations appear.
Next to the lanterns and pumpkins there are now all kinds of things to be seen. Thick cobwebs in the trees, accompanied by spiders too large for their webs. Above her she can hear the cackling of a witch, before it flies over her head on a brand new Nimbus 2000. The sight is gruesome – and entertaining – enough to stop and stare. Crooked nose with a big black mole, sickly green skin, and tangled hair coming from under a pointy hood. How typical.
But even though Taiga comes alive with whatever creatures Jack has brought to their world, there is still no sign from the game master himself. “Jack, where are you now? We have a game to play, and I can get really flammable if someone denies me a good play.” A frown is now to be seen upon her features, and her tail makes an irritated flick. Who was he to deny her?
Again she halts, this time standing in a little clearing. On the outside she looks calm, and patient, but Faolin is everything but. And the longer is kept waiting, the worse her mood becomes. But she does not tap a hoof, nor flick her tail around. When she moves, it is to walk towards one of the many hollow pumpkins lying around. Her nose dips towards the object, feeling he burning candle warming her skin. Wickedly, her lips curl up, and she glances up to the sky out of one corner of her eyes. “Be warned, Jack, no-one should keep a lady waiting.”
Again her muzzle lowers, and she gives the pumpkin an experimental bump. Watching the face rocking, and the flame flickering, she cannot contain her full-fledged grin. “You better hurry up,” she tells him, no longer raising her voice, but neither whispering. “Or else I’ll put things on fire, to drag you from your burning shelter with my own teeth.”
And don’t think she wouldn’t. Taiga isn’t her home, and the river separating the forest from Taiga would keep her home from burning. She didn’t have anything to lose, but Faolin couldn’t say the same about Jack. Content with herself she stands next to one of Jack’s look-a-like Halloween decorations, her left foreleg resting directly next to it, so a simple kick would be enough to set the many dried leaves aflame.
The little lion-girl waits for anything. She’s rather annoyed now at the whole display of it all. This was definitely taking too long. She hated that for sure.
However, the little scramble and curses slipping through the night from Jack send her ears flickering in a flurry forward. She stares into the darkness of the cavern with wide-eyes as her jaw opens in shock at what she hears. If anything she is rather shocked by the words that flow through his mouth, filled with cruses she knows she isn’t even allowed to use herself
But it brings a rather big smile to her face. “What’s the problem, Jack!?” Otrera taunts him playfully as her open mouth then curves into a grin that reaches from ear to ear. “Did your plan not go so well!” She adds because it was too much fun taunting the poor guy.
POP!
Otrera leaps up with fright at the sudden noise.
POP! POP! POP! The noise continues.
“Is that you Jack!?” She quickly turns around to look at what all the commotion was. Suddenly there was dozens and dozens of small pumpkins sprouting from the ground. She snorts in irritation at the mess that the pumpkins have made across her home in Nerine. “Jack, you need to clean up this mess! My parents will not like this one bit! No they will not!” She is at least determined not to be blamed for this mess of a scene that unraveled.
Otrera blinks, expecting one of them to pop up and speak, but no one does. “Ugh!” She shakes her head and looks around. “Well Jack, what will it be?” She protests because it was nearly her bedtime.
Her ear flickers at the voice of Jack again. “Now you want me to lure you out!? What sort of game is this? I don’t like it at all anymore.” Perhaps it was time for her to go to bed.
Otrera moves several feet away from the cave, stepping over various heads that could be Jack. She just supposes they are all for show and this was really nothing. At least until he spoke again.
“Your children!?” She stops dead in her tracks, quickly looking towards the shadows around her. The little lion-girl isn’t sure what or where he means his children lurk. What sort of creatures did he even have?
She takes a deep gulp of air. Well, she definitely can’t go back to bed now with these children lurking in the dark! “Fine, fine,” she mumbles under her breath, “I’ll play your little game.” She gives in, but hopes it will be over with soon.
Otrera turns back to look towards the cave. She is definitely certain he is in there. None of these pumpkins were him, at least she suspected that he would have come out by now and tried to get her. Well, whatever the objective of this game was to end it all. She didn’t even quite know except she was supposed to capture this sort of Jack creature.
It is best that she gets to work. The filly scrambles sweets within the trees of Nerine. Luckily, the weather has been nice lately and some of her favorite sweets were just within reach… Well, the ones on the ground would have to do. She was a bit small to get the sweetest of them all on the very top of the branches. Along the way she also gathers the pretest of flowers and plants she can find.
Now that she has all she needs, Otrera heads back towards the entrance of the cave. She continues to work busily to lay her trap out. Was it even really a trap? It really looked more like some sort of child-like art work that she would have brought back to her parents from school. If anything it was sort of cute looking, and maybe even delicious looking with the few treats from Nerine’s trees.
She takes a step back to look at her creation. “Well, that looks very good! But it is missing something,” he says softly, contemplating what it might be. Her eyes then dodge to the nearest pumpkin. “Perfect,” she says and moves over to roll it to the center of the trap she has laid out. But something smelled rather pleasant inside of the pumpkin. She slams her hoof onto the pumpkin, smashing it open. Out pops all sort of Halloween decorations and treats (from skeletons, to creepy crawly plastic bugs, bats, and all sorts of delicious sweet candies). “That’s more like it now,” she smiles with delight.
“Hey, Jack!” she yells turning towards the dark cave, “I have something special for you!” Her smile grows wider at what she thinks is about to unfold. Well, she decides she better get to somewhere a bit away to see what happens next. Quickly Otrera moves away from the cave and back towards where a few of the sweet trees she had gathered the fruits off of.
Suddenly she stumbles over something—one of the pumpkins that had sprout. “OOF!” She says crashing right onto her own face. The pumpkin underneath her ruptures open, spilling out some sort of weird colorful goo all over her. Her legs suddenly shrink and become stumpy little limbs. “AHH WHAT IS HAPPENING!” She tries to get up but falls back onto her face again. She definitely is now the laughing stock with such a large body and head with the most stumpest and shortest of legs ever seen.
And it seems she has fallen into a rather big problem. She cannot get up! She definitely will lose this game! She definitely will be the one getting caught now! “No, no, no,” she mumbles angrily underneath her breath. She was the one supposed to WIN this GAME!
He's walking along, all clad in black, chin tucked toward his neck so that his face remains within the shadow of the hood of his cloak. Even as most would not be able to make out his face or identity, still his gaze seeks through the fog and trees ahead of him. His pace is even, hands remaining nestled in his pockets at his side, fingers idly toying at the contents within. So much runs through his mind. Things he really doesn't want to think about right now, things he was out here at this moment to avoid thinking about. 'This Jack character better come out soon. Shit is gonna get boring real quick.' The girls thought this would be a fun distraction, but so far, he was just a dude walking around some gloomy forest in a getup that had raised his credit card balance by far. He'd just gotten it paid down too. Oh well.
No sooner had his surroundings grown eerily silent- enough for him to hear only his breathing and footsteps, and the godforsaken growling in his head- did things suddenly change. First, was that damned giggling this creature liked to do. Thought he was so funny, apparently. Okay, it is a little spooky, he supposes as he comes to a halt and scans through the shadows and fog for signs of movement. Or, at least it might have been if it weren't for the gasp and surprised yelp, followed by scrambled cursing. A smirk tugs Zoryn's lips up on the left side, even as he shakes his head and continues looking around.
He doesn't speak to the spirit, thing or whatever, deciding it really would take more fun out of it for the both of them. But suddenly, from above, tiny objects come raining down and hit him on his head and shoulders. What the.. Ducking his head and raising his arms to shield himself, the man moves closer to a nearby tree for maybe some shelter so that he could observe just a little better. Candy corns? Yes, candy corns were raining from the sky. Oh, and an assortment of chocolates and individually wrapped chewy tarts. He can't help it, he laughs. Small, at first, and then true belly laughter. Trick or treat, indeed. Zyn and Zoe would love this. Shaking his head once more as the candy-rain stops as quickly as it had started, he reaches down and collects the sugary morsels. Maybe this creature would like them back, or maybe he would take it home to the twins. Who knows. He stashes them away in his pockets, and figures it doesn't hurt to try a few, too (or a lot). I mean, why not? Finders, keepers and all.
He begins to walk again, popping something like a Starburst into his mouth, chewing and enjoying the burst of flavor. Until he hears the skittering of feet running over twigs and leaves in the near-distance behind him. His smile fades, and he turns to look- nothing. Skittering again to his left, and he turns quicker- nothing. An even quicker spin around again, and he can swear he makes out a figure darting between the trees, though he can't make out the shape of it. Whatever it is, there are more than one. From different areas, their snickers and taunts reach his ears. The beast in his mind growls low and tenses, although outwardly Zoryn simply remains on the alert. However, they seem to get to their places and remain in hiding. A trap perhaps, or some other form of trick. He isn't sure, but he cautiously begins to walk again, grabbing another candy and setting it on his tongue.
A few moments of silence pass before he begins to feel funny. His skin starts to tingle, his pulse begins to race. Around him, he notices little pumpkins sprouting up, each with a different form of expression carved into it. Some glare, some grin, and all seem to look on and mock him. Muscles tremble, and bones ache. What the hell kind of magic is this? Alright, maybe he shouldn't have eaten the free-falling candy. Bad idea, but too late to take it back. Confused as to what is happening to him, he freezes in place and looks at his hands as the tingling and aching intensify. His gloves tighten on his hands and he acts to remove them- but they won't come off. Eyes suddenly stinging, he clenches them shut and falls to his knees as the whole of his skin begins to itch and burn beneath his cloak. His ears- oh holy hell- he clutches at the cat ears he'd attached there, although they too will not come off. Instead seem to melt into his skin, becoming a part of him. In his mouth, the contraption fixed there seemingly disintegrates, and he hisses in pain as his gums feel on fire. His jaw adjusts itself. His face, under all his makeup, twitches and moves.
Remaining on the forest floor, in shock and his body shaking, he doesn't know how much time passes before it all stops.. Before it all ends. Slowly, he attempts to inventory himself and his body. Nothing is damaged, but he's certainly.. Changed. He's not altogether positive it's bad, either. Looking down at what were his hands only moments ago, it seems as though he's become his costume, or perhaps vice versa. Either way, his confusion eases into wicked amusement and gives way to a darker form of mischief. Oh, this is going to be fun indeed. Rising back to his feet, and steadying himself, his gaze scans the area once more.
The voice of Jack rings out again, albeit notably more nervous in tone than previous occasions. Zor can't stop his grin, wondering if the creature knew just what it had unleashed- or what it was doing. Clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, he then is forced to think of a way to lure this dude out. Hm.. First, he must find a good spot, and suddenly it seems he can see better than before. Perfect. Still protected from view beneath the black cloak he wears, he roams the forest and gathers a few things until he finds it. A small clearing with an old split tree, broken and laying dead on the ground. Its stump provided the perfect table, and a wonderfully spooky setting. Approaching the spot, he places one pumpkin in the center, with the traditional jagged-grin-face carved into it facing outward. From his pockets, he collects all the candy from before (and the pieces from home) and carefully places them around it. Adding to that, some leaves and needles from the trees along with it, for effect. As well as the pumpkins and candy that had manifested, some bright orange and black banners had also appeared, and he'd spotted a lantern or two. Zoryn takes the liberty of plucking those and places one lantern behind his chosen pumpkin, and the banners draping around the trunk of the tree. Standing back and sinking into the shadows of the forest, he looks over his handiwork and smirks.
"Come now, Jack, and visit the shrine I've made for you. In your honor." His voice is gravelly from disuse, and perhaps a bit deeper in tone than was normal for him, but he doubts the spirit will notice much. "Accept my offering to you, to show my appreciation for tonight and what you are." And, what he hopes, the spirit doesn't realize he's made him as well. Not yet. Come out, come out and play.
