#;e. treats and tricks | jje 2024

[lycianlynx]

Five candies from trick-or-treating plus the six she had received for the Angels winning. That's eleven candies in total. It's an odd number, one that doesn't split evenly for sharing. Sophia counts six candies and then holds them out to Chad.

"I... have always been prepared... for the possibility that outsiders might try to kill me."

A blunt admission, spoken in the same tone as someone might remark about the weather. Fae was still too young to know when they had left for the first time, but she had known the reason why Arcadia needed to be hidden within the sandstorms and why the Guardians would sometimes return smelling like blood for a very long time.

"If you don't want me to ask why... I won't." They can bury everything that happened tonight forever, if that's what they wish. But I am... not hurt and I had... a lot of fun."

Seven doesn't split evenly, either— But eleven and seven make eighteen, so they accept two of the six she offers, picking a pair of fruit-flavored ones. Now they both have nine.

The admission burns them, the casual tone moreso. It still isn't anything they don't accept as truth. Sophia, for all her crypticness, was honest even in her riddles— Her truths all the more frank for it. It's something they appreciate, even when it scalds and stings like the rim of a hot cauldron beneath their palms.

"No." They say in turn, though it's more of a sigh. "I owe you the truth. I did stab that guy, and he did threaten you to my face. I—" Their hands curl into fists in the fabric of their pants. They grasp for words, for details in the moment, and find none of them really explain what and why—

So, instead, their voice dips low, into a murmur, as does their head, because they don't know how else to explain besides being honest in turn.

"Father was prepared for the fact he might die protecting us. I wasn't. I'll never be." Their hands unclench, open in their lap, palms-up. "Even you— I won't let it—that— happen again. Not if I can help it."

Over their dead body. "Not ever."

A silence, a patience, in case she wants to say anything. Before it can fully lapse, though: "You can ask me whatever you want, and I'll answer. But..."

Brown eyes flick up to her, and their head lifts to follow. "Um, I'm glad you had fun. Really." They flash Sophia the ghost of a smile, tired, but real. "And... Well. Sorry. For, uh."

Their hands clasp together, a nail scratching at the black polish. "... If I made it... Harder, for you to have fun..."

[lycianlynx]

After the fanfare had settled, Hugh had one particular goal in mind. There was still work to be done - that even though the curtains had fallen on the game, there was something that was left unfinished. But man, when he approaches them, his words get caught in his throat. Hugh's not sure if a 'sorry' can amount to the things that he's done. A part of him isn't sure if he has to say it a second time - even if it had mainly been intended for Sophia at the time. So, careful not to spook him (he's sure they heard Hugh from a mile away, anyway), he pats one of their shoulders, before staring somewhere outside the venue. "I'm sure you're ready to ditch this place," He says, "but let's head on back together, alright? You, me, Sophia...I'm sure Elffin would love to tag along too." Don't go alone, is what he pleads with a cautious glance Chad's way - but something they won't openly admit to worrying about himself.

"...plus, you bruised my side." He then huffs, directing his eyes towards the night sky. "Multiple times! How am I going to get back in one piece? I'm already patched up as it is!" A hand points to under his eyes, where some of the patchwork markings resided.

No hissing, no skittering; Hugh's right, Chad could probably even hear him from two miles away if he really tried. It's not solely because of this that he accepts the weight of the mage's hand on his shoulder without complaint. Trust carries the weight of that perk.

Chad's not actually mad, at him, either. It's just easier to pretend to be mad than actually be furious. Between Hugh saying bullshit every other minute and Sophia looking at them all sad and tugging at their tail-ribbon, is it really that much of a surprise they kept a handle on themself?

... Maybe. They're about ready to give this place the slip either way, because anything could happen, any moment now, to make them really lose their shit. Their restraint's eroded enough as is, twice-over. Words pin his tail before he can disappear on his own, though, consign himself to lonely shadow; Despite the fact that every little insanity he'd gotten wrapped up tonight in was in the name of another...

together. Their head bows, dodges Hugh's gaze for just a moment. It passes. At the end of it, a hand reaches, gingerly, for the edge of the other's sleeve, a mirror of first greeting, a tacit agreement—

Before, again, Hugh starts complaining, huffing and puffing and talking bullshit—as he does.

Chad can't help it. He laughs, hard, long, bright and clear. His hand darts up the rest of the way to poke at the painted-on stitches, careful to keep his nails out of the way. Hugh's cheek is warm and squishable. Peak poking material.

"Hahaha! C'mon, I can put some more stitches in it! I'm a cat, I'm great with sharp things like needles—" They proclaim, as their other hand latches onto his sleeve and tugs him along.

"The siren can spin the silk, and the witch can make sure it all stays in place. Let's patch you up, stinky bastard."

In that, another unspoken admittance: sure, together is fine.

[lycianlynx]

“Pssst, Hey, Chad?”

After the trials had ended, Ewan quietly approached them while the rest dispersed.

He then held out his bag of candies to the cat, stuffed to the brim from all his rounds of trick or treating. “Here! Take whatever you like! And let me know which candies are your favorite.” He smiled brightly as he shook the bag a few times, waiting for Chad to grab something. “And, um. Sorry If I seemed forceful or anything back there, ahaha…” Despite the angels victory, he still felt a little guilty over his accusations.

“Oh, also! Since in the end, this was all a game i was wondering.. well..” The redhead mage’s bravery was quickly beginning to run out. Feeling flustered, he looked the other way with cheeks dusted lightly pink. “If.. if you’d like to be friends?”

"Mm?" Head swivels slightly to look, though their ears were already pricked to Ewan's approach— But despite expecting the younger witch to be standing there, they balk a bit regardless, because they don't expect the kid to be offering their pick of his candy.

As sugar-motivated as they can be themself, at times, the fact they're left with seven despite their shoddy attempts at running distraction is more than enough. Slim fingers hesitate to take anything, scanning the boy's face multiple times to be certain; The bag-shaking eventually entices them as the pull one (1) singular small lemon candy out of the batch.

"S'fine. I meant it when I said you were doin' a good job." They assure, slipping the sweet into their own pocket and notably skipping over the inquiry to their own preference. "Game's a game. Long as game stuff's kept inside of it, we're good—"

Then Ewan drops the f-bomb, and Chad freezes, eyes a bit wide. No, no, not fuck, stow the soap, the other f-bomb. Momentarily baffled, their fingers curl loosely, hand rising to cover the bottom half of their face, sorely missing a high collar to hide behind. Their eyes dart away, dart back to Ewan, then back away again.

Them? When, devilry aside, they'd clearly threatened to stab a guy they'd already stabbed? When they'd just overall been pretty damn evasive and unpleasant and in a shit mood all night? When they've been harshing the vibe???

Brown eyes dart back to Ewan again. God damn it, Chad, doubts on the kid's judgement aside, just look at him! He clearly had to muster all the world's power in his scrawny little witch body to ask them that. Just say yes. It can't be that fuckin' hard. Are you too chicken to say yes? You're a cat you fuckin' moron, not some featherbrained coward. Just say yes!

They look around, clearly still freaking it. They look back at Ewan.

"... Me?"

THAT'S NOT A YES!!!

[lycianlynx]

well, that trial sure was something. it could’ve been worse. could’ve been better. too many close calls teetering dangerously on the edge of violence for her liking—but thankfully, self-restraint isn’t yet a lost art in this world of theirs.

...still, if the night drags on much longer, dorothea isn’t so sure that will hold.

she’s tired, that much she knows. the songstress rolls her shoulders back, trying to loosen the tension knotted there, but it doesn’t help much. and around her, the others look equally spent.

speaking of:

“…not so mysterious now that i know you, huh?” she steps closer, smile small—tight at the corners—but real. 

chad looks just as exhausted. the evening's certainly taken a toll on them, from what she's heard, and the trial hadn’t done the poor kid any favors, either. she’d kept her questions to herself then, and still, will not ask. they had afforded her the same semblance of sanity, after all.  "that means i can finally give you a nickname."

dorothea gestures toward their costume, her smile growing wider despite all odds. a flicker of fondness passes through her eyes, brief but unmistakable, as she recalls how they'd extended the earlier offering to her. "…chaddy paws, maybe?"

without waiting for a response, she eases down beside them, shoulder brushing lightly against theirs as she settles in. a quiet breath escapes through her nose, soft and steady. head tilts back, letting her gaze drift upward toward the inky sprawl of sky, where the stars sit scattered like little pinpricks of light. her gaze lingers there for a moment, lost in the quiet vastness, before her attention shifts back to the one at her side.

after a beat, her hand slips into the bag at her side, and carefully, dorothea pulls out the small, brown package she’d been gifted. "anyway,"  voice low but light, "i thought we could share this together." she holds the package between them, tapping it gently with a finger. "you called it a palate cleanser, yeah? this might be as good a time as any to cleanse our palates of everything we’ve had to put up with tonight."

With roles shed, candy redistributed and threats collared and leashed, it's all Chad can do to keep from crumpling on themself into a witch's broth not unlike the shape of another from earlier in the night. Other gazes keep them from that particular fate, and they shelve that for the privacy of their own dorm room. They are not the only one who has suffered slights tonight. They are not the only one itching for solitude.

Still, one decides against it. Though her presence comes with the ever-pressing discomfort of being seen, it cannot be all that bad when they are treated to a sunset in turn, this time clear rather than overcast. Vaguely hoarse from arguing for their honor, they greet Dorothea mostly with a raise of a furred paw in lieu of proper words. Speaking of others who've endured slights...

They have the grace not to pry, as does she. It's appreciated. The nickname's met with less grace, however, their face abruptly heating and screwing up as they hide their face behind said 'chaddy-paws'.

She sits next to him. Though the nickname could need some work (the fuck's he kiddin', he'd rather die than be called that in public), he doesn't flinch away as he usually would— That has to count for something. A beat passes before Chad's eyes vaguely lift through the cage of his fingers, still adorned with that too-big ring, staring blankly at the gravel and dirt of the clearing.

The warmth of her shoulder against theirs is grounding, at least. Gaze lifts properly at a familiar crinkle of paper, and though they think they know what it is, they look anyways.

A chuff. Exhaustion brings other things, too: The near-smile that had threatened to surface earlier crests now, too tired to be hidden or resisted— Brushing the surface in the barest curl of lips, a quirk to the left side more than the right. They gently take the grain-bar, split it neatly in half, and then give the half that looks a literal fraction larger to Dorothea anyways, that half still wrapped in the paper.

They breathe, just as soft, light: "Good riddance to this night."

[lycianlynx]

Another she hasn’t seen amongst the crowd of trick-or-treaters—and nearly continues not to see, what with the way they pass through the corner of her vision. (Perhaps that was the point, Selena thinks, given they also don an outfit colored to blend into the shadows.)

Well, at this point, she’s already seen him. Why not extend an invitation as well?

“Hello,” she begins, in part to announce herself—just in case they weren’t expected to be noticed. (Also, in part, to gauge an initial response, though she can’t imagine it could be that poor.) “I’m Selena, a professor at the Academy.”

Next step: tilting her head towards some of the houses on the horizon, she continues, “Would you like to go trick-or-treating with me?”

Cat or spectre, it's difficult to tell in the shadows of the night, where black fur muddies with the darkness into obscurity. Brown eyes peer out from them to watch rather than be seen, only choosing to step out on their own terms.

In short, they hadn't meant for themself to be seen. Keen green finds them regardless.

It's all he can do to not bristle at the realisation, at her voice calling out to him— They miss, entirely, that that was her attempt at softening the discovery.

Professor, they hear instead, the night already having left its marks, and shy away from her invitation; Pulling their hood closer so she won't see the pinpicks of dried blood on the inside, suddenly paranoid beyond reason.

Old panic bubbles up. Old habits, too: A Professor? An eye, a hand, a limb, dancing along candyfloss like a spider in wait, entangled stickily in this cursed night. A master of witchcraft not known to them, another monster beneath the bed. Too-worldly to not have ulterior intentions.

They don't know her—She's watching. They can't trust her. Something'll happen again and she'll do fuckall about it—They can't trust her.

Quiver-eyed, Chad shakes their head and disappears back into the night.

[lycianlynx]

A whirlwind of blonde hair approaches the cat-dressed person, fluffing blue skirts as Alice skips towards them.

"Oh, tell me, cat, which way shall I go?" she asks, and then gives a tittering little giggle, as if telling a joke only to herself. Head tilts, and she paces around Chad, as if attempting to ascertain some unknowable truth.

"I'm just kidding, of course! But I would like to request your company. They say black cats are bad luck, but I find them quite lucky on nights like this!"

Though the joke's presented just to herself, a second of observation's all this cat needs to catch on; The blue dress, the striped socks, the headband and darling manner, a story they'd seen—somewhere. Where was it again?

It hardly matters. All too willing to go from familiar to baffling guide for but an insant, the boy bares his fangs in cheschire imitation.

"Depends on where you wanna get to—" they answer back, turning lazily upon their axis to keep her gaze— "In Underland, you're bound to get somewhere."

Paws stop padding as they tilt their head in turn, considering, dropping their crooked attempt at a grin. "Bold to ask anyways. I won't say no, yeah?"

The glimmering hint of a smile sparks in their eyes. "Nice costume, by the way. I like it."

[lycianlynx]

"Why do you look troubled?"

It's neither a question of concern or curiosity. She has ever been attuned to the world in ways she does not always entirely understand, and the electric energy this stray radiates in waves is that of a cornered alley cat clearly agitated. Knowing she may well be asking to be batted away or brushed aside or both, Sara nevertheless approaches with an offer of assistance.

"Could there be something or someone you are searching for?" she implores, standing at a respectable distance so as to avoid scaring them off this time. Sophia was a likely candidate taking their connection into account, though she could not confirm this and she herself had not seen her counterpart since candy had been distributed to the players. Perhaps Sara too catches glimpses of a friend in them just as they had her. A boy with intense brown eyes in need of her help, lost and at a loss.

Save for some barely-visible speckles of rapidly-cooled-to-black, it's almost as if nothing happened; The sharp glint in their eyes customary, the slant of their brow easily misattributed to the night wearing on a spirit ill-suited to crowds and boisterous celebration, their habit of keeping alone and to the shadows ever-enduring.

That, and to a stranger's eye, they always look troubled by one thing or another. It's easy to guard equally perpetual worry by proclaiming that this is just their face, because it sort of is, that it's none of her business; But even that response crumbles to nothing in a fleeting glimpse of the shade of another, reprised.

It feels like a cruel, cosmic joke. He tries not to flinch.

("Maybe next time I see her, I'll do the Angels a favor and leave more than just a mark.")

He does anyways.

And it's his own damn fault. An apologetic wince as they straighten up and squint. A breath is sucked in through their teeth, released slowly, thumb rubbing hard at the knuckle of their index finger, before digging the painted nail in.

("—she'd tried to heal me—")

"I—" No. They choke the sentence out and start again. "She's her own person."

They set that thought down in their mind, let it ground them as their nail threatens to draw blood. It's not a real answer, but it's all the answer they can muster. It's a bitter pill. It runs counter to their bearing the blood on their hands, the perpetual shade of fear that hangs above, quivering for all that is dear to them.

"... But some freak threatened Sophia to my face." They concede to Sara. She approached in sincerity, and ever-earnest, they owe it to her in kind, a closed-eye show of trust. "I want to make sure she's okay."

[lycianlynx]

Poe approaches all of her little Trick-Or-Treaters with the same intent: to remind them of the time they have, and to remind them of their goal tonight. After all, it wouldn't do to have anyone unprepared. She has put an awful lot of time into making sure that their event bears fruit, and she'll follow through to ensure that it does even if it takes every ounce of energy and legwork she has to give tonight.

And so she approaches Chad with the same intent. The beginning of the end, the start of the final round, heralds the coming of an angel apparent. "And did you learn anything at that cauldron, little—" she begins, sing-song voice cutting off the moment she gets a close enough look under the moonlight.

That is,

definitely blood, isn't it??

...She is almost concerned, until she remembers who she sent off last round. Instead, a sigh half relieved and half resigned leaves her. "I see that Griss got to you. Well and thoroughly, too, it looks like. Oh, if I could put that man on a leash." Poe shakes her head. "Will you need help cleaning up?"

Chad had only just managed to wipe the knife clean and stow it; Hoped the dark fabric of his costume would conceal any other stains, but the warm splatter of red against the skin of their face hadn't been forgotten. Hoping to hide it under his hood until he could find a place to wash it, he'd strayed slightly from the bustle, but their angel in charge had followed her lost little sheep to the wayside...

But she only finds the barn-cat, fur matted and standing on end. They care not for the sigh that leaves her (because they can hear it in her breath, she's in on it, too, isn't she), eyeing her only with distrust bare-faced and jagged.

Again, his role doesn't matter, nor do her wings and halo, as little as the horns on Rafal's head did. It's only out of the barest respect for everyone else he's keeping up this farce. He isn't sorry he attacked Griss. But if she starts going off about how he shouldn't have done that, he might only be sorry that he got caught.

"So why isn't he on one?" Chad snaps, regardless, a hand fruitlessly coming up to scrub at the stain she'd undoubtedly found on his cheek, the rest turning speckles of the bright purple on the inside of his hood dark. In the motion, there's a short consideration— The quicker they get this off, the better. Whatever she has to say about this, it's better for everyone to get it out of the way as fast as possible, too.

A sigh in return, sharp and frustrated, forceful if only to conceal the tremor in the tone. "... I'd appreciate it, miss."

Another breath, deeper this time. "... Sorry."

[lycianlynx]

It's not long after the two have departed from the bubbling cauldron - that they've returned to the area designated for trick-or-treating. Sure enough, Hugh expects their third...what do you even call him? Partner? Teammate? None of those work in the slightest. He's got to be on the enemy side. Not the devil's. The enemy. There's a big difference.

Regardless, he's sure to follow, right? After the show they saw, the hosts wouldn't be so insensitive to put Griss together with Sophia, right? (Oh, if he only knew).

Hugh's ears pick up the signal of the third round starting. The results of the other team's actions should be announced soon. Unlike their task, this would become public knowledge to everyone -

Or not?

Well, he'll need to unpack that in a moment. For now, he slows to a halt. He hesitates on dropping Chad just yet - he's sure they'll book it the moment he does.

"Hey," Hugh's voice lacks the usual boisterous tone, clear care taken into his words. "I know we're supposed to be competing, but let's visit a few houses together."

"There's a few things I want to talk to you about. And...I'm sorry you had to get involved in that."

In the first moments where they were passed from devil to undead, Chad thrashed and hissed and spat, though the point of the knife was blessedly reserved only for the corpse— That wretched corpse, windmilling and flailing and laughing and grinning and bleeding in some perverse imitation of play.

The smell of blood and fire from the moment echoes too far into their memory. His parting words do not pacify or cow them, only stoke the fire higher— Laughter and derision, too, echoing, even after Hugh spirits them away from the scene, leaving them silent and seething in his grasp. Is it not good one of the organisers stepped in when blood was spilled? Shouldn't that be comforting?

They wanted it to be.

It wasn't.

They're shaking. Hugh probably notices that, too. Brown eyes stare unfocused into the distance, bloody knife still white-knuckled despite their otherwise slack arm, blade carefully held away from the other's body. They barely acknowledge him after the first sentence, only slightly turning their head on the second.

They're not sorry for what they did. They don't feel any guilt for ripping that guy a new one. He liked it. Wanted it. And they didn't care that he did, and he knew that.

It would have happened regardless. What they are sorry for, though, is—

"... No. I wanted to." They spit, quiet, quivering. "It was gonna happen no matter what."

At the cauldron, at the banquet, trick-or-treating. Devil or angel or neither. The second a friend, their friend was threatened, so long as Griss was a hedonistic blood-hound and Chad was a vindictive, festering wound, it would have happened.

A pause. Their head bows. "M'just sorry you got stuck between. I'll make up for it."

[lycianlynx]

She doesn't need anything in particular, before Chad starts to worry.

A minor(?) hiccup or two aside, Sophia is having a pretty good time. Every time her gaze finds Chad in the crowd, they also look to be keeping busy, so she is content to leave them be. There are things they'd like to do and people they'd like to see without the need for Sophia to hover around them for the whole night.

Still, though, she does make her way back to Chad after some time. Were she a braver person, she would make a kitty paw with her hand in greeting. She isn't, though, so instead she greets him with a tilt of her head.

"I know... it probably be easier... to get candy if we go separately, but..." Sophia holds out a hand to Chad. "I think... it would be fun... if we walked together, too."

As she holds her hand out, her sleeve rides up, exposing the bloody handprint on her wrist.

"Oh... it's not mine... Don't worry." A beat, as she seems to realize she should probably clarify on this point further. "It's not real... I... think."

Comforting!

They're a born worrier, but Chad doesn't want to hover over Sophia too badly— They'd hate anyone else to be doing it to them in turn, so they guessed they'll let her come to them if she actually wants or needs to.

Who exactly is the cat in this equation isn't fully clear in this exchange. It's still an exchange that happens. Sophia comes to them, and Chad tries not to jump to conclusions or perk up too visibly. Maybe they would have even mirrored that theoretical cat-paw. Alas, it never happened.

"What's up?" Comes in greeting instead, accompanied by a reflection of her head-tilt. Her extended hand is eyed for all but a second of surprise, about to answer this gesture too with a mirror of her own, before brown eyes stop midway to meeting hers and yank back downwards.

That's blood. Why is that blood. "What the fuck."

Instead of taking her extended hand in his, he instead slowly holds her palm and pulls her sleeve up. He dabs a finger into the drying, flaking red. Yep, hers or not, that's certifiably real blood.

"What the fuck?" They repeat, with more feeling this time. "Who's is it, then?!"

[lycianlynx]

The moment the two lock eyes, Pelleas immediately bows his head a little in contrition.

“ F-Forgive me for staring, ”  he starts,  “ I'd been thinking this for a little while but... I thought it looked as if your costume might be a match with someone I... ”

A pregnant pause passes.

“ ...know, ”  he decides upon eventually.  “ It had me curious. I will not pretend to know her intensely, but... when we have spoken, she speaks as if she is incompatible with the rest of us. But if my hunch is correct, then your two's costumes are in defiance of that, isn't it...?

“ I suppose I wanted to know more about you then. My apologies if that's too bold, but if you're amenable to the idea, might we trick-or-treat together? ”

Chad catches him staring, but where they expect an awkward pause, they find themself almost balking at his immediate apology. Despite the imposing scythe, this one definitely fits the descriptor of shrinking violet more than either Sophia or Sara, aside from the point that he's both kind of tall and also more of an indigo color...

"No, you're right. Sophia, yeah? We're witch and familiar." They'd picked their costumes to obviously match, after all— The feline touches on her dress, the bows tied to their capelet and tail, identical shades of orange and purple. He still very clearly avoids the word cat, here— Getting pspsps'd at once was already more than enough, thanks.

A shift of the foot. "... I won't pretend we're... Close, friends, either. We fought together, but I mostly know her through another friend of mine. Guess we're close enough to ask eachother to—" make sure we don't get overwhelmed one way or the other— "—accompany... For company at parties."

Chad winces, minutely. To be honest, he doesn't know Sophia that well, either. They don't know how much Raigh told her about them either (and knowing him, not much). They only know her in observations and tangents, know what she told them about Arcadia.

But they've both marched the same paths, sands and plains. She knows the comfort of home, of family, as he does. And she apparently talks to this guy, sometimes. That's bound to be enough.

"So... I guess I don't mind, yeah. Maybe we'll both learn somethin'... You got a sweet tooth?"

[lycianlynx]

... there are about four people at this academy right now for which he would put on the cat ears. one of them asked very nicely. what was he supposed to do, say no?

it's not the worst costume, though— warm, comfortable, easy to move in. the candy will definitely make this worth it, and they're willing to get out some more anyways if it's with a familiar face. so fine, so be it.

... chad's always liked the harvest festival, too. might as well even have some fun while they're at it, yeah?