#also the white streaks in his hair are in reference to the bride of Frankenstein (someone who was revived using the body parts of other ppl)

[snobgoblin]

curious

is there symbolism in Danny's color palettes for his designs?

like, is it just because it looks good on him(like everything) or there's more?

YESSSSS there's always some kind of underlying reason for choosing the colors I do- as a recent example his masquerade outfit is colorpicked directly from the goat sprite in the Lost in Prakra tale, and his pre-plague everyday outfit is color picked directly from the Apprentice's magic shop

as for his normal design see: his sprite, I colorpicked a bit from Scout to represent the fact that he is in possession of The Fool's Body, but left the belt red and gold to allude to the fact that there's more than there appears to be

this one isn't design specific but Danny's skin tone and hair color were colorpicked directly from The Devil's sprite (his hair came from the dark part of the horns and the skin came from the gradient from the horns to the forehead)

[mizho-babe]

Halloween Party

A Mizho/Paresse fic I've had in my tumblr drafts for years now. Hope you enjoy :)

Summary – AU prompt: “I came to the Halloween party as Frankenstein and you came as Frankenstein’s Bride, now everyone thinks we’re dates”

Pairing - Mizho/Paresse Word Count – 4,431 Rating/Warnings - T - swearing, irresponsible drinking, flip cup

Mizho took a scoop of the spiked punch and poured it right back where it came from, the bits of fruit, fake spiders, and glitter falling out of the ladle into a brown, murky bowl. Her dark-painted lips downturned into a disdainful pout. 

Her brother, Rage, dressed as Freddy Kreuger, shared the same disgusted expression. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Absolutely not.” Mizho agreed. She was dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster, complete with the dark makeup, bandages wrapped around her arms, and black & white streaks through her hair. Instead of a long caped dress she opted for a too-short white bandage dress. (Costume be damned, Mizho didn’t do long & drapey clothes)

“Stop being pussies,” Vice, wearing a dark tattered cloak & a Ghost Face mask, drunkenly snatched the ladle from Mizho and poured himself a large portion into his red solo cup.

“There’s literally a dirty sock in there.” Mizho deadpanned.

“Well then stick to shots!” Fussa loudly slurred next to them. He was dressed in what Mizho thought was the laziest costume - a 70s disco jockey, which required no effort on his part except to keep his sunglasses on and to wear a patterned shirt. Despite being obviously drunk, he was expertly cutting several limes with a large machete, a costume prop someone had left behind in the kitchen.

Vice chugged his cup before burping loudly. “Isn’t that guy supposed to be your DD?”

“He’s also way too old to be here.” Mizho chimed in.

“I’m also your manager and producer, '' Fussa added, shooting daggers at Mizho for suggesting that he wasn’t young. “Making sure my stars don’t ruin their music careers with a stupid scandal at this random party in the middle of bumble fuck.”

“We just performed at the local amphitheater.” Rage said. “If anything, blacking out here will cement our legacy with these people.”

“And it’ll all be worth it.” Mizho said sarcastically. 

“I see someone is still in a bitchy mood that they couldn't go to some bullshit movie.” Rage glared.

“It was Nosferatu! The original vampire movie.” Mizho had only agreed to visit this town on their fall tour because it was home to a famous vintage film center that only showed movies before the 1950’s. That Friday, the theater was screening one of her favorite old horror movies, but of course, it was the same night as their concert.

“You’re such a nerdy freak.” Vice sneered. “I don’t even know what your costume is supposed to be. A pirate covered in striped toilet paper?”

“Watch it.” Rage scowled, his temper flaring up as it always did when someone made a reference to Mizho’s eyepatch.

“It’s the Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster, moron.”

“Bride of Franka-whata?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“These shots aren’t going to drink themselves!” Fussa interrupted, almost maniacally giggling as he pushed the shot glasses over to them, the liquor spilling over the small glasses’ edges onto the kitchen counter.

The group downed the shots, Vice and Fussa’s faces souring - and Rage and Mizho remaining stoic.

“You kids,” Fussa chased with his lime slice. “I don’t know how you handle your liquor so well.”

“Hey!!” Orgullo stuck his large redhead in from the kitchen window. “Your drummer is getting his ass beat in the backyard.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Fussa pinched his nose bridge, still wobbly from the shot. “There’s always something.”

“Also your boyfriend is outside by the tree if you were looking for him.” Orgullo continued, looking at Mizho.

“Huh?” Mizho kept her arms crossed but glanced around to see if the bulky redhead was in fact speaking to someone else near her.

A loud shout and a crash was heard from outside and Orgullo left the window before he could respond.

“Boyfriend?” Rage looked at her, and Mizho could tell by his voice that he was slightly inflamed. It was cute that he was still a protective older brother at their adult age. It almost made Mizho forget that just hours earlier, they were screaming in each other’s faces because she was taking too long to do her makeup in the bathroom.

“No idea.”

“We’re all shitfaced here.” Vice said. “I bet Orgullo doesn't even know who your drummer is.”

“It’s probably him.” Fussa and Rage said in tandem. While Fussa has been trying to shape them up into a respectable indie band, their drummer was proving to be a bit of a hassle, constantly picking fights with the backstage crew and pushing back on Fussa in the recording studio.

“I’ve been telling you guys that he sucks. Plus he bores the hell out of me when he rambles on the tour bus.” Mizho said.

“Everyone bores you Mizho.” Fussa pointed out.

“I wanna see this fight.” Vice had poured himself another tequila shot and slammed it down on the counter. “I’m bored by this fuckin’ party and I need some entertainment.”

“Help me murder - and fire - this piece of shit drummer and I guarantee you it will be fun.” Fussa sighed and cracked his back, getting ready to go outside.

“You gonna be alright?” Rage said to his sister, more of a statement than a question. He knew she could handle herself.

“Yeah. I’ll just ask my ‘boyfriend’ to save me if I need help.” Mizho responded. Rage rolled his eyes.

“Catch you later.” Rage adjusted his black Kreuger hat on, hiding his long blonde hair underneath it, and ran away with Vice and Fussa.

Mizho looked around, realizing she was alone in the derelict kitchen with only drunk party goers raiding the fridge or throwing up in the sink.

–

Standing outside by a tree, Paresse narrowly avoided being decapitated by ducking just as a machete threw past his head and lodged unto the trunk of the tree. 

“FUCKING STOP YOU ASSHOLES” a guy wearing a red striped Freddy Kreuger-esque shirt roared as he, a 70s disco man, and Ghost Face ran into the growing crowd near the backyard pool.

Paresse shrugged and drained his beer, deciding he wanted a new drink if he was going to watch the rest of this fight, and turned to head inside the house.

As soon as he walked in, he realized he was a bit overdressed. It was already an atypically warm October night, but the temperature inside the house felt like a sweltering hotbox, the dark lights casting neon purples, blues, and greens across the slick wooden floors. Everyone looked sweaty, drunk, and purposefully underdressed.

Paresse did not like parties one bit. He didn't care if it sounded pretentious - he much preferred staying home and sleeping after work. The pulsating beats, the crowded spaces, and the forced small talk were a trifecta of discomfort for him. The chaos of a party only served to drain him, leaving him yearning for the tranquility of his room, where he could immerse himself in the rhythmic hum of his drum kit or the soothing melodies of his favorite dark tunes. The idea of navigating through a sea of strangers, feigning enthusiasm, felt like an exhausting ordeal. Paresse had mastered the art of evasion, often slipping away unnoticed to the outskirts of the gathering, finding solace in the shadows rather than the spotlight.

He was only dragged here on short notice by his cousin and roommate Desir, who also insisted that they follow the party’s Halloween theme. He was woken up on his day off today at 3pm by Desir throwing shirts and sweatpants out of his closet. Since he only had black & dark green clothes, Desir decided to dress him as Frankenstein’s Monster, layering his black blazer on top of his faded olive t shirt. Paresse was too tired to protest when Desir finished off by covering his face and neck in green face paint, and covering his sand-colored hair with a black wig outfitted with the iconic bolts on each side.

Now, Paresse could feel the heat on his back. Wearing a heavy oversized blazer maybe wasn’t the right fashion choice by his stylist.

“Bro.” Two drunk guys bumped into him, and instead of apologizing they looked up at him and reached their hands out to dap him up. “Your girl is bad, I need a piece of that.”

Paresse had no time to be confused, as his cousin also happened to bump into him straight afterwards.

“HAH! There you are!” Desir, costumed in a white & red suit as Tony Montana, was carrying a bottle of whiskey, and behind him Paresse could see he was already building a harem of drunk men & women who were all hanging onto his arm.

“Where are the drinks?” 

Desir gestured backwards with his chin. “There’s a couple of coolers by the kitchen.”

“Thanks.”

Desir reached up and dusted a leaf off Paresse’s shoulder, the bottle of whiskey bumping into Paresse’s chest as he did so. “Why does it look like you’ve just fallen out of a tree?”

“There’s a brawl happening outside.” Paresse simply replied, as if that explained everything.

“Hm. I heard there’s a band touring in town this weekend.” Desir mused. “Apparently they are a hot-headed bunch.”

“You’re saying that like it’s a good thing.”

“Oh it is. I came here for dinner and a show.” Desir winked and moved past Paresse out the door, his followers giggling & chatting behind him. “Have fun, Frankenstein!”

“Frankenstein’s Monster.” Paresse mumbled.

Paresse’s plan of action was to get a drink, maybe another beer, and then blend in with a dark corner somewhere in the backyard until Desir had enough fun & they could leave. Considering what happened last time Desir dragged him out for a party……it was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, Mizho sipped from a can of hard seltzer as she wandered through the rooms of the house. She thanked herself for wearing her heavy platform lace-up boots tonight, as the floor was slick with alcohol, and she saw multiple drunk casualties as people tripped and spilled their drink all over themselves. Not to mention some random asshole tried grabbing her ass, and she had to swiftly stomp down on his foot, almost breaking it as he squealed and ran away.

She was getting bored of all this.

“Oh my God,” a girl stopped in front of Mizho and squealed. “Your couple’s costumes are so cute! My favorite tonight!!”

“...Thank you.” Mizho responded, not sure how else to react. She scanned the room she was in but couldn’t find anyone else dressed up as Frankenstein’s Bride. Lots of Marvel superheroes, witches, and inflatable dinosaurs, but no tortured Mary Shelley monsters. 

She moved from that room to the main living room, where a DJ had his setup ontop of a bunch of cardboard boxes in the corner. The music was blasting, and it looked like there was an impromptu dance competition in the middle of the room. People were constantly walking through the crowd, their costumes & faces going in and out of the neon lights as they passed by.

Mizho decided to stand against the wall right in front of a cooler and claim the rest of the contents as hers. She did not enjoy parties not because she was anti-social (ok, maybe she was), but because the chaotic energy, deafening music, and over-the-top debauchery simply weren't her scene. Mizho preferred the calm of a dimly lit vintage movie theater, the subtle thrill of a suspenseful horror novel, or the solitary introspection of her music studio. In this sea of raucous laughter and blaring beats, she found solace in observing the madness from her vantage point. If there was anything good about these large parties, they made for good distractions, and Mizho relished the notion of escaping into her own world, even if it meant standing against a wall and claiming a cooler of drinks as her makeshift throne.

“Excuse me.”

Mizho looked up at the tall - too tall - man. He had a layer of green paint covering his face and neck, his black wig almost brushing against the room’s low ceiling.

He was so tall that she had to tilt her head all the way back to make eye contact with him.

“So… you’re the Monster.” The boyfriend and couples costume remarks clicked for Mizho, staring up at the man. His costume was genius in its simplicity, perfectly matching her more dramatic getup.

Paresse looked down at the girl dressed as Frankenstein’s Bride, instantly understanding the comment those two random guys gave him earlier. Her white mini dress showed off her curves in the best way. He couldnt help but give her a once-over, his eyes scanning up past her legs, her hips; past her chest to her face. Her face had soft feminine features, tempered by her fierce feline-shaped left eye and a leather eyepatch over her right eye. Definitely the most beautiful girl he had seen in a long while, maybe ever, in this town.

“Some party, huh.” Paresse said, immediately kicking himself for the stupid conversation starter. Usually he didn’t converse with anyone, much less an attractive woman, and he didn’t mind that, but that lack of experience did not come in handy now.

Mizho raised a hand to her ear, pretending she couldn’t hear him.

“I said-“ Paresse spoke louder over the pounding bass beat. “So you’re Frankenstein’s Bride, huh?”

“Mmm. Yeah.” Mizho replied, amused that he switched up his response on the second try for her. This guy wasn’t her type, at least from what she could tell in the dark room, but he had a nice voice.

Paresse paused, remembering that he wanted a drink from the cooler she was standing in front of, and abruptly forgetting about it when he locked eyes with her again.

“Apparently we have the best couple’s costume here.” Mizho filled the dead air. She was used to people attempting and failing to talk to her. Might as well throw this guy a bone to pass the time.

“...I mean… look at the competition." Paresse gestured subtly to the crowd, where various costumes ranged from the mundane to the downright bizarre. As he turned his head to the side, the strobe lights shined on the side of his face, illuminating his strong jawline & facial features to Mizho.

She followed his gaze, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Yeah, hard to believe someone thought dressing as a giant banana was a good idea."

The DJ, stationed at a makeshift booth with blaring speakers, grabbed the microphone, his voice booming over the lively crowd. "Alright, party people! Who's up for a game of flip cup? It's time to show off those drinking skillz!"

Mizho pulled her attention from the tall Monster and rolled her eyes at the suggestion. "Flip cup? Seriously? I thought we were at a party, not a college frat gathering."

Her snide comment caught the attention of the DJ, who decided to play along. "Well, well, well, looks like we got a flip cup critic over here. How about you and maybe your boyfriend there come down and show everyone how it's done?"

Mizho sighed, her sarcasm undeterred. "Sure, why not? I could use a good laugh."

As she made her way to the impromptu flip cup table, Paresse observed her from a distance.  Despite her petite frame, Mizho emanated confidence and a subtle defiance that piqued his curiosity.

The DJ handed Mizho a red solo cup, a smirk on his face. "Let's see if you're as good as your mouth."

Mizho shot him a dry look as several men in the crowd laughed and whistled. Her opponent, a woman dressed as a butterfly, already looked at her with deep condenscension.

“Your costume is dumb.” The girl drunkenly said.

“So is your face.”

“Stupid comeback.”

“Not as stupid as your boyfriend,” she glanced with her one eye at the girl’s partner, whom Paresse recognized as the one of the guys that bumped into him earlier. “He tried grabbing my ass earlier. Ask him why he’s been limping all night.”

The girl, enraptured, threw her red cup of jungle juice on the front of Mizho’s dress, staining the white ribbed material red. Paresse noticed the juice dripped down her chest, right in between her cleavage, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oops!” The girl snickered before returning to her posse on the other side of the table.

Mizho looked down at her ruined, red-blotched dress, silent but the tall man could see her full lips were in a large, rageful frown.

Mizho looked up at Paresse, and he nodded in silent agreement. “Let’s kick her ass.”

They approached the table, lined with 8 beer-filled cups on each side. 

“You any good at flip cup?” Mizho looked at Paresse. She unwrapped her costume’s white bandages from her hands, hoping her partner wouldn't catch on to the fact that she has only watched her older brother & his dumbass friends play these kinds of drinking games - she’s never played them herself.

Paresse, still processing the unexpected turn of events, shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not bad."

“We have our opposing team now!” The DJ announced. “We have Frankenstein-”

“Frankenstein’s Monster.” Paresse and Mizho corrected at the same time, and looked at each other, caught off guard by their in-sync response.

“-And his Bride!” the DJ finished the introductions, waving his hand at the players.

“"Alright, party people! Gather 'round, here are the rules of the game in a nutshell: you and your date must chug each solo cup like you're the thirstiest duo in town, then channel your inner acrobat and flip that cup upside down! First team to flip all 6 cups wins the round!”

A buff guy blew a blaring horn and the first round began. Paresse quickly picked up the first cup and dunked it back before laying the cup on the edge of the table. He flipped it on the first try, and looked to see Mizho was already drinking her cup before she also positioned it on the table and flipped it. They won the first round with ease, with the other couple barely making it past the second cup.

“You’re actually good at this.” Mizho raised an eyebrow of surprise.

Paresse’s neck got a little hot from the compliment. “I’m a drummer, I have somewhat good hand-eye coordination.” He looked off to the side and noticed Desir had entered the house again and was casually watching on the sidelines.

“She’s hot.” Desir mouthed to Paresse, gesturing with his bottle at the petite woman he was playing flip cup with. “Get it in.”

The beginner’s luck didn’t last as they lost the second round, which resulted in Mizho having a brief but screechy argument with the DJ over whether or not the other couple cheated.

Paresse, now fully feeling the heat and the multiple cups of beer, shrugged off his blazer for the third round, revealing surprisingly large biceps to Mizho. She blinked multiple times. Maybe the alcohol was distorting her vision. 

After four rounds, it was a tie for 2-2. Paresse cannot remember the last time he was this active outside of drum practice. His throat burned, and his green face paint was gone after all of the drinks he’s had.

“All right,” the DJ yelled on the mic. “Time for sudden death.” 

“Choose one player to do this last round…. And they’re SHOTSSSS” 

They poured 8 shots into the solo cups on the table. Paresse felt woozy just looking at the clear liquid in the cups. He looked over at Mizho and she was staring straight forward, not even blinking.

“I got this.” He immediately said, even though all he wanted to do was call quits on this stupid drinking game.

“No, I got this.”

“I don’t think so.” He was already drunk, and she was half his size. No way was she going to handle 8 shots in a row.

Mizho grabbed his shoulder - as far up as her arm could reach - and violently pulled his face down close to hers.

“This is my round.” Mizho stared, her hazel eye dangerously narrowed.

Intimidated, and a little turned on, Paresse nodded and Mizho let him go & stepped in front of the table.

When they blew the horn, Mizho knocked back the first shot with precision, her eye closing in silent acceptance that tomorrow’s hangover was going to suck. While the other person’s strategy was to take shot after shot in quick succession, Mizho took a brief pause between each cup to take a deep breath. At the last cup, she decided to just go straight for it, drinking the shot and then flipping the cup - while her opponent couldn’t even finish, rushing away before his last cup to throw up in a garbage can.

The crowd cheered. Mizho remained stone-faced, and Paresse couldn’t tell if she was all right or completely gone. 

Everyone cheered, including the girl who had originally thrown her drink at Mizho. Mizho caught sight of her, and she reached under the table for the remaining bottle of Malibu. Paresse watched - in slow motion, doing nothing to stop it - as Mizho unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle on top of the girl’s head.

Paresse placed a light hand on Mizho’s shoulder and pulled her away from the now-screaming and drenched girl, slightly scared that Mizho was going to flip and target him next. “Let’s… go outside.”

He gently pushed her through the crowd and out the front door, his large hands completely covering her tiny shoulders. Halfway to the door, it hit Mizho that she had actually poured the bottle on that girl and she started cackling.

Her laugh rang clearer once they were outside in the night air, and the sound made Paresse smile, and then eventually crack up as well.

Their gazes locked, and a shared realization dawned upon them. The absurdity of their presence at this party, winning in a drinking game, struck a chord with their typically reserved personalities, prompting peals of more laughter that echoed on the front porch.

“I don't even think I caught your name.” Paresse admitted, still catching his breath.

“Mizho.” 

“Paresse.”

“Back there,” Mizho flipped her hair, the ice now fully broken. “You mentioned you were a drummer?”

“Yeah, I mostly do studio sessions and substituting at local bars whenever they need someone.” Paresse mumbled ‘fuck it’ and took his wig on, revealing his messy sand-colored hair.

“Nice.” Mizho paused, studying him with a discerning gaze. “I’m a singer.”

Paresse could see it. She had the looks and the dont-fuck-with-me attitude that one needed in the entertainment industry. Plus, and most importantly, now that they were in a quiet area, Paresse could also tell that her voice was smooth and youthful.

“My band and I are in town for the weekend.” Mizho continued, after a beat.

“So you’re the group that performed at the amphitheater.”

“Did you go?”

“No,” Paresse said, hoping that wouldn’t turn her off. “….I was at a movie.”

“What movie?”

Paresse shifted, continuing to hope that he wouldn’t look like a total loser. “Nosferatu. The original one.”

Mizho’s eye widened. “No fucking way. I wanted to go to that.”

“Really?” Paresse cracked a small smile. "You… have excellent taste. It was a rare chance to catch it on the big screen."

Mizho's eye sparkled with enthusiasm and it made Paresse’s heart beat faster. "Absolutely. The atmosphere, the darkness in every scene, it's a horror masterpiece. I can't believe I missed it."

"Well, you had a memorable alternative tonight," Paresse remarked, gesturing vaguely towards the chaotic party behind them. 

Mizho let out a brief chuckle, the melodious sound blending seamlessly with the night air. "True. I guess this was entertaining.”

As they continued talking, it became evident that their perspectives on parties were remarkably similar. Both not fond of the raucous energy, they preferred the quieter, more introspective pursuits. Mizho's disdain for parties was rooted in her appreciation for vintage media and the solace of her music, while Paresse, being a drummer, found comfort in the calm after a day's work.

Paresse couldn't help but be captivated by her presence—the way her eyes lit up when talking about music, the subtle nuances in her expressions, and the confident yet enigmatic aura she exuded.

“I've been playing drums since forever.” Paresse looked beyond the porch at the line of cars in the driveway and on the street. “It's a bit of a cliché, but it's my passion.”

Mizho smirked, leaning forward on the porch railings next to him. “Well, clichés exist for a reason. I'm guessing you have a favorite genre?”

He nodded. “Rock, mostly. But I appreciate the rhythm in other genres. How about you? What's your favorite style to sing?”

“Rock suits me too. Something about belting out powerful lyrics just feels right.” Mizho paused, unexpectedly shy for a moment. “Though, I do have a soft spot for French jazz sometimes.”

Paresse nodded, and Mizho thought that his calm demeanor was a breath of fresh air among the asshole men she usually spent her days with.

"So, what's your verdict on this party?" Paresse asked, genuinely curious.

Mizho smirked, her hazel eye gleaming mischievously. "Not sure if it was interesting or just utterly bizarre, but I suppose it's a story to tell. How about you?"

Paresse chuckled. "I'm with you on that. Tonight's been... unexpectedly entertaining."

They exchanged a knowing glance. The silence that fell between them felt natural, and Paresse could feel the anticipation and a subtle tension in the air.

The magnetic pull between them intensified, and Mizho, feeling a surge of boldness, teased, "Are you always this chatty with your studio mates?"

Paresse chuckled and answered honestly. “Not at all.”

She closed the gap between them and kissed him, Paresse hesitating before snaking his hand down her back, and another through her long hair. The touch of Paresse's hand in her hair sent shivers down her spine, and she deepened the kiss, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

“Hey…” he breathed when they broke away. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Sure,” Mizho suggestively smirked, before spotting,  over Paresse’s shoulder, her brother in the backyard catching sight of them. Rage looked at Mizho, then at Paresse - one hand on her ass, another in her hair - and started storming over. 

“Did I mention my band needs a new drummer?” Mizho quickly said. 

“...No,” Paresse continued kissing her cheek, and then her neck. “You haven’t.”

“Hmm. Okay, just thought you should know that for when you’re trying to get back on my brother’s good side.”

“What-” Paresse started, before being interrupted by Mizho pulling him back down for another kiss.

[awedbyhersplendor-blog]

Since you asked so nicely! Mirandail & #17 “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

Aha, sorry once again for the drunken prompt requests, I’m terrible! Also I got a little inspired by the prompt apparently… That or I write too much. I just love the entire band of characters being friends and wearing silly Halloween costumes! 

So this is rated G, nothing happens, just Abigail being smitten. I had like, some smuttier ideas but they sounded a little… unrealistic aha. Hope you still enjoy it!

*** 

Abigail didn’t want to hate Halloween, but today she really,really did.

The two beer packs felt heavy and it pulls on her shoulders. Winter was coming and her… clothes werenot totally temperature-appropriate. Or anything-appropriate, really.

She had agreed to go to that Halloween party with Eleanorand her friends because she usually never went to parties and… well, she hadwanted to go to a party and Eleanor had told her this would be a relaxed party.Friends meeting for a few spooky cocktails and maybe a horror movie towardsmidnight. That sounded like fun. Something she could do.

The “only catch”, Eleanor’s words, not hers, was thatcostumes were compulsory. No costumes, no party. Everyone had to beridiculous. Abigail had looked up Halloween costumes online for two minutesbefore declaring that she couldn’t go.

“Eleanor,” she had retorted when her friend had tried topersuade her, “I am not wearing this, I’ll look ridiculous and not in the goodway. Why can’t they have like… costumes that actually cover your body. This isnot I-am-not-cut-like-a-model friendly.”

“You worry too much. Just take one, you can wear tights andwe’ll put some fake blood on it and you’ll be alright. My costume isn’t muchbetter.”

“What are you going out as?”

“The website said ‘sexy ghost catcher,” Eleanor answered, “ButI’ll make a few changes to make it more like ‘ghost catcher that hasaccidentally become a ghost herself” that should do, you know. Look at this one!You’d look great in this one!”

So Abigail went as a sexy Bride of Frankenstein. Except herskirt was so much shorter, and her bandages did nothing to make her feel morecovered. She did have to give credit where credit was due and say that Eleanordid an amazing job teasing her hair into the iconic shape, complete with thewhite streaks.

That really didn’t make the sting of betrayal she had feltwhen she had walked in the flat full of costumed people and got introduced to avery very tall man dressed as Frankenstein’s monster. (He must have found hiscostume on the same website she had because the costume didn’t cover much)

She couldn’t believe Eleanor was still trying to find her aboyfriend after she had formally promised Abigail she’d stop. And she couldn’tbelieve Blood-thirsty mermaid Max who hosted the party had been into theconspiracy as well. She had told them that she had never, ever, been withanyone because she never really felt the urge, the pull of attraction that theyhad been talking about. And when they had fallen over her and showed her a multitudeof pictures of very much not dressed people, she had told them she regretted mentioningit because it made her feel very uncomfortable. And then they had promised theywouldn’t mention it again.

And next thing she knew, she was been greeted by a very verytall man with a sheepish but cute smile who happened to be dressed asFrankenstein’s monster under the smirks of her “friends”.

She knew this was going to be a very long night.

She was sipping a porter in the couch with Anne who had anincredible pirate costume and Jack in an equally incredible Navy uniform,trying to avoid Max and Eleanor, when Silver had thrown himself in the couchnext to her: “Urgh, I have to go do the beer run again, but it’s so cold outthere and the elevator is so slow, and the lights are flickering sometimes andall…”

“Don’t take pity on him Abi,” Jack warned her, “He’s beentrying to get a good soul to do all his work for him since he arrived.”

“What are you even supposed to be?” Anne asked him, passinghim the joint all the same.

“I’m the bride of Dracula, duh,” Silver answered, chuckling,gesturing to his corset and torn dress pants. He did have two bloody puncturewounds on his neck and fake blood trailing over his pierced nipples.

At this moment, Charles Vane entered the room as a zombiepirate. It was mostly him being bare-chested with a fake plastic ribcage aroundhim, pirate boots and tight leather pants with a… skull and crossed bones onthe back.

If he saw her, he would end up telling Eleanor where shewas. And Eleanor would come with the very nice Frankenstein monster and thiswould be all very very awkward.

“I’ll go,” she announced suddenly, “I’ll go on the beer run.”

“Really? You save my life!”

“Sure, just tell me where the store is, I’ll go.”

So here she was, two packs of beer in her hands, not sure ifshe really wanted to go back there, but not really wanting to go home alone inher costume, trying to open the front door of the building without her hands.The music was so loud they probably didn’t hear the buzzer she was pressing onwith her elbow.

Oh this night was just great.

“Here, let me help you,” A voice came behind her.

Abigail turned to see a women, probably in her earlyforties, coming behind her, with her keys in hand. She was wrapped in a longnavy coat, hair in a bun, and impressive dark circles under her eyes. Shelooked her up and down and Abigail was sure she never felt as ridiculous in herentire life.

The woman kindly opened the door for her and held it whileAbigail hauled herself and the packs of beer inside.

“Cold night, isn’t it?” The woman asked.

She had the most amazing hazel eyes Abigail had ever seen.And a very kind smile. There was nothing judgmental in her voice. She wasn’ttalking about Abigail’s costume, she was just casually referring to how coldthe night was.

“At least the beers will just be fresh,” She answered shyly.

The woman’s smile widened. She walked to the elevator: “Whatfloor are you going to?”

“The fourth floor.”

The woman held the elevator door for her. Abigail couldn’thelp but think this was very chivalrous of her. She felt her ears and hercheeks burn. She didn’t quite know why.

She wanted to speak, to say something to fill the silence,but the elevator doors were closing. Abigail set the two beer packs on thefloor. The woman pressed the fourth floor button. Abigail tried to pretend shewasn’t deeply curious about which floor the woman lived in.

She didn’t press any other button.

“So you live on the fourth floor too,” She asked, trying notto wince at the banality of her question. She must have sounded like a banalgirl making boring small talk because she was just stuck here and…

“I am,” the woman only replied while tugging on her hairbandto release her hair from the bun. Abigail wondered how long it was. “It wouldappear we are neighbours. Have you moved in recently? I don’t recall seeingyou.”

“Oh, no, I… I don’t live here. I’m just here for the party.I hope we won’t bother you too much with the music. I can tell them to…”

Abigail didn’t have the opportunity to finish her sentencewhen the lights in the elevator started to flicker. She immediately looked up,addressing a prayer to deaf Fortuna, for normal lights.

Of course, deaf Fortuna happened to be very deaf tonight andtwo seconds later, the elevator started trembling, stuttering, and finallycompletely stopped.

Abigail gasped, struggling to recover her balance,instinctually grabbing the railing. The woman stood still, silent, tense, withher hair half-undone. Everything was silent for a moment, a beat, and it feltlike the world had stopped.

The woman looked back at her, as if checking with her thatthis was really happening.

Suddenly, recognition passed over her face: “The Bride of Frankenstein, James Whale,1935.”

Abigail, whose heart was suddenly beating as quickly as theelevator was not going, took a minute to understand. She frowned a little,blinked, and then found herself nodding a little, completely dumbfounded.

“The pose reminded me…” The woman said with a joyless smile.She turned back to the button panel and pressed the fouth one again. And again.“It usually works…” She muttered, more to herself than to Abigail, who wasstill torn between confusion and panic.

She pressed the ground floor button. Nothing happened.

With a deep sigh, the woman finally pressed the redemergency button.

“Do you have signal on your phone?” She asked Abigail, who triednot to blush while fishing her phone from the only place she have enough spaceto put it: in her bra.

“I only have one bar. It might be enough to call 911.”

“Good, good.” The woman sighed, closing her eyes as if thiswas the first good news she had heard today.  “Have you ever called an emergency linebefore?”

Abigail shook her head no. The woman gestured for her togive her the phone.

After a short but very, very efficient conversation, the womanended the call and announced: “ So, looks like we’re going to be trapped herefor a while… They told me 15 minutes, thereabouts.”

“But what if the elevator drops? Can’t they come faster?”Abigail said, and immediately noticed how shrill her panicked voice sounded.

“The statistics for that to happen are very, very low. Butif it ever goes south, there’s always the emergency trap door. Although thisoption is not the safest one either. The safest bet is to sit here and wait forthe fire department to arrive. Will you be alright? Are you having a panicattack? Can you breathe?”

A little overwhelmed by the information, and the rapid successionof questions, Abigail had difficulty finding her words. She just shook her headyes, then no, and finally stuttered: “I’m fine. Just a little… nervous, youknow.”

The woman continued to look at her intently, this time witha mischievous smile that made her eyes lit up a little: “Is this your firsttime?”

Now Abigail was pretty sure she was blushing badly.

“Being stuck in an elevator,” the woman finally took pity onher.

“Oh, um, yes, I never… It never happened before… You, on theother hand, look like you have experience… in being stuck in elevators.”

“Only once before. But I definitively have some experiencedealing with… uncomfortable situations. I’m an ER doctor.”

“Oh,” was all Abigail could answer, trying hard not to thinkhow… fitting that was.

After apparently waiting for something for a beat, the womansmiled again and held out her hand: “Miranda Barlow. I live next door to theparty-goers.”

Miranda Barlow. What a distinguished name. Miranda Barlow. Shelooked very distinguished, despite the fatigue evident on her traits. With herhair still half-undone and her dark circles, she would have made the bestdoctor one could ask for. Sexy Frankenstein doctor costume. They would havemade such a hit at that party…

“Abigail. Abigail Ashe. Nice to meet you.” She shook herselfup and took Miranda’s hand, tightening her fingers a little and letting goalmost immediately, terrified she would linger too long.

Miranda’s smile widened a little. Her smile just made her cheekboneslook even nicer, and there was something purely bewitching about those eyes.She seemed wise, and kind, and warm, and there was something in Abigail thatcraved it.

“So, Abigail,” Miranda tested the name on her tongue.Abigail hoped she liked it. “Having a Halloween party?”

“Yes, I don’t usually dress like this,” Abigail joked with alittle smile, and then proceeded to mentally slap herself. It sounded like shethought Miranda was stupid. Of course she didn’t like this every day.

“It’s a shame. You look cute.”

Abigail had to lower her head to hide a smile. She wishedshe could use her hair to hide her face. Now was not the time to feel like herheart just burst in her chest because a woman was just offering her a politecompliment in a blocked elevator.

Lowering her eyes, she saw the two packs of beer at herfeet. Without thinking, she offered: “Since we’re stuck here… Would you like abeer?”

Miranda laughed. She looked at her through her eyelashes.That mischievous smile. Abigail loved it. “Just one. We need to at least besober when we get rescued.”

Miranda then let her coat slide down her shoulders and laidit on the floor of the elevator. She then sat down on it with a groan. Shepressed a hand against her atlas, massaging it with the tips of her fingers.Abigail took two bottles out of the first pack, looking for an acceptable spoton the elevator floor where she could sit in such a short skirt. Miranda smiledat her again and then inclined her head slightly to invite her on the coat nextto her.

Abigail gingerly lowered herself down on the coat, extendingher legs in front of her.

She could smell the acidic smell of sterile rooms, thestrong perfume of coffee, and just a hint, an afternote of honey and almond,probably from her soap, or her shampoo.

She passed a beer to Miranda and mentally scolded herselffor checking whether Miranda had a wedding band. She hoped Miranda hadn’tnoticed but she couldn’t bring herself to turn her head fully towards Mirandato check if she had.

Abigail started sipping her beer to look busy.

She didn’t have a wedding band.

“So, how did you meet Max and Silver?” Miranda asked.

“Eleanor, my roommate, she knows them since, like, high school,I think. I’m sorry you’ll have to hear the party after a long day at work.”Abigail apologized again.

“It really isn’t a problem. I like having the music, and thenoise. It helps me sleep.” Miranda’s voice became more pensive, and Abigailturned her head to look at her. Miranda was looking at the ceiling. She lookedvery tired. Abigail wished she could lend her her shoulder to sleep on, likeEleanor and her did sometimes.

It probably wasn’t appropriate.

Suddenly, her phone rang, making her jump badly, andspilling some beer on her thigh. She scrambled to get it, and unlock it. Aremote corner of her mind realized that Miranda had probably seen her phonebackground, which was a picture of John Singer Sargent’s portrait of Vernon Leewith the caption “I can take your breath away like your favourite painting”which was a joke she had made on Snapchat and that Eleanor has stuck as herbackground (and lock screen) to punish her for being “the worst nerd she hadever met”. Abigail had never changed because she didn’t know what to replace itwith… and also, honestly, it was still pretty funny…

“Yes, Eleanor?” She answered her phone.

“Oh thank fucking god, you’re alive! Are you alright? Wherethe fuck are you? Have you gone home?”

“No, I actually went on the beer run, like an honest person,and I’m not stuck in the elevator. With the beer.”

“Stuck in the elevator? How?” Eleanor’s words were slightlyslurred and it was difficult to hear her over the noise.

“Stuck as in, the elevator stopped, the doors won’t open,and we have to wait until the fire department arrives to unstuck us.”

“When the fuck… Wait… WAIT! Us?! Who are you with? Billy wasright fucking here not two seconds ago! Was it two seconds?”

Abigail heard Miranda chuckle next to her. Oh no, no, no,she couldn’t have Miranda think she had a boyfriend!

“I’m not with Billy, I’m with Miranda Barlow. The neighbour.”

As if Miranda had just been conjured back to the realm ofreality, she manifested herself by dabbing a little at Abigail’s thigh with atissue, to wipe away the beer she had spilled. Abigail tried not to gasp in thephone.

“Oh, okay…” Eleanor answered, like she was thinking aboutsomething but was not sure enough to actually talk about it. Which was veryrare.

“I don’t want my phone to run out of battery, so I’ll justhang up, okay?”

“It’s a shame Billy is here tonight because he could havebeen working and you could have met like this, and it would have been fuckingromantic,” Eleanor started rambling on only to be drowned by people cheering anew song.

“I’ll call you back,” Abigail said and ended the call. “Sorryabout that, it’s… Eleanor…”

Miranda smiled at her, like they were sharing some kind ofsecret by sitting here in a blocked elevator, sipping beer. Abigail did herbest not to look at her lips, but felt like she couldn’t look into her eyeswithout being entirely unveiled.

She wanted to kiss Miranda. Very much so. She wanted to justlean in and press her lips to Miranda’s. She wanted Miranda’s hand to stay onher knee. Wherever she wanted to put her hands, really. Miranda just… made herwant to lean in.

Miranda just drank some of her beer: “So, is Billy yourboyfriend?”

“Oh, no, he’s really not. I barely met him. But my friendswant to set me up with him.”

“Don’t you want to be set up with him?”

“I… Um… It just… feels kind of awkward, I guess. Like…Forced.”

“Contrary to being stuck in the elevator with someone,”Miranda answered without missing a beat.

Abigail almost choked on her beer. Was Miranda suggestingthey were… having a first date?

“What about you?” Abigail asked, “do you have a boyfri…husband?”

Miranda smiled like she knew something Abigail didn’t. Sheprobably did. Many things. “I don’t. Neither boyfriend nor husband.”

Abigail had to bite her tongue not to answer “Good”.

They spent the next minutes drinking their beer and idlytalking about their favourite movies, movies they wanted to watch at thecinema, how they used to celebrate Halloween when they were younger… Abigailfelt that Miranda was just making her talk to forget that they were stuck soshe wouldn’t panic, but she was doing a very good job at looking veryinterested. She even remembered the details of what she was telling her.Abigail felt like she needed to stop uncovering her entire life to thisnear=stranger, but then Miranda would share something very nice and interestingabout the many places she had travelled to, and it all felt so genuine.

There was something in Miranda that Abigail felt drawn by.The way she spoke, how deep her voice was, how you could hear the smile in herwords, how effortlessly funny she was. There was definitively something… rawerabout it as well. A very simple desire to touch her and be touched by her. Itwas surprising how physical that desire was.

When the team from the fire department finally spoke to themthrough the emergency line in the elevator, they both jumped a little. Mirandalaughed a little and leaned her forehead against Abigail’s temple, making hergasp softly.

All in all, they were out half an hour after having steppedin the elevator, but Abigail could barely remember anything that did notinclude Miranda this evening.

She did feel a little ridiculous when she stepped out of theelevator dressed like a sexy Bride of Frankenstein, but that was nothing nextto Silver drunkenly suggesting things had happened in the elevator before thefire department had arrived, when Miranda stepped out with her hair undone andher coat on her arm.

Suggestion to which Miranda had replied with agood-humoured: “You’re just jealous because James hasn’t come to your party.”

Which was belied by a man dressed in an impressivelywell-made 1931 Bela Lugosi Dracula costume stepping through the crowd to drunkenlygreet Miranda.

The next day, Abigail woke up with a slight hangover in abed she didn’t remember as hers. Her heart beating in her chest, she walked tothe other room, only to find Miranda sleeping on the couch, wrapped in ablanket. Abigail smiled and went to the kitchen to start making some breakfast.