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Private monster mash, with monsters

Discussion in 'Ark City' started by Ciri, Nov 7, 2018.

  1. Ciri

    Ciri The Witcher


    date | October 31st, Y108 HALLOWEEEEN SCREECHES
    tag | @Alexander Anderson

    Ciri had too much in the way of not having anything to do. Busywork, she could find. Interacting with others in superficial or work-oriented levels, she could manage. It was the sense that she was utterly lacking in any greater grand purpose that sent her wandering the four corners of that mysterious boxed continent beneath the moon for any distraction of the remotest interest. If she could not find any trace of Geralt, or Yen, or anyone. If she could not find any semblance of home. This was her life now. There was nothing dire. It wasn't a terrible life if not empty and void around the edges.

    Maybe that, and the resulting restlessness, was what drew her to Saovine to forget her loneliness. Most folk called it Halloween, but Ciri recognized it for what it was--if not bastardized to an extent that any reasonable person wouldn't fuss overmuch about and... commercialized, that was the word of modern day.

    Pulled away from the shadows of observation and wandering about, she found herself in the company of a solitary orphan—Tabitha with plaids in her bright orange hair—who'd been left behind by her gaggle. But tonight the little dear's bright hair was obscured by a mask of fur, and an impressive homemade werewolf costume at that. It was getting late and Ciri had found the girl desperately abandoned from some childish prank or other; common sense and grown-up responsibility should've had her escorting her back to the local orphanage, but she felt it wouldn't hurt to take her around one more cul de sac to help dry those tears away. She couldn't decide if it was from pity or empathy, but it felt right at the time.

    "What are you waiting for? Go and get." Grinning broadly, she brandished her candied apple stick to Tabitha's encouragement as they lingered by the garden gate of an especially spooky residential haunted house with its own ticket booth (she'd carried just enough of the local currency for one). Little Tabitha grinned back through her fuzzy mask before charging more confidently past the decorative cobwebs and skeletal appendages, the scarecrows and shadowed monsters overlooking the path to the porch.

    They even had a fog machine running. Good on them.

    So Ciri waited and waited besides the parents fiddling with their phones, fiddling with her own the witcher's medallion on her hip. Her medallion which began to hum, at first, which she had learned not to make anything of because of the types of beings who walked this world as peacefully as humans.

    Then she heard an errant scream, which was really easily mistaken for the ambiance of the street. Some of them had been played from recordings, and were all frightfully convincing. But since Ciri was not daft, her hairs began to stand on end from that point. She set a hand about an iron-wrought bar, peering suspiciously through the mist, a touch of concern building in narrowing green eyes.

    Then a man burst out through his window, more sprinting and clawing than climbing with a bloodied arm, yelling about how all the children had turned into monsters.

    The ashen-blonde had flashed into the foyer of the house in the next instant, before the loitering parents resounded out their first cries of dismay. "Tabitha? Tabitha?!"


  2. Although Anderson did not personally agree with Halloween, finding it intensely macabre to celebrate what amounted to a monster holiday, he had grown accustomed, in the last thirty years or so, to the children being extremely committed to doing their trick-or-treating. He had learned through trial and error that it simply wasn't worth disappointing them all on account of his own opinions, nor those of the Church, and so he had always made a special point to smuggle them out of the Vatican to get their sugar fix for the rest of the year.

    He didn't think he'd be damned to Hell if he admitted that it was a bit of fun.

    In Pandora, things were simpler. There was no Vatican to sneak around or make excuses to (and he would always prefer to beg forgiveness than permission for the children), and as a result, he had allowed himself to go a little bit ham with the festivities this year. If he had been asked, Anderson wouldn't have been able to say why. Maybe, with everything else in his life on its fucking head, he had committed to banishing all of his previous misgivings.

    So, he had enjoyed a rousing evening of leading the youngest children through the streets, admiring costumes and haunted houses from afar. Knowing that he was on a hair trigger at the best of times, the paladin graciously bowed out of the latter, lest he actually get startled and impale some poor teenager working a part-time job, but he let the oldest orphans try their luck while holding back those who he knew were simply too young to enjoy it.

    And, another first, he was almost back to the Refuge when Anderson realized, with a jolt, that he was missing one of his flock.

    A cursory look around the area showed that Tabitha wasn't nearby, nor was she hiding for a joke, and Anderson bit back a thousand curses as he waited, anxiously, for one of the older teens from the Refuge to come collect the rest of the children. "I know you have other plans, and I promise I won't be long. But right now, I need you to get everyone home in one piece, and for the love of Jesus, do not lose anyone else." Perhaps it was his urgent tone that made it clear not to second-guess him, or perhaps teenagers were more helpful here than they were in his own world, but a moment later the priest was alone on the street, and he immediately set off in the opposite direction at a steady jog, scanning the milling crowds of trick-or-treaters.

    He was passing one of the more impressive haunted houses when he heard a scream that didn't match the rest, and a thrill of warning ran down his spine like a shock. Turning on his heel, it was second nature to draw two bayonets out of his pockets as he moved towards the chaos, just in time to hear an unfamiliar voice calling for Tabitha as he scaled the front steps and entered the house.

    "Oi! You said Tabitha. Just a small girl, aye? Ya tall, dressed as a werewolf?" He held out his hand rapidly, oblivious to just how close the blade of the bayonet came to the strange woman. Off hand, there was something unnatural about her, but Anderson was more focused on finding his missing child than worrying about how human someone was at the moment. "Where is she?" He demanded loudly. "Don't tell me she's in here!" He exclaimed angrily, waving his arms around broadly. "She's seven! She shouldn't be within fifty feet of the front fucking door!"

    Scoffing in outrage, Anderson shook his head furiously. "Tabitha?" His voice boomed through the house, but it was nearly impossible to distinguish a response between the fake screams and the real ones. "This is why I hate Halloween. Horrible, awful, blaspheming holiday!"


    Ciri likes this.
  3. Ciri

    Ciri The Witcher


    Oh good, that must be the guardian, was her first fleeting thought before she recognized the gravity of what was unfolding, alongside her own error and contribution.

    ... Fuck, that was the guardian.

    Brows shooting up to her hairline, her spine arched back by instinct as the razor sharp gleam of his ... very authentic blade and definitely-not-a-prop-blade edged dangerously close to her face. But there was no time to protest. Ciri hadn't even the right to an 'excuse me', much less a protest, because judging by the spectacled gentleman's demeanor thus far he was going to be so despairingly wroth with her--well, more wroth.

    She could worry about that after the girl was safe at hand.

    "Yes. Yes!" Ciri splayed her hands out. "She was with the gaggle of children that'd gone in." A gaggle of children, someone had yelled, that'd all turned into monsters, apparently. "Have you—" The rock in her stomach grew that much heavier, and she thought she could spot a flicker of a shadow scuttling about the edge of the ceiling.

    "Muah muah muah muah! I vwant to shuck your bwood!!" declared a little voice from the blur of moment, the shadowy fucking creature then finding it appropriate timing to lunge at them both.

    "PUT THOSE AWAY!" Ciri screamed at the man, in the heat of the moment forgetting her prior reservations. Time seemed to still as her increasingly frantic eyes darted from the blades at the flying... thing... creature... child. She could make out a shock of blond hair, a name-tag on his breast labeled Hello! My name is MARK in sloppy handwriting, a glint of crimson but almost ridiculously large eyes set on chubby cheeks.

    And in that stilled time, she vanished in a flicker of cyan, only to reappear behind the vampire child ?? and seize him by the back of his gloomy cloak before Mark impaled himself on a ploughing bayonet.

    The house seemed to spiral around her as she fell, from her haphazard movements, but even as her back hit the ground with an inelegant oof she managed to keep the bloodsucking five-year old held up in her arms and herself out of her reach from his... those were real claws. "The hell is happening-- oh, pardon," she amended upon realizing the struggling, hissing five-year old in her hands, and then promptly lost her fucks once more. "...shit!"