All is in readiness. Enter!
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Did you like the laugh? I worked on it for a week.
It was….indescribable.
So you think it was suitably scary and Halloweenish?
Let’s leave it at “indescribable.”
Skip to content
I step into the barn and stand a minute in the doorway to admire the cobwebs and stuffed bats which lurk among the rafters, then make my way to the refreshment table; since no one else is here, I might as well have a snack. I ladle some pumpkin juice out of a punch bowl and pick up a puffin puff, my first one ever. I’m still not quite certain what goes into them. Lifting up my World War II-era gas mask, I take a bite. It’s good.
I slip through the ajar doors of the barn–or is it the ballroom? Straw crunches beneath my shoes. I glance around with kohl-lined eyes and see Rosebud2, who is wearing a gas mask. “Good evening,” I say quietly. “How is the pumpkin juice? I’ve never encountered it before.”
((I had a hard time finding an image of my costume. I’m the protagonist of The Gilded Bat, written and illustrated by Edward Gorey. My outfit is shown in the illustration that is captioned “Mirella all at once became chic and mysterious.” I’d like people to be able to see it, as it’s a fantastic outfit, but the only place I could find said picture is in a YouTube video. Considering the policy against external links, could the GAPAs tell me how to proceed?))
I step into the barn, glancing around at the dusty rafters. Seeing that there are only two people here, I walk to the refreshment table to join them. “How are you this evening, ladies?” I ask as I ladle myself some cider. “Excited for the ball?”
THE GREAT OLD ONE RISES FROM R’LYEH AND PROCEEDS TO
DESTROY THE BALLROOMENTER THE BALLROOM IN A POLITEFUL FASHION.HE COMMENTS ON HOW HE RATHER LIKES THE DECOR ESPECIALLY THE FAKE BARN
HE THEN APOLOGIZES TO THE WUNG WHO INFORMS HIM THAT IT’S A REAL BARN
I enter the barn dressed in a mask, wig, and 18th century clothing. Seeing people over by the refreshments table, I head over and get myself a glass of pumpkin juice. “How are you all?” I ask.
I zoom around the barn, taking in the sights and sounds. I touch down and adjust my wings.
” Ooh, cider!” I say as I ladle some cider, and inhale on it.
” Do you like my costume? The wings took forever to make, they sometimes get a bit glitchy-yy!” The wings flew up, taking me with it. I fumbled for the remote.
I arrive at the party and pause for a moment to admire the decorations, particularly the cobwebs, bats, and the rustlings in the rafters. I should fit in quite well here. I cross the barn to the refreshments table. It’s not easy to pick things up with snake-fingers, but I manage to serve myself a slice of delicious pumpkin pie. My attention is caught by a sudden movement as one of the other guests suddenly takes off for the ceiling. As en gets control over ens wings and lands again, I can’t help but wonder how a flying ball is supposed to be scary. Is this not Halloween, under rule of monsters such as myself?
“Quite well, thank you,” I tell the clockwork monster, remembering just in time to speak with a British accent. “So, been chasing any Time Lords lately?”
I enter wearing a long, reddish-brown coat over a red shirt with black suspenders. My trousers are made of a tough, khaki-colored material, and I’m wearing them tucked into high black leather boots. There’s a low-slung gun belt on my waist, which is currently occupied by a large, old-fashioned revolver. I hope to use this for interesting stunts later on in the night, such as putting holes through small Alliance coins.
I raise my eyebrows at the food across the room and look up at a small golden object – no, it’s a person – fluttering around the rafters. A glass of cider falls from en’s hand as en fumbles for control, somehow staying upright. I lean forward and catch it deftly in my left hand, my right remaining hooked in my gun belt.
I step into the barn and look around curiously at both the barn and its inhabitants, some of whom appear a bit nervous when they see my costume. My skin is gray, I am wearing an old, dusty-looking dress, and I have wings folded on my back. I smile upon realizing that two people dressed as creatures from my universe have also come to this party, namely a child with a gas mask and an 18th-century clockwork robot. I wander over to join their conversation.
I enter quietly, drawing no attention to myself. I am nothing. I am shadow. I see some people over at the refreshments and sigh inwardly. Being nothing means making no sounds. However, they are all gathered at one end and appear to be focused on talking. There is a monster here, apparently lured out of under the stairs with the promise of pumpkin juice and cupcakes. I silently drift over to the other end of the table and pick up a cupcake and a glass of cranberry juice. The cupcake has been iced to resemble a cat in front of a moon. I take a bit. Vanilla flavored, my favorite.
I glide into the ballroom, clad in a flowing bright red gown, which is elegantly draped but appropriately torn around the bottom edges. The sleeveless cut is draped around the bust, forming a v-neck. I wear my favorite pair of fancy shoes, some red suede heels. My hair falls around my shoulders in loose curls, and perched on the top of my head are a pair of short devil horns.
“The ballroom looks fantastic,” I comment, looking around the place in wonder. “The wungs have really out-done themselves this year.”
I walk over to the people at the cider bowl and pour myself a glass. “Good evening, everyone! You all look great.”
While the rest of the ball is learning to SPELL THEIR NAMES, I am over at the kerbango bowl, hoping to meet someone.
I finish off my slice of pumpkin pie and look around at the other ball-goers. Unfortunately, it appears that none of my friends have arrived. They must be off scaring back in Halloweentown. Well, at least I can meet some new monsters here. With that in mind, I make my way towards a person in a mask and old-fashioned attire moving in a peculiar, stiff way. “Good evening. I like your outfit.”
I flit down to the person who caught my cider.
” Thank you! ” I smile, and hover over to the cupcakes, where a hard to detect shadow is standing.
” I can see you, you know. “
I arrive at the party, cursing my tardiness. Time machines are fickle beasts. The old floorboards creak slightly under my leather traveling boots.
I am wearing a long navy blue skirt with lightning bolt outlines stitched in silver thread, a white blouse, and a denim vest with similar decorations. I wear complicated-looking brass goggles over my eyes, and a silver necklace around my neck in which gear shapes alternate with small glass globes that appear to have dancing electric sparks trapped inside. A matching bracelet is on my left wrist.
I withdraw a device that resembles a toy gyroscope from my pocket, spin it, and nod. Yes, I am indeed in the correct time and place. And what a lovely spot it is.
I burst through the doors dramatically, waving a sword, and proceed to shriek in a manner worthy of the lord of the Nazgul, until I notice all the masked creatures staring at me. Somewhat embarrassed, I creep over to the refreshments table and pour myself a cup of hot chocolate worthy of Mordor.
“I must say,” I remark to The Empty Child. “That really is a most spectacular gas mask.”
I glare at the snitch girl, not that she can tell. No she can’t. Impossible. I sink further back against the wall, retreating back to the safety of the furthest corner from the refreshments to enjoy my cupcake in peace. I hate social interaction. But isn’t that why people come to these balls? a little nagging voice says in my head. To interact? Shut up, I tell it, and take a sip of my juice. It is tart, but satisfying.
“Why thank you,” I answer the Witch-King of Anmar. “Oh! I almost forgot! Are you my mummy?”
“No problem,” I say to the Golden Snitch. “Name’s Captain Reynolds, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”
((and it would appear that I forgot to change my name. SFTDP and about name confusion.))
“Not that I am aware,” I reply. “And touching me won’t work either; wraiths are already devoid of will.”
Scanning the refreshments table, I come across a pastry iced to resemble a pumpkin, as well as a stack of what I very much hope are not puffin puffs.
I turn to The Empty Child. “Scone?”
“Certainly,” I answer, taking the scone. Then I remember that my gas mask is fused to my face.
“Hm,” I stare at the pastry thoughtfully. “But how do you eat? Do you eat only aerosol food? I bet we could aerosolize a scone…”
I enter the barn, swooshing over the grass on my way in. Swooshing my way over to the food, I pick up some almonds and sigh as they fall straight through me to the floor.
Wandering around, I eventually head over to what I recognize as some guy wearing a gas mask.
“You can’t eat either, huh?” I say in a whispery loud rasp.
((It’s amazing what some people will do to avoid even the possibility of ingesting a puffin puff.))
((Like your strategy: not attending the ball.))
((Not attending? I’d never miss a Muse Academy event. All of us faculty members are standing quietly off to the sidelines, keeping an eye on things and admiring the studnts’ costumes. I’m dressed as a stylized heron, Rebecca as a hare, Paul as a hedgepig (with bagpipes), and Rosanne as a sort of bouquet of roses. We’re enjoying ourselves immensely.))
GAPAs postpone a thing they condone,
Students mingle and nibble ’til asking.
“Mr. Baker, a tune if-you-please?”
The bagpipes moan, but no-one’s alone;
It’s high time to begin the dancing!
I would be enjoying myself more if the valve on my bagpipes hadn’t stuck. Again. I’m looking suspiciously at a certain wung.
Watch out for my thorns!
I enter the barn, where I see a small group of people gathered around the refreshments table and various others circling around the space. The refreshments smell delicious, so I head over to the table, where I spot a wraith and a terrifying kid in a gas mask having a conversation. The Empty Child is holding a scone up to ens gas mask awkwardly.
“Er,” I say, “I’m not quite sure… Actually, wait, IS my gas mask fused to my face? Or is that only the others? Becoming a zombie-thing can mess with your thought processes…”
More people filter in. I look around. No-one is dancing yet, to my surprise. I approach That Ghost in the Corner of Your Eye, who has swooshed neatly to the table, and greet en. “Hello, there! Is swooshing around fun? I’d like to hover a little ways off the ground from time to time. I think that’s why I like doing grand jetes. And, yes, this small talk is a prelude–would you like to dance?” I realize I was babbling a bit, and take a swallow of pumpkin juice.
I give the child a sympathetic look. “I, too, have trouble eating. You see, it only works properly if no one is looking at me. If I get interrupted it can get a bit… messy.” I resume my normal stance to demonstrate.
(I’m not finding an image. That strikes me as a really bad idea. Call me superstitious)
I see a woman wearing a red sleeveless dress who doesn’t appear to be talking to anyone.
“Wonderful costume. Would I be unoriginal if I asked if those heels were Prada?”
“Thanks, dear!” I reply to the girl with the gorgeous costume and the goggles. “And Prada’s the only one who seems to make clothes for us in hell anymore. I think it’s because they can’t say no to me.” I sip my cider happily. “How did you get those sparks in your necklace and bracelet? They’re dazzling.”
Barking spiders, I’m late …
I walk quietly into the ballroom, wearing a flight uniform and brass goggles. A strange monkey-like creature, the perspicacious loris, is perched on my shoulder. I see a giant squid-like beastie on the other side of the room, and find myself wondering if it could be flown.
((For those of you who don’t know, Deryn is from the book Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld. It’s really good. Read it.))
A Silurian is never late, nor is she early; she arrives precisely when she means to.
I sweep into the ballroom, my skirts trailing behind me, a dark blue hood swept up over my face. Although I have no wish to hide my identity as Madame Vastra, I have heard from my assistant and beloved companion, Jenny, that my visage can frighten humans of more delicate dispositions. I snort at the thought of this.
Looking around, I see partygoers of all shapes and sizes, some flying, some floating, some riding, and only a few standing on their own two feet. A few of them look familiar to me, though I can’t quite place why; perhaps my ally the Doctor described them once. He is quite the verbose individual.
A smile curls at my mouth, and I push back the hood of my cloak, my quick lizard eyes darting around the room. I am in good company here, I think.
“I understand completely,” I say sympathetically to the Empty Child and the weeping angel. “In order for me to drink, I have to have someone pour it on my head. I always shut down for a few minutes. It’s quite embarrassing, actually.”
I enter the ballroom, hoping I’m not too late. My dress is long and blue and shimmery, looks like cobwebs, and catches the light when it moves. I find the nearest table and drink a cup of spiced pumpkin juice, which is delicious. I walk over to someone standing alone; en is wearing a flight uniform and brass goggles.
‘Nice monkey,’ I say.
‘It’s not a monkey,’ en says in surprise. ‘It’s a perspicacious loris.’
‘I see,’ I reply.
‘Have you seen that giant squid-like beastie over there? Any idea what it is?’
‘Hmm…no, haven’t got a clue. Wonder what it could be?’
“These? My employer can do some wondrous things with aetheric energy containment.” I raise my hand, looking at the blue dancing sparks within my bracelet. “Trade secrets, of course. Competition in the invention business can be cutthroat.”
“They’re very cool!” I reply. “I wonder if he might be able to manufacture a bangle for me, with red sparks? Of course, doing deals with my kind can be very tricky. Might cost him a soul or two.”
I pour myself a glass of cider, and pick up a scone. Both are delicious, and the scone is not a Puffin Puff. Those particular pastries must be hiding somewhere else, I decide.
“Excuse me,” says someone.
“Yes?” I ask politely.
“Er… do I know you? You look like you might be someone I know. Er… no… wait a minute, never mind, you don’t look like anybody I know. I’m sorry… no! wait- what do you look like, anyway? Because I think… wait…” I feel immensely sorry for en; looking at me for too long can be psychologically painful, seeing as I don’t look like anybody: this is why I avoid mirrors.
“Yes, I probably do.” I sigh.
“Pardon?”
“I’m a doppelganger.” I explain.
“Ohh… then…”
“I’m nobody’s doppelganger.”
En widens ens eyes, then quickly wipes the confused expression off ens face.
I sigh inwardly. I hate these conversations, and they happen all too frequently. “Are those Puffin Puffs?” I ask quickly, saving us both from an awkward conversation.
“I’ll inform him of your request.” I say, glancing over at the buffet table. “Oooh. Cornbread.”
THE GREAT OLD ONE WANDERS AIMLESSLY ABOUT THE BALL. HE SEES A GROUP OF BE-STEAMPUNKED INDIVIDUALS, AND WANDERS OVER TO THEM, WONDERING WHAT THEIR MODERN SCIENCE WILL THINK OF HIS BRAIN SHATTERING FORM.
INSTEAD, HE COMPLEMENTS THEM ON THEIR RECENT ADVANCES AND SAYS THAT HE LIKES THE NEW WHAT DO YOU CALL THEM, TRAINS, THAT GO REALLY FAST.
“What’s with all the shouting, ‘Cthulhu’?” I ask. “This is a relatively small barn, we can all hear you just fine. You’ll startle my horse.”
THE ELDER GOD APOLOGIZES AND SAYS THAT THIS IS THE QUIETEST HE IS ABLE TO TALK.
HE THEN GIVES YOUR HORSE A PAT ON THE HEAD AND A SUGAR LUMP.
Hello there, Elder God Cthulhu!
Um, Ayer’s Rock is also known as Uluru?
Both giant red rock and R’lyeh, cold & deep
Are sacred to some, so past I shall creep.
I wish you frivolity, then sleep aeons more
But if this is your whisper, than how loud is your snore?
I sigh, swirling what’s left of my juice in my nonexistent hand. Being nothing is boring sometimes. Even though normally I hate talking to people, the cheery atmosphere has made me rethink my original plan of sneaking in just to get some free food. With another, rather dramatic sigh, I shift into a visible form.
Most of my face is obscured by a huge feathery mask, shaped like a raven’s face, but there mask curves around my mouth, leaving a bit of oddly pale skin and red lips visible. Fingerless shoulder-length gloves also expose my fingertips. My dress is made of the same fabric the universe was woven from: if one looks at it directly, it appears to be just black, but out of the corner of the eye, one can see a shifting pattern of subtle purples and blues. I glide back over to the refreshment table and pick up another cupcake, still hoping to avoid conversation.
“I’m quite fond of trains as well.” I tell Cthulhu, as I head over to check out the food.
((The Lonely Assassin- That’s not superstitious, that’s sensible.))
I give up trying to talk to the clockwork creature, as en strikes up a conversation with some other creatures including a ghost, a child in a gas mask, and what I can only conclude is a cursed statue. Hearing a question about puffin puffs, I turn and see someone having an apparently awkward conversation. Something strikes me as odd about this person, and I can’t help approaching en to get a closer look.
“Hello.” I say, intrigued. “If you don’t mind me asking, what precisely are you? You look like you should look like someone, but you don’t look like anyone.”
((I’m terribly sorry! I did not realize you were talking to me. There must have been some sort of mix-up with my hearing system.))
“I’m a doppelganger,” I explain. “The only problem is, I am nobody’s doppelganger. I don’t even have an umlat over my name.”
En nods, processing this.
“Hi, I just wandered over and I couldn’t help but hear you. Don’t worry, nobody has an umlat these days,” I say.
“Certainly!” I reply to Mirella Splatova, looking enviously at the glass of pumpkin juice.
I swoosh whilst en flies and we begin dancing as well as a long dead, intangible host and a bat can.
*ghost, not host…
A ghost as a host is a puzzle to most;
Is not serving an issue with hands thinner than tissue?
As for carving a roast, or raising a toast;
“Why it’s simply a mystery, a spectral magistery!”
Ah, the riposte and boast of the ghost who’s host.
I peer around a little bit at the people, looking for the one I brought with me. Wondering where she is, I look toward the doors and see a small flash of movement. No doubt she’s getting her costume in order, I think to myself. I’d imagine she wants to make a good first impression upon the Muse Academy crowd.
((This would be an ideal time of entry, You-Know-Who))
I meander over to the table, filled with delicious snacks of all kinds. I notice that some of us seem to be having trouble finding the Puffin Puffs, so I bend over and sneak a hand under the tablecloth. Sure enough, I feel the legs of a pokey, poofy Puffin. I grab it and pull it out. I’m about to hark back to the days of old, when Fluffylump and Prarilus Canix ruled the pastries and down the Puff in one gulp, legs, beak and all, when I realize that it’s stuffed, made of only the outer layer and foam on the inside! It did feel a little too squishy and underinflated, come to think. I shove the legs of the stuffed Puffin (the Stuffin?) in my gun belt and walk the the side of the barn, snagging a snack on the way past the end of the table. I come close to crashing into a young lady in a blue skirt and goggles as I walk, so I turn a little and make a quick, shallow bow.
“So sorry, miss. I was a little hurried to get this Stuffin’ over to that fine-looking heron,” I say. “Won’t happen again.”
With a causal wink I start off again in the direction of a hare, a heron, a hedgepig and some roses. I note to myself how funny it is that three of the people appear to be dressed as animals with matching first letters while the last is several off. It reminds me of a certain similar coincidence, but I shake my head a little and tell myself it can’t possibly be the GAPAs. Still, they seem to be in charge of things. They’re in a small group, for one. They’re all wearing costumes with a small patch sewn into the front – it varies from one to the other, but always matching their costumes – a heron here, a bouquet of roses there. Having determined to myself that this is the in-charge group, as I assumed from the buffet table, I move close to them.
“Excuse me, Mr. Heron,” I say. “I know the Wungs are usually in charge of these things, but I don’t see any right now and you have an Aura of Responsibility around you.
“Do you know if the boatload of hors d’oeuvres has arrived yet? I went looking for a Puffin Puff and found only a Stuffin. I’m aware of the buffet table, but I figured the Puffs might get their own boat this year, due to high demand.”
I recall much munching of the Puffins at last year’s ball.
“Anyway, Mr. Heron. If you have any light to shed on the situation, you’d be my hero. Worthy of song and statue.”
I think back to the last planet I visited. I am sure they’d be willing to make a statue. The mud on that planet is perfect for ceramic statue making – hard as steel and half as heavy.
Finishing the snack I took from the table, I finish it, waiting for the heron to reply. He does seem to be thinking quite hard.
Suddenly, hordes of wungs stream into the ballroom from the kitchen amid a flurry of wung-chatter. To join in the festivities they have transformed themselves into approximations of Halloweenish creatures such as cats, bats, owls, and oversized toads and spiders, along with a few unidentifiable ones that they must have encountered on their excursions to more exotic reaches of reality. Or maybe they just see things differently from the way we do.
Borne aloft on the wung wave rides a large tray of steaming empanada-sized objects instantly recognizable as puffin puffs — delayed, it seems, by choppy seas along the coast. The wungs carefully lower the tray onto the banquet table, pause to admire it for a few seconds, and then flock back into the kitchen flirping and tweeping.
Into the hall pours a wave of wung
With a sight that curls even the most hardy of tongue!
Aloft are held trays with puffin galore
Alas, not shipwrecked along rocky shore.
Banquet table creaking under puffins piled high
But are they culinary genius or tradition gone awry?
((Hm… Pig’s Lard… rhymes with “bard”?))
Well done Mr. Heron – half the riddle, you’ve solved it.
You’re no baron, but brevity is the soul of wit.
There’s more to be unmasked, a stunning twist
An allusion to conspiracy not long missed.
Iambic pentameter is a bit too taxing
Couplet rhyming is lots more relaxing
A true bard wouldn’t waver in poetic dedication,
I’m but a scientist, a poet while on vacation
Aha! A scientist-poet with a porcine connection. You’re Francis Bacon, I’ll be bound.
A scientist-poet with a porcine connection? Yegads, it must be me!
You’re more of a Roger Bacon, I think.
Indeed. Though I wish he hadn’t gotten distracted by alchemy and such, I’ve always liked his work.
The girl walks towards the refreshment table. I peer in amusement at the silly wungs bearing their trays of puffin puffs, and walk over to them. I pick one up off of the tray and cautiously take a bite.
“Just my kind of food. Disgusting, abhorrent, and probably shouldn’t be sampled,” I say, and polish it off.
It’s then that I notice something… “Hey, where’s the music?”
((Surely the organizing committee didn’t forget to arrange music for the party?))
((Surely not. In the Hall of the Mountain King, by Edvard Grieg, is playing in the background. Coming from the pumpkins, you know.))
((To be followed by Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain, then Saint-Saens’s Danse Macabre.))
((Great selections. :arrow:))
“Aha!” I say. “By your leave, Mr. Heron.”
And with that I walk back to the banquet table and pull a steaming, bloated Puffin Puff off the top of one of the piles. I grab the legs and pull. With a hiss and a pop the Puff deflates slightly. I now have two legs in one hand, a Puffin in the other and a Stuffin in my gun belt. I
Captchaloguethe Stuffin in mySylladexto make room in my belt. I take a huge bite of the Puff, It tastes awful, as it does every year, but that of course is the point – I LOVE Puffin Puffs. They’ve always tasted good to me, perhaps because they taste so bad, and I’ve enjoyed the party tricks such as “Down the Puffin, legs and all” and “How many Puffins did Peter Puffer poof”. These balls are always great fun. People to dance with, Puffin Puffs to poof and so much music.I remove the beak before I get to the head. The beaks are unpleasant to swallow, although I know several ways to do so painlessly.
I appear behind you, wearing what appears to be a layer-cake. I begin to question some strawberries.
((Oh, good. I was hoping it would be Kaylee.))
((Looks like you need a close bracket, Mr. Heron.))
[Sometimes GAPAs need HTML Gnomes, too.]
I attempt to grasp Ghost’s hand–my hand goes straight through his. “Ah. Well, let’s see…” I put my hands more or less where they ought to be and we ambulate in rhythm to “Night On Bald Mountain.” I grin. That works! Step-step-turn. I notice that it’s easy to avoid stepping on a partner’s feet when the partner has no feet. I decide that might be tactless to mention. “So, is this your first ball?” I ask.
“Well, I lurked at a few before, just in the shadows… I’ve never been much of an active participant in the past.” I reply to Mirella.
“How about you?”, I say, grasping for something else to reply.
((Clockwork Monster- It is no problem. I assumed you were more comfortable speaking with beings you seemed to already know of. Now we are both in conversations, so no harm is done.))
I nod, considering the Doppelganger’s statement. I would smile, except that with my mouth I am not very adept at smiling. “I have never met a doppelganger of no-one.” I say. “That’s very interesting. I like seeing new concepts.”
I enter, wearing a ceiling tile on my head. Everyone asks what the cake I’m supposed to be. I reply, “I’m the debt ceiling. Duh!”
I plunge deeper into the crowd. My path is crossed by a mysterious being. It bears puffin puffs, and I instinctively know that this is callled a wung. Now can anyone tell me: what is a wung?
((Anonymous – According to Piggy on the H*G*2*M*B:
“A small, possibly hyperdimensional creature which acts as a House Elf-like helper in the Hare & Hedgepig. Examples are Speen, Floom, and Nelby, which each have claimed a MuseBlogger as a foster parent.
That definition can be argued; that’s just somewhere to start.”))
I walk over to someone who has just entered. En appears to be wearing a tile on ens head. I decide against asking and instead strike up a conversation with en.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘Have you just arrived? How are you finding the ball?’
A wung is the word on the tip of a tongue
A thought of a sound from a dimension far flung.
They’re fuzzy and spidery, scary and cute
Helpful and mischievous, thoughtful to boot
Serving and dusting and mocking in jest
There are servants and house elves, but wungs are best!
I’ve just about had it with these incessant rhymes.
Bacon? That’s breakfast to Barnaby Grimes*.
Your couplets are fine, in meter and measure,
But seriously, they derive me of pleasure.
*Barnaby Grimes is the central character in the Barnaby Grimes books by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell. And while he hasn’t eaten bacon in the books, he strikes me as a bacon-loving-type guy.
((Ah, thanks for the definition. Can I get one? A wung, that is.))
A person in a blue shimmery dress walks up to me. She (I assume en is a she, I don’t think that a guy would wear a dress) exchanges pleasantries. I reply,”I have just arrived, how did you know? I am finding the ball most entertaining and delighting.” Something in her demeanor appears to bring out this flowery speech, but maybe it’s just the Puffin Puff speaking. “I am greatly enjoying it, but I am also conducting a psychology survey about Halloween costumes. I must take leave of this charming conversation to view the costumes. Good bye!”
I wander about and see a goggled person. I say, “Nice marmoset.” “It’s not a marmoset, it’s a perspicacious loris,” en replies. Now while I know what a perspicacious loris actually is, I persist in calling it a marmoset. “I hear marmosets are easy to train,” I say. En replies, “It’s a LORIS.” “Have fun with your marmoset,” I say, complimenting myself on my performance. My idol Cyril has done something like this. The goggled person lunges at me, but I deflect en with my ceiling tile.
((One generally waits for the other person to respond. Just a tip – try not to write other people’s parts. They may have other things in mind. And welcome to the blog, by the way. Nice to meet you.))
((Oops. Please don’t kill me.))
No fear, homicide is greatly frowned upon here. Welcome to the blog!
((To Ghost))
“I’ve been to several. The last couple have moved rather slowly–this year, interest seems to have resumed, which I’m glad of. They’re quite fun!” I smile reminiscently. “I like getting the experience of attending a dance, without some of the nuisances I’ve observed surrounding offline dances. These are, I think, calmer and thus happier than I would find a prom or…what’s the other one? Homecoming.” The dusty floorboards creak when my feet hit them–but not when Ghost’s appear to.
I turn around and see Kaylee wearing a lovely cake-dress. I lean towards her, and self-conscious as always, point at my slightly uncomfortable pants and ask “Does, uh… do these seem kind of tight?”
I wander over to a truly random person and say:
“I’m not saying the 80-04’s hard to repair. It just ain’t worth it.”
(Please ignore previous post)
I wander over to a truly random person and say:
“I’m not saying the 80-04’s hard to repair, It just ain’t worth it.”
‘The Infinite Improbability Drive I had implanted in my skull must be working stupendously,’ I think to myself. ‘because Kaylee just attempted to wander somewhere random and instead bounced right back here.’ Ignoring something about the 80-04, I look at her. I’m about to repeat the question, but am interrupted by a glimmer of light in the corner of my eye. I look up at the barn’s lighting.
((How is the barn lit?))
((Candles and oil lamps?))
((Phosphorescent moss?))
((Owls holding lanterns?))
((A hovering chandelier, made up of phosphorescent owls holding oil lamps flying perpetually in a circle.))
After spacing out looking at the ceiling for quite awhile, I look over and respond:
Shows off your backside. Did you see the chandelier? It’s hovering.
“What’s the point of that, I wonder?†I say, turning to Kaylee. “Look at the owls!â€
Entirely disinterested in the owls, I say “Oh, mangoes!” in reference to a previously unexplored region of the snack table.
I look back up at the chandelier. “I mean, I see how they did it. I just ain’t gettin’ the why,” I say, looking back at the fixture – or rather, the non-fixture – it doesn’t appear to be affixed to anything aside from someone’s rather hyperactive imagination. Glancing back at Kakedress – er, Kaylee, I notice that she’s moved on from the mangoes. She’s transfixed at the sight of several girls in costume.
“These girls have the most beautiful dresses. And so do I. How ’bout that?”
I say with a wide grin.
“Yeah, well, just be careful,” I say. “We cheated Badger out of good money to buy that frippery, and you’re supposed to make me look respectable.”
Looking quite indignant and mildly insulted, I respond:
“Yes, sir, Cap’n Tight-Pants.”
Feeling thirsty, I retrieve a cup of spiced apple cider. It’s delicious. I look around, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Despite what I said to Doppelganger, I am unused to new faces, and being confronted with so many beings I’ve never met is almost as discomfiting as it is exhilerating. I wonder who to talk to next.
I see an interesting-looking monster looking around, seeming overwhelmed. I figure I might as well start a conversation.
“Hello there. How are you doing?” I ask, rushing a little in an attempt to finish my sentence before en turns around.
((Watched Blink for the first time last night.))
I glance up. It’s rather hard to tell through my gas mask, but there seems to be a remark floating in the air. How odd.
I wonder when we’re going to dance. This is a ball, after all.
True enough. You’re all at a dance; music is playing; yet no one is dancing. You can lead a horse to water…
No one seems to notice me at the kerbango bowl, when I realize it isn’t kerbango at all. I spit my large mouthful out exaggeratedly, looking disgusted. I look around the room, and see how many humans there are around me. “Rat-brains,” I mutter.
I walk plod in through the barn doors. What’s the point of being on time anyway, since no one even cares about androids?…I look around for a good corner to stand in and sulk, except that I’m too depresed to bother. Why do people even bother with balls anyway. Brain the size of a galaxy, and I’m wasting my thine at a ball. I guess my thine isn’t worth it anyway, oh god I’m so depressed…
YES.
It’s not a party until the sulky robot shows up!
Hearing a voice behind me, I say “Fine, thank you. How are you?” As I turn around. And come face-to-face with the winged statue I saw at a distance earlier. En doesn’t move or speak. Confused, I turn back to the refreshments table.
I am hopeful as the monster turns in my direction, but that quickly dissipates as en looks confused and returns to looking blankly at the table. I try a different tack. “I’m sorry, I thought you might want to talk. We’ll have to work around this issue though. I can’t talk while you’re looking at me, see. Can’t move, eith-”
Well, I suppose that works.
((I believe Ghost and Mirella are the only ones dancing.))
Realizing I’d cut en off in the middle of a word, I look away again and say, “Oh, I get it now. So I’ll just not look at you and we can talk, right? I’m the Monster Under the Stairs. Who are you?”
“That will work brilliantly”, I say, happy that I don’t need to explain quantum mechanics to anyone. “I’m a Weeping Angel. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”
“Would you like to dance?” I ask the child in a gas mask. “I’m afraid I’m a little rusty–bad pun, sorry–but I used to be able to go unnoticed at a French ball…”
“Certainly,” I reply.
((Since I posted my most recent post under the wrong email but it is displayed under the right one, I can only assume one of the Great And Powerful Administrators corrected it. Than you!))
“I’m afraid not.” I reply, not looking at the Weeping Angel. “My sole exposure to angels has been through visits to Christmastown, and I don’t visit as often as some of my friends. It’s a bit too bright and loud for me. Are you Weeping Angels very feared?”
((Oops, that was supposed to say “Thank you!”))
I wander into the room, curious about the antics of the mortals inside. There seemed to be some sort of festivity happening. I toyed with the idea of calling forth a dragon to liven things up a bit, but decided to hold back for now. Instead, I wandered over the the table piled high with food, folding my double set of wings behind me.
The child in the gas mask and I step out onto the dance floor, joining the one couple there.
I finally return from my inspection of the snack table with two coconut meringues. I pass a woman with a double set of wings on her back going the other way and decide to make polite conversation.
“Hello, are you enjoying the ball?” I ask.
As another song ends, I realize that I have become very thirsty indeed. I grin at Ghost. “Thanks for dancing with me! I enjoyed it.” I croak. Liquid! I need liquid! I stride to the beverages.
“Thank you too!” I reply as Mirella walks away. I drift over to right where the music is playing ((What does the music come out of anyway?)) and chuckle softly as the sound waves slightly blur my translucent figure. Then I sigh and keep listening to the music, letting it wash over me.
((I think it’s coming from the pumpkins.))
“Yes, I suppose we are. But I’m trying to make a good impression on these people. Scary is perfectly acceptable, but I’d rather it be good-scary and not bad-scary. At least for now.”
I nod, saying “I see. But, you know what they say, ‘Life’s no fun without a good scare!’ Anyway, I think this is the perfect place to make such an impression. Many of us are scary here – though I suspect not all of us are.”
I come back down the stairs from the Rooftop Garden, brushing past a tall man in an Air Force uniform. I see a monster and what looks like a statue of an angel speaking, and walk over to join them.
Someone who looks suspiciously like a human walks up to The Lonely Assasin and me. “Hello, there. Impressive gadgetry. I’m the Monster Under the Stairs, who are you?” I ask. Then I realize that the weeping angel I had been speaking to had fallen silent. A quick glance confirms my suspicion that this newcomer was looking at both of us. “I’m sorry, could you not look at the statue? En can’t move or speak when en’s being looked at, apparently.”
“Oh, I see. My apologies.” I say, and avert my eyes. “You can call me Nadia. I work as Dr. Tesla’s lab assistant.”
“Thank you,” I say, a little embarrassed. “I don’t think I’ve met this many new people in a long time. It’s sometimes a while between conversations.”
“Well, I guess that can only be expected.” I say. “I’m not used to seeing so many new people either; I rarely leave my staircase.”
((What happens now?))
((We have to wind the party down, I’m afraid.))
I hear Mr. Coontz’ announcement, and remove the gyroscope-like device from my pocket. I spin it, and it produces a ringing sound similar to when a wet finger is rubbed around the rim of a wine glass.
“Oh, hadrons! Time to go already…” I mutter, disappointed that the fun went by so quickly. I lift my goggles up, to show people my real face. “It was a blast, guys. See you all at the Holiday Party!”
I thank everyone for the great time and make my way to the exit. My employer will want me back as soon as possible. Invention never ceases.
I set down my glass and uncover my face. “Ooh, look. I’m actually Cerulean. Probably not surprising, I think.” I wave goodbye and disappear behind a stack of hay bales. After exiting the door there, I wander out into the night.
“Wait!” I yell. “The festivities aren’t over yet!”
An awkward pause follows.
“But…doesn’t anyone want to see my drumming?”
(I love you so much right now. And hate you, because now that’s stuck in my head again.)
I step up and offer my arm to the inestimable Sue, and begin: “Well, I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more…”
“Just to be the…woman…who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door,” I finish, smiling as we walk away arm in arm.
So, who was everybody dressed as? I was The Empty Child.
I reach up and unstrap the wings from my back, getting a good laugh out of the people watching. “Hey everybody, it’s me. I suppose I should probably head out now. Goodbye!”
I take off my nothing, revealing my face to be that of my face that was never disguised to begin with. But I’m Castle, so there.
And to all a good night.
I was the Clockwork Monster.
I was Terl. Didn’t participate much, but I just had to use the character.
I was Doppelganger. I didn’t post much. (This was all prep for my NaNo, which is also about doppelgangers.
Someone needs to yell at me to keep going with these events! I had a horse and no head.
I somewhat gave it away, but I was That Ghost in the Corner of Your Eye