#pen:starter

The merchant had been a resident to town since anyone could remember, even faintly echoed in the memories of Madame Thibodeaux’s mind. Despite everyone’s protests, he kept his shop open in the ruined southern part of town, acting as an in-between before one sets out on a journey through eastern Louisiana. Taking a swig out of his bottle of homemade moonshine, he nodded at the person coming up to the crime scene. “Talk about an entrance, eh?” He motions at the blast marks into the warehouse wall, “Ya need a tour? I’m free. Officers already gave me the a-okay.”

Every opportunity they had to be themselves instead of reporting to work, they definitely savored. Today was a more tame day, tentacles in a mess beneath them as they rested on the sandy edge of Lake Salvador. Atop the nest of limbs, they had their sketchbook balanced in front, a box of charcoal sticks to their right. They’d spent quite a lot of time contemplating about their subject today, opting to draw the cranes fishing and circling the sky. Lost in their daze, they didn’t really consider anyone watching or considering finding them until they heard a voice. “Huh? You rang?”

Standing outside the mayor’s dwelling, the young blonde took to watching her fellow townsfolk roam the grounds, enjoying their night. She was alone, her friends having found something, or, someone, much more interesting. With a drink in one hand, and her masquerade mask in the other, Kaylee found herself suddenly by the food. Looking to the side, she caught the eye of someone who had been eyeing the peach pies that her dad had brought. 

Crowds never sat well with the young witch, who had spent his entire evening so far close to his friends. His one saving grace was that he was completely covered from head to toe by his costume, the only thing distinguishing him being the long tresses of dark hair peeking out from under his wig flames. Finally peeling away in order to grab a couple “hor d’oeuvres” from the banquet table and refill his cup with cider, Cyrus smiled politely -- not remembering that it can’t be seen. “I swear, there’s something to these tiny bits of toast topped with sliced cheese and tomato... !”

“Teenagers are so stupid. They try to steal weed off me, but they forget that I know their mothers.” Salem smirked to the stranger next to her, shoving her stash back into her bag. “Stupid punks. I put a spell on the ‘weed’ to make it turn into moss. So, you know-” She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders while slipping her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. “-that’ll rain on their parade a little.” 

In typical fashion, Alex had waited until the last possible day to plan. Having just finished her shift, she decided to skip out on a well-deserved nap in order to figure out what to wear for tomorrow’s ball. The elf had already spent quite a bit of time at one of the local clothing boutiques, and was now thumbing through shawls. “Mm... what do you think?” she wrapped it around her face, doing her best to conceal her long locks with a chuckle, “I’m thinking of going as one of the Arab nomads that lived in the desert to honor my grandmum’s heritage. I think they were called the Bedouin? It’s been so long since I last read about them...”

The young man couldn’t be anymore ecstatic -- literally. If Cyrus tried, he’d probably trigger an electrical discharge and, well, that’d be putting everyone and any spare batteries nearby at risk. Of course, he wasn’t taking a risk and so was petting his familiar as she lay cradled in his arms. “So, thought of a costume yet? I think I’ve figured out something, but I’m waiting until the mayor makes his yearly announcement to figure out if it’ll be appropriate for the theme. Wonder what he’s doing this Halloween?”

The holidays were just around the corner; Elijah could already sense the immense exhaustion seeping into his bones, yearning for the winter break when he could just spend every day at home, tending to his berry bushes and enjoying a kettle of tea by the fire. Stifling a small yawn, the large male mentally shook himself from the fleeting daydream, forcing himself to shuffle a bit with the notes taken at the latest Convocation meeting.