The wind did not blow but tiptoed across the town, a mention of a breeze. The silence cut through the afternoon like a knife through butter: it was not the quiet, comforting silence between friends, or the nested, cozy silence after a long day of work. It was a careful silence: it was a silence with a smile more predatory than the Cheshire cat's. It was a silence waiting to be broken. It was the silence of the 31st of October.
The wind did not blow but strolled across the town, a whisper of a breeze. The sun set nonchallantly, with all the leisureness of a senior worker at the celestial bureau, who knew that it would be working for years to come, and that nobody would notice if it got to bed a little late. (Apart from certain reporters, but they were always wrong anyway.) Below the gradually darkening sky's reds and oranges, the gaslights and the lamps flickered into dank, dull luminosity. The trees billowed gently, and on Carnelie Street, a cat crossed the pavement, a nasty streak of yellowed teeth and shabby fur directed towards the dark alley where it usually slept.
The silence on Carnelie Street was interrupted by the gentle clatter of a coach's wheels and its horses' hooves as it hurried up the road, the coachman in his wide-brimmed hat almost as silent as the place where he was headed towards. The old ruined estate at the end of Carnelie Street had once been an intimidatingly huge manor, with its three stories, imposing gates and row upon row of windows. Now it was just intimating, a husk of a mansion at the end of the street, with leafless trees growing halfheartedly across the grounds, glassless windows, and rusted pieces of metal for gates.
The coach came to a halt.
It had arrived.
And soon, they would, too.
The wind blew across the town, a clamor of a breeze. Dark clouds gathered across the sky, steering clear of the foreboding full moon that punctured the heavens. The coachman slid from his seat, landing softly on the ground. He patted the black, red-eyed stallions with a gloved hand, and then proceeded to cross the manor's fungi-ridden courtyard with a lamp in his hand, his movements a series of odd limps and jerks of the knees and elbows. The shadows alongated as he entered the manor, as if trying to grasp him, but shying away from the light.
The coachman limped to a stop, sniffing the air and grunting in a beastly fashion as he -it?- stopped by a wall on the manor's cellar. It had a crack on it, a slither of nothingness. It grew wider, and wider still, until the nothingness was enough for the suited individual staring across the crack to pass through. And he did pass through, one wide step at the time. So did his numerous companions.
The sun was gone.
Halloween had began.
The wind did not blow across the town. It was not a breeze, it was not a gust. It was a storm and it announced the parade of the lanternmen and the ghouls, the witches on their broomsticks and the werewolves with their claws, the wraiths and the zombies, of the ghosts and scarecrows. Across town, children hurried from their homes with their bags of candy in all their different customs and outfits, unaware of the spectacle - of the horror! Of the terror! Of the screams! - that would come to pass.
In the graveyard to the west of town, coffins were torn apart with undeathly determination. Bony hands shot out of the earth as the dead began their march, most with still some rotting skin to them, others with only their torn clothes above their bones. They marched with one intention, and that intention was to have the time of their lives. In other parts of town, witches flew around in their broomsticks, cackling madly as they swooped down on civilians. Ghosts and banshees and spirits floated around in different levels of amorphousness and malice, whispering wicked things. Scarecrows and mummies shambled down the roads, giant spiders and other insects crawled through the walls, and werewolves pounded through the rooftops. Other monstruousities creeped into the town, each and every one of them enjoying themselves.
As for the boogeyman and the boggarts, they were doing something else altogether.
The Carnelie Street's ruined manor was getting back into shape. Pieces of broken glass picked themselves up and gathered to remake the windows, glued together by slivers of ice. The rust was brushed off the metal of the gates, but it was contorted into even odder forms. Walls put themselves back into shape. Pumpkins and bloody heads were impaled on spears, poison ivy grew wildly and climbed up the outer walls, shadows twisted and churned and formed terrible things.
The coachman limped after his master through the courtyard. The latter was sharply dressed in a black pinstriped suit and a top hat, wielded a long, staff-like cane, and was almost tapdancing from excitement. Jack was wearing a more pleasant face this time around to celebrate his delightful mood. The eyes, however, were as blue and menacingly mad as always.
"The mortals based it off us, you know. Samhain was such a delight. I miss gutting the pigs, that was my favourite part. Then it was all about the Saints, and now it's Halloween! I must say it's equally delightful, though. It's like Yule, only vastly more entertaining." Jack peered at his servant, who was limping behind him, decidedly unertentained. "Oh, do cheer up, old chap, today's our day!" The man slapped his servant on the back uncharacteristically jovially, ignoring the mumbles uttered after.
Jack swivelled around to look at the outer gate of the grounds of Carnelie Manor, his boots hissing in the cold ground, and raised his cane like a particularly deranged maestro. His servant, Reinfield, turned away his eyes, hands twitching, and shooed away a yellow-teethed cat that had approached them with a kick.
Hundreds of Jack'O'Lanterns floated up into the air, above the rooftops, above the house, progressively rearranging themselves as to make a pattern above the town. And so it came to pass that the biggest sign made of floating pumpkins of all hung up in the air above Carnelie street, a multitude of lanterns seen from miles around.
The sign spelled "TRICK OR TREAT".
It looked inviting.
The wind did not blow but strolled across the town, a whisper of a breeze. The sun set nonchallantly, with all the leisureness of a senior worker at the celestial bureau, who knew that it would be working for years to come, and that nobody would notice if it got to bed a little late. (Apart from certain reporters, but they were always wrong anyway.) Below the gradually darkening sky's reds and oranges, the gaslights and the lamps flickered into dank, dull luminosity. The trees billowed gently, and on Carnelie Street, a cat crossed the pavement, a nasty streak of yellowed teeth and shabby fur directed towards the dark alley where it usually slept.
The silence on Carnelie Street was interrupted by the gentle clatter of a coach's wheels and its horses' hooves as it hurried up the road, the coachman in his wide-brimmed hat almost as silent as the place where he was headed towards. The old ruined estate at the end of Carnelie Street had once been an intimidatingly huge manor, with its three stories, imposing gates and row upon row of windows. Now it was just intimating, a husk of a mansion at the end of the street, with leafless trees growing halfheartedly across the grounds, glassless windows, and rusted pieces of metal for gates.
The coach came to a halt.
It had arrived.
And soon, they would, too.
The wind blew across the town, a clamor of a breeze. Dark clouds gathered across the sky, steering clear of the foreboding full moon that punctured the heavens. The coachman slid from his seat, landing softly on the ground. He patted the black, red-eyed stallions with a gloved hand, and then proceeded to cross the manor's fungi-ridden courtyard with a lamp in his hand, his movements a series of odd limps and jerks of the knees and elbows. The shadows alongated as he entered the manor, as if trying to grasp him, but shying away from the light.
The coachman limped to a stop, sniffing the air and grunting in a beastly fashion as he -it?- stopped by a wall on the manor's cellar. It had a crack on it, a slither of nothingness. It grew wider, and wider still, until the nothingness was enough for the suited individual staring across the crack to pass through. And he did pass through, one wide step at the time. So did his numerous companions.
The sun was gone.
Halloween had began.
The wind did not blow across the town. It was not a breeze, it was not a gust. It was a storm and it announced the parade of the lanternmen and the ghouls, the witches on their broomsticks and the werewolves with their claws, the wraiths and the zombies, of the ghosts and scarecrows. Across town, children hurried from their homes with their bags of candy in all their different customs and outfits, unaware of the spectacle - of the horror! Of the terror! Of the screams! - that would come to pass.
In the graveyard to the west of town, coffins were torn apart with undeathly determination. Bony hands shot out of the earth as the dead began their march, most with still some rotting skin to them, others with only their torn clothes above their bones. They marched with one intention, and that intention was to have the time of their lives. In other parts of town, witches flew around in their broomsticks, cackling madly as they swooped down on civilians. Ghosts and banshees and spirits floated around in different levels of amorphousness and malice, whispering wicked things. Scarecrows and mummies shambled down the roads, giant spiders and other insects crawled through the walls, and werewolves pounded through the rooftops. Other monstruousities creeped into the town, each and every one of them enjoying themselves.
As for the boogeyman and the boggarts, they were doing something else altogether.
The Carnelie Street's ruined manor was getting back into shape. Pieces of broken glass picked themselves up and gathered to remake the windows, glued together by slivers of ice. The rust was brushed off the metal of the gates, but it was contorted into even odder forms. Walls put themselves back into shape. Pumpkins and bloody heads were impaled on spears, poison ivy grew wildly and climbed up the outer walls, shadows twisted and churned and formed terrible things.
The coachman limped after his master through the courtyard. The latter was sharply dressed in a black pinstriped suit and a top hat, wielded a long, staff-like cane, and was almost tapdancing from excitement. Jack was wearing a more pleasant face this time around to celebrate his delightful mood. The eyes, however, were as blue and menacingly mad as always.
"The mortals based it off us, you know. Samhain was such a delight. I miss gutting the pigs, that was my favourite part. Then it was all about the Saints, and now it's Halloween! I must say it's equally delightful, though. It's like Yule, only vastly more entertaining." Jack peered at his servant, who was limping behind him, decidedly unertentained. "Oh, do cheer up, old chap, today's our day!" The man slapped his servant on the back uncharacteristically jovially, ignoring the mumbles uttered after.
Jack swivelled around to look at the outer gate of the grounds of Carnelie Manor, his boots hissing in the cold ground, and raised his cane like a particularly deranged maestro. His servant, Reinfield, turned away his eyes, hands twitching, and shooed away a yellow-teethed cat that had approached them with a kick.
Hundreds of Jack'O'Lanterns floated up into the air, above the rooftops, above the house, progressively rearranging themselves as to make a pattern above the town. And so it came to pass that the biggest sign made of floating pumpkins of all hung up in the air above Carnelie street, a multitude of lanterns seen from miles around.
The sign spelled "TRICK OR TREAT".
It looked inviting.
Inviting. Yes.
In a tower on the other side of town, the creature Aethaerraent paused in its writing to watch the pumpkins rearranging themselves in the sky. Certainly, it was not the creature being invited, but it knew this ritual. It knew what was being invited -- hundreds of delicious little treats, scampering through the town, only loosely attended. And who would take the blame if one or two went missing, tonight of all nights?
Grabbing the goblet off the desk with bony fingers, the creature upended the last dregs of water over itself, splashing droplets onto its rubbery skin and bulging, lidless eyes. Thus prepared, it gestured at the massive tome it had been writing in, and the book slammed itself shut and then popped into a mass of shadows. The creature slunk out the window, and descended rapidly to the street below. Its feet never touched the ground, the fall stopping with supernatural grace a few inches from the street.
Through the winding streets it went, floating silently, the hems of its black robes just barely brushing the cobblestones. On every street, parents and humans alike averted their eyes as the creature went past, unaware of both the tentacled creature and the fact that they were not looking away of their own free will.
And so it came to be in front of Jack, a four-fingered hand extended silently, curiously waiting to see what "treats" the one who had issued this invitation had in store.
In a tower on the other side of town, the creature Aethaerraent paused in its writing to watch the pumpkins rearranging themselves in the sky. Certainly, it was not the creature being invited, but it knew this ritual. It knew what was being invited -- hundreds of delicious little treats, scampering through the town, only loosely attended. And who would take the blame if one or two went missing, tonight of all nights?
Grabbing the goblet off the desk with bony fingers, the creature upended the last dregs of water over itself, splashing droplets onto its rubbery skin and bulging, lidless eyes. Thus prepared, it gestured at the massive tome it had been writing in, and the book slammed itself shut and then popped into a mass of shadows. The creature slunk out the window, and descended rapidly to the street below. Its feet never touched the ground, the fall stopping with supernatural grace a few inches from the street.
Through the winding streets it went, floating silently, the hems of its black robes just barely brushing the cobblestones. On every street, parents and humans alike averted their eyes as the creature went past, unaware of both the tentacled creature and the fact that they were not looking away of their own free will.
And so it came to be in front of Jack, a four-fingered hand extended silently, curiously waiting to see what "treats" the one who had issued this invitation had in store.
Goodness, the first guest of the night had appeared!
And it was a mind flayer.
Resisting the urge to make a remark about the creature's delightful tentacles, Jack scrambled forward, cane hitting the ground as he walked, his gloved hand shaking the Illithid's fingers enthusiastically. "Come in, come in! I must say, it's wonderful to have you here, it truly is! A ma-, a pers-, ah, an individual belonging to a group of such refined reputation is always welcome in this old place." Jack realized he was holding his guest's hand longer than would be advised, and released his grip. The man grinned a very wide grin, all teeth and dead blue eyes. "I must say I haven't seen one of your kind in a long while. Your Elder Brain has been keeping you busy, yes?" The host asked almost wistfully. He had been involved in a game of telepathy with an Ulitharid once. In the end it was a draw, and they were both left with a massive headache and no mental barriers broken. Fun times.
"But look at me, forgetting my manners! You must be looking for a treat! Unless you've come to trick me, now that would be fun." Jack leered at the mind flayer, then straightened up and snapped his fingers at his servant, who -which?- had finished shooing the cat and was now eating an insect that had been nestling in his ear. "Go fetch the virgins from 1823, Reinfield. I have them frozen in the cave somewhere. " The man frowned for a moment, then perked up. "Actually, get the poet from the Tudor Era." The servant limped off, shoulders hunched. Jack nudged the mind flayer. "It's a really interesting specimen. Vintage, really. I brought one along just in case anyone wanted a more intellectual snack. I take it you'll find it to your liking?"
And it was a mind flayer.
Resisting the urge to make a remark about the creature's delightful tentacles, Jack scrambled forward, cane hitting the ground as he walked, his gloved hand shaking the Illithid's fingers enthusiastically. "Come in, come in! I must say, it's wonderful to have you here, it truly is! A ma-, a pers-, ah, an individual belonging to a group of such refined reputation is always welcome in this old place." Jack realized he was holding his guest's hand longer than would be advised, and released his grip. The man grinned a very wide grin, all teeth and dead blue eyes. "I must say I haven't seen one of your kind in a long while. Your Elder Brain has been keeping you busy, yes?" The host asked almost wistfully. He had been involved in a game of telepathy with an Ulitharid once. In the end it was a draw, and they were both left with a massive headache and no mental barriers broken. Fun times.
"But look at me, forgetting my manners! You must be looking for a treat! Unless you've come to trick me, now that would be fun." Jack leered at the mind flayer, then straightened up and snapped his fingers at his servant, who -which?- had finished shooing the cat and was now eating an insect that had been nestling in his ear. "Go fetch the virgins from 1823, Reinfield. I have them frozen in the cave somewhere. " The man frowned for a moment, then perked up. "Actually, get the poet from the Tudor Era." The servant limped off, shoulders hunched. Jack nudged the mind flayer. "It's a really interesting specimen. Vintage, really. I brought one along just in case anyone wanted a more intellectual snack. I take it you'll find it to your liking?"
The creature's skin was paper-thin and moist to the touch. Aethaerraent's tentacles began to move as Jack took its hand, the slow languid wriggling of quiet distaste. As the hand-hold went on longer than anticipated, the wriggling began to speed up, as if they were getting hungry.
We are always busy, all of the time, responded an unsettlingly disembodided voice, seemingly coming from nowhere, genderless and toneless. We never sleep.
As virgins were mentioned, the flayer steepled its fingers in front of itself. Its attention was piqued. But the tentacles really began to wriggle at the mention of a poet. We shall judge after tasting; but we recognize your offering of an intellect and affirm its value in demonstrating your intentions toward us.
We are always busy, all of the time, responded an unsettlingly disembodided voice, seemingly coming from nowhere, genderless and toneless. We never sleep.
As virgins were mentioned, the flayer steepled its fingers in front of itself. Its attention was piqued. But the tentacles really began to wriggle at the mention of a poet. We shall judge after tasting; but we recognize your offering of an intellect and affirm its value in demonstrating your intentions toward us.
Jack nodded obsequiously towards the mind flayer, tapping his cane on the ground mildly absently as he waited for his valet to bring the snacks. Despite the manner of interesting topics at hand - or at tentacle- it occured to the host that perhaps his guest was not the most sociable of, well, people. He'd have to make due.
"It'll be quite fresh, my good Illithid." Jack smiled vaguely unpleasantly, all yellowed, overtly sharp teeth, and made a sweeping gesture towards the house's front doors, which opened with a loud creak that was far too sinister to just be a case of badly oiled hinges. "Now then, welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the," Jack hesitated for a split second: the speech that Jack had in mind would be innapropriate here. To the creature's credit, however, he rallied quickly. "effusive thirst for knowledge you bring."
Jack moved quickly, in his strange, not ungraceful way, and positioned himself in front of the entrance to his mansion, inclined in a half bow towards the slimy creature, his outstretched, pale hand pointing towards the doors. "Come in, come in! Might I inquire your name, my good gentleman?"
"It'll be quite fresh, my good Illithid." Jack smiled vaguely unpleasantly, all yellowed, overtly sharp teeth, and made a sweeping gesture towards the house's front doors, which opened with a loud creak that was far too sinister to just be a case of badly oiled hinges. "Now then, welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the," Jack hesitated for a split second: the speech that Jack had in mind would be innapropriate here. To the creature's credit, however, he rallied quickly. "effusive thirst for knowledge you bring."
Jack moved quickly, in his strange, not ungraceful way, and positioned himself in front of the entrance to his mansion, inclined in a half bow towards the slimy creature, his outstretched, pale hand pointing towards the doors. "Come in, come in! Might I inquire your name, my good gentleman?"
A little lost, Christofer would wander across the street. He wasn't fully sure where he had ended up on walking to. Well, this surely seemed like a scary neighbourhood. Maybe... Maybe it was just full of very veeery competent neighbours, each trying to be scarier than the other... The German wasn't too much into the decorations themselves. He was more after the rewards: those sweet sweet rewards...
As he was trotting through the walkway, his eyes caught a glimce of something a tad bit stranger. Floating pumpkins? That was unreal.
The boy might just slightly shrug it off though, thinking that it was some skilled 'wire magic' and the pumpkins were only made to look like they were floating. Nice trick though~ He'd smile at the pumpkins. Clearly whoever had put so much effort on making them look so perfect would hand out the most perfect candy too~ What would it be? Sweet or fruity? Maybe even some chocolate?
As he was trying to approach the house he felt something getting stuck on the horns of his faux skull. Being dressed up as a nature spirit had it flaws and most of them did come from the skull: the horns were always getting tangled up in something. As he was focused on untangling the horns, the German couldn't hear the exchange that was going between the two 'beings' that were already there and was completelly oblivious when he got up over to them
"Uh... Umm... Hello..?"
As he was trotting through the walkway, his eyes caught a glimce of something a tad bit stranger. Floating pumpkins? That was unreal.
The boy might just slightly shrug it off though, thinking that it was some skilled 'wire magic' and the pumpkins were only made to look like they were floating. Nice trick though~ He'd smile at the pumpkins. Clearly whoever had put so much effort on making them look so perfect would hand out the most perfect candy too~ What would it be? Sweet or fruity? Maybe even some chocolate?
As he was trying to approach the house he felt something getting stuck on the horns of his faux skull. Being dressed up as a nature spirit had it flaws and most of them did come from the skull: the horns were always getting tangled up in something. As he was focused on untangling the horns, the German couldn't hear the exchange that was going between the two 'beings' that were already there and was completelly oblivious when he got up over to them
"Uh... Umm... Hello..?"
There is a distinct sense that the flayer is amused by Jack's quip, though it makes no sound. The tentacles wriggle slowly, in a horrific imitation of laughter. It floats smoothly through the door, advancing like the inexorable march of time itself, a tentacled grim reaper.
When it enters the room where the poet awaits his fate, the door clicks shut behind it, apparently under its own power. The hasp of the lock is the last sound heard from the room that night; when the room is opened in the morning, the flayer is gone. Only the poet remains, and he is quite obviously missing something more than just his life.
(Sorry for short post, trying to answer from my phone at a Halloween party!)
When it enters the room where the poet awaits his fate, the door clicks shut behind it, apparently under its own power. The hasp of the lock is the last sound heard from the room that night; when the room is opened in the morning, the flayer is gone. Only the poet remains, and he is quite obviously missing something more than just his life.
(Sorry for short post, trying to answer from my phone at a Halloween party!)
Of the night, Juri had enjoyed herself at a number of venues. Mostly with Liuma, who had now gone back to the inn to rest up for the night. For the rest of the evening, however, Juri had been interested in finding out just where exactly one of her other friends had ended up. It had not been like Vale to leave them out on their own, and now he was missing in action, and likely looking for them in turn.
The inviting looking venue had piqued Juri's natural curiosity, however, and she had perked up at the sight. Momentarily forgetting what it was that she was doing, she had upped her pace some and started walking toward where the path were to lead her. It seemed that the area had been rather mystical to a degree as well. Definitely one of those neat holiday places.
Hopefully it would have led to more chocolate and other kinds of sweets the more Jurini travelled toward the manor!
The inviting looking venue had piqued Juri's natural curiosity, however, and she had perked up at the sight. Momentarily forgetting what it was that she was doing, she had upped her pace some and started walking toward where the path were to lead her. It seemed that the area had been rather mystical to a degree as well. Definitely one of those neat holiday places.
Hopefully it would have led to more chocolate and other kinds of sweets the more Jurini travelled toward the manor!
The sound of new visitors made the host divert his attention from the mind flayer, blue eyes lighting up, and he approached them in a surreally quick gait, smiling magnanimously with pearly white teeth.
The first one was a sort of fox dressed up as a stag. The second was a - goodness, was that a tiefling? Two guests from that realm in one night. Jack didn't bother worrying about her reaction if she saw the Illithid.
He gave a little flourish, indicating the sign floating in the sky and ignoring the group of witches that were playing some sort of throwing match with one of his pumpkins. "Hullo, hullo! Welcome to my house! Have you come, perhaps, to obtain candy?" Jack hoped this was the case, at any rate. He'd be running short on virgins and poets otherwise. Jack sensed the later's departure from the world of the living with irritation: the abhorrent squid didn't even wait for it to be properly unfrozen. The gall of it!
(It's okay, Kim! Speaking of which, I've also done the same with this post so sorry if it's messier than usual. And any inconsistencies on Jack's appearance may or may not be on purpose.
)
The first one was a sort of fox dressed up as a stag. The second was a - goodness, was that a tiefling? Two guests from that realm in one night. Jack didn't bother worrying about her reaction if she saw the Illithid.
He gave a little flourish, indicating the sign floating in the sky and ignoring the group of witches that were playing some sort of throwing match with one of his pumpkins. "Hullo, hullo! Welcome to my house! Have you come, perhaps, to obtain candy?" Jack hoped this was the case, at any rate. He'd be running short on virgins and poets otherwise. Jack sensed the later's departure from the world of the living with irritation: the abhorrent squid didn't even wait for it to be properly unfrozen. The gall of it!
(It's okay, Kim! Speaking of which, I've also done the same with this post so sorry if it's messier than usual. And any inconsistencies on Jack's appearance may or may not be on purpose.
)
Oh... It appeared that the others at the door had left... How dissapointing... He really did want to see what the house wanted to offer. The boy sighed, maybe he would examine the decorations just a tad bit more and then leave
He'd not get to explore a lot though as the 'host' made their way back outside. The German would turn his head to the door again as he heard it open. This person really had put effort into everything, both the costume and yard, most likely the inside of the house too
Christofer wasn't a fan of the way they worded their little greeting speech. Why would they say 'candy' like that? Uhh, maybe they just had practiced for a long while? Maybe...
"Y-Yes?" he'd stutter a bit "If you have something you can share...?" Christofer hoped that he hadn't offended the person. Being questioned when you had put so much effort into one event might not feel all that nice, so he hoped the man would take it lightly and not throw him off and out. ".... Trick or Treat...?" the boy would add quietly with a bit shy tone to the 'question'. Oh please don't be angry...
He'd not get to explore a lot though as the 'host' made their way back outside. The German would turn his head to the door again as he heard it open. This person really had put effort into everything, both the costume and yard, most likely the inside of the house too
Christofer wasn't a fan of the way they worded their little greeting speech. Why would they say 'candy' like that? Uhh, maybe they just had practiced for a long while? Maybe...
"Y-Yes?" he'd stutter a bit "If you have something you can share...?" Christofer hoped that he hadn't offended the person. Being questioned when you had put so much effort into one event might not feel all that nice, so he hoped the man would take it lightly and not throw him off and out. ".... Trick or Treat...?" the boy would add quietly with a bit shy tone to the 'question'. Oh please don't be angry...
At the question that had been asked of her as she arrived, Juri's face lit up with a kind of excitement. Clapping her hands together, she skipped forward. Juri's cloven feet clacked merrily across the pathway as she attempted to get closer to the house and the source of the voice a little more quickly. Flicking her tail excitedly, Juri had slowed to a halt as she reached the porch.
"Y-yes!" Juri had said, beaming. "This night has been so fun! People are giving away candy in a whole bunch of places! I'm sooooo happy you're doing the same!"
Glancing to the side, Juri had heard someone say 'trick or treat', and she had flushed with slight embarrassment. That was one of the things she had been forgetting a lot that evening! She hoped that she could have been forgiven at the end of it all... this human tradition was one Juri never really got to celebrate herself. In fact, this was probably one of the first years she actually did any of this!
"Oh! Right! Trick or treat!" Juri quickly said, rectifying her mistake of overlooking it.
"Y-yes!" Juri had said, beaming. "This night has been so fun! People are giving away candy in a whole bunch of places! I'm sooooo happy you're doing the same!"
Glancing to the side, Juri had heard someone say 'trick or treat', and she had flushed with slight embarrassment. That was one of the things she had been forgetting a lot that evening! She hoped that she could have been forgiven at the end of it all... this human tradition was one Juri never really got to celebrate herself. In fact, this was probably one of the first years she actually did any of this!
"Oh! Right! Trick or treat!" Juri quickly said, rectifying her mistake of overlooking it.
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