[SE] only here for the boos

girls can be dangerous and still win

Arms laden with their newfound wares via a very nice street taco stand, Melita hummed, content at her victorious efforts with bingo. If anything, it inflated her ego even more, walking and springing about with such an air of confidence and sedition that her chin was lifted skyward, proud and determined as she set on her next mission of finding somewhere to spread their food. “How about over here?” and she nodded in the direction, gesturing with her jaw towards a little grove with picnic benches and a wall of flowers, moderately secluded and off the beaten path.

Having carried no blanket, the Honeybee made do with a simple shrug, fully intending to plop down to the earth and make do with what they had; more plans were up her sleeves anyway. With a wide grin, she turned towards Iskra, bright, incandescent, and varnished with mischief. “Aaaaand I think we should tell ghost stories!” The pretenses of twilight made for a good cover, and Iskra could probably make a modest little fire for them if he so pleased to make the setting truly superb

Melita

she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in

I will be your lighthouse

He has to remind himself a few times that he'd still won. Despite not singing out a farmer's dog's name and being able to flaunt a board with a chain of five stickers on it, he had traded her something far better: continued time in her company. However, the competitive streak in him is sorely sulking in response to every strut she takes thereafter, balancing on the high of her victory with an expert heel. It's everything he can do not to roll his eyes a time or two, and it's definitely nothing related to being hangry either. Though his stomach nearly separates from his body while they're in line, the smell of the tacos almost doing him in. He might have clambered over the counter and into the kitchen if it took a mintue longer.

"That looks ideal," he agrees, glancing towards the picnic arrangement she's found. There is a blessedly lacking amount of melting down children and questionable adults near it, making the spot even better. He places their two hibiscus teas down before threading his legs between table and bench, mindful of the rocky edges and how they might scrape someone careless when they sit or stand. "Ghost stories??" he says beneath the rise of his eyebrows, already in the process of sweeping his umbrella hat off and putting it beside him.

The surprise at her suggestion is short lived, taken in stride like he expects little more from her choices. Best just to roll with it sometimes rather than ask. "Alright then," he muses, sliding a taco towards him with all the grace of a big cat swiping the meat a keeper offers over the fence. "We need some atmosphere for proper spooky," he asserts, biting through half the taco in once. That golden thread that connects him to his ability shimmers as it's pulled, and in-between them a small flame appears into life, bowing to and fro. It's shaped into a small, ominous skull, the mouth moving as it talks quietly to them with every rolling spark. "I can slide it under our faces when we tell the story." For the dramatic shadows, of course. The fire burns a rich red in response, cool as flame can be. "Who goes first?" The rest of the taco vanishes. Spooky.

Iskra

girls can be dangerous and still win

Melita, hot on her win streak, sauntered and hummed and purposefully glanced back his way to see if she could catch a competitive eye roll and pout. Had she been on the other end, she would’ve likely been doing much the same; juvenile and obnoxious, rebellion for a loss instead of success. Truth be told, he’d obtained victory in the art of their deal anyway – though one might say they’d both conquered on that front – so she let him have his little triumphs where he could, sauntering along until the garden tucked them away into more conspiring locations.

The aroma of the food was a lure all its own, and she didn’t waste any time with settling down amongst a small patch of clover and moss. “Aww, you don’t want to keep wearing it?” she needled at the hat, still adorned in hers for the mere purpose of looking ridiculous. But he seemed to catch onto the notions of the spectral variety, and while she slid a taco into her hands and bit down, he provided all the necessary ambience – fire flicking, the sun setting in the background. “Oooh, yes please,” with a little clap to follow once she’d demolished her first portion of food. The skull presided and bounded with fanfare and omens, and she grinned, quite eager to start and see if she could get another rise out of him. Not that Iskra spooked easily; but she craved entertainment. She’d be pleased by a jump or two.

Taking a sip of her tea, she paused, taking a long breath as if preparing for some inevitable outcome. “I can start! I heard this one in the Grounds at some point.” Which meant most would be made-up. Waiting for his flames to make her features appear ghoulish, she dipped a few nachos into the layered cheese dip, then persisted. “There once was a village surrounded by a forest, and within lived many families. They were mostly peaceful. Had dances. Festivals. Celebrations for each season when the harvest was good. But there was an old house that sat further into the trees. No one ever went in, and no one ever came out. Rumors started that it must’ve been haunted.” Arching her brow and waiting for his reaction, she persisted. “One year, every few weeks, the girls started disappearing.”

Melita

she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in

I will be your lighthouse

The tone she uses suggests there's no real concern about the hat being offered, so he sticks his tongue out in swift return. "Taco time is serious," is all he has to say about the matter, as if the absurdity of her umbrella headwear would interfere with a man on a mission to eat. Fortunately, the storm has not hit them while they're here either, though taking it off might tempt fate enough to open up the skies.

His grin tugs up in response to the swift delight she extends for the flaming skull, and in response, the jaw opens and releases a quiet shriek towards her as the skull gradually spins from right side up to upside down and back again. Her eagerness to begin ought to be alarming, as if she's already been carting around something horrific in the back of her mind all day, and chances are with her, it's true. Trying not to let that fact creep in so early and plague him, Iskra just positions the fiery skull beneath her as promised. All the lines of her face immediately sharpen, shadows deepening and extending against her face, particularly the hollows of her eyes and the abyss of her nostrils. He's seen her mad, and there's no greater terror than that, but this comes close.

"If I get nightmares I'm coming to your house to haunt your ass," he warns her, though admittedly he's been dealing with nightmares since childhood, so this wouldn't be much different. Although it's usually his own loss in his dreams, and this feels like it'll instead be her, or some monster plaguing him, rather than failure. Hunkering down for a good story, he takes another large bite of taco, his attention rapt on her as she begins. "Oooh a haunted house," he grins, clearly appraising her selection and nodding with gradually widening eyes as she paints the picture.

Iskra

Ahead, the Celestine opens into a broad, sky-washed terrace bordered by pale stone and open arches. Beyond them stretches an airy enclosure of rolling clouds and soft updrafts, sunlight glinting off marble perches suspended at varying heights.

A pegasus rests atop one such platform, wings folded neatly against its sides. Its coat gleams faintly, feathers pristine and carefully groomed, though its movements are slow and deliberate, as though conserving strength.

The creature lifts its head as visitors pass, ears flicking, eyes bright with quiet awareness. A gentle breeze stirs its mane, carrying the scent of clean air and distant rain.

After a moment, the pegasus stretches one wing experimentally, then settles again, clearly content to remain grounded a while longer before returning to open skies.

---

Pegasus Areas Found: The Draig Cordillera — Uncommon Pegasi are magnificent winged horses, their powerful bodies built for speed and endurance both in the air and on the ground. Their wings are vast and feathered, often matching their coat in colour, and their eyes are bright with keen intelligence. Revered as symbols of freedom and grace, they are swift travellers and loyal companions when trust is earned. Legends tell of their ability to summon healing springs with a single stomp of their hoof, a gift they grant sparingly. Challenge Rating: Difficult | Mythical HP: 4,095 | To Hit: +82 | Dmg: 108 Movement: Walk 60 ft.; Fly 90 ft.; Leap 25 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Healing Hoof: Can stomp the ground to summon a spring of pure, restorative water; Gentle Strength: Despite great power, moves carefully around allies and the injured; Weather Sense: Can detect oncoming storms and shifts in wind from miles away; Mythic Presence: Inspires awe, calming allies and unnerving foes

TRAITS Winged Equine: Combines the strength of a horse with the flight of a great bird; Sky Runner: Can take off and land with minimal space; Keen Awareness: Highly alert to predators, changes in weather, and danger; Loyal Bond: Forms lasting connections with those who earn their trust; Endurance Flyer: Capable of covering vast distances without tiring quickly ACTIONS Sky Charge: Soars high and dives to strike with powerful hooves; Hoof Strike: Delivers a crushing blow capable of breaking bone; Wing Buffet: Beats wings to buffet enemies with strong gusts, knocking them off balance; Healing Spring: Stomps a hoof to summon a small spring of pure water that heals wounds and restores vitality to those who drink from it

girls can be dangerous and still win

The fiery skull of brimstone and terror filled her features with glee; even if they appeared a little more ghoulish by its eerie incandescence. Very pleased, she gave him a grin full of teeth and mischief, only tilting her head innocently and giving off a faux, pretensive measure of confusion at his statement. “Going to haunt my ass. My, my. What a threat,” and then she laughed, dipping another chip and taking another sip of her drink, trying to meander back into what her story had been, now purposefully digging deeper into the potentials.

“Rumors spread like wildfire. What was going on? Were the girls being kidnapped? Slain? Running away? Stories passed in gossipy sewing circles and on and on to neighbors alike. Eventually, some were afraid to attend anything in public. But still, life went on, and more festivals came and went.” She took a little breath, watched as a pegasus interrupted briefly, high along a platform overhead through trees and gardens, and then took flight half a moment later. “One girl, by the name of,” and if Iskra caught her darting her eyes all around for some semblance of a clue, he could ignore it, thank you very much, “Violet, was braver than the rest. She thought she could walk around. Get some clues. Find something.” She made a walking motion with her fingers, as if the youth in the story was tiptoeing around the outskirts of the humble village. “One day she decided she’d check out the supposed haunted house.”

Leaning in closer towards him, she then only grabbed another taco for her plate. “Before she could though, her father called to her. He’d returned from his recent trip to the next town, and had all sorts of stories and wares for her to see. Before long, she forgot about her motivations, and the winter celebration was on.” She waggled her brows but persisted, intending to get to a juicier part of the story. “The dance was uneasy, of course, what with the disappearances. But her father intended to take a new wife, and they needed to put in an appearance. By the end of the night, he’d settled upon one of the ladies in attendance, Calla. And once she had her alone, Calla warned Violet to flee. To go, and never return.”

Melita

she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in

I will be your lighthouse

Her entire ass, that's correct. He'd even throw on a sheet and everything and stand around corners to scare the shit out of her. Which, on second thought, sounds a bit dangerous for his health if her immediate response is violence, which it's likely to be, but maybe he'd just end up a toad instead of vaporized.

Muttering something about seamstresses being the worst gossips between another bite of taco, Iskra chews slowly as she furthers the tale. Enough so, that at some point he's forgotten to finish eating at all, tortilla and meat held in a cheek pocket like a cow with cud as he becomes absorbed with the very same wonder of the town's folk. Yes, what is happening? "The house was eating them," he whispers his hypothesis, "or something living in the house. A foul beast." Something the town would have to rally to slay. Nearby, the shape of the pegasus flying around draws his gaze, and he's briefly broken from the tale as he glances over at it, motion requiring he peek. It's a beautiful, wild sight to behold, and he might have admired it longer were he not already engrossed in Mel's tale.

Missing her reach because of the distraction, it also helps him finally remember to swallow. He shifts now to drink the hibiscus tea, leaning in naturally as she does, straw following him and glass tipping with him. "She just forgot!?" he sputtered, a modicum of outrage buried in the query. "Kids," he mutters instead, as if that summarizes her fault fully. "Too distracted. We would have never." Potential death and dismemberment? What better adventure could there be?

Iskra's gaze narrows as a new figure, Calla, enters the scene. "She's up to something," he declares with disfavor, clearly rooting for Violet, despite her attention issues, to prevail.

Iskra

girls can be dangerous and still win

Content that Iskra seemed to be engrossed in her story, she smirked at his notion of residences eating them. “Now there’s an idea. Why don’t we have homes like that here?” she pondered, tapping on her chin, wondering if that would be up Ludo’s alley simply for amusement’s sake. While he meandered through and offered his opinions, she’d either arch her brow or shrug her shoulders, not telling until they got to those significant points, even if his guesses were haphazard or entirely on the nose.

We would never got a rise out of her though, giggling around another loaded nacho. “I think we would’ve been much sneakier about it too.” But that was for other times and places, and as his hunch about Calla came into play, she granted a wicked grin and persisted. “Violet didn’t leave on the initial warning. Instead, she grew wary of her new stepmother. But by the time spring came, things around the town had gone quiet. No more disappearances. Everyone in their rightful places. But Calla still gave Violet looks when her father wasn’t watching; glances either meant as warnings or something much more dire.” Could it have been something corrupt within? Jealousy? Envy? The overarching need to be the most prolific and favored in the small family? Difficult to discern when one was so young and the other not forthcoming and guarded. “Eventually though, a young villager stumbled upon a ghastly sight – another girl, Raven, taken in the night, and the only thing left behind was a familiar, pink ribbon caught in a tree branch.”

Pausing momentarily to sample one more taco, she chewed and munched, leaning forward again to quiet her tones, get him really going. “Violet had known Raven well. She’d considered her one of her closest friends. She went to join the group looking for her, hoping to grant some aid. Instead, Calla got ahold of her first, forcing a bag into her hands. “You must go,” she said over and over again, pointing towards the road where it all converged into thicket and forest, on towards the next village miles and miles away. “You can’t stay here. It’s not safe.” And then she pushed her onwards, away from the crowd. Violet had no idea what to do.”

Her grin grew uncanny in the firelight, humming a little under her breath. “She only had a few options – but you can probably guess which way she headed – running towards the haunted house.”

Melita

she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in

I will be your lighthouse

"Because that'd be insane?" he fires back at once, gaping openly at her for even desiring to create hungry houses. "Maybe one, to feed people we hate to." Could replace jails, though there's plenty of other things willing to kill and maim people for any reason. Hell, they could make an ursur pit if they really wanted to.

Huddling in closer as the story continues and her voice drops further, he still all his munching to properly hear. The flaming light and the shadows it casts around her face continue to grant an ominous presence amid the twilight, contouring what is normally so familiar and beautiful into something uncanny and bordering on terrifying. Iskra's eyes widen steadily, the image of the tree and its ribbons sticking with him. "Why vanish just to return suddenly," he wonders aloud, his voice small, as if it too fears showing itselg to this presence.

As Mel continues though, and Violet is now on the run, Iskra leans back abruptly, a hand scrubbing his face. "Why is she going to the haunted house now of all times! That seems like the least safe place... although anywhere is better than with Calla."

Iskra

girls can be dangerous and still win

Making a handwave motion at his gaping response, she made a puffing noise. “Then don’t suggest it, geez,” as if it was Iskra’s fault for bringing the matter into orbit and possibility. Head tilting at the altered statement, her nose wrinkled, the pragmatic colliding with the emboldened and need for chaos. “But then we’d have to wonder how often a house needs to be fed.” Every day? Or would it work like reptiles and such – snagging and feasting and then being fine for days or weeks at a time?

Regardless, Melita didn’t cease her munching; loud crunching of hardened taco shells or chips probably softening some of the impending blows, but she shrugged it away, dipping further into the seven layers to get an adequate supply of beans, salsa, sour cream, and some spicy substance upon one excessively loaded vessel. “You can’t have it both ways,” she snickered; one moment ago he was complaining about the poor main character not doing it at all properly. “As one might expect, the moment she entered the dark, old house, she heard voices. Each of them in different pitches, tones, and layers, but all of them saying the same thing. Help us.” Leaning further into the flame to appear even eerier, the demigod swallowed the remnants of her cargo-amplified food and brushed the dust off her fingers. “Of course, Violet was frightened – but also intrigued. Those voices sounded like people…girls she’d known. When she went further into the house, she couldn’t believe her surprise – because within the old, abandoned kitchen, were remnants of those village daughters. Norma’s comb. Lace’s barrettes. Bella’s ribbons. Rosie’s ripped gown, and so on and on and on, until she realized the ghosts talking to her were those individuals. They were gone, but she could help them somehow.”

Waiting for his response, she arched her brow, but persisted, fully invested now. “What can I do for you? she asked them. But then there was movement at the door, and she ran, all the way to the next room over.”

Melita

she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in

I will be your lighthouse

Iskra can say without a doubt that he did not expect a chorus of voices to greet their questionably brave heroine. If anything, he thought she'd be lulled into a false sense of safety, the house trying to appear ordinary, save for a creaking door or a thumping window shudder here and there, noises easily explained by age or wind when they are in fact warnings. "Oh hell no," he snorts at once, leaning back, palms bracing on the table. "You hear a creepy as house calling out help us and you get the fuck out and come back with some gasoline and fire." The flaming skull around her face brightens a touch as if in agreement.

Of course, however, nothing sensible ever happens in scary stories. Instead, dear Violet went further in, and Iskra feels both a dire frustration for her choices as well as an eager need to know what does in fact happen next. Mel's features take on a much more grave look as the fire flickers against the deeper lean in she makes, and Iskra's breath catches faintly when it's revealed there's remnants of everyone else. "They're trapped? In limbo." His mouth falls open faintly as he leans into a hand, food forgotten now that the immediate hunger has been satiated. He hadn't considered the possibility that the girls could be rescued still, and now he's urging Violet on for her ghostly rescue efforts. "I bet it's Calla!" he hisses, meaning whatever sudden thump has come to the front door and interrupted Violet's mystery.

Iskra

girls can be dangerous and still win

With Iskra occupied by the house itself, Melita could through in the bones and meat of the story, throw him off the scent until she did her grand reveal. “Ooh remind me to tell you the time a group of us did go into a creepy ass house!” she offered brightly, like it hadn’t been a completely stupid idea from the moment they’d entered. Anyone with a reasonable amount of sense wouldn’t have gone in at all, but then again, motive with any rationality behind it had never been Melita’s forte.

At his guess she grinned again, grabbing another chip and leaning against the bench nearby, enjoying and reveling in the way she was about to unfurl it all further. Keep him enraptured and entertained. “Luckily for Violet, the house was decrepit enough that she could see through a hole in the wall. While she remained still and silent, she could hear a male voice coming through the door. It was muffled, but familiar. Distinct. One she’d heard more than a thousand times before. “You can’t escape me,” he called out – to who, she wasn’t certain.” Maybe her brain had tried to blot it out, erase it from memory, from reality. “Only when he turned, placing something down on another table, did Violet realize it was her father.”

Arching her brows at the revelation, she waited a beat – for the course of everything to begin sinking in. The lost souls of the girls, wanting to be free. The brutality of what had occurred. And of course, the identity of the killer. What Calla might’ve been warning her about all along. “Shocked and stunned, Violet remained frozen in place, until he left, and she spent most of the next hour weeping, beside herself with grief for her friends and fellow villagers, and for what her father had become, or always been. But thereafter, she had to plan.”

Melita

she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in

I will be your lighthouse

His features scrunch up in a quiet disbelief at her remark. It's becoming less frequent, the creases of bewilderment at the things she says, at the life she's lived, but the remnants of surprise still linger or echo through once in a while, such as now. He shakes his head though, the movement mild, more so at himself than anyone else. "I can't wait to hear," he chuckles around a half-smile, figuring she's got all sorts of mischief wrapped up in it.

The present haunted house story is continuing though, one he hopes isn't so lived. Iskra leans in slower, as if hung on every word Mel says and is drawn in by each one that parts. That is, until the grand reveal, the shock of which forces Iskra back with a reeling effect. "HER FATHER!?" he demands, both palms slapping down on the table in the dramatics of the plot twist. He'd been so smugly certain it'd been Calla. "How could he!" Iskra demands, nearly as betrayed as Violet.

In the heat of the moment the flaming skull dissipated and fizzled out, and Iskra hastily makes one anew. This time, he crafts it into the visage of a hard, cruel man. "So, the voices... not ghosts I take it. Are the kids alive? She can save them?" His features tug up faintly, hopeful that there's a happy ending yet.

Iskra

girls can be dangerous and still win

She searched his face, hers still looming large and eerie, scanning it for amusements or surprise when she had other stories to tell. He seemed to have moved on from days where he’d yell at her for doing asinine things, maybe because he’d learned it would happen regardless, or that he was often an active participant. If there was worry or concern, she didn’t see it, after all, she’d clearly come out the other side, grinning once more when he chuckled instead. “Good. That can be another late-night treat.” When he wasn’t haunting her ass or something.

The Honeybee hadn’t lived through this current tale though, so it was easier to meld and mold characters, bending them to her will and narrative, arching her brows and waiting for Iskra’s reaction. She quite liked the duplicitous means, and couldn’t help a high cackle erupting at his surprise, before taking another sip and granting a smug, cat-like smile. “Yeah. Imagine a shitty, serial killer dad.” Hers had been the former, but she doubted he could’ve been the latter.

The fire dimmed and she waited, drumming her own fingertips her chin and contemplating the salsa arrangement, until the glow beckoned and returned. “Oh, they’re ghosts. Very dead. Bodies buried in the backyard kind of dead.” In case he wasn’t certain. Then she began her story once more, fingers flying over a horde of chips tangled with one another until she pried them loose and snagged at the spicy end of the dip choices. “Violet thought about it. Could she go to authorities? Would it matter? Would anyone believe her? And all the while, the ghosts kept whispering, granting her ideas. Maybe they’d grown cold in their graves too, thinking about revenge.”

Humming a little, then narrowing her eyes when the flare of flavor hit her tongue, she took another quick sip of her drink and shook her head. “So when she thought it was safe, Violet left the house to collect the necessities. Things one only hears about in spells and witchcraft, in whispers and in fables. Perhaps that’d be enough.” Pretending not to cough, she then aimed for a milder salsa.

“It took a while. Several nights went by. But…eventually, she made her way to her father’s home with the tool in hand – something not unlike a golem, poised and mimicked to look like her. Her father was overjoyed to see her effigy home, of course, and Calla nowhere to be found. He took her in immediately, while the real Violet hid.”

Melita

she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in