Gourd Tidings! [Seasonal Event]

RexannA your battle-worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore that you are ruined It was dark out by now, night falling over the Glade as she made her way through the brush and around the trees. She needed a fire, and preferably something to eat at some point. First things first, however, fire. She had managed to gather a few pieces of wood, some dry leaves to try and start the fire, and a rock that looked suspiciously like flint of some sort. All she needed now was a good place to start it, to get enough light to hopefully find something to eat in this place. Though she was cautious, uncertain still about what was okay to eat and what wasn’t. Nothing bad had happened so far, but it didn’t mean she planned on testing the theory after what Remi had told her in these woods. As she bundled up the items for the fire, she found another rock nearby, scraping the flint against it to create a spark. It took a few tries, during which she cursed at the fire and her grumbling stomach, unaware of the quiet yet building growl to her sides. After a few more seconds, she managed to get a spark, coaxing it to start the fire, and a few seconds later the fire began to build to the point Rex was certain it wouldn’t blow out. She sat back on her legs in content at the makeshift fire before she spotted eyes watching her and the growling growing louder. There were only two for the moment, of those daring creatures, but she was certain more were coming. She quickly got to her feet, looking around for something to fight with, when she decided to grab one of the sticks used in the fire as a means of impaling the pumpkin nearest to her before she hovered it over the fire until it fell off into it. She expected the smell of burning skin and blood, yet was surprised to smell what seemed like edible food and her stomach growled again in response. Glaring at the other pumpkin, she grabbed the stick again and waved it toward it threateningly. She was going to try her best to cook every last one of them, one way or another. For Melita and open to others!! Come cook some pumpkins with Rex :D AND YOU WONDER WHY HE LETS YOU — THE BUTCHER TOUCH HIM — THE SUN

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M E L I T A

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Might polished her movements, set herself alight on the pathways and beams of the moon. She’d never been all stealth – more chaotic embraces and audacious splendor – the world always knew she was coming; but she was swift, she was quick, and she was cunning. The youth had spent her past few moments chasing down wayward vegetables, intrigued by the eerie set of their eyes at first, and then growling, hissing, and howling the next. You won’t get me, she seemed to embark and haste, bright, illustrious smile glowing from her mouth, the taste of boldness settling over her skin. These monsters were different, altered, from the Rift – lacking the fundamental cunning, the wayward, demonic splinters and strikes. Perhaps she was being led further into the labyrinth and warren, maybe it was a ploy to trap and ensnare her again, and if so, she played into its hands willingly, a caustic, emboldened grace of fire and light. Her hands grabbed ahold of one and she threw it into the air, watched it soar, watched it careen, watched it smash – and she laughed until her sides hurt, gasping for breath, eons split and rekindled since her last utterance of joy.

But then a smell wafted past her nose, and she stopped entirely, allowed a few mercurial gourds to escape, golden gaze flickering over to the fire in the distance, the scent of food careening towards her senses. Her stomach roared and rumbled in response; suddenly empty and deprived, the few berries she’d found while exploring already exhausting their abilities. She licked her lips and considered her options: rummaging further into the wood, hunting on her own in furtive, foreign areas, or wander into a stranger’s keep, hope for favor and indulgence. The gilded set of her stare crept along the intertwining glades, then back to the woman kneeling by the fire, the cooking whiff billowing back towards her again…

Living nearly entirely on impulse, the girl grabbed the nearest block of dried wood and a pumpkin headed her way, arms full of gourd and log, making her way over through shadow and the crackling glow of the blaze. “Hello!” She called out, not wishing to alarm, not yearning to present herself as a threat (she could fight, she could scald, she could maim, rip, and tear, but if it wasn’t necessary, then she didn’t have to waste the precious energy). Melita likely looked a bit haggard; dress torn along the edges, mud, dirt, and leaves twisting and tangling their way through her red curls, but the smile she wore was ebullient and ethereal, the gifts she proffered an act of beneficence. “Do you mind if I join you?”

RexannA your battle-worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore that you are ruined The more she tried to fight off the pumpkin, the more vampiric beasts kept running toward her. At first it was only a few, and she had managed to keep it under control. But one ran up close to her ankle and she speared it with her fiery stick, glaring at it while she dumped it into the flame. If she put too many on the fire, it’d effectively put the fire out. She had to rethink it. Grumbling to herself, she staved off a few of the more reckless pumpkins before a cheerful voice called out to her. Her dark head whipped around, and she spotted a beautiful girl approaching with a bright voice. Offering her a brilliant smile, she shook her head. “Oh, I certainly don’t mind at all.” Her voice purred while she spoke, though it was reciprocated in her eyes. She spotted the pumpkin the girl held and she reached out to grab another stick nearby. Perhaps spearing the pumpkins and roasting their skin on the fire would be a well enough warning for the other pumpkins? It was worth a shot. She offered the girl the stick before taking her own with the wriggling pumpkin atop it as she stuck it over the fire – singing the skin as the pumpkin moved more to try and avoid the heat. Her sapphire eyes glared at it further before she laughed quietly to herself. Looking over to Melita, she offered a brilliant smile. “They smell surprisingly delightful, don’t you think?” Her voice continued to come out in a flirtatious way, yet none of the body language Rexanna showed followed it through. She only hoped the girl wouldn’t be weirded out by the occurrence. It takes place after her encounter with Frey, so bear with her flirty-ness LOL AND YOU WONDER WHY HE LETS YOU — THE BUTCHER TOUCH HIM — THE SUN

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M E L I T A

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The honeybee youth sighed with relief when she realized she’d stumbled upon a friendly stranger – she’d half-expected menace and misery, because her past experiences were riddled and mired with a sliding scale of treachery, deceit, and camaraderie. Sometimes it was everyone for themselves, and other moments they’d all sprung together in a single act of defiance. It was wonderful to know that this was neither a rebellion nor a vicious assault; an acquaintance spiced with the incandescent aroma of food.

“Thank you!” She chirped, much like a bird (a phoenix, a thunderous, malicious thing beneath all the threads of brightness and enchantment), grabbing hold of the proffered stick like it was a prized possession. Her eyes caught the way the other woman stabbed into the gourd and held it over the fire, and she mimicked the motion, plunging directly into the heart of her chosen vegetable with little restraint. A warrioress’s smile gleamed from her lips for a fraction of a second, as if she were reliving past days filled with mayhem and distortion, before equating it was a bout of normalcy, gilded gaze springing back towards Rexanna. “They smell divine!” She raised her nose in the air for good measure, closing her eyes to relish in the cooking scents. The girl even managed to settle herself closer to the inferno, akin to its blazing heat, enjoying the warmth of its glow, the seething spit, the promise of eventual food. If the stranger was overtly friendly, coy, or amorous, the nymph didn’t notice; too enamored by the notion of an incoming meal. “I’m Melita,” she offered, gaze going back and forth from the roasting pumpkin to the kind wanderer.

RexannA your battle-worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore that you are ruined “Thank you!” She flashed the girl a bright grin at the welcome response. The girl took the stick then, stabbing an unlucky vegetable and doing just as Rex did. It was like they were two friendly people, roasting vegetables over an open fire, despite the fact the vegetables were blood thirsty creatures pining for a fight. At least, with the actions of the two of them, a few of the other pumpkins around the area sulked in the shadows – fearful of the two women with the fiery sticks. She chuckled quietly to herself as Melita agreed with her sentiments. She wondered how they tasted, however, as she turned the vegetable over the fire like a rotating spit. Her eyes flickering toward Melita as she introduced herself. Offering the girl a brilliant smile, she dipped her head. “I’m Rexanna. Thanks to you this night got a lot more enjoyable.” She said in her deep, sultry voice; though her gaze slipped from her to the pumpkin now starting to slide off the stick. Sighing sharply through her nose, she laughed as it fell into the fire – its outer edge covered in charcoal black. She supposed she needed another one, and she looked to find one wayward pumpkin that hadn’t understood the memo that the girls were roasting their siblings. Taking her sharp, now pumpkin gut covered stick, she plunged it into that one and returned to the fire, offering the girl a small smile. She wanted to say more, but she couldn’t quite get the words right. So she remained silent for a few moments while she turned the new pumpkin over the fire, glancing to the girl now and then as if to say “Are you new here?” Perhaps she’d understand, perhaps not. But Rexanna wasn’t afraid of the silence; in fact Melita had made this quite the pleasant evening so far. AND YOU WONDER WHY HE LETS YOU — THE BUTCHER TOUCH HIM — THE SUN

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ALISTAIR His breath heavy, his body covered by glops of pumpkin goo, Alistair, his face concealed in the brooding mechanical mask his father had gifted him, lumbered through the glass. The faint glow of orange and crimson signalling a camp near by, and an alluring sweet scent accompanied said glow, which his stomach acknowledged with an audible rumble. Limp pumpkin creatures were dragged in a netted sack as he cautiously approached. He blinked when he noticed the source of the smell wafting through the glades. It was Rexanna and while he had never met Melita he assumed her the friendly sort, noticing how Rex had been interacting with her. He thought to perhaps pass along his merry way, but the day had been long, exhausting...messy. His chest huffed before stepping through the brush. As he did so, he noticed another creature sneakily closing in afar. An arrow whizzed between them, catching the creature square between the eyes. Sack dumped onto the ground as he walked past them, mask humming, hissing as its mechanics worked their minute intricacies. Hand smoothing over his gooped up hair as he approached the fallen creature, lifting the arrow that had rested firmly into it. Turning back toward the pair he noticed how this must all appear, and slipped off his mask. "Evening...sorry...was on my way home. Smell drew me in, lucky for all of us...right on time." He claimed, lifting the arrow with the dead creature and giving it a little wiggle. Faint smirk given to the pair when he noticed what Rex was cooking. "Suppose one more couldn't hurt?"

 

M E L I T A

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Melita likely didn’t have a fair way of assessing evenings and whether they were blessed or not; her series of circumstances and experiences held aloft to demonic, monstrous intervals, skulking in shadows, or proceeding into the next brutal riot, seething and seizing, waiting to see who would have to bludgeon who, which beloved kin would be spurned or scorned next. She was content with this one, not disturbed by the proceedings of stabbing strange, eerie pumpkins or chatting beside a total stranger: she hummed under her breath as she turned the gourd over and over again, listening to the rind spit and crackle. The pleasantries and camaraderie was a familiar accord; in the Rift, one was either friend or foe, and matters were usually dealt with clasped hands or broken bonds. Rexanna appeared warm, gentle, and amiable, so the honeybee youth thought nothing of sharing these moments together – had no reason to howl in the moonlight, to strike and assail, to wound and fight, to brutalize and protect. “You’re welcome,” she laughed, then turned towards her cooking food, eyeing it and praying it was nearly ready. “What do you think-“, but her voice was cut off by a chuckle as Rexanna’s chosen vegetable suffered the throngs of the fire, and the sudden sizzle, snap, of an arrow flying between them.

Impulsive and impetuous, she was a swift, ignited frenzy, honed by years spent upon the threshold of fiends and monsters, rising and raising her pumpkin stick as if it were a spear, eyes narrowed, body framed and fervent for the fray. Her eyes caught the intended victim, and then the figure threading its way through them – her mind was a blistering beast, sparking a million different thoughts and motions, hand tightening over her makeshift weapon, and had the other not said anything, not offered apologies or understandings, she would’ve been a fury, a menace…

She swallowed and breathed instead, felt her heart flicker in its ferocious accord, masked stranger removing his veil to claim his target and aim. The smell had drawn him in, just like she, and the sudden edges of her savagery felt blunt, keen, and asinine; ineptitude crawling over cheeks with a flush. The girl sat back down and balanced her pumpkin back over the flames as if nothing were the matter – she should’ve known something else was lurking, followed the siren scents and aromas of food, been capable of stopping it before it even happened. Idiot her mind chuffed, and she struggled to set the smile back along her face towards the newcomer. He was traced in shadow; portions and pieces of him set alight by the hallows of fire, and her grin maintained its usual regard as seconds ticked by, as she breathed easier, as she fought against her own flaws and defects, hands slightly shaking, the stick trembling on its pivoting lines. “Thank you,” was stoked by her ambience, head nodding towards the hunted cretin, other hand outstretched towards pieces of ground and flames not already occupied. “By all means!”

RexannA your battle-worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore that you are ruined Melita responded kindly with a thank you before pausing and began to ask her a question, Rexanna’s own head swiveled toward her with high brows before the noise caught up. It wasn’t a pumpkin, far too large to make that kind of sound, the large steps crackling branches and sticks beneath, before a masked figure entered the group. Immediately Rexanna was on edge, having gripped the stick with the fiery pumpkin and finding the edge to try and fling it at the stranger. But she looked upon him, sucking in a breath and glaring at those strange yet familiar shoulders – remembering how her hands grazed over them multiple times before huffing out a breath. “Alistair!” She chided in her honeyed voice, a small breathless laugh escaping her lips. “You almost made my heart stop, and not in the good way.” She laughed before he spoke. Melita answered his poised question first, and Rexanna bobbed her head toward him with a grin. “The more the merrier.” She said, patting the spot beside her as she settled down again. Turning her pumpkin over the flame before realizing it was probably done. Looking to Melita she beamed, gesturing that the pumpkin was done. She made a spot on the ground with flattened leaves as to try and keep some cleanliness to it, before dropping the pumpkin onto it and piercing the top – steam came out from it and she wiggled it a bit further to try and open up the top, patiently waiting for it to cool down before attempting to dig in. AND YOU WONDER WHY HE LETS YOU — THE BUTCHER TOUCH HIM — THE SUN

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ALISTAIR "Perfect." Alistair replied merrily as he was accepted into the camp. He would make his way over to Melita , she being the only one he didn't know, offering a hand for her to take. "Alistair Valentus, a pleasure Miss..." He would intentionally leave the latter blank for her to fill in. If Melita chose to introduce herself he would playfully wink at her before turning to Rexanna "You will be hard pressed to find a better chef in these parts. Rexanna here is known to make tongues sing. Isn't that right?" He'd ask her with a grin, standing near the fire as he observed her roasting method. Lord knows she made his tongue, and every part of his body sing like an opera. He'd reach over and cut a piece and toss it to Melita, another to Rexanna, and a piece for himself to test the tenderness of the creatures. Chewing the delicate meat of the pumpkin, he thought deeply as the flavor rolled in his mouth. "Surprisingly delicious..." He commented with a smirk. Who else could have predicted how vampiric pumpkins would taste?

 

M E L I T A

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Melita was suddenly at a loss without a threat looming; her breaths came easier, but her mind was abuzz with a hundred implications tracing over the air. She tilted her head, studying the stranger, the interactions between he and Rexanna, the innuendos barely outlining her thoughts and patterns, but somewhat aware she was missing something. Perhaps it wasn’t for her to know – and though she was one of the many keen creatures to pry (her childhood had been spent asking a thousand questions about anything and everything) – she settled with a handshake and smirked at Alistair’s wink. “Melita.”

Make tongues sing caused one brow to arch, and the inquiry was nearly there, right on the edges of her teeth (what did he mean – the only time her tongue had ever sang was in the midst of battle, when she howled and roared with outrageous fury, with delighted fervor, with feverish sedition), but caught unaware, distracted, deterred, when the newcomer tossed her a piece of already roasted rind. She brushed her own stick and gourd away from the fire, giving it a chance to cool off before she tasted its contents, and then fanned the former. Her lips curled together, allowed a small opening so her breath could push away the hotter edges, before biting off a chunk. She considered it for a moment, chewed thoughtfully, slowly, shrugged her shoulders over the texture, but the taste was quite effectual. “This is quite good,” she murmured, taking another piece and munching. “At least we found a use for them,” and she giggled, light, honest, and fair, before finishing off the previous piece and reaching for her own.

RexannA your battle-worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore that you are ruined Alistair accepted their offer to join them at the bonfire, and she grinned at the idea of spending the night roasting these terrible pumpkins with the company of friends and not foes – aside from the raging vegetation. Yet as Alistair spoke, her eyes lingered on him before she snorted, her nose crinkling in a gesture she knew he enjoyed. But she said nothing as Melita introduced herself and Alistair cut into the pumpkins and offered a slice of it to her. She waved her hand over it, to see the steam away before she noticed one side of the flame shift with her hand. Perhaps she had more magic than she thought, and the idea intrigued her enough that she remained silent, watching it for a brief moment before turning her attention back to the conversation. As Melita mentioned that there was a good use for them, and Alistair also seemed to edge toward something else when he spoke of the taste of the pumpkins, she gave him a roguish smirk before picking up the pumpkin and digging in as well. The texture was different, likely due to the fact it was a vampiric pumpkin and they had just roasted them, but the inside was wonderful – and she had to keep from making a sound at just how sweet and delicious it was. When she had finished her slice, she looked to Alistair for a moment before looking to Melita with a grin. “Thank the gods.” She whined before laughing, thinking that perhaps they should grab a few more and store them somewhere for later. AND YOU WONDER WHY HE LETS YOU — THE BUTCHER TOUCH HIM — THE SUN

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