[RE] The Last Squash Standing

attack of the gourds It was over. For better or for worse, in a wash of pithy carnage and slime, the inhabitants within the bubble had battled back against the vampire gourds. And they had won. The Outskirts bore the scars of war, barren (and a slittle slippery) in the wake of the great pumpkin massacre. But not all was quiet. Movement, bobbing in the long grass. A quiet chattering. One gourd remains. Smaller than the others, it seems to have realised that it is outnumbered and alone. The fact that it has survived this long at all suggests that it is not as aggressive as the rest of its kind (but only marginally). A burnt orange in colour, it could probably sit atop a shoulder, or bounce along at someone's heels. That is, if anyone decides to take pity on it. With the culmination of the Leafchange Seasonal Event, you have the opportunity to win the above Vampire Gourd as a companion! Please post ONCE with any character that would like to win the gourd's trust. Please describe how your character tries to do this. You have until January 2nd to submit your posts, after which time a winner will be selected!

Archebold tapped along the grounds, a violin he had just refurbished swaying at the hip when he caught sight of one of the pumpkins that had plagued the lands. "How about that..." He muttered quietly, somewhat impressed look on his face as he crouched and looked over at the pumpkin, tilting his head to the side. Fanged smirk given. "Aren't you something, making it this far." He'd glance around a moment before taking out his violin and playing a haunting melody. To see if he could lure the creature with the tune like a pied piper. Slowly his stood as the strings were expertly played, giving his head a little motion for the creature to follow. He wasn't quite sure what it was, perhaps this runt of the litter was a survivor, much like himself. That was more than enough to earn the ascended's respect. archebold Death is not a defeat. It is a cure.

 

M E L I T A

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The honeybee girl had mixed feelings when the pumpkins were finally defeated. Despite their irritating presence, the gourds had given her a sense of purpose, striving towards precision in her marksmanship, diving into exploring new sights, new sounds, new people, and without them, she was a little lost again. The youth found herself glancing in between brush, ferns, and fronds, expecting the gnawing ankle-biters to be hovering nearby, casting themselves out, uttering their feral little growls. The way they’d tried to be menacing had almost been cute.

But then as luck would have it, as she hummed beneath her breath and wandered along the outskirts, a lone soldier remained. It was smaller than the others, something she could understand and reciprocate, and had managed to survive the great onslaught. She tilted her head in thought, in speculation, head pondering, wondering, how the tiny beast had escaped while the rest had been flung into the open air, pulverized into meals, or used as game ornaments. Perhaps it was smarter, cunning, wiser than its brethren, capable of hiding instead of reaching out to assail and siege monsters and demons far larger than it. The youth could respect that – she’d be one of the more bullheaded, tenacious individuals, trying to snap and claw, rip and tear, before a stranger secured her demise.

So, out of pure impulse, inclination, those spitfire, fey, whimsical moments bleeding and blurring through her veins – she decided she’d try to coax it, ensure it was always safe; the cherub had earned it.

There was another that seemed to have the same ideas and notions – her gilded gaze focused on the taller, darker man, listening to the tune he’d managed to conjure and control with his violin. Maybe the pumpkin would opt to follow the strings; but Melita wouldn’t give up without a fighting chance.

She crouched down and grabbed hold of the rabbit meat she’d stored in some of her pockets. Hadn’t the vegetables been lured by food, by the promise of blood, flesh, and sinew? It was worth a shot. Her right arm extended out towards the little one, proffering tinier bites of the rabbit, hoping it would be lured by the promise of a meal, and not the entangling tones from the stranger.

attack of the gourds At first the gourd had been tempted by the dulcet tones coming from the Ascended - indeed, it had even hopped a few places forward as if to follow... but then rabbit meat drew its attention. Chattering softly, it turned towards Melita in the end, bouncing towards the proferred meat. If she wasn't careful it would nip her fingers while trying to take the rabbit, but regardless it would hop forward again when it was finished. The music forgotten, it was clearly expectant of more. She had made a friend for life. Melita has gained the Vampire Gourd's trust! Congratulations! <3 Please let us know what you would like to name your new pumpkin, and we will add it to Melita's profile.

 

M E L I T A

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The honeybee child faced disappointment without theatrics. If there was usually any reaction at all, it was a quiet, muted sort of moment, where she tucked back into herself, finally pondered, wondered, why everything had gone wrong. She’d done it frequently in her youth: watched as the world burned down around her, as shadows shifted, as light vanished, and the outlines, the sketches, of what used to be simply ceased to exist. She’d tried to slay beasts and vermin with no forethought but might, she’d tried to evade ghosts, phantoms, and wraiths, specters of a lost generation sizzling over flesh and bone. She’d tried to delude herself time and time again, and as her gilded gaze caught the gourd’s movements hastening towards music, towards tunes, towards warm resonance and alluring, beguiling chords, she presumed the same thing would happen again. Melita eased out a breath, relinquished its particles into the air, and thought about retreating.

Still, her eyes didn’t stray – bearing witness as it turned, shifting its way towards her and the formidable lure.

Something in her heart sang, and it’d been so long, so frightfully long, since anything beyond ferocity, hatred, animosity, wrath, and violence had brewed in it – her chest skipped and cajoled, it wept and bled, and she laughed, giggled, as the damned gourd nibbled at her fingers. “Hello, little one,” she crooned, leaning forward and proffering more of the rabbit meat.

She’d finally conquered and triumphed, and the glory, the rush, the sudden connection, felt so wonderful because it meant success, it meant blessings, and it meant not being alone any longer. It was a beginning, rather than an end, a beautiful new strand twisting and turning in her soul. “Come with me,” Melita breathed, and her existence was instantly more than a single seditious burn.

Thank you admin! <3