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The fishing booth was gone. Broken. Demolished.

Kicking aside some debris of fallen booth wood and banners while she stomped off, Levi gave a hiss in protest. She was NOT done with that booth. She had -counting her seeds off in her head- ... at least one good try in! Kick kick kick!!!

Huffing, her pigtails bobbed when she looked up to see tables and students punching them. Oh. Did they want into that building there? The tatzel didn't know what it was, but she felt ENRAGED enough to join in the table bashing.

With a hop skip and a fist full of MREWWWIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, Levi clenched and had at some table.

Oh- it was going well... until the tatzel got a shattering lesson in punching tables. When her knuckles felt the burning sting of metal-to-bone, she froze to the feel and then ripped her fist back, cradling it in her other hand. Her teeth shut tightly in a snarl with the hissing ever continuous. The narrow slits of her gold eyes focused on the table that got her while the pain grew bit by bit as the numbing subsided. Levi would have to wait awhile before she could try anything again.

((Mini ID: Neko))

Demi's little scruffle was having the time of its life, interacting with the other canines at sleuth's gym, he didn't seem to mind if his owner went exploring.

However he did stop in mid step as he watched a group of people were punching their way through some kind of desk barricade. He was surprised there was no one around flipping them for once. But punching seemed like a much healthier way to take out extra aggression as he jumped up next to them and growled at the evil Oak structures and gave a swing at one.

The hound fully expected it to crunch under his force, not the other way around as he left it get all tingly and painful. He let out a sharp yelp and a painful cry as he sat off to the side to tend to his battered hand. Ever since the rampage, physical acts just have not been working with him.

It was all that Fearados's fault! He gave a grumpy glare at the desk covered entryway, he was not done here, not by a long shot but a tactful retreat did seem in order, and maybe some time to heal.

There were certain aspects of the festival that Riley had begun to truly enjoy, while others were leaving her with a bitter taste. Sadly, it was the fish-related activities that had her disinterested, while the more violent events like the attack on the booths that captured her attention and led her to believe this was not a complete waste of time, after all.

This booth was one of the latter, as she was led to believe that the booth owner wanted her to punch her way through tables to win. She cracked her knuckles, and looked entirely too pleased with the prospect.

I wish more classes were like this. She sing-songed, as she let the splinters fly. A tiny little yellow thing flew along with them, dropping directly into her pocket while she was distracted with destruction.

Profile: Alania

How exactly did one get into this strange place? Punching tables...wow that sounded oddly rage appropriate. Sin frowned and eyed the wooden tables warily. She looked down at her recent manicure and bit her lip trying to decide if it was worth it. She slowly made a fist and eyed the table infront of her again.

Please let this work

With that last hopeless thought she punched the table and then screamed as her fist connected not with wood but metal.

"OH MY ****ING JACK!!!" She waved her hand in the air and glared at the table, that wasn't funny! WHO WENT AROUND PAINTING THINGS WITH WOOD VARNISH?! She examined her hand and paled as she saw her knuckles had been bloodied.

She clenched her first again ready to hit something again then paused and tried to reign in her temper. Teeth set on edge she stalked away cradling her injured hand.

[Minipet SN: roxyroxanna

Kallos had had his worries about coming into the gym before him, and for good reason. His main one was probably the fact that apparently there was only one way to gain entrance, and that was to smash through what looked like wooden tables.

After a moment, Kallos had to wonder if Desu-chan knew about with booth, and if so, why she hadn't flipped all of it over yet.

In any case, the little, pathetically weak haunt slowly inched his way toward the blocked entrance. He knew he wasn't strong enough to break one board, let alone an entire table.

Let alone several tables.

Trying to push his concerns and worries to the back of his mind, Kallos positioned himself in front of the nearest table. After a moment, he took a deep breath and then attempted to punch what he'd been lead to believe was a wooden table.

It wasn't a wooden table.

Grasping his now-somewhat-throbbing hand, Kallos was somewhat glad that he didn't have enough force in his punch to break any of his own bones. The small and partially frustrated haunt looked at the table. After a moment, he pressed his uninjured hand to it's surface, recognizing the material by it's texture and temperature.

Apparently, it was a slab of stone painted to look like a wooden table.

The ghost looked at the others for a moment, noticing that some of the other tables were in fact real tables, before leaving. Maybe he'd come back when his hand wasn't sending out waves of pain.

...Maybe.

Minis name: trira

Israfel had been wandering. So far, his wandering had taken him booth to booth, and gym to gym, fish slapped and sad with the resulting stench, and still wet from the greenhouse he’d visited and…truth be told rather enjoyed, he should have known better. This was Rage’s booth. The guy who raged. The guy dating that Desu-chan. The guy who made Israfel make sad faces at because no one should have to mad all the time. Just some of the time. The Siren could hardly comprehend the rage that the trick or treater had. It was deep, deeper then any hole Israfel had seen. Or fallen into. Or stuck his hand in. Not that he stuck in hand in a lot of holes. His mom had taught him not all holes were meant to be filled. Mush less explored. At least not in public.

Something like that. He hadn’t really paid attention. What he did pay attention to was the fact students were walking away holding bloody knuckles, and angry faces. What had them so mad? It was just Rage. It was his thing, just like Red’s usual rounds of trying to kill the students. Or Blue’s romantic love songs being sung in the hallways. Or Hellma. Israfel didn’t want to upset Hellma. She didn’t make him angry, just scared. Part of why she was the headmistress. She probably was watching them all right now even…
A peep of paranoia, and Israfel shuffed into the gym, and cocked his head at the sight of the tables. Punching tables. “…” Israfel blinked. He was supposed to punch them? “…. Why not invite Desu-chan to flip them?” Looking to his fellow students that didn’t seem the point. The point wasn’t to question but to punch. So he did. Pouting, his brow furrowed. But looking down was a small coin. A PP. Picking it up, his minipet went wide eyed looking at it.
“… NO.” Israfel swat at Castor the scareon. “No PP for you. No PP. Last time I gave you one you farted flames!” The scareon puffed it’s chest out like it was proud. “No. We don’t fart flames mister. That is bad. Just like swooping. It’s bad.” He didn’t even notice the scraped knuckle, Israfel was too busy trying to keep the PP away from the Scareon.

((SN: Vamps
Word count: 387))

It could not be said that Mandy gave up easily, one merely needed to remember things such as her spending hours shooting grappling hooks to rescue West and they would realize once Mandy set her mind to something she was unlikely to give it up.

Mandy had set her mind to getting through these tables and into Rage's domain.

Thus it was no surprise that once her knuckles stopped making disturbing crunching noises whenever she tried to wiggle her fingers she was back to try again.

Her punch may have had less force behind it though this time, she was determined not stupid.

CRUUUUUUNCH

AJDSIALHDJSALJALHDSAKHHDLSA---!!!!!!!

Mandy's fist was crunching again.

Maybe she she wait a bit longer before trying again.

((SN: Rosie))

Caethes just couldn't help himself as he passed by the odd booth with broken tables and a constant sound of anger and smashing - followed by some odd swearing. All he could see was red and hissed angrily as he approached the booth once more, his bandaged hand slapping against his leg.

With his anger rising he approached the table which had given him such trouble the day before. "I'll get you yet." He grumbled, rolling up his sleeves and cracking the knuckles of his good hand. "HRRRRAAAAHHH!" He lifted his hand to smash down into it only to clang it against his already injured hand.

With a loud swear he was off, jumping out and hissing in pain. With a sour glare he began to walk off again, hoping the pain would subside before having another go. He was far too stubborn to just give up.

((sn: never crazy))