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Mot couldn't fathom the situation anymore. The terror of the hunters, Caelius, was dead? No lie, no gimmick? And what of Red? Like, Riley.. had she emerged from her stone cold sleep? He didn't have the answers, didn't have any better theories. His head swelled with an information overload. All thsat had transpired was a bit much. Had they just.. defeated the hunter threat? Truly?

Ofelia felt like throwing up at all the chaos that swarmed around her. Some massive beast showing up, everyone attacking one another, and then the insanity and voices slowly slipping away.

If it hadn't been for the sudden sight of the Death lead, well, dying, she might have figured everything would be alright. It would have been easy to accept, she figured they'd be getting home safe, but to see him laying like that, crimson and losing life, it took all her strength not to panic.

It also took all her willpower to pick up Rue's tablet, tempting as it was to leave the damn thing on the ground. She didn't know if she'd get another chance at a partner though, that was a strange thought, and so she gathered it into her hands and looked around.

Run, run, she needed to run! There was no arguing, no waiting. Everyone was leaving, everyone was hurrying, and with one final glance back at the Halloween students Ofelia entered the portal.

[ exit ]

The werewolf-weapon raised her claws up, away from the ghoul as Junko slammed into her. There was a stillness to the creature as she studied the student. Slowly she lowered her bloodied talon and awkwardly patted the ghoul on the back. "It would be... nice," she answered slowly, longing clear in her voice, "To see Home again. Perhaps I may, perhaps I may not."

She raised her gaze again to the retreating hunters, watching the last of them pass through the portal. There was a silence as the colored cloaks of the boogeymen began to drag limp forms through the remainder of the mist, throwing them into the portal one by one. As the last one went through, a whistle that sounded like a Churrpup rang out from the fog. The boogeymen that were around the portal began to dismantle it, tearing it apart piece by piece. The pieces soon disappeared inside their cloaks.

While they work the raw grief from Belladonna and Damien rang out. Red did not flinch or waver as she stood still, removing her bloodied hand from Junko. The bloodied talons were brought up and studied, turned to and fro before the werewolf-weapon slowly shook her head and lowered it.



Quietly the ghoul was removed from around her as Red began to walk towards Cricket, Insanity dissipating off of her with each step. From the blacks and grays burst vivid yellows and reds as her cloak settled about her shoulders. The former gym teacher didn't pause as she flung her arms around Cricket, lifting the ghost up in a tight bear-hug. Red lowered the teacher down, releasing her long enough to wave the smoke away that mere contact created. "It is as best as I can do under the circumstances," Red replied evenly. "There is much I wish to discuss, but..."

The werewolf trailed off, shaking her head. "This is neither the time or place. I wish your assistance with something that I cannot do on my own."



A nod went towards Sammy. "I am honored by your words; thank you."

Her eyes swept past the students, moving, taking them in at a glance as she began to move through them, the students stepping back and away from her.



As she passed him, Red reached out and gently squeezed Arel's hand.



Red stopped as her cloaked was tugged on. When Xiu met her gaze it was matched not by red but by black -- but a blink later and they were red again. Was it an illusion? A trick? Perhaps remnants of Insanity still lingered.

The teacher smiled. It would have been reassuring if her chin wasn't still smeared with Caelius' blood. "I do not think you give them enough credit," Red said gently. "They are undead. The undead always rise again, as it is their nature. But perhaps..." She trailed off, eying the baku appraising. "Perhaps you can assist me? The middle of battle is a poor time to ask for favors or time. It is move or fade."

Gently she pulled away from Xiu, leaving the ghoul (and anyone who was eavesdropping) to think on her words. The red-cloaked figure did not stop until she reached a particular statue, clasping a particular weapon.

She reached out and grabbed the arms of the statue, her muscles flexing until

SNAP!

The arms of the statue came off in her hands. With ruthless efficiency the statue was kicked and reduced to rubble, then ground underfoot until nothing remained. One by one with a snickering-snap Red pried the stone fingers from around the haft of what was Petro until only the stone weapon remained. She held it in her hands, studying it.

"Now is not the time," she growled, looking up as a tall boogeyman in an orange cloak approached her.

"Then later."

"Agreed."

Red turned away from the boogeyman and walked through the crowds, reaching out to take hold of Arel's hand. She reached out for Cricket, stopping. With a bit of finagling and weapon-juggling she soon had her arm linked around her best friend, the hand of her other friend clasped tightly in her own. "Let's... Let's go Home." Red said, looking up as a doorway materialized in the wall in front of them. "Please."

The doors opened. A short walk through and everyone would find themselves in a familiar place.

"I don't know. I just want to go home." She wanted to find Roch and hug him, find Rikki and curl up with him. The only way she could do that is if she went home and checked for them.

Danny hopped on Frost's back, and stretched out, refusing to talk anymore. Once he was ready, she rode him out through the door.

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear a whistled, "Princess Mononokeeee."

[ exit whenever Frost does, Danny's just laying on his back atm. ]

Cricket seemed elated as she was embraced by the werewolf, flaring up with glowing lights in some reaction that could have been a show of excitement. Glee was never something Cricket expressed visually except in such ways.

"Well, I'll get you back in working order, Red. I always do." Cricket assured, patting the werewolf on the shoulder before passing a look around at the students who seemed to be expressing concern about those who had faded. If they didn't reform in her office within the next week, then Cricket would likely start to be concerned as well, but....

Halloween had it's ways of teasing and taunting, especially with those who were already pushing it with death time and time again.

When Red reached out for her, Cricket excitedly wrapped her arm around Red's - like a ghoul with her attractive prom date she was far too ecstatic to be with. "Home - it has been waiting for you." she agreed as she joined her two friends as they passed through the doorway to head home.

[Exit]

It all started when he forgot to wear something formal.

In his defense, he thought formal was wear your Hunter coat, but apparently it was actually formal formal, and the stark white and gold coat with that one ketchup stain on that one sleeve looked really bad, and well, in the grand scheme of things it was better to just wear a t-shirt and suffer in the cold than wear a Hunter coat to what looked like a ridiculously expensive event. For the record, he didn't even get a memo, and he made sure to give * all the upset faces and sighs he could manage as he sank down on his chair in a t-shirt and jeans. Dear God, please please please, if there was someone who loved him in this world, please don't let a homeless guy discover his coat he stashed in a trash can, he really couldn't afford another one.

The atmosphere inside was high, voices chattering, people not wearing t-shirts socializing with each other. He felt out of place. * was talking to another Hunter and they were both wearing appropriate clothing and not t-shirt and jeans and he tried his best to remain interested. Everything was a little too loud.

And then a soft chime.

The noise and ruckus died down, it seemed as if time itself had slowed down and a spotlight had lit just on that one woman entering the room. She was beautiful, flawless even, but it was something else, something about here-

-"Oh please," * snorted, "She's way out of your league. I mean, look at you. This is from the person who arrives at every mission with two left shoes and forgets where he left his coat-"

- And yet, the woman looked at him, and only him. Her pale dress only accented her tanned skin. She seemed oddly exotic. Glowing 

-"Are you even listening to me?" The snap of *'s fingers woke him from his daze. "Hello? Dinner? Your food is getting cold."

He looked down at the table, and frowned. "I don't remember getting steak - I don't even like red meats."

"What are you talking about, you always do." She poured him some more wine. Pinot Noir '03. It was all wrong. It was-

- The music started to play. A familiar tune. A soft scrape as the lady in the white dress got up. She started dancing, slowly. She didn't take her eyes off him-

-And he was entirely entranced. Everything else became background noise. He took her hand. It felt cold, and yet familiar. It felt right. 

She closed her eyes and leaned back, even as the lights seemed to dim all around them, as if the world only had the two of them. How had she even found him, why was he even-

-The woman leaned back, letting him take the lead. A smile. "Leaving so soon?" The music slowed. "I thought you said you still had something to do."

"What?" He had been too busy wondering if his sweaty palms problem would be too much of an issue or more so, the issue of not packing breath mints. He almost missed her words. "I'm not- I'm not going anywhere."

Her half-lidded eyes glimmered, slightly. "Then are you coming back with me?" And then the barest hints of a whisper in his ear, of soft, delicate lips, the fragrance of an exotic flower. "Are you mine and mine only?"

"I...." Suddenly the whole breath mints ordeal was forgotten. It felt like he was drowning, the music a little too loud, the grip of the woman against his hand too sharp, cold. He turned around, to look at his table -

- It was gone. 

She leaned closer, pulling him in. He couldn't let go, he couldn't breathe. The music faded, shifted to a loud hum, a high-pitched tone sharp and painful. 

"Are you still my master?"

The dream shattered.

*

He snapped open his eyes. The first attempt at consciously breathing was agony, the second a loud wheeze, coughing, of a body uncontrollably rebelling despite all attempts as it rolled over, curled halfway and nearly drowned again. For a second everything was that simple, reduced to the struggle of simply breathing, of letting the pain overwhelm, consume, and then finally subside to manageable levels. Barely manageable. Others would have easily died for less. 

He hated it. Every moment, second of being weak, of losing all semblance of structure, control, power, the second a single mechanism was broken, out of order, it triggered something in him truly and fundamentally ugly. One bloodied hand curled into itself as he fought to breathe, as slowly bit by bit the humming guided each and every movement, heartbeat, pushed back the pain, and swept the weakness backward, one more step. 

Everything for the sake of control. 

There was nothing left in this godforsaken landscape. Even the greys seemed duller. The owner had abandoned this mimicry of a home for a greater target. The knowledge of someone else obtaining a higher level of control was sickening. The knowledge that the same someone else has spared him, had made a show of him, his weapon, and threw him away like garbage was beyond any reasonable level of hatred. Left alone, it would slowly become an obsession. 

And he was fine with that as long as he remained as he did always. Insanity indeed - godforsaken ******** insanity. If the ******** council had even remotely considered giving him the ******** clearance he had requested instead of chaining him up like some goddamned parade dog-

-No. That would come later. One step at a time, simple and methodical. 

Circe knew as always, what he wanted next. She was his as he was hers. She  nudged him forward from her own interests only and because of that, indulged him. 'Whenever you are ready, master.'

Something in the fog stirred. The remaining fog feebly tried to hide it. In a second, his weapon summoned, and the next, as the fog parted, three figures, still breathing, sleeping. It seemed the b***h had a sense of humour.

The portal was halfway completed, and at that point, he was easily more pissed off in a level beyond any sort of bodily limit. The three sleeping figures were literally shoved, like the useless ******** bags of meat they were back into the portal. Let the others sort out that mess or do as they please. Keep them on edge.

As the portal, completed, fluxed, something else did as well. He turned. Shadows mostly, and then a shape he could never quite forget: a mistake, lack of foresight or consolation prize, it didn't matter. Struggle, live or die, take what you could, use what you needed, and learn from past mistakes.

It was nice to know that some things were still so black and white. It was even better to feel in control. Even Insanity could still be predictable. Everything else, those who fell, those who were weak, those so plainly uninteresting and pathetic, they had only themselves to blame. Indeed death eventually came to all, those fortunate and oblivious and oddly permanent-

But some things never quite changed.