Students loved holidays more than anyone. How old the students were, and their level of education didn't mitigate the truth of the excitement. Even Halloween, which lacked any promises of a day 'off', had most classes dotted with partial masks, cat ears, t-shirt witticisms about costumes, and as the 31st drew closer, actual full costumes. Quenton hoped that those who donned full garb at least laundered in between, or had more than one costume to display. Plenty of the teachers were giving out snacks at the start of classes this week, and were giving nods to the costumed business as well- Dr. Schach wore different black tie tuxedos to be different 007s, and one of the other 3D arts professors had cast fangs for herself and made her makeup in cooler, deader tones of a vampiress. The TA's had been offered the same option on their professor's dimes. Rather than a full, new costume, Quenton had gone to the small storage unit he kept to drag out boxes and bobs of old costumes and theater props from high school.

The first impression was the care that had plainly gone into his first sojourns into resin and latex casting. The second was how painfully amateur they looked now. The hand-approximated crossbow out of scrap wood, the hand-stitch modifications on the leathers, and the resin gun replica were all bottom shelf pop up costume outlet quality. Just doing it to entertain, not for Broadway

Once home, or...the apartment, the fitting went poorly. In the 4 years since, he'd expected that he'd grown vertically, but flood pants were only the tip of the iceberg. The leather pants couldn't get that far- muscles too developed up the legs, and judging on look alone he'd never get them to hug over his backside. The shirt and duster couldn't span his shoulder width, and pillowed out with too much fabric around his waist. Quenton didn't bother with the belt. It was going to be a new costume no matter what.

Everyday is a costume. 'Quenton', the mask and stage name adopted every few hours to get through the day. To have access to all the university archives, to classes, to food and stores. It is a mask. One we all never realized we start wearing the first time we take uniform. Until it is lost.
Like Alois.

Like Alois. There was something of the idea that could be read by the serious or heart-wounded as insulting. Dressing as a Negaverse Agent could be read many ways- reappropriating their imagery for good or bad, making light if the terrorism, making heroes or spooks out of it, throwing off associations of himself to a senshi (what senshi would dress as Bischofite?) or acknowledging the public-made knowledge to Order and Chaos that Quenton Marinus knew of the war and dated a general. The involvement of others would show in their approval, revulsion, or simple recognition of who such a costume even was. I don't feel comfortable myself in the entirety with the idea. That makes the choice easy- calculated choices, not emotional ones.

Quenton gathered Faust and pillow to go to studio, getting masks casting, bones sewn, and a sketch to the theater seamstress of leathers, feathers, sashes and trimming. He worked the jewelry himself of bones, gold and garnets. In between, he visited the pillow to put face into fluffy, annoyed and disapproving flank, or sat while time and projects turned round the Roman numerals and graded papers as job necessitated. The sanitary tub served at dawn for the temporary hair dye, leaving bone to glossy jet. The mirror spoke of a few final touches- yellow contacts, stain for tattoo, spirit gum for stand in gauge plugs.

None of his classes showed recognition of the 'design', neither in fear or celebration. Just as well. Most seemed to take it as a homage to cenobites. In a way, considering Bischofite, they weren't so far off.