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ph_logs2025-09-20 10:27 am
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ph_logs2025-09-20 10:27 am
Entry tags:
September Event - Guest Appearances
GUEST APPEARANCES
Ignition
September 20th is the Autumnal Equinox. Many places across the world of Concorde celebrate the first day of fall. While various nations and regions have their own cultural practices surrounding it, nature is god everywhere. And so the inception of Mother Autumn’s domain is universally recognized, even if the names change from place to place. But on a little island named Marrow, in a little town called Pumpkin Hollow, there is another reason to celebrate.
The birth of Dahlia Leeds is not so important an event that it supersedes Celestine herself, and neither Dahlia nor anyone in town is foolhardy enough to claim as much. In fact, after the events on this very same day last year, one might argue that perhaps her birth at least started out as a bad thing. But she is certainly the wealthiest person in town. It is through the combination of substantial wealth and a generous heart, two things that are very seldom found in the same place, that we end up with a soiree where the birthday girl would rather spoil everyone else on her day than herself.
The doors to Leeds Estate, which presides proudly over the town upon its throne at the crest of Founder’s Hill, are flung wide open. Large sums of Brass are paid to caterers, florists, and seamstresses to make sure this place is decorated to the nines. Some businesses labor all year, just to prepare for the handsome payoff they’ll get from this event alone. And you, dear neighbor, are invited. Not only are you invited, but you are dressed for the event in whatever your heart desires, completely at the birthday girl’s expense. Dahlia ensures no cost nor conflict stands in between anyone in town and a much-needed break. She is determined for this birthday of hers to be a good night.
Or else.
The birth of Dahlia Leeds is not so important an event that it supersedes Celestine herself, and neither Dahlia nor anyone in town is foolhardy enough to claim as much. In fact, after the events on this very same day last year, one might argue that perhaps her birth at least started out as a bad thing. But she is certainly the wealthiest person in town. It is through the combination of substantial wealth and a generous heart, two things that are very seldom found in the same place, that we end up with a soiree where the birthday girl would rather spoil everyone else on her day than herself.
The doors to Leeds Estate, which presides proudly over the town upon its throne at the crest of Founder’s Hill, are flung wide open. Large sums of Brass are paid to caterers, florists, and seamstresses to make sure this place is decorated to the nines. Some businesses labor all year, just to prepare for the handsome payoff they’ll get from this event alone. And you, dear neighbor, are invited. Not only are you invited, but you are dressed for the event in whatever your heart desires, completely at the birthday girl’s expense. Dahlia ensures no cost nor conflict stands in between anyone in town and a much-needed break. She is determined for this birthday of hers to be a good night.
Or else.
Incipience
{ The timeframe between ignition and the peak of burning, where a small, contained fire spreads and grows gradually into an established flame. All it takes is a spark. }
The whole town is abuzz as preparations for the gala begin. From the moment people begin to wake up for the day, the air throughout Pumpkin Hollow just feels electric with excitement. After August, people have been needing this lift in morale, and after how last year’s gala went… well, there’s a lot riding on this one. And Dahlia seems much more in control now.Speaking of being in control, the whole lead-up process has been incredibly organized. You wake up to a delivery--- your outfit, perfectly tailored and completely paid for. Accessories are included. She truly thought of everything.
It’s noteworthy that Dahlia’s invitations this time included another name beneath her own. “Suzanne Marie Dyneax,” it said. Most people don’t know the name, but gossip gets around in a small town like this. It’s not hard to pick up on the fact that this probably refers to Susie, one of the teenagers that Dahlia recently moved into her home, whose own birthday was ruined by Seemingly’s attack. Gift baskets have been delivered to others whose days were in proximity to the disaster--- Zivia, Capochin, even CT. Wine, fruit, and sweets, along with a birthday card. Dahlia has said in the past, “my birthday is your birthday,” but never has that felt more true.
With businesses mostly closed for the celebration, you are left with the majority of the day to prepare in relative peace. For many of the women in Dahlia’s inner circle, there is even a pre-party group dressing room set up on the third floor of her home. Only those who received her special invitation (Susie, Noelle, Fever, Cassandra, Anya, Alice, Patty, Melanie, Basira, Elsie) are permitted to join, but any friends or partners are gladly invited to wait at the bottom of the stairs for the girls to make their grand entrance.
The food is laid out, flowers placed, dresses laced and buttoned. The clock strikes 6pm, and the fun begins.
FLASHOVER
{ The moment when a blaze reaches its maximum size and heat, and the radiant heat in the space is such that all combustible materials ignite at once, allowing the flame to steadily and freely burn for the rest of the night. }
By the time it reaches 6:15, the ballroom is already flooded with eager dancers and hungry dinner guests. After all, the whole town is invited, and everyone’s excited to see Dahlia’s beautiful new ballroom and take a load off.The music is elegant, played by a rotating cast of musicians who join the party when their act is over. The food is extravagant--- Dahlia and two of her partners are some of the biggest foodies in town, so this is expected. There is talking and laughing and the swirling of ballgowns, and all is well.
But there is a guest you do not recognize in the corner of the ballroom. An older man with white hair, strong features, and a dour expression. You can see Dahlia eyeing him, then flitting over to him, then talking to him. Her expression shifts from anxious, to annoyed, to resigned, before at last she sighs heavily and leaves him to it. Whatever it is that’s going on, clearly it’s something Dahlia is willing to begrudgingly tolerate in order to get back to having fun.
The reason for the disturbance becomes clear in short order, but by the grace of Celestine (and perhaps Eligos), it isn’t a reality bending nightmare or an attack by some monstrous beings. It is simply more guests.
A lot more, in fact.
Those who were on the island in September of the previous year will recall the Visitor’s Center, which appeared briefly just past the beach and served as temporary living and meeting quarters for visitors from the homeworlds of current residents. It would seem that this is a repeat incident. For the night of the gala, one to two “plus ones” have been invited for the vast majority of offworld residents. Most of them are friends or family who are happy to see their guests--- but this is ultimately a working of Eligos, so naturally, this is not always the case.
At the very least, Eligos seems to have been generous with his own granddaughter. As she turns away from him, she very nearly runs into someone much shorter than her. A dark haired human man with dwarfism. He laughs at the accident, grinning up at her as she stares back at him, utterly baffled. Then, petticoats billowing out, Dahlia sinks to the floor and embraces him as tight as she can, head pressed to his chest with little regard for her carefully-styled hair. Even those across the room can hear her shout his name. ”Jonah!”
Within the hour, the ballroom is packed with nearly double the people originally expected, turning the party livelier than it’s ever been. Tearful reunions, laughter, dancing, mischief, romance, sparring, cruelty, and even proper, righteous violence. Truly, this Leeds Gala will be one for the books!
[ OOC reminders: each apped-in player character is entitled to one or two guests from their homeworld. This can be former selves, family, friends, enemies, and they do not have to be from the character’s exact canonpoint. They can be from the past or the future. You may play them yourself, ask another member player to do it, or recruit a non-member player to do so with moderator approval. Non-member players are permitted to join the Discord server while they’re active in this event! Threads you write for your own guests are eligible for AC for the character they’re there with, and threads you write for someone else’s guest can be used on the AC of a character of your choice. Just make sure to mark them as guest threads. After the gala, guests will be allowed to move freely about town, stay the night on Saturday and go home Sunday, or leave right after the gala if preferred. And last but not least, characters played in the gala can be apped directly from this event, rather than going through the normal arrival process. Let a mod know if you have questions, and have fun! ]
Smoldering
{ The decay of a flame as available heat, oxygen, and burning material gradually diminish. Eventually, the flames will recede entirely into glowing embers, glittering like orange starlight amid the ashes of what once was. }
The party rages well into the night. It’s not typical for residents of Pumpkin Hollow to stay out this late, with everything around here that goes bump in the night, but eventually party-goers begin to find their way out. They move in small groups, huddled around lanterns, may they ever stay lit. Perhaps the surprising bit is that their guests can go with them. There are even reservations made for board overnight at the Oak & Iron, all under the name “E. Rex”.But alas, these reservations are only booked for one night. And by the time the sun begins to set on the darker half of the year for the first time, an unfamiliar black boat is moored at Jack's Marina. One that the guests will recognize as the vessel on which they arrived. They must leave by the time it becomes dark.
Or must they? Perhaps for a select few, they will fail to feel the call which draws them home. It is unclear why. There are many that Mortanne would have allowed residency for, if she could. But for some reason, all but a small few feel the pull. Perhaps Eligos has simply abandoned them here. (Or maybe none at all end up marooned and everyone goes home? That all depends on you, dear reader.)
When the sky goes dark, the aptly named Heavy Heart shoves off, with only her crimson sails hanging suspended seemingly in midair in the moonlight. The black ship is otherwise consumed by the night. And soon, even those flashes of red vanish into the distance.
Moments recede into memories, like a dying fire settles gently into glowing embers at the bottom of a hearth. The festivities are over, and the guests are gone. Life in Pumpkin Hollow resumes as before. But maybe just a little warmer and brighter.
“My birthday is your birthday,” as Dahlia often says.
Happy birthday.
References to the appearance of Leeds Estate can be found here!
no subject
And that's... huh. It's really been ten years, and Tenna's still this much of a mess over it? Over him? Spamton had always sort of figured that Tenna cared more about that contract he so badly wanted him to sign than he did about him. He was attached to him, sure, but if it came down to it, he'd assumed the business partnership would take priority over the personal one.
It's fucked up to be thinking it right now, he guesses, but in spite of everything, there's a part of him that's kind of happy to know that his absence could make someone this miserable. Wild.
He exhales with a bit of a dry chuckle. "Yeah, well. Not exactly how I was picturing my night going either, I've gotta say."
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It's not funny. Nothing about this whole mess is really very funny at all. But Tenna laughs anyway; he just can't help himself, can he?
He takes a long drag from his cigarette, sighing out smoke as it filters through the vents on either side of his head. He'd missed this, too, hadn't he? On top of everything else, as if he wasn't enough of a mess already...
"I'm sorry." He stares downward, his screen casting a faint light into the dim shadows of the pavilion, and absently flicks ash onto the ground. That pressure in his throat from earlier has solidified into a pain in his chest, but he pushes on regardless. "I... I wouldn't have done any of that if I'd known... You know. That you weren't..."
Of course, here is where Tenna finally chokes on his words: with the acknowledgment, however small it might be, that this Spamton, however familiar he might be, is not, cannot possibly be the one who left him all those years ago. Really, he can barely make sense of how this is even possible — but it doesn't have to make sense to be true, now, does it?
"That you...didn't know. Haha..."
It's not funny. But he makes himself laugh anyway.
no subject
He frowns at the clip that inserted itself into that sentence — which sort of feels like it's mocking both of them in different ways — and looks off for a moment, away from the light of the screen. He was the one who left, huh?
...
He takes another drag, and sighs. Sorry to dredge up all this shit for you, he says, and then keeps on doing it. He's got to ask, though.
"We have a fight or somethin'? 'Cause I can honestly tell you I've got no [tax-deferred 401(k) plans] to leave right now."
But there's long been a nagging feeling in the back of his head, like he's on a precipice that could crumble under his feet at any time if he takes so much as one wrong step. It's not that hard to imagine that it might have finally happened.
no subject
Of course, it's not like he really has a choice, does he? How many times has he been asked to repeat this story over the past month and change? (Three, given a generous definition of the word 'asked,' which is already doing some heavy lifting in this calculation.) And every single time, he hasn't once been able to keep himself from spilling the whole thing no matter how much he might have thought that he didn't really want to talk about it. How could he expect this time, then, to be any different?
"You signed the contract."
At the very least, this time, he doesn't need to provide any additional context; there's not a chance in Tenna's mind that Spamton doesn't know exactly which contract he's talking about. He has to take another pull from his cigarette before he can bring himself to continue.
"That was...how it started, anyway." Another drag, for good measure. "You finally signed, and... The ink wasn't even dry. And then, you had to take a phone call." Ash falls from the tip of his cigarette before he has a chance to knock it away. "And...the look on your face was..."
Tenna already isn't looking Spamton's way, at least not directly, but he feels compelled to turn his head regardless. That look he wore is already etched permanently into his memory; the last thing he needs now is to picture it in even more vivid detail, now that the real thing is standing beside him again.
"I don't...know what it was that you heard, but... Ha, you know — for the longest time, there, I thought, maybe, you didn't hear anything at all, like it was all a trick — like the whole thing was just...some cruel trick you pulled to rip me off. You know...?"
What else was he supposed to think, when he had picked up the receiver for himself and heard nothing at all? (What could he have thought instead, if he had gone after Spamton instead of the phone—) He shakes his head with a sharp, quick movement.
"But... You picked up the call, and your face went pale, and... And you ran out of the room." (The winds have died, but a voice still echoes in his mind: And you picked what was really important to you, Tenna.) "And I— I never saw you— I never heard from you again, after that... After all that."
no subject
There's a lengthy silence until he finally lets out a hoarse cackle of a laugh.
"Fuck."
Yeah. Yeah, of course that's what happened. A bombshell like that and he really doesn't feel surprised at all. He doesn't, but actually hearing it... it still feels like a punch in the gut.
He looks down at the half-smoked cigarette between his faintly nicotine-stained fingers; his hands were never that steady to begin with but there's an unmistakable tremor now that he can't stand the sight of. He drops it, lets it fall to the ground and then grinds his heel into it longer and harder than he has to. You stupid, stupid motherfucker.
It's only once there's barely anything left to crush that he takes a deep breath and brushes his hair back, runs his fingers through it... then digs them in and grasps hard at the roots.
"...That's why I didn't wanna sign it, you know? I knew it was a risk. I mean, I didn't know what'd happen for sure, but..."
But he'd known the voice on the phone wouldn't be happy if they found out. He can't say that. He still can't explain any of it — what he'd been afraid of, why this person had this power over him, why more recently he'd started breaking into a cold sweat each time Tenna brought it up and tried again to push him to sign.
It had been easy to refuse him at first when everything was just professional. He'd already worked his way into a co-starring role without having to put anything in writing, and even if he were to fall out of Tenna's favor and get sent packing one day, he'd still come out of it with the boosted experience and name recognition that would ensure he'd stay on an upward trajectory. He didn't need TV. There was no rational reason to risk it all to sign a contract that was almost completely one-sided in terms of real benefit. But then he'd started to actually care about the big galoot, and wanted to help him out, and he'd started to actually entertain the idea.
The first time in his god damn life that he tries to do something for someone other than himself, and that's what he gets for it? And then Tenna spends the next ten years thinking he skipped out on him because he didn't care about him? Holy shit, talk about a bad fucking joke.
no subject
But he does stop himself this time, by pressing a hand to his mouth before he can spit any more venom. It's not going to help; he cam already tell that it's only going to hurt even worse. Besides, it's not like Spamton is just going to stand there and take it, is he? And whatever he might spit back is almost definitely going to hurt even worse.
His cigarette is almost burnt down to the filter by now, but he keeps nursing it anyway, keeps trying to push past the way his throat tightens around the words he wants to say.
"I'm sorry." For what, exactly? For lashing out? For telling the truth? For pushing that damn contract in the first place? For giving himself over to anger and hurt the second things didn't go his way? For letting himself believe, for so many years, the absolute worst about the man he— "I'm sorry, okay? I-I know it doesn't change anything... I know it won't change anything, not what happened to me, not...not what's going to happen...to you."
But, then again, what if it does? What if Spamton carries this knowledge back with him in time — what if he makes a different choice? Tenna knows it's already too late for him, that no matter what happens now, what's already happened to him is set in stone; he can't let himself harbor any delusions to the contrary. But if there's a chance for even the slightest change, then...
God, no — it doesn't bear thinking about. At best, it's an unpleasant thought exercise; at worst, he's only torturing himself with the possibilities of how much better, how much worse things might have gone.
"I'm sorry." He repeats himself while heaving a shuddering sigh. "I just... I don't...know what else to say."
no subject
With Tenna managing to stop himself before the argument has a chance to get going, Spamton doesn't actually say any of that, though the way he looks up with an incredulous expression while he's listening to the question might get the point across well enough without using words.
Then the apologies start and he deflates. On some level, he can't help feeling some kind of satisfaction in the fact that the guy who tried to pick a fight with him is desperately apologizing to him now. But the fact that it's Tenna, that he sounds so pathetic and genuinely regretful... Man. He can easily see how this other version of himself would have blamed Tenna for everything when it happened, but it's harder to keep that up when he's seeing him like this. Especially knowing it all comes back to the terms of the deal that he made. They've both got a real knack for making questionable life-changing decisions in the heat of the moment.
He shakes his head and lets out a long sigh.
"Don't think I'm the me you oughtta be sayin' it to anyway."
no subject
"Why not? You're the one I just yelled at, right?"
Although... There's something in what Spamton, this Spamton says that reminds Tenna of something so critically fucking important that he can't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner: the fact that if this Spamton isn't the one Tenna thought he was, then that can only mean there's still another Spamton somewhere out there in this world, the one Kris warned him about, the one who almost certainly does remember everything that happened and thus actually deserves the dressing-down Tenna just tried to give this Spamton, if only he could manage to confront him and...
The mere thought of it weighs heavy on his mind, so heavy that Tenna's shoulders sag under the weight. What if he doesn't deserve it, after all? What if circumstances even stranger than these conspire to make it so that Tenna's anger has nowhere to go? Could he even put himself through something like this again? Could he take this much hurt again? What if it ends up hurting even worse?
God, but there's no way he's getting through any of this without hurting again, is there? What else can he do but laugh?
"Heh... You know what's really funny, Spam?" Tenna's staring down at the ground again, dropping his spent cigarette and grinding it beneath his shoe for good measure. "I spent so much time hating you, I... I forgot how much I missed you, too. Right up until I heard your voice again." He folds his arms over his chest, fingers digging into the sleeves of his tailcoat. "Isn't that pathetic?"
no subject
For himself... maybe there's a chance he actually can change the way this plays out when he goes back. If he remembers what they talked about here, or even if a butterfly flaps its fucking wings and starts some chain reaction that creates an offshoot timeline where something stops him from signing that damn contract. He's not optimistic, but the odds are probably better now than they were before, at least.
He finally cracks a little smile, even if it's slightly forced (but when don't his smiles look like that?), and gives Tenna a light nudge in the side with his elbow.
"Nah. Who could blame you for being drawn back in by the smooth sound of Spamton?"
no subject
God, but he missed this. He missed this so badly, and now that he's finally admitted it out loud, it's like a seal's been cracked on something he can't put back together. What is he supposed to do like this? What can he do like this?
I should go. Tenna picks over the words in his mind, searching for just the right combination that might make him actually want to follow through. I'll be missed. Will he, though? I should head back inside. Should he? We should head back inside. We? We should—
"You—got another one of those?"
...is what he finally lands on. A meager attempt, maybe, to stretch out this moment just a little bit longer, but, if it works...
no subject
With his own cigarette still unlit between his teeth, he flicks his lighter and holds a hand against the warm glow of the flame for a second before offering Tenna the first light.
"So..." He looks up at him as he holds the flame to the tip. "You seen anyone new in all that time, or are you just living that [40+ singles cruise] life?"
no subject
"That's..." He straightens back up, and smoke begins to wisp out from the vents on either side of his head, adding a key visual indicator to the very particular way his CRT components heat up when he's especially flustered by something. Damn it. "I mean. There was never... It's not like...anyone new ever, you know, came along, in all that time... And I always had my hands full just from keeping the show together, you know? Between the family breaking up, and viewership dropping, and everything else, I just..."
Tenna understands now, at least, that the deterioration of the Dreemurr household and their friendship with the Holidays wasn't entirely his fault; he knows now about Dess' disappearance, and all the rifts left behind in her wake, fissures too deep for any one person, Lightner or Darkner, to bear the brunt of the blame. But he still has trouble letting go of those thoughts, sometimes: that if only he'd managed to do something differently, if only he'd figured out how to keep everyone smiling through it all...
Now, though, another thought occurs to him — a thought that genuinely hasn't occurred to him before, and makes him laugh now that it does.
"I never...even thought about it, I guess. About finding anyone else." Isn't that sad? "Isn't that funny..."
no subject
(On some level, he suspects that it's less about him and more about his being part of a past that Tenna's still stuck in, but. He needs to let himself have this right now.)
"Mmm... more sad than funny, bud. Sounds like you've really been havin' a time of it." He slips his lighter back into his pocket once his own cigarette is lit up, and reaches over to give Tenna another pat that turns into a more lingering touch on his lower back. "But I gotta say, it's pretty nice to hear I'm irreplaceable."
no subject
"Like you ever needed me to tell you that..."
It's only as Tenna turns to look down at him, hand brushing against Spamton's arm, that he realizes something — that the touch at his back is in fact lingering, that he hadn't even noticed for how natural it still feels. A sense of familiarity he'd taken entirely for granted...
It would be so easy, wouldn't it? To at least act like he could forget; to let himself slip back into the way things used to be. Despite everything...
"You're...looking pretty sharp tonight, Spam." His fingers trace over the sleeve of Spamton's jacket, settling there with a deliberate touch — deliberate, but still light, as though actually laying a hand on him will bring whatever the hell this is crashing down to end. (Who knows? It just might, regardless.) "Uh, not that...you needed me to tell you that, either. Heh."
no subject
Spamton shifts a little closer to lean into that touch, maybe somewhat reminiscent of a cat pushing its head into someone's hand when it wants to be pet. In return, the hand on Tenna's back starts to rub slowly up and down (with a slight emphasis on the down). He is going to take full advantage of the lessened height difference and the fact that he doesn't have to stand on furniture to do this now.
"You've still got it too, y'know. Can't hardly tell you've aged a day unless I'm up in your face looking for wear."
no subject
He shouldn't be feeling encouraged right now. There's no way he should be feeling emboldened right now, but he is, between Spamton's hand and the way he leans into his touch, both factors leaving him all but powerless to stop his fingers from skating up the length of Spamton's arm to his shoulder, his hand from settling there, his thumb from rubbing a circle into his...
Fuck. Tenna's head swims. There's still a very small but very insistent voice shouting somewhere at the back of his mind that he should leave, nothing good is going to come of this, you already know what's going to happen, this is not a good idea, this is NOT a good idea—
"Um."
But he just can't help himself, can he?
"Would you..." Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Do you want to...?"
no subject
Might be the hottest thing he's ever heard, honestly — the most genuinely wanted he's ever felt, despite the fact that he was getting chewed the fuck out and hit over the head with existential dread not twenty minutes ago.
And there's nothing wrong with it, as far as he's concerned. It's not like it's cheating for either of them, so hey, can't be a bad thing to help his partner break out of this long dry spell, can it? If it makes Tenna more inclined to try to patch things up with his other self once he's back home, all the better.
"You've got a [3-night stay starting at $199] here, right?"
no subject
"Yes," is what he finally says, sharply, suddenly, when he realizes he hasn't actually said anything at all in lieu of his antennae twisting together and even more heat venting from either side of his head. "Uh— Aha, yes, I, uh—" Pull it together, Tenna; he stubs his cigarette on the railing behind him before straightening himself up (even moreso than he already was), and smoothing his hands down the front of his waistcoat. "I'll— show you, here..."
That same voice from before is still shouting, albeit now in a slightly different tenor: how are you going to pull this off, Tenna? How are you going to slip away from Mike AND not be noticed by any of the kids OR any of his other friends or nosy nellies who might have seen what happened and now have something juicy to gossip about, or, even worse, judge him for? Well — to that, he says, it's fine!! He does know a few tricks for passing through this great big house undetected, so as long as their paths don't directly cross with anyone who might figure out what's up, then...!!
But it doesn't really matter, does it? Whether or not it is fine, actually, because either way, Tenna is committed to this course. He gives Spamton one more quick glance before he gestures for him to follow, and sets off to lead him up to the second floor of the mansion.
no subject
"Didn't know you were gonna be this eager, but I like it."
Spamton, of course, has no problem with anyone seeing them and making their own inferences, so while he's not trying to draw any outside attention, he's not making any real attempt to keep a low profile either. He's looking around along the way, getting a feel for what the rest of the place is like outside of the ballroom just for curiosity's sake.
It's hard to imagine Tenna living in an old-fashioned place like this when everything's always been bright lights and game boards and high energy with him, and he has to wonder how he actually feels about being here, though that's a decidedly unsexy conversation topic that he's not in a hurry to get into. In any case, it's a little funny to think that he and the ruler of TV World both ended up in the same kind of living arrangement, with a private room in some big shot lady's mansion.
no subject