September Event - Guest Appearances

[pumpkinhollow]

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.

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!

Comments

wildcard | later that week!

[nowsyourchance]

There's a blissful ignorance of what occurred over the Gala in Pumpkin Hollow's very own Burger King.

As far as the modern-day Spamton is concerned, everything's fallen into a perfect, only-marginally-tedious routine. Wake up, already at the job. (Perfect convenience! Who could ask for more, after all of those long Cyber City commutes?) Throw on the cleanest uniform he's got. (Only three stains! Life's lookin' up.) Fire up the fryers, and get the grill nice and hot. And, finally, unlock those front doors. It's no big shot lifestyle, but after a fall such impossible heights that he had, you gotta take what you can get.

The day's fully in swing, albeit with a break, when the door chime rings! Of course, it's right when he steps away, but he's no less upbeat for it as he calls out to the counter. (Nor is he especially mindful of his volume, but when is he ever, these days?)

"WELCOME TO BURGER KING! WE'LL BE WITH YOU IN [only three microwaved minutes]!"

[montyhall]

He can't back out now. He can't, he can't, he can't.

Of course, no matter how many times Tenna tells himself that, repeating it on loop like some kind of mantra, it doesn't become any easier for him to actually step through the door. Even the fact that he's already been here doesn't help — because what if he's just wasting his time again, and Spamton isn't here today, either? Could he possibly work up the nerve for a third attempt? How? How is he supposed to...

No — no, no, no. Maybe he has no idea how this is going to go, but if he does know one thing for sure, it's that the longer he puts this off, the more miserable he's going to get; the more he's going to keep twisting himself up into knots, knowing, knowing that Spamton is here, within his reach, and if they could just talk to each other again... If he could just tell him how he actually feels, the bad and the good, now that he's had the first chance to even begin sorting through it all, now that he's had a chance to realize, to remember...

If he could just hold him again...

If Spamton would even want that — if this Spamton would even want that, after all this time. But he's never going to know if he doesn't take this first step.

Fuck.

Tenna takes a deep breath, pushes through the door, and...

That... sounds like him, doesn't it? Something's a bit off, something he can't quite place — maybe the room makes for a strange (and weirdly loud) echo, is all — but that is unmistakably him, isn't it? He is here, isn't he?

"...Spamton?"

[nowsyourchance]

Wait. That voice.

All it takes is once call of that voice, the last one he'd expected to hear here of all places, to send those racing trains of thought that careen down the rails of his mind imperceptibly to screech to a halt. Darkners don't bleed, but in that moment, Spamton might've felt his veins run cold, and his heart--- strange, chained thing that it is--- skip a beat, as if it briefly forgot how to.

There's no way he heard that right, is there?

Clattering metal hits a counter, and footsteps resound from behind the counter, the rate of those click-click-clicks of shoes on tile sounding nothing short of a hurry. There's a scoot, rubber against tile, for a footstool. (Spamton was always shorter than your standard-fare Addison, but never quite that short, was he?)

"[Boob tube!?]"

Behind the counter, gawking up at Tenna, is some sort of cruel parody of the Spamton he'd seen over Dahlia's birthday gala.

The jaw of an affixed toothy grin, those forced smiles permanently etched into his face, drops on a hinge. Once slicked-back hair falls out of place, and small eyes are wide with shock behind those mismatched glasses that perch on his nose. His hands press into the counters, like he needs them to keep himself upright, or perhaps to lean up to look - and in doing so, shows off their segments, strange pieces that clack together quietly when he moves his digits too quickly.

All of this, with a Burger King uniform on top of it. Horrible wrongness laced with unshakeable absurdity.

He doesn't gawk for long, before he hauls himself up onto the counter, splaying his arms wide. His "grin" widens into one properly, nearly reaching those strange little dots on either cheek. For all of the strange, terrible changes (that he certainly hasn't considered that are new and possibly shocking to other people), he looks delighted.

"WHAT'S A [Trash Heap] LIKE YOU DOING IN A [5-Star Dining Near You] LIKE THIS!?"

[montyhall]

Wait.

Wait.

The sight is so shocking, so grotesque in its unexpectedness, that Tenna...doesn't make the connection. It doesn't click. It refuses to click, not here, not in this immediate moment, when the only thought that prevails above all else is—

"What are you doing here!?" He can't help but recoil with the exclamation — but why shouldn't he be recoiling? This is the weird little creature that tried to accost him in his secret zone, isn't it? And here he is now, without so much as a single can of expanding spray foam with which to defend himself... "Didn't I already take care of you back in TV World!? Where is..."

Wait.

Where is Spamton?

[nowsyourchance]

"ARE YOU [$^!#]ING KIDDING ME?"

The censoring comes out as some kind of garbled mess (maybe even garbage noise, one could call it), and despite the beat where he's incredulous and offended, desperation washes in, quickly turning any shreds of that shocked joy into urgency. He hops off the counter, gesturing down to himself, like that might clarify things.

He's still Spamton. He's still got it, doesn't he? Things are different, sure, there were some changes that left him feeling a little strange, but he's not that different from his former glory days, is he?

He can't be. Tenna's just being dense. That's got to be it.

"C'MON, GET [Real Encounters] WITH ME! YOU COME INTO MY [nine-to-five office hours] AND ACT LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW A [#1 Rated Salesman] FROM A [rat that can cook]!?"

[montyhall]

Reflexively, instinctively, Tenna takes a step back when that weird little creature hops down from the counter, though without any means to defend himself — well, not any means that won't also completely wreck this place, and he's not feeling that desperate just yet — he's disinclined to let himself react any further, in any way that might provoke this thing into aggression...

"Get REAL!?" Though, of course, no matter how hard he might try, he couldn't possibly stop himself from snapping back. "Why don't YOU get real with ME, you little freak!? How did you even GET here!? What do you think you're doing in..."

Here, in this place. Where Spamton should be, and this thing is, instead. This small, weird, unidentifiable thing that, now that the immediate shock has subsided well enough for Tenna to look more closely, appears to be wearing that apron with Spamton's nametag on it.

"Here... Huh..."

Huh.

"Oh... Oh!! Aha!! Ahahaha!! I get it!!" He whips around, looking not at all (not even a little bit!) as manic or hysterical as his sudden laughter might sound. "I get it— Kris!! Kris, that little stinker, trying to pull one of their FAMOUS pranks on me, ahaha!! Well, it WORKED!! Haha, you REALLY got me!! So, you can... You can, aha, come on out, now...!!"

But nobody's laughing.

"Aha... Ha... Where...? How... That's..."

[nowsyourchance]

While Tenna whirls around to find where Kris supposedly is, Spamton fumes. Hands find his hips, teeth grind, and he's about twenty seconds from blowing his lid when that good ol' laugh track fails to make an appearance. The only sound that breaks Tenna's slow fading into bewildered silence is the rapid tapping of Spamton's shoe.

Some prank, huh?

He'd almost wonder if Kris put Tenna up to this, if he took long enough to really thing about it. But he's not. Those trains of thought don't stay on the rails long enough to connect dots like that these days, and even if they did, his temper certainly seems to have shrank with him.

It's a good thing he's got his head on just a little bit straighter than the dumpster-living portion of his life, or else he might have flown off the handle and gotten a bullet pattern involved here.

"LISTEN, [ Cathode ], IF YOU'RE PLANNING TO KEEP HAVING A [new episodes at 11!] IN MY [All-New Point Of Sale]," he points up to Tenna, more accusatory than ever. "YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO BUY A [Ice-Cold Beverage], OR HIT THE ROAD!! [Classic Seating] AND [Classic Standing] ARE FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY!"

[montyhall]

Cathode, huh.

The way Kris had talked about him, and the fear Tenna had seen in their eyes. The incredulous look Capochin had given him, and his comment about screws loose. Things are finally clicking together, now, connecting one to the other at a faster pace than he can even keep up with, before he's truly ready to wrap his head around it all.

"You..."

You can't be him is what he wants to say. You can't be him, because how can it be? He wants to meet that accusatory tone with one of his own; hell, if this little creep is going to accuse him of "having an episode," then what he really wants to do is cause a real scene. But, with so much evidence already pointing to the contrary, pointing so clearly that he'd look like even more of a fool to keep denying it...

All he can do is deflate.

"Spam...?"

Tenna kneels, as if bringing himself closer to Spamton's level might help him understand. It doesn't, but it does help him feel less like the whole room is spinning.

"What happened to you?"

[nowsyourchance]

Were this back in Cyber City, if Tenna had found him at his worst, when he kneels down, Spamton might have finally flown off the handle, done something that he'd regret when he got the clarity needed to get that well-deserved remorse. (Isn't that always how it's gone with him, though? Always leaping, never looking.)

But here, in this place, even with its bright colors and the potential for someone to stroll in at any moment, Spamton watches him behind those strange classes, and his own outrage fizzles. Something about this world slows the jittering of his mind a little more each passing day.

How could he stay angry, after all, with Tenna really looking at him, here and now?

They'd always spent so much time looking past each other, always looking upwards. Maybe if they'd focused on what they already had in front of them, for even a little more time...

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN !? YOU REALLY DON'T [All Those Old Classics You Recognize] ME?" Now that he can no longer write it off to Tenna having some sort of petty streak, he sinks, pressing a hand to his face. "I HAVEN'T [Change that channel already!] THAT MUCH SINCE WE WERE THE [Prime Time Features]!!"

His insisting doesn't hold up, though. Doubt seeps in. He runs a hand back through his hair, messing it further. (He never did manage to get it back to that picture-perfect state he always kept it in.) He leans over, just to look at the door, and taps the toe of his shoe for a moment, fretting and thinking.

"...LET ME [Have that 15-minute break, you've earned it!] AND LOCK UP FOR A FEW BEFORE THE [Burger Boys] GET HERE AND I'LL TRY TO GET YO U UP TO [Needs 4 Speeds]."

[montyhall]

Tenna continues to reel, still left in such disbelief that he can't even begin forming a response to what Spamton tells him no matter how absurd it is — hasn't changed that much? What? Has he LOOKED at himself lately? How could he even think...

Something snags at the back of his mind, then; something occurs to him, but it doesn't quite take any recognizable shape out of his muddled memories, not just yet. He's still thinking on it by the time he realizes what Spamton says next.

"O-... Okay."

He stands, arms wrapping awkwardly around himself, and finds himself feeling...adrift. What should he do now? Sit down, somewhere? Maybe? Obviously? The option to run back out through the door and try to forget that any of this ever happened is still on the table, but—

No. No, he's not going to do that. Maybe none of this, not a single piece of it, is going even remotely how he thought it would — how he thought it should, even — but it's not like he'll ever get another chance to do it over again, especially not if he flees, right?

Right. He has to see this through. He's not going to give himself any other choice.