Hallowe'en 2008 1

Brother Weft, Basaltine Rover-Brimstone and Suitov-the-sixteenth Iceheart had been batwatching in what had been a rather unexpected early-onset night. Such things happened around the Cross'd Roads.

They had seen pipistrelles, grey long-eareds and one bat Suitov claimed was called a horseshoe. (Weft was skeptical about this.) Then they had been attacked by a pack of wolves under the command of a small brown fox.

Nobody was seriously hurt. It isn't generally wise to attack a group consisting of a battlemage, a huge dog and an alert assassin, something upon which the fox would be reflecting for some time to come. The trio was muddy and dishevelled, though, and feeling fatigued by the prolonged darkness. This showed in the banter between the two men, which was relatively subdued. They saw lights on in the Hall and trooped indoors to clean up.

"Oh, good. Guests," said a short green person.

"Is there something on? We're here by chance," Suitov explained.

"I smell food," announced Basaltine.

Wilbur took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his somewhat-dribbly eyes and nose. Cold weather always affected his allergies. He said "Yes, there's an event on. The more the merrier. Woln you get changed and join in? I have costumes, perfect costumes."

---

"I don't know how I let you talk me into these things."

"You only let me talk you into things you want to do anyway."

"Tch, Weft, how you sell yourself short."

"I'm a monk. We're good at the hard sell."

"They ought to pay you commission."

"Sales is murder."

"Murder by numbers?"

"It's an art."

"That figures."

"Hey guys, did you notice I said I smell food? Because I do, I smell food. Come on."

---

Shortly, battlemage, huge dog and monastic assassin had gone. They had been replaced by three quite different figures. One of these was dressed in a black snakeskin waistcoat and very waggy. Not much need be said about him, only that he was happy to see everybody.

The other two were wearing costume armour. The first was dressed mainly in white. His tabard had a unicorn rampant on it (he'd been really dubious about that), while the knightly sword hanging at his waist was shiny cardboard (he'd insisted he didn't want to have to think about a real one all evening). The second was menacing in metallic black and wore an open-faced helmet decorated with a crown. His very evil boots had spikes on them (rubber, not real).

The hall was decorated in game motifs. The floor itself was chequerboard and there were props scattered about, including huge dice, counters and ladders with cuddly snakes peeking through their rungs.

White Knight was occupied in conversation with some of the servants, all of whom wore masks in the shape of horses' heads. The Black King paced the floor with his cape swishing behind him, getting into character. His four-legged doom beast followed him.

The next guest to stroll in was rather less achromatic. She was wearing a sort of harlequin costume heavy on bright red and yellow, with blue accents, topped with a fitting cap with a feather in it, and a white domino mask.

Making a bit of a show of it, she looked around, keeping up body tension like an artiste or dancer, and cocking her head curiously at the decorations and armoured persons.

The Black King sensed something. A presence he'd not felt since...

"A minion!" he cried, and clapped his evil spiked gauntlets of doom. The White Knight looked over and gave the newcomer a genuine smile, but left the pouncing to his companion.

The black-armoured one swished across the floor, having snapped (well, clonked) his fingers to ensure the doom beast kept up with him. He said "Greetings! I have conquered this room. You can share."

The Joker showed somewhat over the top pleasant surprise, before bowing. "Oh, how generous, my lord. Are you looking for a court jester, monster keeper, or torturer?" Pouting slightly, she added, "I'm afraid I did not bring my references with me."

"Ooh. You can take care of my doom beast if you like," said the Black King.

The tail of the doom beast was practically breaking the sound barrier. "You can torture me with cuddles," he said. "Hey, have you smelled the food? They've got those little jelly cream heart-shaped things, club samwiches, sugar roses, green leaf salad, roasted bell peppers and... I don't know what the acorns arf for."

"That will suffice, doom beast," said the Black King, poking him.

There were also piles of cups, along with a variety of drinkables, and chocolate coins. The only sword visible was in the belt of the White Knight, and nobody seemed to have produced a wand yet.

"Well, I should not have to worry about ending up as a snack, then," the Joker said, and scratched the hellbeast vigorously behind one ear.

"Nah," said the Black King, "you're safe as long as he has sugar."

"Unless it's doom sugar," said the doom beast while he tilted his head right over to enjoy the scratching. He absentmindedly added "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou" to the Joker. He was a fickle minion.

"Doom sugar? Black and bitter rather than white and sweet?"

"She says you're sweet, Knight," the Black King said.

"Kind comedienne, you will make me blush," White Knight responded with a bow. He wasn't blushing, though. It was subtly-applied greasepaint giving his face the illusion of colour.

"Not that I'm bitter, you understand," the other man said. He might have been the cutest Black King Nico had seen in a while, in spite of the pale makeup and spiny death armour.

"Or the kind that's red and glowing and gives you superpowers," said the doom beast, pawing the Joker in a friendly sort of way.

She had been thinking more of caramelisation gone wrong, but th exchange amused her.

"Either way, I guess I'll spot it and... think of something," she said to the doom beast, then, leaving her hand on the waggy monster's neck, turned to the white knight. "Sir, are you another minion?"

"Yes," said the Black King, and "No," said the White Knight, both at the same time.

The Joker tilted her head. "One of the people who has been conquered?"

Black King grinned, ignoring the doom beast's sniggering, and didn't dare say a word.

"Our teams are what you might call habitual enemies," said White Knight, taking a couple of steps forward and one to the side. "And you, madam? Do your pick sides or prefer to remain a wildcard?"

Presently, the person making her entrance was thinking about the troll and his costume storage. He had good boots. The Black Queen, or maybe the Queen of Spades, found the chinking of her heavy boots very much to her liking. They were still good enough to march in: the rest of the costume, not so.

There was a lot of metallic black and silver in her costume armour, which looked like it might have actually protected just the right places had it been real armour. And then there were plenty of small details, like silver chain wrapped around the left-hand glove. The skirt was patterns of white on black.

It was gorgeous, or so the wearer thought.

The Queen likewise had little to complain about the face paint. Half her face was painted black (the white half's eyebrow dyed black), and every strand of hair was carefully covered by her black and white headscarf and topped by a black crown. The red jewel set into it looked almost real. Just almost, though. Bother, that.

She shouldered her scythe and cocked the black eyebrow on the white side of her face.

"Black or white does not suit me personally, sir," the Joker replied.

Turning to look at the source of the thumping she added, smiling, "Unlike some other people."

At first the Queen did not react. Then she inclined her head, regally, acknowledging that there had been some suitable pleasantry. Then she marched toward the group of people, chin raised -- and thus, nose pointing higher than normally. She was having a really hard time keeping a straight face.

The Black King was even less successful in this regard. We won't guarantee that he wasn't making delighted noises in the back of his throat at the sight of the boots.

"Welcome, your majesty," the White Knight greeted her.

The doom beast started gambolling around the newcomer. His tail was going like a Black Hawk.

Oh, the joke was apparently on. She hoped. "Good day, sir knight," the Queen said evenly, momentarily distracted by what appeared to be a spring-driven... tail-driven doom beast. "You look like a fine specimen, beast." The Black King received a neutral look. That was to say, the hell queen wasn't feeling the need to be far, far too cold today. And the Joker... finally got a smile, dry as it was.

"I'm awesome! And so are you!" said the beast, who was actually comparatively dressed down in only the scale-like material... and glowing red eyes, but those didn't come off.

"Have you travelled far?" asked the unicorn-emblazoned White Knight.

"...boots," said the Black King to the Joker, remembering himself far enough not to point.

"Yes," she answered queitly, looking down at the Black King's pair for a moment, and then leaned towards him to ask in a stage whisper, "Pardon my ignorance, mylord, but there is one thing I wonder. Is she your queen, or are you her king?"