Page Two

"Sebastian Fochs at your service", she introduced herself to Tropical Fish. No no, she already used S, maybe she'll go for F this time around. Re-formulating her speech in her head with lightning speed into the correct shape, she continued on mercilessly. "Though 'tis a fradulence, a flat out false front, a facade to fortify my fan-status. Fochs himself is far from fictitious. My most familiar form and forename of frequence will be found out in the near-future once the feast follows." She showed absolutely no signs of tiring. "Fancy you the festivities so far?"

She eyed the other guests inconspicuously. She also appraised the hall for possibilities of minor mischief, as was her habit. She noted the straw dolls and scarecrows. Humanoid shapes, founts of unrealized potential.

"What?" asked Tropical Fish, staring up at her.

The owl follows the servant to the food table, a delighted smile on her face and a glass of punch clutched in both her hands. Insinuating herself next to the vampire lord, she makes an odd ducking motion that could be a curtsy to the group. Her gaze seems torn between the colourful gathering and the equally colourful (but slightly less talkative) table piled high with food, and she murmurs a courteous, "Good eve."

"Hi," Vampire said, sounding preoccupied but not unfriendly. When he did glance her way, the feathers elicited a double-take from him.

Aw, didn't she get to continue the game? She was torn between the need to continue with the same theme and the need to be understood at least a bit. Perhaps a change of tactics was in order, after all.

"Nothing important, I'm sure. Wonderful outfit you have there. How do you like the party so far?" She walked to the arrangement of nibbles as she spoke, eyes shifting back and forth between Tropical Fish and the various sweets and pies. She was here mainly for the food. Regardless of her slim body type, she seemed perfectly able to eat the equivalent of a horse in an evening. Where did all that food go?

After flashing a grin at Vampire, she went for the pumpkin pie. Setting an inconspicuous spell to give a minor electic shock to whomever touched the glasses or plates was a piece of cake. It would feel slightly stronger than a static discharge.

Once her plate was full, the owl's greeting got her attention. "Good eve, m'lady", she replied with a terribly corny wink with a grin to match.

After that, she started to fill herself rather unceremoniously with said pie.

Ah, that was better. "Thank you," Fara said, "I'm a fish." And she twirled, the better to show off the floaty veil attachments.

Fixing on the approaching masked pair, she tugged on faux-Sebastian's sleeve and asked "What are they?"

"I believe the other fellow referred to himself as Red Death. Beyond that your guess is as good as mine." It was a bit of a lie though; she had some ideas, but wasn't willing to share them in the chance of being utterly wrong. Not to mention the pair was rather close by. She raised her glass to them and called out something like "what-ho, mate" before filling her plate again. She was feeling rather ravenous and even forgot to fabricate any further flirting.

A genie entered the hall, shoving a white dragon behind her. "This is my fashionably late entrance," the wishbringer complained. She took a moment to adjust her pink headdress before heading for the punchbowl in time to see Fara's veils twirl.

The dragon murmured a final thanks to Wilbur, who chose the costume, and followed the genie. The dragon suit's scales tinkled faintly with every movement.

Genie made noises of approval to Fara. The punch caught her attention, but she didn't take any. She looked rather bored and began inspecting her fingernails.

Dragon awkwardly approached the vampire. "So," said the dragon in an obviously faked voice, "how are things?"

After courteous greetings at the last arrivals, Red and Black, now both within earshot of Fara and the swashbuckler, took notice of the exchange between them. The more jovial of the two, Red, bowed elaborately, in a dramatic manner.

"Red Death I am, the carrier of men
Whom violence and bloody warfare slew;
Most often am I unexpected, when
Swashbuckling rogues at last receive their due.
For foxy fortune-seekers, in their pride,
Do fear to face their own mortality;
Unable to believe they could have died,
They follow on, at best, reluctantly.
Yet soldiers show a realistic trend,
Who witness fear and carnage day to day:
They greet me as an old familiar friend,
And share a morbid joke along the way.
Whom murder, mayhem, mishap do befall
All are my flock: I chaperone them all."

Black, on the other hand, flourished his cloak and bowed as well, although not with such an amount of theatrics.

"When sickness sinks a living soul
To grief where once was zest and light,
Once-fetching eyes no longer bright
Where pain has etched its callous toll;
When lissome limbs of strength and grace
Have bent, succumbed to year on year,
And lines of worry do appear
Upon a mumbling, toothless face,
They know I near, the Death in Black.
For those whom age and sickness claim
In weakness, with decaying frame
Which lurching coughs or tremors wrack,
Do pray and sigh for my release;
An end to pain, a final peace."

The servant just grinned at the Deaths and turned his attention to the new arrivals. "Welcome to the party. A drink, perhaps?"

The counterfeit swashbuckler seemed impressed at the show of the pair of deaths and clapped her hands together a few times in an appreciatively slow manner, once she had set down her food and drink. Otherwise she remained silently observant of the overall situation, especially keeping an eye on the newcomers.

The battered countenance split in a brilliant, fangy grin. "Life's good," said the demon-winged personage. "How's you?"

Tropical Fish smiled briefly at the genie. Here, at last, was someone who wasn't dressed scarily - and was wearing a hue the child particularly appreciated. But she turned to listen to the Deaths as they replied to her question, and was quickly confused again.

"I'd like a drink." A curious bird had snuck in via the gardens. The mask left the lower half of the face free, but in turn it covered whatever hair its bearer might have with brilliant blue feathers. Together with the long beak it was no doubt based on a kingfisher. The rest of the costume were just simple, loose-fitting clothes, but at least they matched the colours of the real bird.
"And good evening." The kingfisher smiled brightly at everyone who might be looking, then gave the deaths a head-bobbing bow. "A pleasure to meet you - while you are... off duty, I hope." The bird was still beaming.

Tropical Fish cooed at the kingfisher mask, after giving the Deaths another confused look.

"Careful, little one," the kingfisher (who stood about five feet tall itself, maybe less) addressed her in an amused stage-whisper, "don't be so charming. You are such a pretty fish I'm tempted to gobble you right up. That would be embarrassing for both of us." The grin turned into a friendly smile, the bird hoping Fara would take that as the joke it was meant to be. Kingfisher would have winked, but the bird-eyes were glass, and the real eyes hidden cleverly behind fine feathers that the mask-bearer could see through just well enough.

The bird accepted a glass of punch and a welcome from one of the servants with a graceful nod and a barely whispered 'thanks, my pleasure'.

Fara's laugh tinkled, though was not particularly streamlike. "Don't be silly," she said, "chromises don't live anywhere kingfishers do. We're sea fishes. Too salty for you."

"Ah, that explains why I had never seen such a pretty fish before." Kingfisher was delighted to have spread some high spirits, even considering the circumstances. With another head-bobbing bow, albeit not quite as deep as the one for the pair of Deaths earlier, it continued: "Many thanks for your warning; it may save my life should I have the pleasure to travel far from home. I'm afraid sometimes my stomach speaks louder than my mind, without advice like yours."

It eyed the provided food surreptitiously, hoping to find something suitable. Noticing the glass was quite full, it decided against leaning back the head as far as it would go to drink - bird-like it might look, with a bit of luck, but Kingfisher did not like the prospect of spilling punch over its costume - and instead produced a straw. It didn't do to forget that mask-parts like the beak could get in the way.

The Deaths had watched the conversation for a while, and finally presented their response to the kingfisher's indirect, joking enquiry.

Black was the first to talk, for a change. "The pleasure's ours, in point of fact."

Red's continuation came quickly. "But let your consternation be assuaged."

"We have no business to transact," Black added just as soon as Red had ceased talking.

Red was silent for a beat, deliberately. "And Death of Birds is otherwise engaged," he ended.

Kingfisher felt proud it managed to not snort punch through its nose, but stay outwardly calm instead. The words were delightful, but the bird got the feeling it was making a rather bigger fool of itself than it had intended.
Oh, well, here's to going down with flying colours, and all that.

The glass set down on the table, Kingfisher stepped away from the throng to face Death (and Death). Its movements were slow - partly to gain some time to think - and deliberate.

"It seems this is a night to learn;
I had not heard of him before."

Kingfisher did its best impression of a courtly pose and stood tall.

"Now meeting him is my concern,
For I lost kin and friends and more,
And, I admit, I would like words."

As Kingfisher finished, its perpetual smile had faded. Its voice had dropped a fraction in pitch and grown slightly less soft. The bird stood there proudly, hoping to project a slight air of challenge.
Kingfisher felt utterly out of its depth, but, as one says, masked it well.

Red sneaked a look at Black before speaking. The reasons behind the look were hard to gauge, again thanks to the mask. Nonetheless, his tone toward Kingfisher was sympathetic:

"My friend, I've heard this song before
For who among us would not wish
A chance to see their loved ones more?"

The terser of the two rhymers had stern advice.

"Your little dream I'm sad to squish
But would you Death herself assail?
Pray set your sights on smaller fish."

Red laid a hand on Black's arm and said:

"(Hold back there, Black, you'll make 'em quail.)
My heart's not hardened to your plaint
Yet such a quest you can't but fail."

This did little to Black.

"The keenest jackdaw, meanest saint
Cannot one jot of life implore
From Death, though they be bold and quaint."

Red, waxing philosophical, replied: "'Tis Nature red in tooth and claw."

"Thus, alcedine, you know the score." Black stood back and folded his arms in an implacable fashion.

Perfect! That could have drawn worse response by far...
Kingfisher mimed surprise and answered, dropping the pretense of defiance.

"Mylords, pray, pardon my manner,
I was tense just to remember
An unforgotten loved one die.
One sight formed my belief:
When I saw in misting eye
The final moment of relief."

The bird paused, obviously moved.
When it continued, its voice grew stronger again.

"The end of life is sad for some.
Yet, when the time has finally come
Death is not the foulest fiend
But comes to the dying as a friend.

You know this well, but yet,
Most living now seem to forget.
I merely wanted to express
My respect and my gratefulness.

I would be ever so oblieged
Would you pass on to your colleague
And any other of your sphere
My thanks to them for being there."

Kingfisher bowed deeply to the pair.
It was in two minds about the affair. For a first attempt at stand-up rhymesmithing it had worked out well, and the bird was very pleased the Deaths had 'misunderstood' as planned. On the other hand it had not really meant to treat such solemn and sad themes here - it had just happened.
At least the core was true; if completely fabricated, it would have been too tasteless to contemplate.