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 [right][b]Interactions:[/b]  Mentions Drake [@Punished GN]
[code]Ferry. The Halloween Festival[/code][/right][hr]

Sloane became one with the crowd as she was herded onto the ferry, just a Carmen Sandiego caught in a sea of Barbies, pirates, and superheroes. Soon she had faded from sight, her eye-catching red hat countered by her short stature, before suddenly reappearing at the bow of the ferry as she stepped upon a ledge. Normally she found the sea calming. Being around boats reminded her of the handful of times her family had actually felt like one, and the open water served as the greatest barrier there was to separate someone from their stressors. However, sailing lost all of its charm and mystique when it was aboard what was essentially a public bus on floaties, the smell of the salt and the whisper of the wind replaced by the stench of body odor and the shouting of children. Sloane was like a princess who had been dumped out of her palanquin while taking a tour of the market to be amongst the common people—immediately full of regret. Next time she’d take the yacht or, better yet, take Jack up on his services, even if a step through the shadows left her feeling queasy.

Sloane leaned against the railing, impatience wearing upon her as the ferry chugged across the harbor towards Cracker Island. Jinhai and Linqian’s situation weighed heavily upon her mind. She would uphold her end of the deal. Jinhai would have a memorial service and a burial. Even if everybody else was as financially irresponsible as Linqian and unable to contribute or as unbelievably callous as Linqian ([i]fuck off, give the woman a break[/i])and refused to contribute it would happen. She would make it happen. Sloane wanted to be able to visit him, even if “him” was just a slab of carved marble where ashes had been scattered. She sighed. The people she cared about kept being taken from her and she felt as if she was powerless to stop it. Hell, she couldn’t even get Emily’s cronies to let her have a conversation with the leader of 8th Street. 

She couldn’t even let herself enjoy the Halloween Festival. Sloane shook her head. Emily, Jinhai, Father Wolf—none of those problems could be solved tonight. She’d have a drink or two, eat some funnel cake, critique the stands of the other vendors with Anya, and make Jack give her a lift home so she didn’t have to bother with public transportation ever again. The Halloween Festival was Sloane’s night and she was going to enjoy herself. Absolutely nobody would be able to ruin it.

A man’s voice cut through the murmur of the crowd and the second loop of the Monster Mash as he shouted, [color=3874f4]”I’m goin as [b][i]ZOOOOOOOOOS![/i][/b]”[/color]

Sloane immediately recognized the voice, the realization hitting her like a punch to the nose. Her eyes snapped in the direction of the shout as she pulled her hat down to cover her face and tucked her chin into her yellow scarf, becoming little more than a pair of dark eyes and a crooked, still healing nose. Drake was on the ferry with his sisters and his cousin, dressed in a toga, a white wig, and a fake beard. The blood hummed in her ears. He had an entire week to apologize, to come crawling back to her on his hands and knees, to beg for forgiveness and kiss the ring but instead there had been silence. No text, no call, no gifts or letters. She had assumed he had been rightfully hiding away in his room, staring at the wall, realizing how much he had screwed up. To see him out here having fun with his family was like an icicle to the heart. Jade was dead and he was prancing around half-naked dressed (and looking like) a Greek god. 

Sloane hopped off of the ledge and disappeared back into the crowd, hopefully vanishing before Drake would notice her. She was ever so grateful for the common folk as her loyal, royal subjects used their bodies as barriers to protect their princess from the Blackmore barbarians. 

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 [right][b]Interactions:[/b] Britney[@Punished GN] & Layla [@Estylwen]
[code]Cracker Island. The Halloween Festival[/code][/right][hr]

Hey, be cool okay? 

Bright lights spun like a carnival wheel in kaleidoscope eyes. Arms swung and head bobbed to music nobody else heard. So many colors, some without names. Campfire smoke and wet leaves; the scent of the season. Everyone showing skin or in someone else’s. Bodies, pushing, being pushed, rushing to the next attraction. Cackling witches and booing spirits. Caramel apples and the elevated acceptance that the fun in fun-sized is being able to justify another candybar. Yet another justifiable excuse to paint a face like a cat. Smoke pouring from pumpkins that hid fog machines; smoke pouring from port-a-potties that hide giggling teens. Spaghetti for brains and peeled grapes for eyes, oh how spooky-ooky. 

Don’t freak out dude. 

Picture this: a crocodile cutting in a queue by pretending to know the ninja near the front. A crocodile getting scared by a bloody clown and grabbing the arm of a stranger. A crocodile chugging a bottle of water and tossing it on the ground: hydration was important, but fuck the world. A crocodile staring down at a row of festival games, paralyzed by the options. A crocodile sitting at a booth spraying a water gun, making the little horsey race faster,yah yah bitch yah yah. A crocodile hugging a massive bear, ignorant of the upset children and angry parents around it. A crocodile nodding its head up and down as it learned that calling six year old little bitches is frowned upon (even if they were little bitches), using its crocodile hands to make mister bear nod along in agreement. A crocodile and mister bear sharing a funnel cake on a bench, powder on mister bear’s snout.

See, the bear knows how to party.

So much more to do. So much more to do. What’s next? What’s next? Hay ride, corn maze, get a pumpkin beer in a glass boot? No, no, no. Gotta be something better, gotta be something bigger. Oh, welcome to the coven mister bear. Let’s find the rest of 8th street.  No fuck them they’d just slow the night down. New friends? Find new friends. Anyone could be a new friend. Nah, friends suck. So what’s next? What’s next? What’s up? What’s going on? Oh right. Right, right, right. Gotta show mister bear the haunted house. [color=7ABBFF][b]“Haunted house, haunted hoooouse.”[/b][/color] Okay mister bear maybe in a less annoying voice. Put a little bass in it. Haunted house, haunted house. Let’s, [color=f4eb93]—go!”[/color]

A crocodile and a large, six-foot tall stuffed bear stopped in front of a beekeeper and two bees. 

[color=darkcyan]“Oh!”[/color] Vashti pointed at Britney and pushed up the snout on her crocodile onesie as if to confirm that she had the right person. Her heavily dilated eyes widened and shined like the high beams of an oncoming semi suddenly and swiftly rounding the bend on a winding mountain road moments before a wrecked car would be launched over the cliff. The darkening of the sky was no longer just courtesy of the murder of crows flying in front of the setting sun. A single raindrop splashed off the top of Britney’s costume as Vashti let go of the stuffed animal, the oversized bear slumping forward on its face. Vashti smiled a sharp little shark smile that only grew wider as she envisioned popping Britney’s eyeballs like grapes and squishing her brains in her hands like wet noodles. 

[color=darkcyan]“Hey bro! It’s been so long. Am I happy to see that you’re well!”[/color] shouted Vashti, her words coming out with a rapid fire ra-ta-ta-tat. Dark clouds gathered over a small portion of Cracker Island as a light localized drizzle began, a collective groan coming out of the mouths of nearby festival goers who had been lied to by the forecast. Vashti began to close the distance between herself and Britney, squashing down the head of the stuffed animal as she stepped on it. It was hard to see, but the rain parted around Vashti as she walked, with the only part of her costume getting wet being the crocodile tail that dragged behind her. 

[color=darkcyan]“So, so happy! So happy. Emily’s gonna be thrilled to hear that you’re here. Love the hazmat suit, super fucking fitting. Everything around you always turns toxic real fast. You know,”[/color] Vashti lowered her voice as she stared up at the much taller Britney, [color=darkcyan]“I am really, really happy to see you, man. I—[b]OY, WE’RE HAVING A FUCKING PRIVATE CONVERSATION HERE, BRO! SHIT!"[/b][/color] Vashti swatted at the air between her and Layla, not even recognizing the former Coven member. [color=darkcyan]“Give me some air, dude! Buzz off, bees! Buzz buzz!”[/color]

Vashti made shooing motion with her hands at Sabrina and Layla. 

[color=darkcyan]“God some fucking people, bro. Some fucking people. So rude,”[/color] said Vashti , lowering her voice but not slowing down her pace as she leaned back towards Britney. [color=darkcyan]“I don’t even remember what I was saying so it’s probably not—oh yeah! I don’t [i]have[/i] to tell Emily. You know how she tends to just make everything me, me, me. We should go before one of her little cronies sees ya. Get outta the rain. Catch up.”[/color] Vashti loudly popped her knuckles. [color=darkcyan]“Talk. Come on."

"Come on, let's go."

"C’mon."

[sub]"C’mon."[/sub]

[sub][sub]"C’mon…”[/sub][/sub][/color]

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 [right][b]Interactions: Anya [@Fernstone] & Jack [@Blizz][/b]  
[code]Cracker Island, Outside Cracker Town, USA. The Halloween Festival[/code][/right][hr]

[color=silver]“Come on, let’s go,”[/color] said Sloane with an uncommon urgency in her voice as she slipped between Jack and Anya and readjusted her hat. Sloane had escaped from the ferry as quickly as she could without actually running, burying her face in her phone to appear busy and resist the urge to look over her shoulder at the Blackmores. It hadn’t been too difficult to spot Anya or Jack waiting for her at the entrance of one of the large, sprawling displays of merchant booths that someone on a committee somewhere had either cheekily or absentmindedly named Cracker Town. 

[color=silver]“Shopping can wait. I need a drink,”[/color] said Sloane. [color=silver]“Not from one of the stalls. It’s all run-of-the-mill IPAs and cheap, unpalatable wine. You might as well be drinking spoiled grape juice. I can get us into the private party being held at the resort's bar across the island.”[/color] 

It was a party hosted by the yacht club. She had gone a few years prior in hopes of doing some business and it had been an absolute nightmare. Nothing but stodgy codgers smoking cigars, drinking whiskey, and being too “friendly” with the waitstaff. Sloane couldn’t decide what had been worse about the experience: how she kept getting asked what her husband did, or the sudden spike in their interest when she mentioned she didn’t have one. Still, Jack's presence, or really the presence of any other man in general, was typically enough to keep them at bay. Anything was better than having to deal with Drake or, worse, being completely and utterly ignored by him. 

[color=silver]“First round is on me.”[/color]