( (^(_)^) )
Who: Everyone! (Or just about.)
When: Halloween night, ten o' clock.
Where: Zantetsuken, Mazinger, Nausicaa.
What: For the half of the party taking place in the pubs or café.
Rating: PG-13 hopefully XD
I apologize for this being so late. D: Anyone who wishes to post pictures to their character's costumes, please put the image in your character journal and link back to it.
The pubs are even darker than their dim interior usually accounts for, lewd jack o' lanterns leering in the windows and skulls laughing from up high on their seats on the drink shelves. Mirrors are painted with what you hope is fake blood and every single staff is dressed like something dead. Spiced drinks are generally the call of the night, but anything is flowing down every which throat, and the treats disappear almost as quickly as they can be refilled. The jukebox is getting familiar with screams and howls and groans, a spooky symphony of the patrons' own making. Spiderwebs hide in the corners, shrunken heads dangle from the bar.
The café's interior seems to approximate the shade of blood tonight, witches behind the counter and confetti in the shapes of bats and ghosts and pumpkins littering the arrangements of exotic sweets and elaborate pumpkin recipes. And it might just be your eyes, or there just might be a black cat playing visitor.
When: Halloween night, ten o' clock.
Where: Zantetsuken, Mazinger, Nausicaa.
What: For the half of the party taking place in the pubs or café.
Rating: PG-13 hopefully XD
I apologize for this being so late. D: Anyone who wishes to post pictures to their character's costumes, please put the image in your character journal and link back to it.
The pubs are even darker than their dim interior usually accounts for, lewd jack o' lanterns leering in the windows and skulls laughing from up high on their seats on the drink shelves. Mirrors are painted with what you hope is fake blood and every single staff is dressed like something dead. Spiced drinks are generally the call of the night, but anything is flowing down every which throat, and the treats disappear almost as quickly as they can be refilled. The jukebox is getting familiar with screams and howls and groans, a spooky symphony of the patrons' own making. Spiderwebs hide in the corners, shrunken heads dangle from the bar.
The café's interior seems to approximate the shade of blood tonight, witches behind the counter and confetti in the shapes of bats and ghosts and pumpkins littering the arrangements of exotic sweets and elaborate pumpkin recipes. And it might just be your eyes, or there just might be a black cat playing visitor.