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It's not common for any of the operators to walk by a vast land of pumpkin patch, and yet here they are, staring at huge orange balls that are fully ripe and ready to be harvested. The fields filled with blotches of wilting leaves and mud are owned by Gridlock, but Mozzie thought it would be a good idea to have other people involved to put their elbow grease into an honest labour. His gregarious invitation ensured a barbeque for dinner; in fact, that was the only promise he made while driving Vigil, Castle and Rook from Outback to Gridlock's home in Queensland, and it was also his decision to call it a surprise when he told them to pile countless pumpkins on three utility trucks. 

"Tell me when, and I say, when the hell I signed up for a job that no one's gonna pay me a single dime for." Castle can't use his towel to dab on the trickling sweat stinging his eyes. His arms can barely hold onto four pumpkins that may roll over at any given moment.

"You can leave now," Rook tries to sound lively but everybody can see his legs shaking, "he said we can stop when we want to."

"Nizan, please. Just, stop talking." Vigil is doing his best to redirect his anger by holding onto the fortieth pumpkin he plucked off so far this evening. 

Despite the negativity, Rook has been the only one who has made an impromptu song that may as well pose him a worshipper of pumpkins. "Don't be like that. Tori said we can take as many as we want. We can carve them, boil them, bake them, fry them, roast them, wear them like a helmet, cut them up to make a halloween costume like a pumpkin knight, or maybe become a pumpKING, make juice out of them, pumpkin spice latte-"

"Okay, stop. Stop." Castle has had enough, but feigns a smile when Gridlock and Mozzie wave at him from afar. "Just smile and nod so they will at least give us something to eat later. It better be a damn fine steak, though."

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The day was the same as any other, except Flores felt extra wary and tired. He collapsed onto the bed and let his weight sink into the soft pile of blankets, and with a heavy sigh, his mind took a quick trip back to his home a year ago. Bubbling champagne in clear glasses, chimichurri seared chicken thighs, his husbands warm palms around his shoulder as they read hand written cards sent by their families. There was one more thing, a sweet delicacy served as staple of the most special day in his life. His mother used to make it to his taste, to which he taught himself to replicate the recipe even if it didn't taste just the same. It was-

*thunk*

A sudden knock on the door had him peer at the direction, but he felt hesitant to crawl towards it. He wanted to ignore it and resume reminiscing, only if the knocking would stop. It came in regular intervals of a few seconds, then came another one. Within minutes there were multiple tapping that replaced his lethargy with annoyance. With heavy limbs, he dragged himself and latched onto the doorknob. 

"Who is it?" Upon opening the door, he was more than surprised to see drones. There were regular kinds, but also the specialised sorts who were owned by those he worked closely with. Shock drone was spinning in erratic motion as it twirled a red flag with his code symbol on it. He didn't know pest launchers could walk themselves and even carry an A4 card with balloons printed on it. Then came several other drones that acted as a sliding treadmill to carry a plate with a cake on it. Chocolate biscuits layered with coffee creams. The specific kind he had been his favourite since childhood. 'Chocotorta.' He also heard a weird hum, almost like a whisper made by air from above. The yokai stuck itself on the ceiling to put a spotlight on a plate that had a cake, all the while singing the tune of happy birthday in a faint whistle. 

"Feliz cumpleaños, Santiago." When he heard him from one of the drones, Flores couldn't help but to wipe his eyes. The drone spoke again. "We wanted to be there in person, but you know how our jobs are. Hopefully the drones got there just in time as we programmed them." Silly as this whole ordeal seemed, he felt immense gratitude nevertheless. He took the cake, licked on the cream and savoured the fragrance like no other. Someone definitely had the magic touch in baking, so Flores made a note to ask who put in such a top-notch effort.

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"Don't you think it's better to actually make something for children other than giving them store-bought confectionaries?" A question gains a few attention. 

"Naw, mate. Kids love their colourful sugars. They don't give a shit about what and who made them." Sledge shrugs as he tries on the blue coveralls. He flails the pale-skinned mask and styrofoam kitchen knife to complete the classic Myers look. 

"No, but really. I would've killed for some nice cupcakes when I was young." Clash shuffles to find a box of ready-made cupcake mix. "This thing just needs water and eggs to make them. We can slab some white icings and red dyes to make it look bloody."

"Or we can make pumpkin loaves! I have so many in my cupboard." Nobody knows where and how Rook managed to get three containers full of autumn's finest gold, but Vigil and Castle are weirdly eager to leave the room as soon as the young Frenchman mentions it. 

"Sounds good, but in a cupboard? Julien, who taught you how to live? Come, Seamus. Let go and haul them out quickly." The way Clash crinkles her nose puts a damp on Rook's enthusiasm, but he is happy nonetheless.  

Sledge on the other hand doesn't appear happy. Until he sees Thatcher storming towards him with a bundle of licorices and dried apricots. "Alright, let's go!"

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"So there is a variety that only produces green apples," here they are, at someone else's property to pick on apples as part of their supposed 'fall fun,' "I thought they were just unripe apples that were harvested prematurely." Valkyrie continues to chomp down on the crunchy flesh and tries her best to suck up the juice that seeps out from the corner of her lips. 

"Please don't put those two words together. You're making it sound like you believed that people picked on baby fruits." IQ hoists her basket full of shining apples. Their red lustre is truly a jewel worth the sweat and the anticipation of having them dipped in melted caramel later. "By the way, thank you for letting us pick your produce. I still feel bad to have them for free."

Gridlock chuckled. "Really, don't worry about it. There haven't been enough workers around here to help out, so we limited our business down for local residents. It's a pity to have all these apples rot away without anyone else to enjoy them." 

"We should make jam out of these." Valkyrie finds another ripe one that's dark and firm. She rubs it against her pants before taking a bite, but soon had the apple snatched away by IQ.

"Meghan, it's about time you show some self-restraint." 

"You're not my mom." Valkyrie takes another one from the basket. Fiery palette with balanced mixture of crimson and yellow; a definite delight. 

Gridlock pulls out a small jack knife and cuts slices for both Valkyrie and IQ. "We can make do with a sauce to go along with smoked ham in my kitchen. You're my guests, after all."

"Sweet Jesus, yes!" Valkyrie munches on what she's been given and throws her arm on Gridlock's shoulder. 

"Oh Tori," IQ sighs, but she can't say no to such hospitality, "can I get you something for dinner, then?"

"Nothing. Enjoy yourselves." Gridlock has the other two women wrapped around her arms. She is determined to treat her friends right, unlike Mozzie who whisked those poor boys away when they came in for pumpkin harvest two days ago.

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While having a warm mug within their reach, Sens stares at the steam that writhes freely against the cooling air of oncoming evening. Back leaning against a wall and legs laying on the mattress to make room for the guitar to rest on their thighs. Sens' forefinger presses on the second fret, while the other fingers hold their places to let his right thumb strum a chord for b minor. There are plenty of songs they could play; Hotel California, My Sweet Lady, Just the Way You Are, Eleanor Rigby, I Gotta Feelin and many others. They could go for the money chords of G, C, Am, F, but their mood called for tunes that are interchangeable. Some bitter, some romantic and some downright excitable. But all are muted and calmer when played by acoustic guitar, along with their own voice that decorates the frame of time between deep shade of sunburnt orange darkening into opaque navy. Nothing can break the peace that Sens has, the therapy of their own that paints the atmosphere with colours to submerge themselves into.

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Leaves are fun and all during childhood years, but not so much when they become chores. It’s pretty much trash to be swept, piled and thrown away. Lucky if they are dry and crispy to be gathered like inedible potato chips, but pray for patience if it rained last night to transform them into a soggy mess that sticks on the pavement. 

Ace didn't volunteer to sweep bright early in the morning. It wasn't his fault that he got a little too drunk last night, and dared Kali to drink just as much as he could. He couldn't have known (but really should have) that Kali was beyond competitive when she was challenged, and it was very likely that he overstepped a line of her dominance by teasing, "it's okay. We're all friends here."

She made sure to have him think about his words, and the vast differences between their concept of friendship. Ace fell asleep after his seventh shots of Jägermeister, so to find himself waking up on a bench outside was beyond disorientating. 

Sunlight and chilly air were hurting his entire sensory systems. His ears caught distant swishing, which became louder as if the source of the noise was making its way towards him. A shadow covered his face, briefly excusing his sensitive eyes from harsh morning light. 

"God-" Ace rolled his dry tongue and found something that wasn't his teeth. He tried to spit it out but had to use fingers to pinch, and frowned to see small bits of dark brown. "What the-"

"Up we go." The shadow bore a familiar face. The usual expression of nonchalance that resembled boredom; despite his confused state, Ace recognised the pair of golden eyes that looked down at him. It was Wamai who held a broom, and tossed another one at the empty spot of the bench.

"Did I just eat a leaf?" It was hard to gather saliva, but Ace soon managed to feel more small bits that poked his palate. 

"No, you were fed." Wamai didn't plan on revealing who felt like being a nurturing colleague out of them all. Ace  stared at the window of their headquarters, and quietly watched a blond woman who were beaming a lopsided grin when he swayed to gain some balance back on his feet. "She sends you her regards."

"It's Anja, isn't it?" Ace rested his weight on the broom until he heard a slight crack. He couldn't afford to break one. 

Wamai shrugged and ignored what he had heard. "Tawanroong asked me to help you out, so I've done a few. Now that you're up, I'm going."

"Oh. That's nice of her." Ace did a single sweep. Then his eyes scanned across the area to find myriads of autumn blotches covering the pavement. There was a fairly large space that looked relatively clean, to which he could guess who swept there already. "That's really nice of you, too. Thanks."

"Water's right here." Wamai pointed at a bottle next to the bench that Ace slept on. He didn't say anything else before walking away, and Ace took that as a sign to finish a dare that he shouldn't have made last night.

Chapter Text

No one can carve better than Kapkan in Rainbow. That's a given fact, an undisputable reputation that he displayed across his table. Bear, wolf, eagle, rabbit, deer, dragon. Name an animal he had caught and he will probably carve one for those who deem worthy to him. Pumpkins were no exception because he always managed to carve the shades and contrasts by controlling how deep his knife should run on the surface. Funnily enough, they were all portraits of classic horror movie killers instead of animals, but people loved them all the more for the sake of Halloween. 

"Maxim, really. What's the secret?" Thermite has been asking the same question almost every year. He prides himself in being the best carver for cheeky and cartoonish carving on his pumpkins, but they always felt underwhelming against Kapkan's handiworks. 

"I'm going to say the same thing as I did last year. None of your business." Kapkan huffs as he rubs on today’s masterpiece. A headless figure wearing a robe, but holding a mask upto its chest-level. 'Mister Designer' from an old Soviet horror film. 

"Come on, dude." Thermite groans as he marvels at the lines that represent the creases of the fabric.

"No means no." Kapkan looks elsewhere, and for the briefest moment, he winks at his partner in artistry. Glaz winks back while rubbing his smudged hand. He certainly didn't spend his time drawing a sketch on any pumpkins. None at all, never in his years at Rainbow ever since he felt charmed by what Kapkan could do. And Kapkan kept his compliments towards Glaz's pencil works on sketchbooks, so it was very unlikely for him to ask Glaz for a collaboration in their future projects together. 

Likewise, Glaz couldn't have gotten some ideas from Kapkan when he painted the finest gore of a poster to put on as a Halloween banner at their base.

Instead, they carved out the inside of the pumpkin to cook a huge pot of soup. This much is true (until Tachanka and Fuze manage to eat them all without sharing.)

Chapter Text

As part of building team rapport, Harry thought it was a brilliant idea to organise a gift swap. He would choose a pair to give a present to each other, and whatever was in the box had to be either tricky or a treaty. Echo couldn't give a two shit about joining such an event and he would not have, if only Harry didn't announce the event by sending a text message that read: [Your Halloween gift mate is Amaru. They are expecting something from you, and will do their best to give something to you as well. Please don't disappoint your fellow teammate ;)] 

As if. As if he cared about stupid shenanigans that gave Harry some giggles. This was a clear abuse of authority and knowledge, especially when Harry knew that Echo hated making personal connections under a premise of owing and being owed. Echo wondered if there were people who planned to overthrow their current Six and put him in his place as their former psychiatrist. He would happily join them for such a valiant cause.

Scratch that. Wishful thoughts had to be put aside when he had a more imminent task to fulfil. Echo really didn't know much about Amaru other than frightening entrances she makes, and he usually was the unlucky anchor who became her helpless target. Judging by her character, she might love anything that deem funny enough. He thought about visiting a costume shop for a cheap fake dagger or toy skeletons, then a distant memory from childhood sparked to him as a better idea. It wasn't hard to find it on the internet and could be delivered within a few days.

On the 8th of October, Echo finally wrapped the gift that already came in a box. He shuffled towards the party venue, where a number of people had already exchanged their gifts. Some shared a box of chocolate, some boxes rolled on the floor with dents on them, and there were blotchy patches on the floor with suspicious looking liquids. He wandered around to gauge the mood and nearly choked on his spit upon receiving a smack on the backside. 

"There you are." Her voice boomed through the party music.

Echo never had felt so small. He was quite a tall man back in Japan, but the veteran in front of him put him on the spot. "Hey." 

"Hey to you too. How's it going?" Amaru thrived in small talks.

"Not too bad." While Echo didn't. This was going to be a long night.

Thankfully she was an acute observer who understood how Echo preferred to get straight to the point. "Right. So let's do the swap and deal with the business. Got your stuff?"

Echo nearly sighed in relief, but he didn't want to seem rude too soon. "Yes. I hope you like it."

"Likewise. Here you go." Amaru handed over hers and accepted what Echo gave her. She took no time to unwrap the gift, and he watched her eyes narrowing into a squint. That looked like a good sign for him to move away, and yet he knew it was better to explain what she had got. Then when she dug into the box to pull out a plastic barrel, plastic daggers and pirate figure, her smile stretched into a chuckle. "That's one ugly looking smuggler. It's cute, but what is it?"

Echo knew he had to elaborate. "Well, you put the pirate there, twist it to lock it in, and slide these daggers into one of those slits. One of them is bound to have the pirate pop up, and we repeat the game."

"Pop up as if he's hurt from the knives we're putting in," Amaru rolled the barrel around in her hands. "Fascinating. Fantastic method of torture." 

"It's not that deep." Echo held tighter onto his gift from Amaru. "Just some random toy. I hoped you may like these kinda things."

"Well, I am too old for silly toys like these." Amaru stared at Echo, and she held some pause. 

Echo had to say something. Anything. "Sorry-"

Amaru quickly cut in. "But what's life about without some silliness?"

"Oh." Echo couldn't really answer that on spot.

"Let's grab a beer," her large hand lay on his shoulder to guide him towards a table, "and we're going to play this with some other silly billies over here." 

Echo saw who sat there and felt his knees weak and palms sweaty. Iana, Thunderbird, Sens and Mozzie. They are all massive chit-chatters who already looked quite interested in what Amaru had in both of her arms. "I should go-"

"Come on, mijo. We're all friends here." Amaru gently shoved Echo next to Mozzie and sat next to him. She explained the game and showed them how it worked. As soon as Mozzie suggested making this a drinking game, that was when the night became too long for our poor Echo's liking.

Chapter Text

Anybody would say that Montagne is GIGN's dad. Some may throw in a joke to call him a 'daddy,' but it's considered a poor taste judging by the other members' reaction upon hearing. Rook frowns, Twitch shoots a glare with attitude, Doc sighs and Lion will give off the same reaction when someone told him, 'Daddy can Sodom this Gomorrah any day.' A look could kill.

Now, Montagne is called the dad for a reason. Quiet, reliable and supportive. They are all sound qualities of a leader, but ironically becomes a problem when people want to care for him. Twitch had been asking him half a year ago on what he would want for his birthday, and he didn't give her a solid answer. Rook offered to be a study buddy when learning different languages, but Montagne said, "you go on. I will need some time to read these books." Doc bought him some wines on occasion but the same bottle stayed on shelf ever since last Christmas. Lion didn't do anything particular because he knew his friend better. 

"We can't just let it slide, Olivier. Not this year." Twitch slams on the table, but hurries to place the scattered stationeries on the right spot because they are in Doc's office. Doc flickers an annoyance at her only for a brief moment, then continues to type on his laptop. 

"What do you want to do? He is fine without anything." Lion puts his phone aside, but eagerly looks at it again to see if his son has replied back to him.

"Let's bake him a cake." Rook shows off his recent interest of the month. "Pumpkin cake."

"I'm sorry, but what?" Twitch has been the primary victim of tasting his goods. Pumpkin latte. Pie. Smoothie. Roasts. Candy. Pastry. Her sugar intake is at its critical level. "No, Julien. Can you stop with your obsession with pumpkins?"

"I need to use them all. Max gave me too much and-"

There are knocks on the door that interrupted Rook. The other three look at the door and back at Doc, silently asking if they should leave the room in case a patient is here for a visit.

"It's okay. Just let them in." Doc nods and Rook opens the door. There stand Clash and Sens with a huge box on a trolley. With a smile and curt greetings, the two roll it into the office.

"Is this for-" Twitch inspects here and there, "oh wow, Gus. Did you prepare something for Gilles already?"

"Sort of." Doc pushes himself off from the chair. "Morowa, Néon, could you help me with this?"

"Wait, why are we opening it when Gilles' isn't here?" Lion squints in confusion.

"It's okay. We're meant to open it here." Doc winks at Clash and Sens, and joins to open the box with them.

"I gotta say," Sens scratches on the tape beneath the ribbons, "this looks grande. What's in it, really? I bet big daddy's gonna be happy for sure."

"Don't call him that." Clash takes a quick glance at the other Frenchmen around them. "Don't mind them. You know they are new here."

"I know." Rook's lips are tense with a tight grin. "We will have to tell Néon one day, though."

"What?" Sens has finally taken a part of the tape and pulls it off from the box. They reel it back and begins to open the box, but halts midway then staggers back. "Oh, wow." 

"What is it?" Lion walks in closer and nearly chokes on his spit. Rook and Twitch shuffle next to Lion and break out in laughter to find none other than the essence of Montagne himself. 

"Are these all Le Rocs?" 

"Yes," Doc pulls one out with an oomph, "scaled to the sizes and strengths for each of us. It's not a genuine replica, but serves the same function as the original." 

There are six of them, and each has their call sign logo on the front. Clash is the only one who finds it easy to wield, so she helps the others on how to hold them properly without crushing their toes.

"So, why?" Lion pats on his copy of shield. "What's the big idea behind this?"

"You know how Gilles is the only one who stays behind to run on the track?" Doc props his one against a wall, "so I thought that we should join him with his training as well. I felt bad to see him running lonely out there."

"That's too-"

"-awesome!" Rook finishes Lion's sentence for him, regardless of the frown on the older man's face.

"Not a bad idea. Not bad at all." Clash is already curling the shield inward to flex her biceps. Twitch and Sens join the impromptu exercise and make a little competition out of it. Rook goes off tangent about how they all should carry a pumpkin on their backs to add a little cardio in the exercise, so it's only Lion who stares at Doc in disbelief.

"Are we really doing this?" Lion sighs, wondering if he knew Doc at all after all this time. This seems too wacky for the level-headed medic that he once knew.

Doc scoffs. "You don't have to. But please do find other ways to build your muscles, unless you want a dad bod in near future."

And Lion isn't just going to sit here and take it. He won't back down from a challenge nor will anyone else call him something akin to 'daddy.' "You better not regret this."

Chapter Text

An introvert can wish for a quiet birthday. Cake, food and home alone with a few or no friends. Some don't want any birthday at all. Some don't want to be recognised. Fuze wants all the above, but there is one aspect of birthday that he cannot give up on. Presents. The other Spetsnaz had some trouble figuring this out, because Fuze told them himself that he didn't want any niche celebrations. 

Then when they didn't do anything for him, Fuze showed up to work with the air of a bear that woke up hungry after hibernation. Agitated, snappy and rough on contact. Then when Blitz gave him a box of chocolate while shouting, "Birthday gift for my shield bro!" Glaz caught on to the detail of Fuze's temper dampening. He was still grumpy around them, but considerably more responsive during dinner time at the cafeteria. Since then they at least bought something for him and kept the tradition. 

Unfortunately this year, some had to leave for missions abroad. Only one was lucky enough to stay with Fuze at the base, or perhaps the luck wasn't there at all. Especially when it was Tachanka, the man who never failed to give Fuze a single bottle of kvass every year. But Fuze didn't want kvass. He actually enjoyed the hunting knives and portable toolbox sets that Kapkan and Glaz gave him, because they stayed with him longer than a week. Kvass usually ran out within three days, all due to Tachanka who kept making excuses to drink his handicraft as if it was never a gift. Fuze usually had a single cup while Tachanka chugged the whole bottle. Gift his ass. At least the bottles looked nice when he stored petroleum in them. 

So he sat alone in his room, while staring at Tachanka who didn't take an eye off of him. They had been staying like this for about an hour, and Fuze thought about falling asleep to have this man walk out in boredom. Instead, Tachanka finally said something in a croaky voice that had rested for far too long.

"Timur and Maxim will be back next week."

"I know." Fuze wished they left him something before going away, but they left a little too early in a hurry.

"Good." Tachanka pushed himself off the chair. He reached out a hand to Fuze, silently suggesting to walk out of the room.

"What?" Fuze didn't want to move an inch.

"Come with me." Tachanka didn't wait. He tugged and with one hoist, forced Fuze off from the bed.

There was no time to complain. Fuze knew resistance was futile, with how eager Tachanka seemed as they strolled towards the old man's room. One kick had the door swinging open, and he began to push his bookshelf aside to reveal a large suitcase.

Fuze watched as Tachanka clicked the latches, and saw a few handguns resting cosily in the foam beds. They were all maintained in pristine conditions, as if they were manufactured only yesterday. Then within the blink of an eye, Tachanka held one to place it in Fuze's hands.

"What's this?"

"CZ75. It's of Czech origin, uses typical 9 mils by 19. Narrow profile, easy to conceal and easy to handle. High magazine capacity dual stack with fifteen magazines. Can either go semi or full automatic. Recoil control is sublime. Well balanced pistol.” Tachanka was steady when describing the details while holding his enthusiasm back by notch.

It certainly felt smaller than what they usually held on the field, but the general texture of such an acclaimed pistol didn’t help his confusion. 

Tachanka took Fuze’s frown as an invitation to hand out another one. “Not happy? Greedy little shit you are. Here’s another one, then.”

“No, I don’t really need one.”

“Hah! What's life without a trustworthy friend in your pocket. Hold it,” Tachanka checked the safety lock before handing it to Fuze, “Glock26A. A snub nosed version of the popular Glock 18 machine pistol. Smaller, full polymer body gun. That’s one machine pistol you can hide in your pocket and bypass most metal detectors, this sneaky goblin. 9 by 19 parabellum like the other one. Both are good for hold outs.”

While being lost at words, Fuze had to think about Tachanka’s general behaviour here. These were supposedly birthday gifts for him, and the old man was willing to give Fuze guns that they don’t usually see around here at their base. Their residential gun fanatic, the renowned collector was handing out his babies to someone other than himself.

But he had to check, just in case. “Are these for me?”

“Yes.” Tachanka nodded and raised his brows. “Is there anyone else in this room?”

“No.”

“Good. Happy birthday.” Under his bed, Tachanka pulled out ammo boxes and piled them onto Fuze. He slid the bookshelves back, went to the fridge for a bottle of kvass and sat on the sofa to take a sip.

Fuze sat next to him and filled the magazines in. “So why no kvass this year? Not that I get to drink them when you get greedy with them.”

Tachanka pushed the bottle between Fuze’s thigh and let it stay wedged there. He took the CZ75 and helped Fuze to fill it up as well. “The boys aren’t home. I’ve always thought about giving you something that mattered, but I can’t have them all wanting something from my vault.”

“Hm.” Favoured? Privileged? It was hard to choose what he felt, but Fuze kept his face still to keep the giddiness within. 

“Don’t get cheeky. We’re back on kvass next time.” 

“Not next time.” Fuze took the bottle and started to drink it at a rapid pace. He swerved away from Tachanka’s snatching grab and managed to finish the whole thing. “I get to have them all. It’s my day.”

Chapter Text

An attempt to make bing tanghulu. 

Main chefs - Dokkaebi and Ying ('hey, no. I'm only here to make sure that you don't burn down the entire kitchen.') 

Dokkaebi heard that the traditional recipe includes hawthorn berries and melted white sugar, so the sweetness can mask the sour tang. But the general trend of dipping fruits to coat them in clear saccharine crystals has been popular in South Korea for a while. There's caramel apple as the usual October, autumn, Halloween treat here but WHATEVER. Dokkaebi has been watching all those YouTube videos so she gotta try these, okay? They are pure aesthetics.

Washing strawberries? Easy. Peeling mandarins? Easy. Ying begins to pluck out the white spongy bits, but Dokkaebi says they shouldn't mind that. Water's boiled and they add the right amount of sugar (Dokkaebi wanted to add teensy more, but Ying came to save the day by thwarting the naughty hands away.) It should boil without being stirred, and when Ying takes a dip with a chopstick then drips it on cold water, the syrup instantly cools down and becomes a solid, clear squiggly ribbon. That's about ready. 

Time to dip the fruits! Ying has her strawberry stuck on a skewer and rolls it on the surface of the syrup. She takes it out to cool on a grease proof paper.

Dokkaebi on the other hand dips her strawberry, pulls it out, stares at it, blows some air and tries to eat it. Ying feels the urge to smack her dumb pigeon of a friend, but she decides against violence. Some lessons are best learned through one's own mistake, so when Dokkaebi yelps at how hot the sugar is, Ying doesn't even bother to say 'I told you so.'

They keep on making them. Four strawberries in one stick or two mandarins in one stick. Since they planned to make at least thirty five sets of each, the time feels slower as boredom takes over. Dokkaebi experiments on some of them by squishing the sugar coated strawberries to make them a flat candy. They are flat, alright. Wet and mushy too. She sets them aside for Echo and Vigil to have.

The products look beautiful on a white plate under warm LED light. Even the messy and contorted failures can be excused as rustic charm, or maybe it's their bias due to exhaustion. 

Well, they are ready for the party. These are their treats to share, and there are no tricks other than possibilities of losing some tooth if one's careless when biting into them.

Chapter Text

Busy streets full of dizzy light is a perfect place for anyone to lose themselves in the flow of crowds. Food vendors, street performers, and costumes that vary from blatantly fake to uncannily real, to Oryx, they all mean nothing. Being exceptionally tall allowed him to look down on almost anybody. An advantageous vantage point - he saw bits of price tags and other human features they forgot to cover. He had no business being here, but apparently Nomad wanted to see how Greece celebrates Halloween in general. Neither of them planned to lose each other, so here he was, standing awkwardly alone while trying to find any signs of her wavy dark hair. Speak of the devil. He spotted her from miles away nearby a narrow alleyway. 

Slugging through walls of people wasn't hard and he didn't feel like hurrying; that was until he saw a hand. Eerily blue with tinges of red which quickly wrapped around her waist, and just like that, she was pulled away out of his vision. Oryx immediately yelled for her and he didn't hesitate to ram through some bystanders. He had no time to feel guilty over people he possibly hurt, but seeing his colleague who is more than capable of fending herself disappear just like that - that was extremely alarming.

He leaped into the alleyway and kept running, calling out for her name. The path became dimmer and the only light source was from the colourful decorations from the festival behind him. No matter how long he ran, the alleyway never seemed to end. He didn't want a sense of uncertainty to turn into irrational fear, but how could he not when he began to smell something quite different? His nose had been accustomed to sizzling meat and sweet confectioneries, so when there was a hint of sulphur, he also began to notice fog that soon enveloped the linear passage.

He called out for her louder than before to drive away the quiver within. "Sanaa!"

"How fascinating."

From some distance, there stood a hunched figure. Oryx rushed towards whoever that was, but crashed into a brick wall instead, as if his target vanished in thin air. He snapped and turned around to find the same guy, attempting to grapple him with the dash but failed again. This was the second time that his head hit against a brick wall. Panic blinded him from making better moves, but he swore there was something else in the fog that made him uncontrollable. This was not the best time to have a concussion, nor fall flat on his back while seeing double vision. Oryx pounded on the ground as he got up, but he was pushed down by a pair of hands. Blue, latexed and slathered with blood.

"Fascinating. You aren't meant to be here." The man wore tainted white suits and a vest with a defibrillator. Oryx had seen the same outfit from someone he knew, but cognition and memories alike were clouded. He smelled nothing but potent sulphur and every holes on his face felt painfully dry. "That's quite fine. Another hunter to serve the realm."

Limbs were heavy and body felt limp. Oryx winced at the sharp pinch on his neck, and could barely keep his eyes open to see a surgical scalpel above him. There was an acute pressure from his forehead, and blood began to drip over, blurring his vision. When he felt another, he drifted into unconsciousness. Despite his fading sanity, Oryx knew by instinct that something was terribly going wrong. He was never going to be the same.

Since then, Nomad and Oryx hadn't come back to base. The others organised a search party in the morning to look for them, but when the festival began again during night time, they came back unscathed. People were agitated and worried all the same, even more so when the two GIGR operators couldn't explain what really happened to them in the last twenty four hours.

Nomad let out a dry cough. "It's weird. I was having fun down there but can't really remember what I did."

Oryx kept massaging his face and scratched on the lobe of his ears. "See, I lost her in the crowds. Then when I walked back, she was already here."

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" Doc took Nomad's wrist to check her vitals. He also reached out to do the same for Oryx, but was promptly pushed away. "Saif? What's wrong?"

"Oh." Oryx couldn't really figure out what it was. He had no real good reason to deny Doc's touch, and yet the skin on his back prickled when their residential medic was so close to him. "Nothing. I'm fine." Without another word, he walked away. Faster than the usual to get away from the creeps and headaches that Doc's gloves gave him.

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Movies are fake as we all know them to be, especially the blatant kinds like horror. As hardened individuals who all had their fair shares of gore in this field of work, people often expect them to be unfazed when they watch something like 'A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984.)' You know, the famous Freddy Krueger and his knife-like claws. Finka still doesn't know why she is subjected to this trash, or the intent behind the so-called movie gathering when most of the operators are already half asleep or left to do something better. She has been sitting through this, only for the sake of another woman next to her. Boisterous, and at the top of her game with peak physique and intelligence; Valkyrie is known to be one of the most fearless and competitive colleagues in Rainbow. Finka is simply taken aback to see such an individual shaken with anxiety and anticipation, along with the fact that her knee has been a place for Valkyrie to hold onto. 

It didn't start out like this at first; Valkyrie sat next to Finka and the two made crude remarks about how shitty the whole story line was. They tapped on each others' knees and thighs whenever something from the movie amused them, but at some point, perhaps when a boy got sucked under the bed. The chatty blonde suddenly became so quiet, but kept her hand on Finka's knee. The cold sweat from her palm mildly soaked through the fabric, and Finka knows the area will feel cold when Valkyrie finally puts her hand aside. Only if, because both of them have been so still like statues. When the movie finished, Finka nudged the other woman to unfreeze her. "Hm. I guess that wasn't too bad."

"I guess so." Valkyrie finally pulls her hand away. "I mean, I'm not too freaked out about humans. It's the demons and supernatural beings that get me. I wouldn't know how to deal with them."

"I don't know either," Finka then smirks, "but maybe we can sprinkle some holy water on our fists and deck them on the chin."

Valkyrie's stiff posture relaxed along with a soft chuckle. "Lera, how on Earth would you have holy water ready at all times?" 

"One, you can buy it from a liquor store, and two, take a drive to a church and get some in a bottle."

"You did not just say vodka will chase ghosts away," Valkyrie is now completely at ease. Her eyes skim on the rolling credits, then turn towards Finka with a mischievous gleam, "shall we go, then?"

"Where? To the store?" Finka raises her brows, wondering if Valkyrie took their banter a little too seriously.

"Sure. Wine will do since it's Jesus juice." 

Happy to hear the jovial mood, Finka laughs along and scans around the room. "We gotta say this to Flament now." And two leap out of the sofa, readily looking for Lion for a bad inside joke they just made on the spot.

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Cryptid Sens - ‘empty parking lots at midnight, flourescents of a 7/11 at 4am. It's the opaque canvas of the night past the witching hour, the bleak neon lights flickering to have themselves shown. They may be the sole source of vision, and yet their primary purpose is to conceal rather than enlighten. The whole package of abundance stands alone in an empty space, but people know where to look for this light. And they are always welcome. 

Cryptid Jackal - ‘deserts with no name, roads that aren’t on any maps. A sense alone cannot find its way out of this vast mass of a land. There's no direction, no signs and no indication of where he stands. Time lost its meaning to him as he stayed unrested day and night, but the aimless wandering hurt him the most. It has him realise the years motivated by hate lost their meaning. There were connections who held him dare in their heart, but he chose to be unguided while stranding himself within the endless nowhere.

Cryptid Amaru - ‘7 coffees and a NyQuil while making eye contact with God. A life that leaps from its origin to end; she hardly perched her wings nor made a nest for a moment of rest. Too awake to be tired, but too exhausted to stay awake. Opportunities and choices were plenty, and it was her who chose to fly over the lands that burned with perils induced by injustice. Age and experience did not weigh her down. The responsibilities. Her ancestors' legacies were to be kept and inherited. These are the kinds of treasure one can see within others' eyes, but to keep them alight is past her capability of a single mortal being. That doesn't mean that she will give up. Her eyes always have been fixated on hope, the belief that people pray upon.

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This was weird. Eun Hye took pride in seeing some of the most bizarre shits out there when she ventured through the deep currents of the web, but she did not expect to wake up in a bed that resembled more of a capsule pod. The strangest part was that she didn’t remember falling asleep at all. Fully awake, busily typing on her laptop while the USB cable was connected to her ⧫︎♏︎❍︎◻︎●︎♏︎. 

What? 

That was not what she thought. Well, she thought of a word but its linguistic form fell apart as soon as it crossed her mind. Her body had no energy and the joints creaked, but she managed to push the lid open and throw her leg out within half an hour. Bare feet slapped against the cold white tiles and toes curled to retain what little warmth they held. She shivered, partly due to the thin gown around her body, but mostly because of the sight that stabbed into her cognition. There were other capsules, a whole array of them neatly organised in rows and columns, and each contained people who were fast asleep. 

She knew who they were. 

All of them, the individuals who shouldn't be gathered here in one spot as of now, because Mike flew to Spain yesterday for an infiltration. Elena hardly left the garage, Eliza commuted between her office and Harry's, Yumiko said she would be lounging around at her home and Chul Kyung wore tracksuits for his evening jog. None of them said they would be laying here, inside this bed while looking lifelessly dormant. Sweat felt like a sheet of ice and chest began to ache when her heart beat accelerated along with the rising tension. That was why she reacted too slowly against a pair of hands hooking onto her mouth. Then came a piercing pain on her neck that soon rendered her brain numb. 

She was drugged and dragged. Her heels mildly bumped against the linings of the tile and she was gently let down back into the mattress. Gears whirred as the lid closed on her. There was a click, a jab of steel body that injected into her spine and she sank into the inevitable slumber.

Dokkaebi woke up again, and this time she felt her cheek sticky against the keyboard pad. The laptop screen had turned off and whatever she was looking into was completely wiped out. 

However, she remembered. Epiphany came shortly after, which made her realise she might have found the reason why they hadn’t aged at all after all these years.

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There are some nights

when a mere scrape on the bony parts of one's body is the tipping edge

while mental fatigue has to be swallowed down along with the tears

There are some nights

where one sleeps through cuts and abrasions, fearing their weakness may be judged against them

so they dream about the comfort of being alone in an unlit room 

no one is there to see them wince when bandages are ripped off

no one to marvel at the bruises painted across their skin 

no one to scan their gaze upon old scars and deformations alike

but there are nights

most of the nights

tight embraces to keep the rib cages still when their hearts rattle

subtle weaving of fingers to fill the missing void

and a knowing look 

peering into each others souls

and recognise what has healed and the injuries that are yet to be taken care of.

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Azami as jorōgumo, spider woman (suggested by @kikipeachywitch.) These yokais are adept at changing themselves into beautiful women, but Azami herself always wore a mask over her mouth made out of her own silk. She found it hard to conceal part of her face, especially the mouth that had spiderish features. Kimono weaver during the day and escort guard at night, Azami's main task was to protect the chancellor of the country but failed. Chasing after the killers, Azami honed her silks to block off the projectiles and bullets alike, making sure that no one would die under her guard ever again.

Bandit as incubus (suggested by @Bloodysyren5051.) The demon of the night who specialises in making your horniest dream come true. But in reality, he mostly slides into people's windows, touching their crotch/pelvic area to send electric currents that stimulate the nerves in genitalia, which achieves the quickest and cleanest orgasms. Bandit used to get down to business in his younger days, but the more he spent night time in the mortal world, the more he came to doubt himself as a demon. What is so different between humans and demons? Humans lived and died for material goods such as money and roof under their heads. Incubi and succubi lived to have humans bear their children and cause chaos in the world. That's what demons are - to cause grief and chaos as a source of their power. It felt like menial labour. So Bandit opted to extract sperms and fluids and alike, and then sell it off in his realm of evil.

Echo as tengu (requested by @c00ki3B3ar420.) By definition, tengus are '...a type of mischievous supernatural being, sometimes considered the reincarnated spirit of one who was proud and arrogant in life.' Echo was a puppeteer who was on the verge of making a fully functioning puppet that could move and make noise by itself, but he was told by many others to either cooperate with him or abandon the project altogether. Echo didn't want anybody else to touch his masterpiece or be threatened to quit by lesser minds. That was why he got killed, but few didn't realise that he would be reborn as a yokai with scary red face and wings. However, he lacked swordsmanship and other combat abilities. Since he didn't have any intention to learn what didn't interest him, he couldn't mingle with other tengus. Until he obtained a magical fan (bashōsen) that could blast sonic waves to rattle the enemies and allies alike.

Finka as dhampir (half vampire, half human. requested by @tht1bttrfly.) She didn't know of her origin because dhampirs don't have weaknesses that vampires possess. No damage from sunlight or garlic, and in this universe Christianity isn't a thing. However, as she grew older, her body changed. By the time she was nine years old, Finka felt weaker and her limbs didn't feel much of external temperatures and alike. Only when she saw her childhood friend's scraped knee, and when she touched the blood to have a little lick, did her body feel normal again. It appeared that the vampiric gene within her was more dominant than the human side, which sparked her goal to find a substitute for human blood (or find ways to maintain her physique without human blood.)

Buck as werewolf, eastern timber wolf kind (suggested by @TheTreeGod35.) More brown than grey. He is not the biggest kind of werewolves, but he has been working out to gain more explosive power to gain a reputation as a hunter. The namesake 'Buck' came from his deeds as the werewolf who specialised in killing male weredeers, which are larger than the most werewolves. Between the territorial warfare of weredeers and werewolves, Buck's pack were almost driven off from Quebec. That was until Buck decided to gather the antlers that he collected from dead weredeers and use them as catapults to breach the enemy lines and structures alike. Only then his pack began to rush at the poor herbivores and conquer their land back. 

Lesion as zhenniao, '...a legendary bird with poisonous feathers' (suggested by @_BitterGourd_) Yes, traditional zhenniao are strictly birds. But this is an AU. A monster AU, so I would like to imagine zhenniao!Lesion looking like a harpy. His father posed as a commoner who tries to make a life through ordinary jobs, but since every bit of zhenniao contains lethal poison, they opted to work for militaries and other riches who wanted to disable traps of areas they wanted to conquer. It was only a matter of time until the country truly found out who they were, so Lesion decided to work as a blackmarket herbalist who supposedly sold poison darts made out of toad venoms (when it was really the oils/glands from his feathers.)

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Imagine R6S getting a request to 'sort' out a haunted house. I feel like there will be a different team composition to work it through - the main branches would be:

• Demolition - destroying the site/area if necessary.
• Cleansing - clean the area of negativities, evils and other residues of supernatural beings so they don't attract any other spirits.
• Identification - recording, collecting and keeping evidence of paranormal activities.
• Extraction - infiltrating into haunted houses or areas to bring out items/artefacts/belongings that may cause paranormal activities.
• Capture - catching evil spirits in order to seal them away if they cannot be exorcised
• Warding - making protective wards around the area while other team members are working. also aids the shamans/mediums/exorcists to carry out their duties. They also work to form barriers to keep spirits within the site/area to trap them in.
• Support - healers, physical bodyguards, infiltration, sniping from afar.

They are here. 9 Vinetree Drive. It's a place that's supposedly haunted with strange noises and items flying out everywhere. With the owner's permit, the team is allowed to damage the property and other items. 

"It's very likely to be a poltergeist activity," Zero shares what he had found from his cameras, "but if there are other signs, Weiss will be there to detect them.

"Roger that." Sledge holds his caber in one hand while soaking it with water. He then sprinkles some generous amount of salt. 

"Try not to break everything in there," Goyo has petroleum cans of ectoplasmic oils that would only burn what cannot be seen rather than physical materials, "we don't want other beings to escape if polty isn't the only thing in there."

Aruni counts the number of door frames within the house while reading the blueprint. She also reads through the message sent from the medium they were supposed to meet, then loads more essences of sun god Surya in her prosthetic arm. 

"Since this is our first day here, I will be coming too." Thunderbird has her healing station ready and installed one already outside of the front door. "And maybe on the second night, we can have Hwa or Nøkk to bring out something it favours."

"Sure. Are we done talking?" Yawning and cracking his neck side to side, Sledge fastens his grip on the caber and winds up for the blow. "Here we go. Hallelujah!" With a deafening crash, the door is smashed into pieces. He repeats a few more times and salt particles scatter everywhere.

"Don't ever say that when Flament is around, giving him a second-hand embarrassment and all." IQ walks in with her RED Mk III Spectre ready. 

"What? He's not the only one who loves Jesus." Sledge scoffs. 

The night is still young, even though it's past one in the morning. The prime time for ghosts to be most active, which also means that our dear team of Revenant Six Siege are more than eager to carry out their work until their designated professionals arrive. The unlucky poltergeist will soon face the consequences for causing ruckus in the realm of living.

Chapter Text

He hasn't felt such dreadful sensation for decades. Submerged in the oil tank mixed with toxins;  it was a narrow escape from his doom that damaged his stomach. He didn’t want to experience the doom that came with an alarm bell of everything going wrong within his body. Thankfully back then he broke out and survived, however he cannot say the same as of now, upon facing the monstrosity of a doppelganger. Chasing him into corners, giving him the harsh toxins that he knows so well. Lesion winces when he puts his weight on the feet that already stepped on a couple of those Gu mines. He is desperate to gain some distance away from whatever lurks inside the shadows; it has been extremely difficult to shoot an enemy that can vanish out of sight. 

Judging by the ghoulish screams, Lesion has found out that the monster also suffers from his own Gu. He needs to be patient in this corner right here, waiting for that damned thing to step on the mines he scattered around him. There is only one magazine full of bullets left in his T-5 SMG, which should be enough to shoot and kill it on the spot. 

He can hear it. Staggering steps that's directed towards him. Lesion presses his back against the wooden wall and pushes the folding stock firmer into his shoulder. There he sees the creature that wears his uniform. Facial structure barely has healthy skin and muscles, and the eyes manage some shape and form except they are glowing fluorescent green. It's most likely due to the cylinder that's stuck deep in its brain, which makes it all the more impossible for any living being to be alive and moving. Through the rotten teeth that have no lips to hide under, he hears breathy moans. Raspy sigh, clattering nail that barely hangs. The monster leans in, reaches out to have its hand fall onto Lesion's neck.

Then Gu hits. His Gu punctures into the monster’s worn out sole, and hair-raising howl fills the small room. Lesion doesn't miss out a chance to pull the trigger and dump all thirty bullets into his target's head. The cylinder shatters and goo oozes out from all the holes, fresh and old. Lesion keeps his SMG up while watching the monster fall, and he retains the offensive posture until it stops twitching. After a good minute, he finally inches in closer to poke the supposed dead carcass with the barrel.

It's not over yet.

Its hand whips to snatch on Lesion's leg and hook his balance off. With gasps full of scare, he kicks and digs his heel against the monster's already mangled head. Squelches are felt through the shoes and cargo shorts, but the grip around his leg has turned into piercing pain. His own red blood covers the green fluid, and yet the injured area begins to burn. 

"You couldn't do it." In the midst of panic, the monster's voice is clearer than ever. "Not again."

Lesion doesn't want to know what it's trying to say. His only concern is to eradicate the immediate threat and assess his injury. The commotion also has been distracting him from the surroundings, so it's too late when he finally notices a figure with a mace behind him. The panic prevents him from having clear vision, but it almost looks like someone with a fish head mask on. 

His reddened eyes leak tears. Lesion flails and screams for help, hoping the new stranger to be a sign of hope. It's unfortunate for him that no one in this realm is sane. They are here to kill or to be killed. To them, he is the same as the monster that tried to kill him. They are both Lesions, after all. 

The mace smashes not one, but two skulls that night.

Chapter Text

Sledge as unicorn centaur. What's more to say? The guy is from Scotland, and their national animal is unicorn. Born proud and magnificent, unitaur Sledge was different from his peers. Most had quite graceful form and utilises healing power, but he didn't any much of those. Then one day, he found out that unicorns are meant to be powerful and muscly. His ancestors possessed hulking physique who could single hoofedly take down ogres and trolls, so Sledge wondered why his peers were so slender. He then found out that unicorns nowadays are heavily influenced by people's general images of them, and most maidens dreamt them as dreamy and silky beings. That also meant the population of people who believed unicorns to be powerhouse still lived out there, so this set the course of Sledge's duty as unitaur. An ambassador of them gains and workouts, the healer of sore muscles from extreme exercise session. Oh and he also breaks castle walls of foul riches and share the treasures with those who are in need. Fuck the bourgeoisie.

Dokkaebi as dokkaebi. There are different types of dokkaebi, but one of them is '...created from inanimate objects that have been stained with blood, often arising from mundane objects such as the broom.' Our Grace Nam dokkaebi was originally hyang-gap (a pouch that stored scents.) It was owned by kisaeng (a woman who specialised in singing and dancing to entertain nobles.) Dokkaebi doesn't know how she was brought into the world, but she vaguely knows that her embodiment, hyang-gap, had been passed down from generations to generations as it got soaked with bloods of different kisaeng through decades. The olden days of Korea was a turbulent one where a lot of people died due to noblemen's political conflicts. Some kisaengs acted as spies, informants or were entertainers who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This may have influenced Dokkaebi's nature, her personality who came to be extremely good at finding secrets of others and using what she knew to her advantage. As her power grew, she was able to maintain a human form and lived through the years. Nowadays she has the hyang-gap attached to the latest smartphone she has, and she continues to move fast in the world of digitised information.

Tachanka as a dragon. I thought about what other magical creatures there are. Dragon. That's immediately Tachanka. The man hoards, has impressive body mass, and breathes fire balls (which used to be just a breath, but ever since he lost the protective layer on his eyes and scales that covered his face, he had to change his tactics.) He is the classic variety found in the western world - spikes, wings and jagged teeth. Since this is just a light hearted version of AU, I imagine him living long enough to be able to have a humanoid form, which allows him to travel around and gather almost all of the weapons that shoot projectiles. Elven bows, human crossbows, dwarven throwing axes, halfling slingshots and others. He also pretends to be human and faces other monsters alike to test their strength, and this is how he met other Slavic creatures and decided to recruit(?) them into his broodhood. 

Chapter Text

Examples of each category:

• Old fashioned - Prunes, licorice, granola, raisins, Wether's
• Trendy - Frozen honey, sugar coated fruits, chocolate coated cookie cups, rice crispies, crushed sugar bags 
• All time favourite - Hersheys, Jolly rancher, Laffy taffy, Reese's, Pop Rocks, Nerds, gold coins
• Questionable - what is this? what did you give me? (somewhere between treats that look horrifying or food that aren't treats at all)

[Some of the operators are not there because I believe that they wouldn't open their door at all when the bell rings.] 

Chapter Text

"What do you want for your birthday gift?" Dokkaebi asked her dear old friend Echo a day before his birthday. No surprise or effort put in; perhaps this was the better evil since he could get what he really wanted.

Echo could get behind it. "Well-" 

"Good. I have one ready for you." She cut him off with glee.

Scratch that. This is Grace Nam they are talking about. Basic manners were thrown out the window, especially with people that she found too comfortable with. "Why even bother asking?"

"I thought I should look like I care." Her hand travelled from one side of his shoulder to the other, and then promptly left him with a little nudge. "Drop by my dorm tomorrow for dinner, okay?"

"No." Echo was inclined to make better plans than to entertain her.

"Yes. We're all going to be there."

No, please. Not the rowdy kinds. "Like who?"

"You know. The usuals." She winked and whistled out of the workshop. "Toodaloo."

There could be many meanings behind her words, but he'd like to think that it would be the bunch who didn't give him half the headache she causes. If not, then he would simply close the door on them. Simple. Since there wasn't much to worry about anymore, he went back typing on the keyboard and spent the rest of his day in the dark.

The next day came, and time flew slower than he expected because Dokkaebi had been pestering him all day. Come visit. You better come. Miss out or else. He almost felt like she made Halloween out of his birthday. 

Evening rolled in and he stood outside of her door. The temptation to barge in was strong since she was the rude one, but he at least knocked to show the least amount of courtesy. 

"Come in!" 

He grabbed the knob and swung the door open to find familiar faces and they were there indeed, but there was something massive, a giant monstrosity that held his breath on spot. The Pisa of greasy coating; tall tower of brown exterior that tastes somewhere on the fine line between crunchy and soggy, but nevertheless mouthwatering to someone like Echo who still craved the cholesterol. Kentucky Fried Chicken was the bane of his health and if it wasn't for his career, Echo would've gained 'ojisan' belly five years ago. 

"Beautiful, right?" Lesion had two cans of beer laying around him. He downed the third in one go and stumbled towards Echo.

"I tried my best to persuade her, but you know how she is." Hibana held tightly on a bowl of salad but couldn't resist the urge to clean another tomato. "Be right back. I'll cut some more."

Echo walked past Lesion to study such absurdity. The structure held itself in a form of pyramid, with thighs as the base, then breasts, drum sticks laid in criss-cross, wings standing up like tight-knit pillars and popcorn chickens bubbling at the summit. He saw glossy white and red surfaces behind the fried chickens, so there was some relief to assume that this tower was built on an empty paper bucket. 

"Now that you're here, I gotta set these up." Dokkaebi gloated in pride as she stuck a candle on the top. Big fat thirty-six formed with wax, and two wicks that were already burning bright. 

"Wait, I'm-" Echo frowned because he saw the same number last year as well. However, it felt oddly natural to recognise his age as thirty-six, so perhaps he was thirty-five last year and celebrated accordingly. There wasn't any party, but a tame and calm get-together with these lot. Then his brain sparked, noticing someone else who wasn't here right this moment. "Where is Chul Kyung?"

"He'd be here soon. Just texted me that he was going to run a little late." Dokkaebi checked her phone and smiled upon hearing knocks from the door. "Speak of the tiger."

There he was, face slightly pinkish and breathing deep as if he ran while trying his best to not show it. Vigil gave his regards and marvelled at the chicken tower with an open disgust. They had a few more chit chats, blew the candle and took some pieces apart to eat them. Echo didn't intend to have any of the greens until Hibana told him off in their native language. Alcohol loosened the mood and almost had him feel that this small get-together wasn't too bad, and it got better when Vigil took him out for a night stroll to cool their reddened faces down. 

"That was horrifying." Vigil sighed a smell full of spice and beer.

"I bet she dumped a whole packet of toothpicks for that. It was a waste, to be honest." Echo still had one in his hands, but he was too drunk to care for the oil that rendered his fingers slippery.

"At least we had some salad to balance things out." Vigil kept his pace with Echo, but slowed down as he reached down his pocket. "Say, are you free tomorrow?"

"Hm?" Echo couldn't think of anything. "Yes. Why?"

"Nothing particular." They took a few more steps until Vigil opened his mouth again. "Today's not really your birthday, and Halloween doesn't mean anything to me."

"Same." Echo couldn't count the moments when he wished to be born on a different day. Not the most tragic coincidence out there, but it was annoying to have his special moment overshadowed by noise and marketing schemes that he didn't care for.

"You can come over, if you'd like," Vigil pursed his lips, "and maybe we can have sukiyaki."

The classic dish of warm broth with assorted vegetables, beef and tofu. It was the flavour of home. "I didn't know you could cook."

A chuckle soon turned into scoff. "I can't prepare it all by myself. It's about time you learn to make something for yourself too." There was a glimpse of tease within a flickering grin.

"But it's my birthday. I can't be bothered." Echo lied. He would usually opt out from showing the skill he lacked, but it felt fine with this man next to him.

"We can work it through." Vigil stopped for a stare. He kept his hands hidden in pockets and they were the only parts of him that kept still. "Happy thirty--̵͉̃s̵̱͘e̴͙̕ṽ̸͔e̷͚͂ṋ̴͝ṱ̷͋h̶͈̓ ̴̤̈b̶̪͐i̸̠͆ȑ̴̪t̸̛ͅh̴̭͠d̵̙̀a̶̖͋y̸͔͋.”

Vision shut off and all were black. 

Echo woke up to start his day and time flew slower than he expected because Dokkaebi had been pestering him all day. Come visit. You better come. Miss out or else. He almost almost felt like she made Halloween out of his birthday. 

Almost.

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