I'm off to get swanky boys.

(Hee. The danger of misplaced commas?)

(Also, the following is like an xpost of a bazillion, because I started thinking about ita & the flying dog, and something occurred to me....)

t edit num-ba slut!

I walk deliberately slowly, swinging my bag from one hand, and looking at the pattern of stars against the dark sky. If I refocus my eyes slightly, I can see the snow that will be falling in a few months. The dense and fluffy puffs of white spiral down and blanket the ground-- it'll be wet snow. Good for snowball fights. I smile into the darkness. It's a pleasing image.

I've closed my eyes and can almost sense the future snowflakes evaporating as they near the heat of my fiery skin, when I hear a wet rustling noise that's sudden and oppressive, intruding into the ghostly hypotheticalities of the neighbor boys yelling in the snow. I turn around and open my eyes, parting my lips slightly to reveal my very long, very yellow teeth.

I only wear this body once a year. I woke up this morning flickering and burning underneath my flame-resistant sheets. It took me half an hour with my eyes clenched shut, lying still and prone in the bed, to reign the fire back into my skin. I relearned how to control this body again eventually, and the morning progressed as usual. But soon after breakfast I found myself idling, itching again under the skin, running my hand over the smooth surface of the tabletop again and again and again without realizing it.

By mid-afternoon I was sitting wrapped in a blanket in the big chair in the living room, holding a novel loosely but staring at the pattern of sun against the far wall, not even concentrating enough to realize my fingers were leaving scorch marks against the white pages of the book. I pulled the blanket back around my shoulders. I was so warm. Listening to the sounds of early trick-or-treaters passing by outside. Their bright, clear, young voices. I'd put some candy and a pumpkin outside early that morning, when I was still able to focus my mind on one thing enough to pour mini-bars of chocolate into a bowl and set it on the porch.

The vision came like a shock. I'd almost forgotten-- intellectually, I'd still known how it went, but my body's viscera had excised those memories, and it wasn't welcoming of the reminder.

I seized the blanket and squeezed the cloth so hard that when I opened my palm a minute later it was ash. It was an... intense... collection of moments. But then the pain subsided, muscles I hadn't realized I'd been tensing relaxed, and my skin cooled infinitesimally. My vision shot forward and I was seeing through the wall, I was seeing the children in their plastic masks, I was seeing through them--

I threw the blanket off my shoulders and stood. My fingernails were lengthening, sharpening into claws. I clicked my teeth together and felt the oddly comforting sensation of space filled by the cool mouthful of teeth. I moved an experimental arm. Oh, god, I'd forgotten how fucking good this feels. The heat inside my chest leapt up and ran along my limb, tracing odd patterns in light across my skin, and then disappeared again. I only felt warmer.

The sun was setting.

Time for a walk.

Which had brought me here, now. I only have a few more hours until this body leaves me again, but I'm feeling no hurry. I'm moving oddly slowly, oddly languorously. I feel so good.

Whatever's behind that corner will regret it.

[Heading to bed. Mwah! Pick a costume SA. And feel free to take me out for the evening while you're at it.]

I'll bet you're a cheap date. Not that anyone's complaining...

It late, and I'm relaxing after a long night of handing out treats. I tell ya, that old man knew what he was about. I had exactly enough treats for everyone who showed up. Kind of a shame, actually, because I've got nothing left to snack on. Oh well.

Funny, there sure were a lot of kids wearing bat wings this year. Must be a Batman sequel coming out, or something.

"Mommy, mommy! Come look!"

"What is it, honey?" Janis Roberts put down her book, and got up to see to her daughter, while reminding herself what a bad idea it had been for her husband to have let Chelsea have that extra piece of candy. Too much sugar, and now she's bouncing off the walls.

"C'mon, Chelsea, it's time to go to sleep," she said as she entered the bedroom.

"But mommy, look!", and with that little Chelsea lauched herself off the bed and flew about the room, sustained by a pair of purple bat wings.

Another Halloween and once again Castle Gudanov is left with a full bowl of candy next the front door. Not a single vistor, I guess that's what happens when you live in an isolated castle, in the middle of a haunted forrest, on the other side of a river with one ferry that doesn't run very often.

Oh well, at least Halloween has become a very profitable time since buying out Sang Sacre Candy Suppy Co. last year.

"Happy All Saints' Day?" Well, that's a new one on me, but I don't mind. The landlady seems the type to mind her own business, and the room is very nice for what I'm paying. What am I paying, anyway? The figure seems to have slipped my mind.

The room is a little short on closet space, but the tables are large and solid. They'll do. The fireplace is a nice bonus, and the windows seems well insulated. Maybe when the fog clears I'll have a view. Time will tell.

I toss my battered suitcase onto the sturdiest table and flip back the latches. A bottle of red wine, a single crystal goblet the collected works of Poe and a few changes of underwear. I had a good reason for this. What was it?

...the children flap their leathery wings on the way home from school.

I watch them from my tiny balcony. They swoop and holler and squeal with joy. Beneath them, a school bus lumbers slowly, empty and purposeless, the driver craning his head to watch his erstwhile charges gallivant in the afternoon sun.

"I suppose I could do something," I mutter, puffing my pipe.

"Yeah," Hector acknowledges from inside. His voice carries his uninterested shrug.

"It's probably Gudanov's fault."

"Probably."

I sigh and let my eyes wander to the dark forest, the lone castle on the horizon.

"What's on FX?" I ask.

The fireplace looks really empty, but I can fix that. There's a pile of old branches below the oak tree in the back yard. Don't think I'll bother with the elevator, though. It looks a bit creaky.

The air is chill but dry and refreshing. I toss the branches into a basket lent by kindly Mrs. Thorne. Above the oak, a huge bird circles. A cormorant? How far are we from water?

"Hi, new lady!" it shouts, before wheeling away. I pull my glasses out of my coat pocket to take a look. Hmmm. A flying child. Not knowing what else to to, I wave, and turn to walk back to the house.