“Whats with the high prices for chicken and eggs? 5 tickets for chicken? That’s ridiculous!”, muttered the miner, stopping by the farm near his homestead for dinner.
His companion replied,, with muted whisper, her face white with fear. “I hear the farmers have been finding the chickens headless and drained of blood, they might be running out of chickens…”
He snorted, the derision heavy in the words that followed. “That sounds like some Semper nonsense to me.”
“No, look, it's not about power.", he snarled, his words full of fervor and depth. "It's not about money, it's not even about murder. I mean, that I'd understand. But this scripted fucking bullshit, what's the fucking point? Gods, God's I understand, seasons I get, hell even the Darwins and their radiation at least have some end goal. The script is just for the scripts sake. And these fucks run around, trying to be some trite, badly costumed archetypes. I mean, what the fuck?!? Like, edge lords they may be, but even the FKs and their demons make more sense then this shit. You want candy? I'll give you fucking candy, right out of twin fucking barrels. “
The young man reached up and pulled down the mask.
“See, fucking scary, right? And I'm not playing by their rules. They want scares? I'll give them scares. All of these pumpkin fucking pieces of shit are going to piss themselves when they get a load of me.”
Taking a long last drag from his cigarette, the Pureblood flicked the remains to the ground and daintily stepped on it with the toe of his boot. “Fucking Remnants,” he growled as the smoke trailed from his lips. “I'm so sick of trying to figure them out. Did you see that one that looked like a cat? Creepy little shit dodging people and hiding in the shadows. My sister tried getting close to it and it slashed out at her! Doesn't help I hate cats, too.”
His friend swatted at the smoke, “Is that what that dark little beast was near the entrance of the tavern? Strange child. Was I seeing things or was it holding a dirty candle?”
“There was a listlessness that betrayed the fact that she was dead, but not before getting close enough to spot her prey. Hard to tell you now what she looked like, what happened, it was over so fast. There was just her and then they were everywhere. Three of us dead before you can blink.”
The old man sat back in his chair and took a long, slow swig of the terlet hooch in the wooden mug in front of him. His hands stopped trembling quite as much but the change was only fractional, and as he set the cup down it rattled.
“Now I seen some things that was truly fucked in my day, but this? This was something fucking else. And I seen her again, I swear it on my fucking grave. We is as fucked as a remnant in a gorehound den.”
He wiped the sweat from his brow, finishing the terlet in a single gulp.
“Might as well get drunk. Less likely to shit meself when the end comes this way.”
A little girl sitting on the steps of a quiet run down house brushes the tangles out of a doll’s hair singing to herself, under a tree on the way to El Dorado. The words were quiet, but filled the night air nonetheless.
“Trick or treat/trick or treatGive me something good to eatIf you don'tI don't careI'll just set fire to your hair….”
Little bits of the doll’s hair start to burn, quickly put out by the brush as the girl continues to sing...