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[future dated to just prior to 7pm, Oct 31st]
Wren's just gotten done walking Inari when the little dog turns to the door, ears back and starts to bark. Inari's not as barky as little dogs are cracked up to be, but what she is is protective, so Wren frowns. "Hey, beautiful," he says lazily, "what do you see?" She growls very softly and twitches her tail, sniffing under the door. He doesn't see anything with a quick glance out the window, so he scoops her up
-- and then the lights go out.
Halloween has, for the last few years, been something of an adventure, not always a good one. Two years ago yesterday he was in the city while Hurricane Sandy came in, forging drunk in the dark with unprepared friends through rising water: past overwhelmed cars, masks shoved onto their heads, cell phones dying, subways flooded. The rest of that week, especially for others -- he wouldn't wish it on anyone. But he doesn't hear thunder. And between growing up in Portland and the storms that have hit New York, he's lost his fear of darkness, if he ever had such a thing.
First he finds a couple of storm candles under the sink, and some matches, lights them and sets them up on high shelves. Then, shooing Inari and her concern, he slips out the door to see if everyone else has had this happen.
Not only has the entire area plunged into darkness, even the lighthouse, but it's noticably darker than it was with dusk falling a few minutes ago. Something moves in the corner of his eye, reaches for him and he turns, abrupt, raises a hand. The tall shadow spooks as well, disappears, and Wren tilts his head, a smile curving curious.
That's when he sees it. North, into the woods. A glowing, floating castle, rising, lighting the bottom of clouds. Somehow he's a small child again with eyes wide. Whatever has caused this darkness, the manor is part of it. And if it was supposed to be imposing, breed terror -- well, that's just more incentive. Wren has never liked being told how to feel.
He goes back in, lights the last of the bright storm candles and slips the matches into his pocket, heading into the darkness with his little bit of fire to see who and what he might find.
Wren's just gotten done walking Inari when the little dog turns to the door, ears back and starts to bark. Inari's not as barky as little dogs are cracked up to be, but what she is is protective, so Wren frowns. "Hey, beautiful," he says lazily, "what do you see?" She growls very softly and twitches her tail, sniffing under the door. He doesn't see anything with a quick glance out the window, so he scoops her up
-- and then the lights go out.
Halloween has, for the last few years, been something of an adventure, not always a good one. Two years ago yesterday he was in the city while Hurricane Sandy came in, forging drunk in the dark with unprepared friends through rising water: past overwhelmed cars, masks shoved onto their heads, cell phones dying, subways flooded. The rest of that week, especially for others -- he wouldn't wish it on anyone. But he doesn't hear thunder. And between growing up in Portland and the storms that have hit New York, he's lost his fear of darkness, if he ever had such a thing.
First he finds a couple of storm candles under the sink, and some matches, lights them and sets them up on high shelves. Then, shooing Inari and her concern, he slips out the door to see if everyone else has had this happen.
Not only has the entire area plunged into darkness, even the lighthouse, but it's noticably darker than it was with dusk falling a few minutes ago. Something moves in the corner of his eye, reaches for him and he turns, abrupt, raises a hand. The tall shadow spooks as well, disappears, and Wren tilts his head, a smile curving curious.
That's when he sees it. North, into the woods. A glowing, floating castle, rising, lighting the bottom of clouds. Somehow he's a small child again with eyes wide. Whatever has caused this darkness, the manor is part of it. And if it was supposed to be imposing, breed terror -- well, that's just more incentive. Wren has never liked being told how to feel.
He goes back in, lights the last of the bright storm candles and slips the matches into his pocket, heading into the darkness with his little bit of fire to see who and what he might find.
