time: monday, oct 24th 12:30am / 00:30am
location: shocktober fest
status: closed to @zibbylapointe & @strikercannon
It’s a decision influenced mostly by a combination of the tequila in the Sleepy Hollow cocktails and bottles of pumpkin ale atop a foundation of already-poor impulse control. Shiloh and Beth have been known to terrorize innocent passersby at these events, hitting below the belt by jumping at a crowd who have just escaped one of the haunted houses, assuming they’d be safe beyond the exit signs. In one instance in 2018, they’d made a kid cry and had atone with enough sugar to probably keep the kid up all night. And enough cocktails to pay that kid’s parent a proper apology.
Now, the terrible two have set their sights on Striker Cannon. As he’s resting against a picnic bench for an all-too-short food break, Shiloh and Beth put their plan into motion.
“Okay, okay,” Shiloh finally gets out after quieting the laughter bubbling up from their core. “Shh! Shh… Okay… Here we go, Bette.”
Hidden in the shrubbery made up to be a haunted maze, Shiloh counts down from three. Then they let out a blood-curdling, banshee shriek. The sound is a diversion made firstly to draw attention and secondly to cover up the sound of Beth’s footsteps now hurdling towards Striker.
Beth’s heart is pounding in her throat. She’s giddy and twitchy with it, dress shoes swiped from Jaden’s wardrobe and stuffed with socks to be made to fit shuffling among the dried leaves and trodden dirt paths of Shocktober’s esplanade. She can see Striker, unassuming, unsuspecting, chewing on a batch of witch’s fingers like the very cows he tends to. She has to bite back a snort when she spots the familiarity of that strong jaw working overtime.
“Okay, okayokayokay– h’ohh, he’s gonna kill us,” she hisses through a laugh successfully shoved to the back of her throat, where it scrapes itself out even as she shoves her jacket sleeves up against her grinning mouth.
They slip into position, easy and fluid as though two halves of a brain. Beth’s muscles are coiled and ready to spring to action upon Shiloh’s signal. And it’s one that can’t possibly be missed. As soon as they screech, Beth launches herself from her own hiding spot, waving her axe wildly in the air only to lightly bonk it on the back of Striker’s head. ( @strikercannon )
being one of the few individuals that called roswell their home able to drive a tractor , striker had volunteered himself to help out on the haunted hayride . it was rather disconcerting , a fully grown man operating farm equiptment dressed as a powerpuff girl , and yet the organisers hadn’t a choice — he was the most competent and , despite his terrible habit of nodding off mid-drive or slamming his foot down on the accelerator , he was the best they were going to get .
being the only driver , though , meant that his evening had been stacked , his schedule back-to-back with hayrides . after the first few rounds he had become immune to the jump-scares of haunted scarecrows and chainsaw-wielding maniacs in the corn , but he was far from being desensitised to any and all spooks . off-guard , he chewed his snack — courtesy of the event , a ‘ thank you ‘ for his service ; crumbs in his moustache , the male was oblivious until it was too late .
a shriek , one that would have been more at home being dragged from the throat of a young child , escaped his lips as he leapt from his seat . “ WHAT IN WAYLON’S NAME ARE Y’ — “ the jump threw him directly into the path of the axe , a light thunk to a skull that was more or less hollow inside . whipping his head around to spy his assailants , his cries of confusion were promptly replaced with that unmistakable cackle , that laugh that ripped from his throat and pitched like a batman villain . “ hoo-wee !! you got me good . “ ( @flyhighro )
