@mortevivante
Everything about inter-dimensional travel was strange--he'd heard as much from others in his own world who'd had the misfortune of stumbling into Cyberspace rifts. Time sort of lost its meaning when you shifted between the veils of worlds. Harpuia discovered quickly that that was exactly what had happened to him--he'd fallen asleep in his own world in early spring, and woken up in Spirale in the middle of autumn. Right at the start of a holiday they called Hallows Fes, here.
If he recalled correctly, back on his Earth, they called it Halloween. Or All Saint's Day, or All Souls Day, or Dia de los Muertos, or Samhain, or the Harvest Moon Festival--many cultures celebrated the handful of days at the end of October and the start of November.
But pumpkins...Harpuia had never seen a pumpkin before. Pumpkins required fertile soil, particular temperatures, and a lot of space to grow--and the war-scarred, blasted, irradiated landscape of Harpuia's Earth had precious little land that would support any life, muchless life this...persnickity.
Needless to say, when he'd been exploring the Golden Ward and happened upon a pumpkin-carving table--when he walked up right at the moment that a man in a mask stabbed a chef's knife into an orange gourd like someone out of a slasher movie, Harpuia was thrown for a bit of a loop.
"Is that...entirely necessary...?"