Young Writers Society

So that was what she wanted.

"I actually need my soul, so I'll have to pass on that request," Puck replied. He walked over to where she was holding Arthur back - who now had gone from upset to a little bit worried - and nonchalantly pushed her arm away. He threw his arm over Arthur's shoulder and pulled him a little closer: sending the message that no one was going to do anything with Arthur without Arthur having a say in it. "Also, you never answered Arthur's question, and the place we come from finds something like that very rude."

The soul slipped her grasp. She tracked it with her eyes, watching it approach the second soul, watching it wrap part of itself around it. The unruly nature of the blurred edges of the soul gave the illusion that the two were melding together. She wondered if she could do that, meld souls together. What would that look like? What would it feel like?

Someone spoke and she turned around. The voice spoke in compliments, Here's a gal with principles. She was the gal. Her eyes searched for a soul to which to attribute the voice. She saw none to match it. Curious.

The soul had addressed her before she turned away. She didn't turn back. Instead, she dedicated her eyes to searching in vain for the source of the new voice as she decided if she wanted to respond. Very rude. He'd called her very rude. The way he said it mattered, but only because they changed the meaning of the words, which didn't matter. Politeness was a very human concept.

"You don't have a soul?" she said to the voice.

Rowenna shook her head slowly and walked away to a small corner. There was no way she was going to deal with this. Honestly. She was in pain. What made her very odd and powerful for a vampire was that she could feel the air about how powerful creatures were. The air was vibrating very harshly around Puck, Arthur and she could feel it coming off of their host and hostess and their two friends, who were at the other end of the room.

"I'm Bettie. I'm a demon, we don't have souls where I come from. We're all lawyers and corporates, see. Angels don't have 'em either, for the same reason.

I've never needed a soul to have a good time, but I love them. They're so cute."
___

Baba did an airplane run over to the pretty lady with the flowers on her dress.

"Wow," said Baba, "Those flowers are so colourful! I ain't never seen 'em so colourful, where'dja get 'em from?"

While awaiting the flower lady's response, Baba stretched up on their toes to see over the bar.

"Hey mister!" Baba called to the flaming barman, "Can I have one empty glass please?"

____

"Bro. Rude. What are you doing?" Guy cried, indignant.

A skeleton dressed in a tool belt and overalls, a cap, and a badge that said 'MAINTENANCE SKELLY' waved his hand back in forth in front of the medieval princess skeleton's face. No response.

"Jus' performin' a maintenance check." said Maintenance Skelly. His voice was gravellier than a quarry, and jollier than Santa Claus.

He crouched down in front of her, and shined a laser pointer into her eye sockets. No response. He lifted her arm, and dropped it. It flopped like a noodle.

"This is a broken party decoration, mate."

Maintenance Skelly swung the princess skeleton over his shoulder firefighter style, and carried her off backstage. Guy was left alone on the couch.

"In the end," he said to the air, "We're all broken party decorations."

He paused, staring at the jawbone left forgotten on the couch. That line was genius. This party was a lyrical goldmine! He pulled a tiny notebook from inside his jacket, and scribbled ferociously.

Some sort of commotion went on by the bar, but he drowned it out. Something about souls? Whatever. Bettie was a part of the conversation, so it was probably just girl stuff.

What he did notice was the vampire chick with the awesome boots running off to the corner by herself, as though someone had upset her. Aww. She probably needed some casual but sensitive company to help her feel better.

Guy joined her in the corner, and leaned against the wall a few steps away.

"Hey," he said casually but sensitively, "You doin' alright?"

She couldn't quite pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Her head tilted to the side and she watched the empty space where it seemed to be, her pupilless eyes gazing blankly ahead.

"You've never needed a soul," she echoed. One of her hands had joined the one holding the spellbook and they were flipping through it, one holding the book while the other skimmed over a blank page, little raised dots appearing it the wake of her finger. Notes. Her pets would enjoy reading them. As far as any of them understood, life required a soul. It was delightful to be proven wrong.

Rowenna looked at the person who talked to her. "I'm fine. Who are you?" She had seen him come in with Bettie, but that was all. She wasn't fine, but there was no way she was going to announce what she could feel.

Puck was still more than a little upset that Arthur was ignored - again - but he was grateful that Arthur wasn't being threatened. He'd rather take an ignored Arthur or a threatened one, because no one got away with threatening Arthur Croft when Puck was in the vicinity.

But now that he had apparently been kicked out of the conversation, he stayed where he was and listened to the two speak with Arthur beside him.


The bartender did as requested. Ryan knew that skeletons couldn't really smile - after all, they technically worked for him - but the bartender definitely tried his best to. Ryan smiled, too. The scarecrow (?) that had come over was really cute, and it made him think of some of the kids he had interacted with before.

Azalea looked similarly awed by him, a warm smile dancing across her lips.

"Hi," she said. "I made them with my magic. Do you want one?"

Bettie loved interviews. She leaned playfully back against the bar, causing the imaginary cameras to overheat.

"Souls are for mortals. I'm not going to die, so what do I need one for? Souls go to heavens and hells, and the soulless keep them running.

I do my magic on stage and in the charts, demonic influence grows in the market, that's free advertising for Hell. Unofficial. Unless a sponsorship contract is offered. " Bettie shrugged. "I leave that stuff to my manager."


"Really, I don't care about a sponsorship. I'm just in it to make a difference, you know?"

She looked into the camera, the picture of award-winning doe-eyed innocence.

___

Guy supposed it was plausible she hadn't heard of him. Statistically, this had to happen sometimes. He didn't sweat it.

"Guy Lyner. Musician, lyricist, model, angel-demon hybrid." He performed a little hair flick. "The only one, probably. Not that I care."

___

Baba nodded, their whole body bobbing along. "Oh yes! I'd love one- willya stick it in my hat?"

Baba took off their big straw hat, and presented it to the flower lady.

Rowenna's eyebrows arched slightly at his arrogantish attitude. "Nice to meet you. Rowenna Dracula." She said, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms. She tossed her long hair out of her face.

It was frustrating, not being able to see the soulless one who spoke to her. She tilted her head, "You are a performer?" Hell wasn't a place that needed 'advertising', she didn't think. Perhaps things had changed since she'd last been there.

She wrote everything down, mentally noting which parts to let her followers see. They were quite easily panicked, her followers were. Any mention of hell would excite them more than was warranted.

Azalea's smile grew.

"Of course," she said.

She thought for a moment, mulling over what kind of flower to grow into existence. She wasn't too fond of the symbolism of flowers, but a sunflower did seem fitting for the scarecrow's bubbly personality.

She tucked the sunflower into the hat.

"I'm Azalea," she said. "And this is my husband Ryan - what's your name?"

She was too busy chatting with the scarecrow to notice the happy look on said husband's face - and how it was directed more towards her than their newest friend.

Baba spat out their introduction quickly, more interested in admiring the sunflower.
Just a little "Baba." before they grabbed the hat, and shoved it into their face. They stared in this pose for a solid ten seconds, before putting the hat back on, and turning back to Azalea. "Thank you," said Baba, buttons twinkling.

"It's so pretty- you must be a great witch. How about you?"

Baba pulled themself up onto a barstool, and turned to Ryan. "Are you a witch, too?"

Baba followed up this question with a mimed swig from the empty glass.
___

"Yes, I'm a performer." said Bettie. "I brought another one with me- there he is by the vampire over there- he likes to play at being torn-' she melodramatically threw her hand to her forehead - "between the light and the dark,' for the cross-demographic appeal." She attempted a dismissive wave. It was almost enough to throw off the judgement that leaked from her pores.

There was nothing wrong with gimmicks, or even Guy himself. Bettie was all about gimmicks, stage personas, calculated appeal- but that was just the thing- she was calculated. Guy had no persona, he just was. It made Bettie feel more competitive feelings than she was comfortable having toward a much smaller player. But the thought wasn't worth giving any more time to. Not when she had such an enticing conversation right in front of her.

"But that's enough about us, I'd love to hear about you. You're a demon with a soul, aren't you? That's fascinating. What's it for?"

___

Rowenna relaxed against the wall. She didn't look hurt anymore. It was already working.

"Rowenna." said Guy. "Pretty name. I know what it's like to have a famous dad, it sucks." he lamented.

Despite appearances, Guy was not flirting. He was too oblivious for that. As a musical explorer in angst, he considered it his place to connect to others through their angst, and theoretically help them in some way. Like a leather jacket fairy godmother.

Of course, this was often interpreted as flirting. Someday, he'd figure it out. Eventually.

The Anima Homicidii paused in her note-taking.

"It is a source," she said finally. The soulless one had referenced someone else in the room. It was frustrating to realize she didn't know where she had presumably gestured. If there was something more frustrating than this thing, The Anima Homicidii had yet to come across it. With no soul to reference, she knew nothing of this creature. Nothing but what it said, and most things were not opposed to lies.

"Oooh," said Bettie. "Imagine that. You must have so much power- maybe I should go find myself a soul." She gazed dreamily at the marionette man across the room.

"That would be nice."

She didn't respond to that. She did have a great deal of power when she was untethered, but when she was summoned into this realm her abilities were limited to the imaginings of the humans who performed the ritual. Thankfully, now was not such a time. she'd come here of her own accord and could thus access whichever of her powers she chose.

But none of them would help her with her current problem. she found herself wondering what this soulless being looked like. Most of the beings here were humanoid in appearance, but this one may be the exception.

She reached out and felt the air from which the voice emanated, finally finding a human-feeling arm near the bar. She stared at it. She could feel that it was there, and that it was alive, but her hand was empty.

She recorded this in such a way that her followers would not know the meaning. These notes were for her only.