Young Writers Society

She smiled, the human gesture once again deceptively natural on her face even as it was closed-lipped. She found that baring her teeth, as sharp and sharklike as they were, wasn't usually the better option when speaking to humans.

"I'm an academic as well. My studies usually lie in the interdimensional realms of magic, but I dabble elsewhere as well. What topic do you most frequently write about?" Her interest wasn't fake, for once. She found that to be a rather nice oddity.

"Oh! You actually want to know more?" Paul first questioned aloud and then slowly accepted. He soon realized he shouldn't have said that doubt aloud, that this person might be offended.
"Currently, I don't know how interesting it would be to other people, but I'm researching culinary magic at the moment. I don't really have a solid topic because I'm just a researcher and a librarian."

"Culinary magic," she repeated, "I can't say I've ever thought to research such a thing. What drew you to it, may I ask?" He was an odd man, she decided. Some strange type she didn't spend much time around at the university, though she was sure there were people like him there somewhere.

He laughed, covering his mouth with his hand, and thinking of the events that started it all.
"Well my husband and I have this friend, who is criminal consultant of my husband, and he is a very talented chef," Paul paused to pull a strand of hair out of his eye.
"One party, I ended up talking to this Francis fellow and then it just spiraled off to us discussing culinary history by different species and magic types. And then it went all the way back to us talking about how magic can be harnessed to create basic food elements from just a thought."

"A...criminal consultant?" she asked, the individual words feeling odd to say together. A truly odd person, this man and his husband must be. As much as his company was enjoyable, she was glad no one like him was at court. It would be impossible to persuade anyone of anything if everyone wasn't so dull as they were.

"Yes, a criminal consultant," Paul paused while trying to decide how to explain the concept to someone not familiar with the screwed up ness of the American justice system. "Maybe I should have mentioned this first but my husband is the chief Deputy Sheriff in our home county."

Paul thought briefly about how Carter would probably become the Sheriff within a few months, with Mr. Lincoln already being on his death bed, and everyone in favor of Carter assuming the position.

'Sheriff' sounded like an important title, but Marciella didn't recognize it. He must be from another world, or realm.

"I do believe we are from different realms," she said, using the more ambiguous word in case she was wrong, "Why would someone with a title of any kind need to consult with criminals? How do such actions not tarnish his reputation?"

Their realms did seem to be very different, but Paul couldn't really say anything because he hadn't asked much about this mer's background. In fact, he wasn't quite sure what was polite to say to a mer and what might be an un-excusable crime, so he was limping across egg shells.

"In my realm, specific to planet Earth and specific to the United States of America, the legal system is not brilliant." He looked to his husband, still standing at the bar, and making unclear conversation. "Carter is a deputy and he investigates crimes, so sometimes you have to talk to the criminals."

"Huh." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she pieced what she knew of his world together. "Why would the people stand for a flawed legal system? You imply that it is very much so, why has the ruling class not been overturned?" If the people weren't happy with the legal system in her world, the ruling class would see an increasing amount of bloodshed until things changed. It wasn't legal, but it was just how it was.

Their realms must be very different.

Paul looked nervously across the room once more, hoping Carter would turn around at any moment, and come to his aid. He could barely talk politics with his grandmother without getting into a fight. How would he explain the terribleness of the USA to a someone who has never heard of the concept before?

"It might be hard to believe, but this is somewhat the standard in our country." He nervously coughed and leaned on his cane. "The United States is not the kind of place where the ruling class admits to being the ruling class. They're more covert and they are often very...flawed."

"Hm." His world didn't sound like a fair place, but she didn't believe that pushing for more detail would be in either of their best interests. After all, this was a party, and the current topic of conversation wasn't nearly light enough for such an event.

"Are you an artist?" she asked to change the subject.

Rowenna leaned back against the wall, waiting for Guy's reaction. Her ears picked up bits and pieces of various conversations.

Guy stared blankly.

"Ulterior...?" said Guy, confused.

Ulterior motives? A party conspiracy? He didn't think that was what he was thinking.
He didn't catch on to this being a Halloween party because he thought that they just decorated the house this way for the hell of it. But Rowenna said that was what he was thinking, and she was a telepath, so she decided he was probably right.

"I'm not sure yet what could be stood to gain from throwing a party... but I'll let you know if I spot anything strange." said Guy, warily.

From secret nooks behind the walls and under their feet, unearthly voices were raised in gossip.

Above their heads, the scarecrow child leapt from floating couch to floating couch, intent on making it to the ceiling. Fingers, tentacles, and limbs of all persuasions poked through odd ceiling cracks at leisurely intervals, lazily beckoning the curious.

On the floor, skeletons danced the ancient dance to the swells of death, in lines around the five-armed demon, and the spade-tailed demon. (Oh, Bettie found a dance, good for her.)

One needed only look from one end of the great room to the other to find a Dullahan trying on the Green Knight's head, a little imp in a Red Riding Hood costume running off with the knight's emerald axe, a summoning ritual being performed on top of a table while a seance was performed underneath it, and the Maintenance Skelly running to the hosts across the room with an obese unicorn in his bony arms, sweating profusely from metaphorical pores.

Guy glanced at each one of these things, and batted an eye at none of them.

"Damn. Looks like a normal party to me." he said, defeated.

"Whatever's going on, they're hiding it really good."

Rowenna laughed. "I just find it weird that I was invited, and don't be surprised when I say paranoid comments. I've been raised to be suspicious of just about everything for my whole life."

Baba the scarecrow child flew the couch straight into the wall, near the bar.
"Diid Baabbaa hit anYonEe?" said the poor discombobulated creature.

Meanwhile the seance under table five was in full swing. The ghost of Napoleon appeared, snapped 'I have places to be, you know,' and vanished in a huff.

But the summoning on top of the table, that was a different story.

The ancient song of death faded out, and 70's funk grooved on in.

An eight foot tall, bright orange demon with a bald head sprouting from a thick meaty neck, a jaunty red moustache, shoulders broad enough to get stuck in doorways, and disproportionately miniscule wings appeared on top of the table, which broke under his heavy boxer-like build immediately.

"I didn't expect Satan to dress like a 70's businessman who had a big gay, gay wedding to go to after the business casual meeting. Even for the 70's." said one of the summoners, referring to the demon's amber open collar pinstripe shirt, suspenders, and checkered burgundy trousers.

"Suntan, actually," said Suntan, with his usual good-natured smile. And then that summoner fell into a pile of ash.
Suntan slapped the back of the terrified summoner who had sat next to him, and laughed heartily. That laugh could fill a French cathedral.

Guy groaned, popped his collar, and attempted to hide beneath it. Then he realised it would be more efficient to hide behind Rowenna, and proceeded to do that.

"Ugh, someone just summoned my dad." he groaned, not nearly as quietly as he seemed to think he did. "This is so embarrassing."