All Saints Dawn

[Betty Liski]

Southern Wilds

Coydog had already strapped on her boots, slung on her messenger bag and got her lion-onesied self back to courier-ing before daybreak on November 1st., leaving Betty to sleep well into The Day After Halloween as if someone had taken out her batteries. Eventually, the Brooklynite stirred in the abandoned house not far from Rhydin's South gate as the sunlight chased its way across the floor to the roll-out mattress by the kitchen. The first thing her eyes met was the tear-off calendar on the night stand, right by the clock, reading a big giant 1. She greeted the day with a resounding "Shhhit" and started a search, in earnest, for her clothes.

Old Temple

Bells pealed throughout the district, from large clangers in church towers to little fae jinglers on strips, in celebration of the spirits of the dead and the ghosts of autumn passing in and out of the city. While more than a few denizens roared at the volume of 'hangover' out of their windows, the din allowed Betty at least some bit of cover as she murmured to herself on the long trek back to Seaside.

"Hay, Dima." Betty sighed, a deep, soul-deflating rush of air as she hustled through the intersection, her wedge-heeled boots slipping just a tad on cobblestone. A sprite or two buzzed in her wake, dazzled by the sparse glitter that clung to her skin and dusted over the daring black mini-dress and pounds of jewelry that composed her costume. "... Ferst time in four years I ain't wakin' up widda hangova. Heh." As the sun crested from behind a cloud, she unzipped her jacket, a tweed coat collared with bright green faux fur. "... Had a good night. I ain't sarry about nothin'... Sometimes I f'get I seen ya six months ago." She turned down to a little food cart, straightened up, ordered a Turkish coffee and paid with a 5-silver note before heading to the pedestrian crosswalk at the Four Points intersection, heading toward Westbridge. The time between lights gave her the chance to enjoy a sip or two of her coffee before floating through the intersection traffic, heading north.

It could have been the running water, or perhaps some other Rule or Requirement of their particular strand of Fair Folk, but the sprites remained behind as Betty crossed onto Westbridge.

Old Market

Once she made it onto the bridge, where the wind off the sea both cooled her coffee and hid her words, she continued. "I keep tryin' ta f'get I seen ya six months ago." She paused on the words, slowing down to lean on the bridge's railing and watch the brackish water churn and ripple below. "... I can't get that look on ya face outta my head, Dima." She sighed as she looked into the muddy layer of grounds at the bottom of her cup. "... I dunno if you like the werld ya got, but... it ain't mine no more." She remained for a few more moments, at least until she watched a few maintenance workers trudging up to the Ilnaren family docks, then pushed off to continue into the Old Market district, keeping to the riverside streets. "

"Heeeeey! Hot Bet-tay!" A small collection of firefighters waved to her from the other side of the street, likely on their way to the Marketplace proper to grab some lunch.

"No sweets today, ladies n' gents. I'll see yaz tamarrow, arright?" She blew them a kiss, which earned her no small amount of flatteries and adorations. Though she kept her eyes ahead and walked with purpose toward the Plaza's East Wall, she couldn't fight the ear-to-ear smile from spreading. She started up once again. "I t'ink I'm doin' some good, is what I'm sayin'."

Seaside Plaza

Garlands of marigolds wrapped the drawbridge chains and lined the archway into Seaside Plaza, its ramparts bedecked with skeleton décor and vibrant sugar skull murals. The Plaza's bustle had a bit less hustle to it than usual, which made the coffee and concession areas seem that much busier as people looked to caffeinate away the consequences of the previous night's party. Betty's stride only let her take a cursory glance around as she tried to eat up the distance between walls inside of the Plaza, her hands clenched into little fists at her side. "Gottapee, gottapee..."

Moments Later...

Betty emerged from one of the sit-down restaurants, her face free of makeup and her hands now full of gyro while she took her time around the vibrant Day of the Dead-bedecked former castle. From a high balcony, looking over a memorial wall that lit up what used to be the castle's creepiest corner, she took up her account once more.

"... So I uh..." She picked out a piece of red onion nibbled it down before it could drop onto one of the store canopies below. "... I t'ink this is the last year I'm gonna be twoalkin' to ya like this, Dima." She tensed up as she spoke, steeling herself for a potential stream of tears... that didn't arrive. In their place, a warmth ran through her, from her crown to her soles, as she thought on her Halloween Night. "I got the makings of a uh..." She fluttered part of the parchment paper that held her gyro with her fingertip. "... of a pretty nice new tradition."

Betty eased toward the Plaza's West Wall, turning to catch the huge Santa Muerte mural on the opposite side, bedazzlement glimmering in dark eyes. "Oo." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, musing on things perhaps a bit less sacrosanct. "... I might make it a thing, readin' t'this gerl owan holidays when I get ha." Her nose crinkled as she smiled, and a faint blush rose to her cheeks. "It's weihd. It's like I'm sharin' custody wit' my gerlfrand. It works, so fah." She tongued a tomato seed from her teeth, an impish smile just barely touching her lips. "Works *real* good so fah. Anyways..."

Seaside

As Betty exited the Plaza, she looked to the final, sodden bite of lamb and pita in her fingers, still a touch bleary as she smiled in readiness. A gull, casual as could be, floated by on the winds and snatched it up before peeling off toward the shore. The Brooklynite flicked her gyro-juice-dribbled hand at the bird. "Aw Fuck you! I hope ya liked it, ya ratten bastid!" She learned better of raising middle fingers to the birds in Seaside, especially with food on them. Instead, she let out that long, enduring sigh now that she had reached her neighborhood, through the surf shops, head shops, bait & tackle huts and fish fry joints to reach her apartment. "Anyways, Dima, we gat T'anksgivin' n' Christmas, n' I ain't werkin' holidays no more, so I dunno. But ah..." She ran up the stairs to her floor, looking out across one of the few un-glamorous views of Seaside. "... I'm gonna cwoall it a year." She found her key in her bag and unlocked her door, every ounce of exhaustion catching up with her.

"I love you, little brotha. Take care o' y'salf."