The Gembound would hear it on the wind: an uproarious laugh coming on a breeze; jingling bells; the shuffling of fabrics and honking squelch of rubber on stone floors. They'd see it too—a multicolored orb bounding down the halls, leading them through tangles of trees and into a fantastical wonderland of color, jarred specimens (is that a FETUS?!), and games.

Oh, the games!

A hand would occasionally jut out from the otherwise indiscernible mass of color and ruffled fabric, waving to the newest batch of Gembound it'd managed to string along into here. "COME, COME! YOU FOLLOW ME!" blared the tittering laughter again and again, and the ball rolled further into the mist. Piercing yellow eyes always glanced back for a split second, making sure they were following close behind. After all, it'd be a shame to lose them in this nightmarish fair before the big reveal!

Speaking of a big reveal...

Just when any reasonable Gembound would begin to lose faith in the whole ordeal and start to turn back, a darkened carnival stall would edge into view. It was painted in a crisp red, with a countertop absolutely overflowing with pumpkins of various sizes, colors. They practically flooded onto the ground with how many there were. Any space a bar stool might've been was occupied by especially large pumpkins. There was just one spot cleared off on the countertop, no bigger than four feet wide.

A spotlight snapped on with an echoing click!, and the bouncy ball from before slammed directly into the clean spot. Then, as all bouncy balls do, it grew a hand. And then another, and—oh, there's two feet and a big, bushy striped tail like a raccoon's! One hand reached (with no less than a dramatic flourish) into the pile of white ruff where one might expect a neck to be, and yanked out a cyan shock of hair—and the cheekily-painted head attached to it.

"AH! YOU GAZE UPON MONSIEUR GREASEBALL? GAZE UPON HIM LIKE THE FOOL?" His cherry-red grin betrayed his feigned dismay, back of hand upon his forehead (and coming away with a white smear). The impish creature wobbled his way down the countertop, hilariously oversized shoes honking (honk-a! honk-a! honk-a!) as he merrily went.

Greaseball gave a short tut-tut-tut before attempting to reach for a pumpkin.

You see, there are two components to Greaseball's name: "Grease" being attached to the oiliness of all the paint on his face, and "ball"—which is to mean that he is a ball and has a tendency to roll.

So the imp rolled flat onto his face, fell onto the and possibly hundreds of pumpkins went scattering all over the Gembound's feet.

But, the mission was a success; Greaseball hauled himself up with a pumpkin perfectly fitted to his palm and flung it into the dark stall without any acknowledgement of the slapstick that'd just occurred (it's always funnier that way!) "LOOK!" he howled as lights flashed on and revealed a stack of cylinders moments before squash impact. "LISTEN TO MONSIEUR GREASEBALL. LISTEN TO HIM LIKE THE TEACHER!"

As the pumpkin shattered into a thousand pieces and sent cans flying with a metallic clatter, the imp spun on a heel and grinned again. "THROW A PUMPKIN IF YOU DARE! YOU'LL FIND THE REWARD TO BE QUITE... SPOO-O-OKY! THREE PRIZES FOR EACH OF YOU, THOUGH! BOSS'S RULES." He let loose a burst of laughter, lips peeled back to his gums in a most unsettling way.

"BUT NO CHEATING! IF ANYTHING NOT PUMPKIN HITS THE CANS..." Putrid eyes narrowed in a baleful grimace.

Then, he was back to his jovial, bouncy self. Depositing a pumpkin front of the nearest Gembound, he crowed. "THAT'S ALL! GOOD LUCK! MONSIEUR GREASEBALL WATCHES LIKE THE HAWK!"

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, ORIGIN! Given the sleepiness of this site, we're going to have a nice, low-pressure little event this year!

As Monsieur Greaseball has so-helpfully explained, the Gembound can attempt to knock down stacks of cans using his seemingly infinite supply of pumpkins. This may be done through any means that involve the pumpkin!

Cheaters who don't use their pumpkins may face... consequences...

Gembound may attempt to knock down the cans as many times as they like, and may win up to three times. Each win/barely+ successful attempt will net them one Halloween Specialty spell of your own choosing (claimable in Update Me! once you're all done!)

As a reminder for what those Spooky Spells are...

Jack-o-Spawn
Low Intensity Manipulation. Grow a small-medium sized pumpkin out of the ground. They can be eaten or carved into a spooky Jack-o-Lantern or thrown at people, because throwing pumpkins is fun.

Vampire Gaze
Low Intensity Transformation. The user's eyes become bloodshot and turn a ghastly shade of crimson for as long as the user can focus. There seems to be no other purpose to this spell besides spooking others.

Witch Cackle
Low Intensity Manipulation. The user can conjure a witchy cackling emited either from them or from somewhere else in the room. Like a regular cackle, only slightly scarier.

New characters can join this event until November 14th @ 11:59 PM EST, but posts can be made until this thread goes into the archives for being too old.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Characters can arrive by themselves or in groups! Monsieur Greaseball will have given essentially the same introduction and rules to each one, but you may tag for interaction. Otherwise, have fun and let loose! Feel free to interact with other characters, or mash out your three wins and leave. This is just a fun little thing! Please enjoy <3

Okay, alright, okay, alright, okay, alright, okay, alright— realistically, would you expect a massive monster sabertooth pallas cat thing to be into clowns? Probably not. But conceptually, in the space and span of the mind, is it not possible for a massive monster sabertooth pallas cat thing to be into clowns? It totally is. It totally completely super is. I mean, listen, look. Listen to Monsieur Greaseball, listen to him like the teacher. Clowns are shiny. Colorful. Covered head to toe in stimulus and sensation. Cats, as we know, have an affinity for objects that roll and objects that jingle. Hoarders, as you might have learnt from dragons and magpies and other such fictional creatures, are really into shiny things.

Well?

You have a ball. You have a catawampus. Hypothetically, the situation is happening right now. Theoretically, this catawampus is following, most intrigued, its eyes wide like little moons and its guard faltering. You could have put a pit trap here and it wouldn't have noticed.

It follows on the heels, entirely enchanted by the orb itself rather than its destination. It watches, hypnotized by the display of pure cartoonish slapstick comedy. Lights. Pumpkins. Games. It listens, mesmerized, just like he is teacher, to the gleeful, maniacal introduction to this game. Well done Monsieur Greaseball; you have made it a fool indeed. A fool in bedazzling pyrite, a glorious fool. A fool with a large and heavy disdain for rules.

There are many places for pumpkins, many pumpkins in said places, but the catawampus hardly sees any of them. The scent of tomfoolery drowns out what little reason or thought it harbors in its mind. The orb it seeks is no true gourd, but rather a semblance of a gourd. All things round and bright. Quickly approaching the Greaseball himself at the speed of Large, the catawampus attempts to reach out and grasp him with gentle but firm paws. What is to happen next will be up to whim and whimsy, but I imagine it's not looking so good for the imp.

@Game Master Navy

Bug chased the bouncing, honking ball of color for the same reason that the Catawampus had: a cat's fascination for doing exactly that, chasing just such things.

Half her chase consisted of a race on rounded paws, but the rest of her time was spent leaping into the air and beating batlike wings to make up ground the strange creature had gained. The arrival in the Carnival slowed her, just a little: round eyes gazed about at all the colorful, flashing wonders here, and her nose and ears struggled with all of the entrancing odors and clashing sounds coming at her from all directions. She'd never seen anything like this place: bright and crowded full of activity and creatures bustling this way and that.

When she drew up, it was in time to catch the majority of the stranger's speech, to realize that they ("MONSIEUR GREASEBALL") had been the ball all along--and to see Catawampus go for a snag. She recognized that one, and wow, had it gotten BIG.

Huh, she thought idly, and turned her narrow-eyed attention to the pumpkins. "If you're going to eat it, do it after we get prizes, huh?" she suggested good-naturedly, lifting a paw to touch a pumpkin. But therein lay the problem: she had paws, not hands, and they certainly were not meant for flinging.

With a mental shrug, she stepped back, and tried to heft it with her magic instead. In her mind, she was being very clever indeed: adhering to the rules without actually following the strict example. It didn't occur to her that using magic would probably just be common sense. No: she was cunning and resourceful-! Bug squinted, taking careful aim, and tried to (magically) lob the little pumpkin for the next set of cans. Warning, of course, the carnie with a careful "You watching?!" first, just in case they were distracted by the giant cat-beast trying to get ahold of them.

Couldn't have that!

The pumpkin soared a nice little arc--simple and direct--and clattered into the cans, and Bug leapt into the air and hung there with a beat of her wings before settling back down. "YEAAAH! I did it!" she cried, enthused at her success in this brand new venture, despite having no prior investment in it whatsoever. "So, um--what do I win?!" And she spared a glance to the potential altercation close by.

Well, that had been-... a ride. The half-grown colt had given chase, too, cloven hooves clattering on rock, and their arrival left them out of breath and gleaming with sweat. Atropos came to an uncertain halt a few yards off, flanks heaving--let me just catch my breath before I go over, they told themselves.

It wasn't exactly that, though, it was more that the place was so suddenly crowded and thick with strangers and sights and sounds that they couldn't quite get their thoughts straight. It was chaotic, and the already-nervous unicorn hesitated. Um... can I just-? they thought, and wanted to say, but the words sort of stuck in their chest. At last, though, Atropos cleared their throat; and with a first step, then a second (made easier by the fact that nobody currently present was paying them any attention, anyway) they came up to a pumpkin of their own.

They nosed it, black velvet muzzle touching over hard orange gourd, the contrast giving them pause. It felt-... weird, like the plants they grew but heavy; and with some hesitation they bared blunt teeth to try and get a grip. It was a horse's sort of clumsy toss: the kind where a horse will grab something in their teeth, and with a fling of their neck, throw the thing away.

They hadn't ever done it before, and it was hard to aim, but excitement thudded in their chest as they gave it their best shot.

A clatter of cans announced a success, and the colt cried out despite themselves: "I did it!" with pleased surprise. Bug's question was an echo of their own thoughts as they turned, bright-eyed, to peer hopefully at the good sir Greaseball for guidance.

________⁂________

Snatch!

Now clutched in oversized paws, Monsieur Greaseball let loose a horrible howl: "OOOOOOOOOOHHH, YOU GRAB MONSIEUR GREASEBALL? YOU GRAB HIM LIKE THE SQUEAKY TOY?!"

Every tooth in his terrible little imp mouth split wide in a grin — no, seriously, his face peeled into four sections, each a horrific flap of meat covered in teeth. The little ball in the Catawampus's hand expanded as he sucked in a massive breath; then, promptly let it go in a spluttering wheeze so intense his face started to go red under his seven layers of white paint. ^"YOOOOOU," he yowled like a cat on helium and coughed again, ^{"LET MONSIEUR GREASEBALL GO! HE BITES AND HAS WORK TO DOOOO!"}

While he was busy struggling in his binds (and definitely about to start eating his way out, with how close those teeth were getting to furry fingers, he writhed to turn to the two winning contestants. "CONGRATULATIONS! IF MONSIEUR GREASEBALL WERE NOT CURRENTLY IMPRISONED, HE WOULD GIVE MANY A FANFARE TO YOU. CONFETTI AND BALLOONS!"

Monsieur Greaseball decided then and there that he should play a game of Scorpion, and dug his claws into the Catawampus's palms. See how long you can handle that!?

And, through gritted teeth, he smiled back at Bug. "GETCHASELF A BALLOON FROM BEHIND THE COUNTER. AND THE POINTY-SPIKE GUY ONE TOO. AND POP IT! THAAAT'S ONE FOR EACH OF YOU SO FAR!" He snarled at the Catawampus, all pretense gone. "EXCEPT FOR YOO-O-OOU."

The vibrato held so much despair. Monsier Greaseball prepared to add his teeth to the mix of things currently stabbing his captor.

@Catawampus @Bug (Atropos)

The catawampus says nothing, absolutely nothing, as the little garbage beach ball goes about sputtering commands and pleas and insults. See these massive discs on either side of this catawampus's head? They're not actually for hearing. They're a confusion tactic, and an intimidation tactic, all rolled into one! Allow for a demonstration:

You must have escaped that old cage...
So small and full of mouseish ire. It begins to pat the orb man very gently.
You splintered from the pan of age
And sprung into the fire.

See! Not listening. Very confusing "conversation" as a result, and— was that some kind of threat?

The catawampus is very lucky to have its thick, luxurious fur. Not so great for battling a halberd tooth that weaponizes speed and inertia, but absolutely stellar for handling the pinprick needle claws most pests are equipped with. Unluckily however, this glorious padding has its limits. The catawampus had begun to learn them from the last time it had picked up a small unassuming bundle of fuzz. Will it ever learn? (No.) The lesson was as follows: occasionally, a pinprick needle can get passed the fur wall. And when it does, it won't hurt. At first. But then... oh man, but then it will get so much worse. Perhaps the catawampus will never learn to exercise restraint, but... caution, caution it can do.

So what do you do when a maybe-venomous multi-mouthed snake ball in your hands attempts to bite you? Well, first, you reel your arms way way back, and then... you FLING that evil pumpkin!! The catawampus does appear to be aiming (vaguely) for one of the cans, but without any real intent of hitting and thereby participating in the game. There is always a possibility, however. For tasks to do the opposite of failing successfully. Whatever that may be called.

Guess we'll never know. The catawampus misses, but! The monsieur remains thrown. Perhaps a few feet. Into the floor.

I'm sorry, but hey, at least he bounces!

@Game Master Navy

At the flood of wailing and angry words, Bug had paused. She was tempted to say something to Catawampus (as big as they were, and as intimidating...) and almost certainly was about to do so! After she'd gathered her courage a little! -when Catawampus took the situation very literally into its own hands even further. Or rather, out of them. And chucked poor sir Greaseball for the cans.

Bug winced. She didn't want to be the next one grabbed, so with a sidelong glance at Catwampus she hastened for the balloons. "Right--right, one for me, one for you, uh, sword-face," she told the unicorn. One delivered to herself, and one to Atropos, and then she sat back on her haunches. (Well away from Catwampus.) With a curious stare at the balloon, she wondered what it meant to pop it; she'd never seen one of these, before. Even with the grand display upon their arrival, she was still a little hesitant as she unsheathed a few claws and gave a tentative rake over the latex surf-

POP!

The cat-dragon shot into the air, wings beating frantically, her fur puffed out in every direction. A little yowl escaped her, a short puff of smoke. "WHAT WAS THAT!" she cried, and then paused, torn between "it was awesome" and "it was terrifying."

Their attention was torn between the entire... scene, and Bug calling them sword-face. Huh. They, too, weren't at all sure what to make of all of this: was the Catawampus just part of the, ah, event-? Not even fully adult, the unicorn wasn't sure whether to even try to intervene.

They did manage to offer a hesitant "-Are you okay?" Monsieur Greaseball's way.

On to the balloon, then: held carefully between Atropos's front hooves, and then studied. They glanced sideways as Bug popped hers, and they too flinched; but it was a good example of how exactly to pop a balloon, if nothing else. (And a warning of the loud sound that would ensue.)

A long horn was pointed down, thrust into the brightly-colored thing, and it burst with another loud pop--the sound loud even against Atropos's pre-pinned ears. They pulled back, wincing briefly.

What would happen now..?

________⁂________

SPIDER WARNING? I mean, a little late now probably but... I'll make a new table at some point I swear.

Tick, tick, tock, tick, went the spider's bristly legs. The "tock" was the one tipped with a gem: a sudden sharp rap quite at odds with the s ofter rasp of his other tiny-hooked feet. Of course, the spider himself was anything but tiny; a spider the size of a dog was nobody's favorite beast, but Legba strolled in as though he considered himself the life of this particular party.

Six glowing eyes took in the... situation, with Monsieur Greaseball; and Legba chuckled warmly.

"Ha! Haha, we are all having fun, I see..?" (His feet "clicked" together as he came to a stop.) "All fun and games..." he went on, chelicerae briefly working in thought.

He turned a fraction, tilting his body so that he could eye the cans in the booth. "What do you all think; can Legba hit those cans? He has enough limbs to try, more than once!" Humor laced his tone, and with one of his almost mechanically smooth movements, Legba flicked out one--well, leg--in an attempt to kick one of the smaller pumpkins into a can.

The clatter that ensued was satisfying to him, and he turned with what might've been smugness to the rest, his voice a pleased croon. "Well, then; that's Legba's magic worked. And what's this little game give... in return?"

You are my sunshine
my only sunshine

Simon (the second) was here! Of course he was, he was simply too pure to resist a fun game.

The not-so-little serpent was floating above the crowd on delicate wings when he saw it-- a bouncy ball flying through the crowd. He followed it a ways until he came to the stand and saw the rows of pumpkins and cans. How fun!

Simon waited in the line for his turn, pleasantly ignoring... whatever was going on with the living beach ball. When it was his turn he did a little dance of glee, before picking up a pumpkin in his mouth and lobbing it as hard as he could.

.... And misses. He misses hard. The pumpkin comes careening straight towards-- what was his name? Monsieur Ball or something? Simon's eyes open wide, then wince shut before they can witness the imminent impact. "Oh, oh! I'm so sorry!" he yelps.

You know what they say. Ball or be ball-ed.

You make me happy
when skies are gray