“I don’t even like caramel apples or whatever the fuck you guys grabbed as prizes,” Chander remarked.
“Of course not. Our dear Arch Lich doesn’t like fruits or veggies in any form,” Victor remarked with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Chand, are you going to make our pumpkins last until the party? I read that they might only survive a few days without magic,” Brynnius commented.
“Absolutely. I’ll use a version of an indestructible spell, so they last until after then. If you want it permanent, let me know and I can do that too. But I’m assuming here that they don’t go with the decor of the house, so you’ll need to move them to your rooms after the party.”
“We could put them in storage and pull them out next year if we don’t want to keep them displayed in our rooms,” Benton pointed out. “I will probably want a permanent spell since my pumpkin is going to kick the ass of everyone else in here.”
“You’re delusional,” Cassius told him as he freed his design from the little book and taped it to the face of his pumpkin.
“I can’t believe some of you assholes are actually using your daggers,” Arvandus said as Ducarius sank his blade through the flesh of his gourd.
“You sound pissed off,” Chander observed as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“I am. It’s ridiculous. How’re you going to carve with a fucking curved blade? You’d be better off with a kitchen knife,” Arvandus retorted.
“Well, we do train with them every day,” Cassius said. His memory stretched for approximately one thousand and eight hundred years. Each day since his resurrection, even after his evil necromancer stripped him of his honor by murdering innocent people who had dared cross him, Cassius had honed his skills. Both of his blades were extensions of his arms when in his grasp, and his brethren were the same.
“You don’t train to carve squash,” Arvandus refuted.
“I didn’t know pumpkins were squash,” Victor said as he dipped one of his little pumpkins into a bowl of glitter after spraying it with something that smelled horrific.
“Does that make them a fruit or a vegetable?” Baxter asked.
“Fruit,” Arvandus replied.
“I like this piercing tool,” Cassius remarked as he punched holes to mark the outline of his elf design. “This is going to be so awesome.”
“I have finished,” Ducarius stated and swung his gourd around. On the face of it, he’d carved a dagger reminiscent of the two floating at Cassius’s hips. The outline was a fair likeness, and Cassius was proud of Ducarius’s efforts. The sentinel often had to be cajoled into joining activities but hadn’t offered an argument as he’d dived into his cutting.
“Nice job,” Chander told him while Cassius offered a nod of assent. “After the judges are finished, I can add the green and black of your poisons around it if you want.”
“I would appreciate that, Chand, and thank you.”
Victor pointed at the dining table and instructed Ducarius that they’d keep the pumpkins there until the counter was no longer in use. They would remain there overnight until Chander created their hollow in the morning; then Victor would figure out the best place to display them to their advantage.
“I’m just about done too,” Baxter revealed after a grunt as he jabbed at his orange squash.
Benton leaned toward Baxter to see his mate’s work and laughed so hard, he bent over.
“What?” Baxter demanded as he too showed off his creation.
Cocking his head to the side, Cassius could sort of see what the initial plan had been. Baxter wanted the look of a traditional jack-o-lantern, but either he was visually impaired, or his dagger had been as difficult of a tool as Arvandus had warned, because the entire thing was a hot mess. One eye was higher than the other, not to mention the shapes of both weren’t close to matching. The mouth too had veered off course and was missing teeth completely on one side, giving the pumpkin a truly strange expression.
“Go put that mess on the table,” Benton told his unhappy mate once he recovered from his hysterics.
“It was a nice try for your first time,” Arvandus offered in his most diplomatic tone.
“You guys suck. My jack-o-lantern is everything awesome.”
More sentinels completed their carvings while Cassius chose to borrow the gentleness and patience of Brynnius to ensure everything about his elf was perfect. Alaric chose a skull design and had asked Chand to turn his pumpkin the same matte black after judging.
“I’m sorry, but I cry foul. The Skeleton Seven includes the only sentinel whose bones were blackened, so I understand why we honor Albie, but I think it’s also a move to kiss up to one of the judges,” Baxter argued.
“I chose the kit before I knew Albie was a judge,” Alaric defended. “And my choice to ask Chand to turn it black only formed after witnessing him do it to his own. While I will always honor every skeleton in our race, I believe the point of the jack-o-lanterns along with the rest of our hollow decor is to create a spooky atmosphere. A black skull is more sinister in appearance than a bright-orange one.”
Albrecht chuckled. “Perhaps no one would’ve stared at me or drew back in fear if I was such a bright, happy color. I think I might’ve enjoyed that, though I still believe it is a strange hue.”
