ardashir

“Oh, now don't get lost, Fatima my sweet!” Then, under his breath, the man costumed as a swashuckling feline Errol Flynn hissed into the mike in his mask connected to a bud in the other suiter's ear, “Do you even know where you're going, you baggage?” “Tabbe, my love,” the crimson vixen dressed like a dancer from the Arabian Nights purred back at him, costume's eyes half-lidded with long lashes, “unlike some people I always know where I'm going.” She rolled her hips as she passed several young men dressed in some sort of SF military outfits. They gave appreciative wolf whistles as she did. Fatima muttered under her breath into the small mike in her mask, “I know who I'd rather be with, too. Jerk!” Before either could say more one of the 'soldiers' set their arm around Fatima's curvy waist and gave her a squeeze. She lightly slipped out of their clutches with the ease of long practice. “Oh, no, good sir! My dearest love Tabbe,” she bowed in the direction of her feline compatriot

Bram jumped aside as the spellbolt flew past his face. Black-lined crimson light flared in his eyes. No heat, no crack of air, just a flash of light. Something about this felt wrong. As Bram thought that the unicorn charged past him right at the kids with a diabolic laugh. “BWA-HAHA! Did you really think Sombra was gone forever? Foals!” Ponies and Changelings and Griffons and one small Dragon all screamed in terror as the monstrous unicorn leveled his horn at them. As he did Bram leaped on his back. He raced through the options in his mind. Grab the horn, yank the head back, punch him in the eye and most likely get trampled as the kids fled. Let this work, let this work – WHAT? Bram crashed through the rearing stallion face-first into the dirt. Sombra gave one last laugh, blew a raspberry at him, and vanished. “It's an illusion!” Bram rolled over and spat out a mouthful of grass. How did ponies eat the stuff? The kids were racing here, there, and everywhere in a panic. Cobalt and

“This is what humans do for Nightmare Night?” Granch idly raised one furred lion-paw and pointed a claw at the leering devil face hanging beside the cackling green-skinned witch on the Conversion Clinic's wall. “Hang up pictures of human Tirek and Chrysalis?” “No,” Bram hung up a grinning ghost beside the first two. Some of the clinic's equine staff were watching and whickering in clear amusement. Behind them hung pony decorations, mostly of a menacing fanged black-coated demon alicorn with catlike green eyes. One of the non-equines, Mewsette the Abyssinian, swayed over in highly distracting fashion. Bram swallowed and said, “Well, yes, partly. These are decorations for Halloween. It's a human holiday and has been for decades.” “I know,” Mewsette purred out. She lightly swatted Granch with her long tail. “It's in those memos we're supposed to read, remember? The ones about human customs and culture? We might as well know about them as long as they're still here – oh, sorry, Bram.”