Rue and Arlene, on Halloween

“Have I ever told you that I hate this time of year?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Rue swings her feet, kicking at the air; a tiny dinosaur and a harried zombie meander along the street three stories below. “You do?”

Arlene hums in reply, and glares at a giggling mass of sexy fruits. A bare-chested nurse runs after them, abs glistening in the fading light. “It’s just so surface.”

“So? They’re having fun.”

“But they shouldn’t be!” She’s too loud; a banana glances up and sees them silhouetted against the sky, Arlene in her pointed hat and Rue’s fertility-idol curves barely hidden beneath an avalanche of cloudy chiffon. He waves, and Rue flips him off. “This isn’t what it’s supposed to be like,” Arlene continues, quieter, “it’s not about this, this, bacchanal! It’s not about living!”

“Is this a Crossroads thing, babe?”

“… I guess? But it’s the same holiday. A harvest festival marking the turn of the cycle from bounty into scarcity, and commemorating the lives that will be lost in the coming seasons. Right?”

“Oh, Arlene …”

Arlene doesn’t like the look in Rue’s eyes as she turns to look at her. There is too much sympathy there, and too little true understanding. Sparks crackle through Rue’s hair, and below them a jack-o’-lantern shoves a clown; a scythe-wielding skeleton screams.

“What, it’s not?”

“Maybe the first two, but not the third.” Rue taps her chin; electricity crackles. “Or not in that direction? Sometimes it’s saying goodbye to people who are already gone, an extra chance to mourn. But mostly it’s just, you know, spooky.”

“… weird. What’s the point, then?”

“Uh. Honestly, I don’t—wait. How many people died in Crossroads each winter?”

“Oh,” this is more comfortable ground for Arlene, “lots. Mostly children, of course. Bad at fighting off angels, especially after frostbite set in. And the pneumonia.”

“… lots?”

“I mean, I wasn’t paying attention at the end of the war. But it must have been worse than when I was in creche, and even then only half of us survived to conversion.” Arlene flexes her heatsinks, flares open her weapon bays. They’ve been empty for decades, but it still feels good, like stretching after a hot shower.

“Babe. That’s not what it’s like down here.”

Somewhere below, two scantily-clad devils kiss and a truck honks in approval.

“… no? What, is it only decimation?”

“I don’t know the exact number? But basically everyone who survives birth makes it to puberty.”

“That—how does that work, then? You’ll be overrun within a century! Is there a cull?”

“No, it’s—I don’t know! This really isn’t what I’m good at!” Rue bristles, her hair sidling towards incandescence. “Most people don’t have that many children! It evens out!”

“Really? Fuck. No wonder it’s so messed up down here.”

Several unicorns wander past, visibly intoxicated; one of them loses his horn after a collision with a street sign. Rue is breathing heavily, trying to compose herself; lightning flickers through her dress and dances along her polished skin. Arlene plays with her target acquisition systems, an old stim that she’s never quite managed to replace.

“… sometimes I forget how different your old life was.”

“Everything’s just so soft. I don’t get it.”

“It’s not all—it’s different problems, I guess. Different scopes. We value different things.”

“… yeah. And you don’t have HER down here. That’s an improvement.”

Rue shrugs, her shoulder briefly emerging from her clothing like a mountain breaking through a storm. “We have things like HER, don’t we? Scattered around. Higher witches, gods. Zeitgeists.”

“No. No, those aren’t,” Arlene glances at Rue, sighs, “I hope you never learn what it was like.”

“Hah. I’ll happily leave that experience to Erin.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, thoughtful, “I wish I …”

Rue waits for a few seconds after Arlene trails off, but the look on her face heralds nothing good, nothing that won’t ruin both of their nights.

“Hey!” Rue abruptly stands, balancing easily on the edge of the roof; she reaches out towards Arlene with one hand. “I know it’s silly, but do you wanna go see what it’s like in person? Not just watching from above.”

Arlene takes her hand reflexively. Doesn’t get up, though. “I don’t have a costume, though? And … I don’t even know where I’d get the ritual paints …”

“Darling, look at yourself. No one’s going to complain that you don’t look the part. Anyway, I know exactly where we should go.”

“Oh? Okay, then.”

“Great! Let’s go~”