This is really just descriptions. Plotless.
The air was murky, a far and deep cry from what it was mere days previous. The budding city of Crocus fallen into a state of decomposition as the blooming capital prepared for the night of the dead. Men roamed the streets arranging the desired decorations into the right places. Removing lacrima from lamplights and replacing them with candlesticks of dripping red wax that burned with a morbid, flickering green flame. Women sat in the shops manufacturing the things needed for the night - small bakeries cooling breads and delicatessens arranging meats in grisly patterns. Children roamed the streets under watchful eyes - eyes that may not believe, but feared all the same. Rune Knights walked the edges of the streets at an order of the Council, never a soul told why however. Those creatures they told stories about in the dark, around a fire of coddled souls, when the wind had silenced all and deaths copycat took hold of bodies, had disappeared from reality a long time before their human feet graced the soil.
The Rune Knights indulged the people by garbing themselves in heavy iron boots crusted with salt, heavy black trousers and body armour but no helmet - rings of garlic around their necks, and delicate bracelets of iron and boneset flowers; there were also little violet flowers tucked under the iron rings to keep them steady. Around the necks of the more plainly dressed soldiers were circles with knots in the shape of an 'x', in the centre of this knot was a little mirror. Many of the Knights were chewing fennel and salt, with ashed oils painted onto the skin. They carried long spears with a flint end and silver edges, around the base of the blade a dream catcher of willow - three white dove feathers hanging, joined to the willow with bells. The men smiled, salted spittle dripping down their chins, but never talked. Their eyes dark, sprinkling water onto lashes and faces pale against the oils.
None of this matter to the city folk as they made there way about with a spring in their cautionary steps. Tonight was a festive night, one that hailed many visitors to the town - which carried a tidy profit for those businesses in Crocus. See what was happening on that hallowed eve was to celebrate once again the triumph over the Dragons, and the spirits of the dead. The Mages of the country were invited once again to the palace but were to hold a parade around the capitals capital, all of them to be dressed as spectators or similar creatures. Unfortunately, none of them were allowed to pick a costume of their own instead it was chosen from a hat by another Mage - from a separate Guild. There were many laughs and a few groans at the choices but none were too bad. As a result of the 'bodies' pulled from the hat, most of the Mages had had to learn another Magic to facilitate them with their 'creature'.
On the crests of the hills, in the breaks of the trees from above travellers could be observed. Papers in their hands as they tried their best to memorise the last of the important details for that night. The crisp white paper damp with the day, and stained with oils of nervousness. On each of their backs they carried a snap-close satchel stitched loosely together. Some of the bags were large and bulking, while some lay near empty by the sides of their owners. As they reached the crest of the mountain, they let their eyes stray from the pages to take in the sight of a dipping sun. Their quiet, innovating silence lasting for short seconds before a clamour of feet and dust tripped down the mountains into the furthermost petals of the capital.
In the shade these Mages made their way into their designated areas of the city where they were to prepare themselves for the night and to practice their roles and powers to perfection. Last minute touch ups and ideas pooling in their haunted and swirling minds, each of the stations for preparation were sacrificing gallons of liquid demon to the Mages who were intoxicated with craze. The soldiers made one final round before unseen creatures took a hold on their boots to hold them in a dazed fixation on the glittered sky. The Mages danced and partied unaware in part of the way the night would end.
As the Guild soldiers drew the final brush strokes from their faces a howl of wind scorched through and chartered the bones of those who waited for the spectators to make an appearance. On the parade street the cobbled stones sat with dimples falling in place for every half step taken. The green flicker of street lamps swimming amongst the moon-strings. Young children gripping for dear lives to the backs of mothers long, and elegant dresses. For even on a night like Halloween there was reason enough to be dressed up for the night. The late October air casting a fog to lilt into the voids in the stones, the children disgruntled with the late hour and hyped up because of the sugar. This year was promised to be one to remember. At the point where the river met the road a flash was seen a hull rode through the cobbled street, riding the mist like a wave. Atop the hull stood Makarov, a large Nelson-hat fitted to his bald head of polished bone, small black trousers hung loosely from his skeleton legs and the large ribcage protected by a navy blue jacket with gold trims and buttons. A cutlass sword rammed through the breast bone to the hilt. His body even stockier than before.
His hat fell into his hand as he stood proud at the hull, shaking it out three deathly figures tumbled to the deck. They were skeletons of cat-like creatures, one with a chartreuse coloured bag hanging around the neck, the shell of a dead fish in its jaw. The one beside it wearing a slipper pink dress. The third one had a little more meat on its bones, and dripping oil like fur. These three did not last long as a sprout came up from the ground below, a pumpkin growing in the vine. From the sides burst two little spindly legs with shoes of curling toes. A torso came from the other side, bathed in a coffee top with black lace. Her little arms a dusty snow, shaded similar to her legs. Her hair was curled a mix of admiral blue and parakeet green as it traipsed to her pumpkin butt. From her forehead above her dead brown eyes, cute curling rams horns made their way, a similar shade to the bay leaves being sold by children to ward off the dead. Wendy gathered Happy, Carla and Pantherlily into her arms, rushing them into the rigging.
Behind Makarov stood Kinana, her skin as pale as the dancing moon and brows a silver-blue. Her wide eyes careless and unworried, lips painted into a red heart that did not love. Her bodice black with golden trimmings, the excessive amount of hearts glittered to belie she did care. Her once poisonous locks tied and permed into blood tendrils with a dimple for a silver crown. Her fingernails were sharp, and crossed over her stomach with her tall stature domineering over all others.
From up above came a cackle, high pitched and whiny. Up in the sky on a straw broom sat Mirajane, her upper lip black and her lower green, the make-up carefully applied and done with flair, her painted pout sneering and her eyes obsidian blue under heavy lashes. Her white hair billowing under a pointed leather hat, the hat tied to her neck with pretty lace. Her arms were covered in black leather, such leather tight. Around her breasts was a emerald wrap that fell with charms of rotten fruits. These emerald leather clothes bulged around her hips and gave way to stripped stockings, a heavy metal belt clasped around her trim waist.
There was a slow, gravelled mirth. At the helm of the ship was a man, dressed in dusted leather trousers with a hanging black belt of gold trimmings. He wore a tight red and gold waistcoat, buttoned with no shirt underneath so his upper chest and collarbones were visible. A suave long coat with high collar and flat lapels wrapped around him. A dirty brown leather belt folding from his shoulder to his opposite waist, a brass buckle over his heart. Ripped and marked cloth stuck from his sleeves to twirl over his pale hands. His fingernails were pointed, sharpened deliberately. On most of his fingers laid rest to a shiny, gaudy stone. His lips and cheeks were to the view point, but his eyes were hidden in the recesses of his shadow bangs and lengthened hair. A grey, and overly sized captain's hat rested upon his head, a pink curling feather falling from it.
In front of the tall ship a tall wooden platform rose from below, with a black box sitting proudly within. The walls of the streets darkened with black lacrima which gave the people views of the parade when it was not in front of them. Onto this podium Kinana threw two dolls fashioned from straw, as they touched the wood two people folded out of them. Cana was the first one visible with her curled brown hair, skin pale and almost sickly, lilac eyes sharp with make-up and lips red but not with lipstick. Two elongated fangs donned her lips, and with a curve of flesh her others were revealed as spiked. Her feet encased in sharpened leather boots and her legs in garters and thigh highs with red bows. Her hands were wrapped in fingerless-gloves, and she wore a brassiere-like pink wrap around her chest and she sneered at the man who sat on the wood. It was Freed - his hair almost as dark as hers in the light, and his teeth just the same shape. His eyes were sad, and bloody tear tracks dropped off his chin. He wore simple black, tight, trousers and a loose tunic with lace edges around the deep neck which exposed his pale flesh to the women who fawned over him. His nails were sharpened, unlike Cana's, and they grated at the ears when he dragged himself to a standing position.
The two of them faced each other, and with a sad smile that sent the humans below wild, they lunged at each other - teeth drawing blood from the others neck. But what was not expected was that they would both take the mouthful of blood and spit it onto the black box. Hissing as heat rose off of it, they two jumped to either side watching with intent eyes. Out of this box folded a man, build beyond what he should and dressed in leather shorts with metal hooks down the sides. On each hook was a shrunken head, and for his belt a half-skull held up two leather sheets which hung between his legs. Over his head and neck was a black sheet, draped and arranged so that the lower part of his face was revealed - however, tufts of white hair were clawing their way from the back of the hood and everything about this creature screamed 'man'. And his lips were snarled, bubbling spittle dripping like he was a wild beast. In this creatures hands was a polished axe, one with a handle of bone. Over his naked body, scratch marks could be found and scars rippled over his taut muscles.
The Queen of Hearts drew the sword from the Admirals chest and boomed in a titan voice, "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!"
The executioner ripped a skull from his leg, and threw it into the air. The witch caught it and with a cackle broke it open and a man with red hair fell down. He wore simple armour under a loose white shirt and brown cloak. A horse trotted around the base of the stage and Freed launched himself onto its back, whinnies heard for miles as it tried to fight his mouth off. With one fell sweep of his axe, the head of the innocent man came clean off. Parents on the streets dragged their children back, covered their eyes and moved to the front. The head of Reedus rolled onto the ground next to the broken horse while Freed dripped blood into Cana's mouth. The body of the man hauled itself upwards, using the leg of the executioner to stand - but the axe-wielding man did not move, and nor again did he move when the vampiress screamed as she did not get to eat the poor man's body. The body mounted the horse and galloped on down the path all the way to the city.
Next came a woman, with purple hair, she wore a velvet dress and screamed as she tried to crawl away from the axe wielder. One slash later and her torso lay on the ground, Laki's legs left on the podium. Freed beat Cana to it and drained them of blood as another body was summoned. This one was off a raven-haired boy with dark eyes who wore a padded jacket and a hood over his head. He backed away when he saw Cana, but she ripped the skin from the side of his mouth and bit down fervently into his neck. The icy corpse of Gray was thrown into a crowd, who bustled away from the body that rose and limped with a non-hurried pace into the back streets, words of, "Must... Find... Food..." Bristling from its lips.
A slight man with curled black hair was dropped from the witches broom, landing on his neck with an almighty thud. His neck broken, and face lax. A mist rose from the body and began to sail through the people. Warren telling them things about others. A hulking man the same size as the executioner stood on the steps. But after a while of staring into the eyes of the hooded man he was dragged down by his shoulders onto his back. Cana had grappled his biceps and was drinking from one of his arms while Freed took the other, their skin getting paler the more they ate. Swinging the axe in a rhythm against a body that slowly stopped moving a foul laugh rung out. When they moved away the green hair seemed greasier and skin sicker, like he had been breathing polluted air his whole life. Skin was stitched together and falling down onto the ground like gelatine drops of blood. A hunk of meat was thrown up to the moving stage, the two descending on it as if there were more of them to fight off. The executioner took the piece they splayed to the sides, torn ligaments showing on his lower torso where those he killed remained to remind those they passed of what they witnessed.
As the small parade left the water side where all the sandbags were packed along the road, they heard a scream up ahead, all the cameras moved to that place where they found a bag of sand mutilating into the form of a person while attacking a woman. This bag was gone however, as it began to melt into the edges of the cobbles. For a few seconds all was quiet as they watched this form move without grace through the street - the body shape gone and rocks picking their way through the sand, fighting it off as it sludged. The cameras glistened in the blackness of the ally it had disappeared down, but the view reeled back when two eyes emerged in a split. There was only blackness and these eyes. Red in a haunting, glowing way. The people were accustomed to red eyes - it was a common enough trait in the lower classes - but these ones glowed with a slow, pulsing heat and slivered pupils that gave a slight feline look. There were muffled sounds of fear as a smile emerged, large and gaping with straight, star like teeth. They were all pointed, a look designed to rip things out of bodies. From between these teeth slunk the sand. The mouth began to fade and the eyes enlarged as they ascended. Once they were gone, and the silence all but steady, there was a far off laughter beautiful and scared.
A heavy screeching sound drew the attention, pitchness more apparent as they could not even see what was happening with the ship. Captain Rouge was pulling on a chain that was thrown up over the mast, and fell into the inky pool below. Smiling, the figure on the boat pulled until a body was hanging in the air. A woman in a white dress, one that spat water to the ground and clung to her frame such as a child to its mother. Brown hair leeching spray, a heavy ship chain about her neck as though it was her noose. Her eyes fell open, slit as those in the ally and a more vivid green than the pine coloured candle flames. Those closest to the city bound ship could listen to the unpleasant mutterings that came from her unmoving lips as Evergreen seemed to talk to the pumpkin girl.
This short procession carried on until it came to the gardens around Mercurius, where there sat two more podiums, the people moved in after the moving ship had been harboured at the gates. There from the inside of the executioners podium a howl was heard, the wall torn in one place as an oaf of a man stood in the way. His skin was a dark moulding grey that was heavily scarred. The wicked teeth in his jaws dripping saliva onto the matted fur of its muzzle. Along its back immense hoards of black hair grew, similar to that on his legs and forearms. Forearms leading to very human hands, the eyes above the muzzle hostile and wine red. A cherry red tongue flickering in the light and a tail swinging with an amused stroke. From behind a long tawny coiled of rope slithered around Bacchus' neck, a light giggle coming from within. And out walked a girl with a dark lapis coloured hair. Her boots the same shade of scarlet as her clock and gloves. She wore stripped trousers alternating between white and hickory, and a white shirt under an ebony tunic, cut low to reveal her breastbone. A silver pocket watch tied to her waist, a knife on her thigh, a chunky pistol in one hand and a lead in the other Levy looked out with smoky eyes, sneering at the people and smiling with sandy lips at the brute beside her.
The red hood jumped onto the back of the monster, and the two ascended to the rooftops, and all the sounds to be heard were of wolves, hunger and laughter. "Well," Twitted a voice from above, "That was certainly entertaining." There was a woman with rust coloured desperate eyes, and boysenberry hair tucked under a top hat. She wore sable leather trousers, and no shoes. A daisy white shirt, that was loosely revealing around her chest, grubby brown around the tarnished buttons. She wore a crimson red jacket, crumpled around her - starched beyond what it should and the golden piping fading into a dull amber colour. "Not something you see often, 'tis it?" Kagura's voice asserted to the crowd, who were more now scared of her beady little eyes and pasty skin illuminated green than the wolf. Little creatures they had seen before running in between them with faces of demons. "Roll up! Roll up! Our own little Piccadilly circus!" Urged the voice, closer and drowsier to the candy-stripped tent they came.
The small tent rattled in dismay as the ringmaster jumped onto the top peg, her mouth wide. Out was pushed a woman coloured a dark seaweed green. An exoskeleton on her head and back, with claws for fingers. She was curled forward and the palates on her back spaced further apart, blue eyes frantic and her voice screamed into the air when she caught sight of the hanging woman on the ships mast. "Is it your friend?" The voice was grinning and rough, Rouge teased the chain and the body of Evergreen fell down. Lisanna lunged forward with tears on her tongue, trying desperately to reach the drowned girl. The two were taken off into the night by the momentum of the swing. "Ah well, I'll have to dredge another body."
A twinkle was heard and the flap of the 'circus' opened again. A pink haired creature appeared, onyx eyes lifeless as it moved to a wooden board. Bolts came from its neck, and nailed helped to keep the body in one piece alongside stitches covering the various shades the skin took. Next came a little boy with dark purple hair and dark skin, a metallic coating almost on his skin. Children screamed and their parents tried not to when a clown came out. A large yellow suit with red polka-dots and a white fringe. His hair a spiked black, and the one eye red. The lower half of his face and the left eye and nose were gone. A black abyss there instead. Gajeel grabbed Romeo's proffered hand. It detaching with a harsh snap, the fingers falling into his palm the shape of knives. All of these thrown at Natsu, and hitting him in the forehead, every time one hit he took steps farther back into the crowd who dispersed about him.
"How boring," a voice drooled from the sides. His hair a pale marigold, and eyes icy. A scar over the right eye. On his brow a golden crown, one that in colour matched his breastplate. Bands of precious jewels running up his arms and legs, "Don't worry poor peasants Pharaoh Tut is here!" At his legs lay a girl with brown eyes, she wore a cream toga with white hair put back in bands. "Isn't it wonderful, peasant?" Sting kicked the girl.
"Yes, Pharaoh Tut." Yukino stated. Eyes lifeless as she looked towards the mummification of a person. It had scarlet hair, and bandages around its whole body bar parts of the face. The equally dead eyes looking back at her, green goo running from its hungry lips. The circus act left through the crowd, disappearing into the night.
"Isn't mummy beautiful?" Sting asked the woman beside him - his wife, Queen Juvia. She had a leer in her eyes, but her face stayed blank. Far more gold bedecked his wife than himself, her azure hair covered with jade garments and black braids of fake hair. Feather-shaped gold forming parts of her costume as well as gems and finely cared for silks in quality more so than most had seen in their lifetime. "I'm so glad we had her exhumed." The people on the ground saw this Pharaoh and his Queen on a tall stone stand, a little higher than the ships mast with booming voices.
"Indeed my husband." Her voice came plainly forward, her eyes flickering in the lacrima. "Cousin is quite beautiful even dead." Her voice was low, and annoying to all. But it served to grate at them, they did not know why. "How do you think, Draugr?"
On another podium sat a man with shock yellow hair and a layer of stubble that gave him a more appealing look. His orange eyes squinting slightly over the rim of his skull glass. He wore leather everything, his torso open for the women to fawn over with what they could see. His buckle made with a skull, and twirling horns resting on his head. "Yes, my dear Cleo, I suppose she is quite delicious as she is." A howl sounded low in the mummification. "But she would not do for a bride." At his shoulder stood a woman with frizzed blue hair, skinnier than normal and not to be underestimated in her pristine white gold armour with forest green cloth underneath to cover any cracks. In Risley's gloved hands a sword she could use to protect the man beside her.
Those below could hear snippets as they began to filter out, less amused now that the larger parade was over. "Oh but brother," Sting leered at his friend. "We have found a bride for you." He grabbed a part of the dress Yukino wore and threw it onto his friends podium, and many turned to watch as it spiralled into a circle and landed at the feet of Laxus. A pale arm was reaching out of it, fingers curled and almost dead. "Place a ring on her finger, and you shall have your Queen. Madame Lilith is the name she had before." Although most people were gone, there were still some and so the show continued.
The King and his daughter watched on a lacrima screen from above, and they handed a bag of powdered green Magic to Mirajane and she breathed out. The soldiers were released and began their rounds, making sure no one got in and no one got out. They ate more of the mixture they kept protected in their pockets, and even let some fall to the ground.
In the square the tall slouching man reached a hand back to his own ear, uncoupling a ring from a point and brought it in front of his self and waited for the lightning to strike it. When the lightning dissipated, a golden ring was left - tiny black roots rolling around the outside. Laxus slid the ring onto the arms ring-finger, still thinking it was not real. He began his vows, repeating, "I, Draugr, take you, Lilith, to be my wife. I promise to never be true to you in good times but always in bad, always in sickness and never in health," just like he was taught. What he did not count on was the voice that followed before he could.
"I will hate you, and disrespect you until I live again."
The hand he had placed the ring on reached further out, gripping his leg. Another arm came out, this went on until a corpse stood before him. Her skin an eggshell blue, eyes brown, lips purple and hair as golden as his own. A crown of dead flowers on her head, and a lace dress embroidered with beads entwining her slim figure - her ribs were viewable in places but she still had her human bust of impressive flesh. Arms clad in gloves fastened Laxus' shoulders, and Lucy bent towards him. "You may now kiss your bride, King of Nightmares." Her lips sealed over his and a shimmer occurred in the sky where some stars went super nova. Lucy pulled her face away from his slightly, "Are they gone?" Laxus nodded and let go of her waist and she wobbled on the podium, now realising how unsteady it was.
The whole of the Mages involved gathered into the square, including those who had been told to run rabid in the city where no one was. They had all then proceeded to empty the requip stores they had used to steal things with. Juvia was at the feet of Gray who was scrapping some of the stage-make-up off his face, begging him not to hate her because she was pretending to be the wife of Sting. And she began to shout at Lucy for being her 'Love Rival' when she simply tried to calm her down.
Mirajane descended from the tower with her bag of Magic, Makarov smiled at her as she landed a little outside the group. "Mirajane!" He greeted, still with his skeletal form. "What's that you got there?"
She smiled in a skittish manner. "A..." Her voice stalled and some noticed how uneasy she seemed. "Gift from the King." She withdrew a handful from the pouch and blew it over the younger ones who had gathered together so that they could share little shiny and expensive things, as well as sweets Max was distributing amongst them. They all snapped straight and looked at her, wide curling smiles on their faces. They ran through the gates, literally. Not bothering to move the gates they ran through the bars, moving around them or phasing in sand. "We... We all die tonight." Her voice was harsh on their ears, and she was crazed as she seemed to look forgiveness.
Those who heard her words began to flee, in droves they moved to try and avoid the sprays of Magic dust that took them as their role and the true night of hallo began. Those who were hit with a even little could not pass the salt lines and whatever the Rune Soldiers had on them. Those who avoided it were just blocked, and as they were blocked they were hit with Magic, and turned cruelly to the soldiers - they may not be able to leave the city (for now), but they could damn well kill some people as they went. The rain began to pour as a Queen ascended into the air, an iron cage mounting its way around the city to make sure that any of those who did wake up could not escape so that their blood may run the streets and wash the salt and other charms away so they could rampage through the known world.
Up above in the castle stood Toma, Hisui at his side. "And so the war begins." He told her, holding a hand upside down so that she could take it. She never would.
"A war with whom exactly?" Came a crackling voice behind them. Jumping the King and his daughter saw Laxus, dressed in all his finery with a bride by his side. Her bridal dress was streaked black and red, black with ash and red with blood.
"Oh," Lucy said, "Did we scare thee?" Her arms were around Laxus as far as they could go, their bodies flush. They both wore crowns of dead plants sprayed with gold, and snide looks of importance. Blood was a good decoration, they thought, for the walls of their new fortress and so they had enough in the building to paint with. The King and Queen of Nightmares watching their people move from the window of Mercurius.
It was not a quiet night for those of Crocus, the budding city indeed fallen into ruin and decay. Those creatures were real, just left as a powdered remains. By the edges of the city stood a man, with red feline eyes and a wide sharp smile. He wore purple trousers and a deep red coat, and a matching hat. Bones around his neck he sighed, "Guess that's the way it goes." He spun on his heel to the city, facing it as he listened to the screams - shivers running up his spine from pleasure. It was a sight he knew well from childhood, people in terror that is. He could see where gore began filtering the streets and he knelt to swipe salt away, for he knew any brake could cause them all to leave and carry out their desires. When he stood he smiled, they were as mad as him. As immortal as him. He was happy, and he was settle. His mission done.
When he was three steps away from the city, his hands in his pockets and a soft whistle on his tongue, a hand clamped onto his forearm just below the elbow. And a voice he was familiar with, one he associated with kindness and love and food sounded out. But now it was desperate, crazed. Croaky as though belonging to an old woman who spent her time bent over a boiling pot with all types of toxins about her.
"Not so fast, Doctor Bickslow Facilier."