Gloomsville; one would think that a place with such a name would likely have a similarly melancholic population, but assumptions are among the easiest ways to discover what one's own foot tastes like. Such an idea couldn't be further from the truth, as the only residents who could make claim to their mood being consistently foul happened to be a banshee whose misfortune was comparable to a man standing atop a mountain during a thunderstorm while wearing wet copper armor and yelling out 'All gods are bastards,' and a bat who, most laughably, was absolutely petrified of heights, and the list didn't stop there. Thankfully, there happened to be some of the most cheerful and optimistic of friends alongside them, such as an adrenaline junkie of a cyclops, a quite able-bodied dilettante whose only real shortcoming was the general lack of flesh over his bones, and a pair of living corpses, stitched together, who could harmonize and play on their guitar melodies most worthy of headbangs. The mortar between the bricks that held them all together was a doll of a girl known as Ruby, owner of the Gloomsville Manor. It may have been perched atop a precarious hilltop, but it held. Considering the banshee's luck, it was no small blessing that it hadn't toppled into the ravine below in times long past.
The day, having neared its end, had a sky that was a blanket of light gray clouds, stained orange, pink, and gold by a setting sun that had the tiniest of rays knifing through cracks in the overcast horizon. Watching the sun set, having awoken a mere hour ago, was the cyclops. Her name, in a deliciously ironic twist, was Iris, her namesake being a beautiful fuchsia. Her lone orb gazed at the sunset, and she gave a sigh of wonder at how something could be both so pleasing and so painful to the eye simultaneously. Deep within her was a boiling pot of restlessness and anticipation, since midnight would mean the coming of her date of birth, and she was expecting some very sentimental gifts. Her great-grandfather, still living in Greece, had sent her a present that arrived earlier that day, and although she wanted to, she'd refrained from opening it early. It was curiously small. Misery- it could only be the banshee, for with a name like that, how could it be anyone else?- had invited a family friend all the way from Ireland, a dullahan, though the reply she'd received was somewhat disheartening. It read that she would probably be very busy that night, and would rather that she was to attend because she wanted to, not that she had to, anyway. Misery had looked panicked when she read the letter, though none of the others quite understood why. The banshee told them that seeing the friend on a business trip would be very bad, and left it at that.
Such things aside, Iris was still elated at the events that were to come. However, she could not help but feel as though something was missing. She opened the dusty window, letting the evening breeze caress her pale face and comb through her long black hair. Propping herself up on her arms as she took a deep breath and sighed again, she could not ignore what it was she wanted, though she constantly denied its importance to her, dubbing it nothing more than a childish fantasy. Still, the emptiness would not leave her be, especially on a day such as this. The wind's attempts to distract her failed, and at that, she closed the window and wandered the halls. She had heard that Ruby was up and preparing the party meal, aided by the raven Poe while he boasted of his culinary prowess.
By the look of it, boasting was his strong point in the kitchen.
Iris watched silently as Ruby, wearing a chef's apron with a cap to cover her poppy red hair, stirred what smelled to be a mix of lamb, beef, and caramelized onions with a dash of olive oil and a generous helping of garlic, rosemary, and basil in a cast iron pan. Poe was frantically attempting to get a pair of oven mitts on, made extremely difficult by an absence of hands paired with broad wing feathers. Driven to desperation, he threw all caution to the wind by opening the oven door and pulling out a baking sheet with his beak, upon which rested numerous pieces of flatbread.
Fortunately for the bread, Poe had managed to fling the baked goods onto the countertop.
Unfortunately for Iris, his aim was imperfect, and one of the pieces struck her squarely in the face.
As the cyclops recovered from the impact, she picked up the hot bread and quickly set it upon the counter, watching the two continue their work and muttering a small "I'm good!" to herself.
Ruby, it seemed, was unaware of the happenings. "Get the next batch in the oven, pronto!" she called out. "I can't wait to see Iris' face when she finds out what we're making."
Poe huffed darkly in return. "Of course," he said as he returned to flatten more dough.
A bit of lamb, a few thoughtful chews, and a scrutinizing expression later, and Ruby declared her meal-in-progress to be "Perfect!"
It was while holding her wooden stirring spoon aloft in triumph that she spotted Iris standing at the kitchen's middle island, and she made a small 'o' of her mouth in surprise. "Oh! Um... hi there!" she said with a touch of nervousness.
Iris smiled, her eye brightening at the scene before her, and she replied with "Hey! Whatcha cooking? It sure smells good."
"Oh, this? Poe and I are fixing up some gyros, and then I'll have the baklava in the oven when this is all set. Wanna try one right now?"
The gift was waved off. "Nah, not right now. I can wait to eat, I just wanted to see what you're up to is all. Thanks though."
Ruby offered a smile before turning back to the stove and working on another part of the dish, putting the filling on a back burner before working on something else. Iris stared at the uncannily perfect body at work, firm porcelain skin dancing in concert with sable cotton, orange-and-yellow stockings, and scarlet locks of hair. Upon later reflection, she would consider it a feat that she hadn't started drooling out of her unawareness to... well, pretty much everything that wasn't Ruby.
She was given no opportunity to do so anyway, or so it seemed; a sharp, yet quiet whistle in the ear and a bush of black feathers waving in front of her face alerted her to the rest of the world at large, and Poe in particular. Having put the next batch of flatbread in the oven, he peered at Iris curiously through his monocle, much like a doctor examining a rather strange lesion. "You are aware that gawking is considered rude by most?" he informed her.
Iris' cheeks immediately became rosy at Poe's words. "Er... uh, yeah. Sorry," she said, hurrying from the kitchen before things grew more awkward.
Having just barely caught ear of what went on, Ruby asked Poe a question without taking her eyes from the stove. "What was that?"
Her avian friend and makeshift sous chef replied, "Oh, nothing. I think she had some other business to tend to, is all."
o-o-O-O-o-o
Jet black eyes shot open, glistening with a perpetual trail of teardrops. The banshee's lavender skin had a prickling feeling to it, one that was not because of her bed of nails. Her common sense had begun to tingle, alertness flooding her mind.
As it were, upon jumping to her feet, her head was also given another rush, that one from the sudden shift of blood in her body. Misery wobbled for a bit, her head swimming for a couple of seconds until she got her grounds and balance back. Once that had been settled, Misery adjusted her veil and the long black hair beneath it, and carefully stepped from her room and to the stairwell. That turned out to be her first mistake.
Whether it was from Iris dashing through the halls, Mr. Buns having another swordfight with Poe, or one of the ghosts playing a prank, she would never know. Regardless of the cause, the fact that the carpet had been wrinkled just enough to trip over was the honest truth, and so was Misery's fall, her shuffling feet catching the carpet and sending her flailing down the stairs. Her second mistake came when she thought she was lucky enough to have not actually fallen down them, only stumbled, catching herself on the sill of an open window at the platform halfway down the stairs. She made a sigh of relief as she looked up, about to thank the earliest of lucky stars that she hadn't managed to break either a bone or a piece of furniture, when she noticed that many of the clouds had suddenly gathered into one bleak, steely gray lump that was just in view. Before she could even make a squeal, a bluish-white bolt of lightning struck her right between the eyes.
o-o-O-O-o-o
Her breath slightly heavy, and her face nearly as red as the stripes on her own stockings, Iris had begun to wander the halls as she pondered what to do about the situation between her rationality and her infatuation with Ruby. It was only a minute into her walk that she whiffed a smell most peculiar. There was a bouquet of burnt hair, scorched linen, and seared flesh. Still faintly smoking, a lightly blackened Misery turned the corner and caught sight of her one-eyed friend. A blink from the both of them later, and Iris broke the silence with "More lightning trouble?" to which Misery nodded.
"And yourself? You look like you saw someone running around naked," replied the banshee. Iris shifted uncomfortably, and her blush only deepened. Raising a brow, Misery said "I'm not sure I even want to know," before continuing past Iris.
"Oh, and happy birthday," she offered lamely over her shoulder, leaving Iris to herself.
"Thanks," muttered the cyclops before deciding that one of the balconies would be a suitable thinking spot. The horizon's shadow, cast from the now hidden sun, would let her arrange her thoughts properly as it cooled the air, the earth, and more importantly, her burning cheeks and ears.
Though the former two had already begun, and made great progress to that goal by the time Iris reached said balcony, it did little for the latter. It did help, but not very much.
'Ruby... she's my friend. A good friend, even. A great friend. The very best of friends. I really wish I didn't want her to be my girlfriend on top of all that.'
Iris sat on the hefty wooden planks beneath her, and stared upward at the darkening sky. 'What would everyone else think? Frank and Lem probably wouldn't mind, and neither would Scaredy. The ravens might have something to say about it, but they're old-fashioned anyway. I've seen Skull Boy and Ruby looking at each other though, but they haven't made any moves yet.'
She made a small frown, and crossed her arms. 'I wanna have her myself, but does she even swing that way? And what about Skull Boy? How would he take it? I don't think hurting his feelings is a good idea, since it's not like suicide is much of an option if he gets that depressed about it.'
"Pffffff." Her sigh was muffled slightly by having to puff out her lips before she rested her chin in her palm, her elbow planted on her knee. "Love stinks."
Her reasoning was sound. She could be selfish and try to woo Ruby. Getting that work of art into bed would make her the happiest lady alive. She could see it now; a strong embrace, deep kisses, and wild passion, all wrapped up in white sheets. Said sheets would have to be washed by the time she was through with her, she thought with a smile on her face. The smile fell when she imagined a forlorn Skull Boy, his skeletal grin replaced by a bony frown, a fistful of flowers wilting in his hand as he sees Ruby, the one he loved, in the cyclops' arms.
On the other hand, Iris imagined what it would be like if she was to keep her feelings to herself. Ruby and Skull Boy would be happier than a pair of vultures on the fresh corpse of a draft horse, dancing and laughing and sharing their joys as they skipped through an orchard, the trees laden with vines of magenta and cerulean moonbloom flowers. At the same time, she visualized herself growing more and more distant, so utterly heartsick as she watched the two, not having the heart- or would it be the lack of such?- to ruin something so harmonious.
She uttered a near-silent curse at her unfortunate circumstance, wishing she'd have said something before Ruby and Skull Boy had started showing signs of a budding attraction.
Now, compromise hadn't exactly been one of Iris' major interests, but it was out of her sheer longing that she decided there had to be a way for everyone to have their cake and eat it too. There just had to be...
o-o-O-O-o-o
"One, two, one two three four."
REEEOOOOOOWWWWWW-BIDDLEOOOWWW-OW-OW-OW-
"No, no, no! Guys, seriously. You just need to play 'Happy Birthday', maybe twist it a little. You don't need to write an entire song for her!"
Frank and Lem were in the garage, Skull Boy with them and trying to convince the two that they needn't be so extravagant, but apparently, he was having a difficult time getting them to wrap their undead heads around the idea of not playing their guitar so hard that it would make someone's ears bleed.
"But it's her birthday! It's not like she's going to have the same one again, y'know. You gotta seize the day!" exclaimed Frank.
BROOOOOOWWW!
"I think I come from a long line of party planners. This all seems to come to me pretty naturally," countered Skull Boy. "I know what I'm talking about here. Keep it at least semi-traditional, alright? She's supposed to recognize it as a birthday celebration, not the coming of some goddess of heavy metal."
BRUH-BRUH-BRUH-BIDDLOOOOOW!
Lem shrugged his shoulder. "'Kay. I guess."
The conjoined zombies plucked out a few notes, making sure to abuse the whammy bar. Stroking his chin, Skull Boy gave a thoughtful look, and nodded. "Better, for sure. Sounds familiar, yet it's definitely its own song. Keep it up, and we should have a party ready to go in no time."
"Whoo, alright!"
BREEEOOOOOOWWW-OW-OW!
Skull Boy sighed, clapping his hand to his forehead. "On second thought, this may take awhile."
o-o-O-O-o-o
By the time Misery had made her way into the kitchen, she had somehow made that mysterious recovery she always seemed to do after being electrocuted. No one could really explain it, not even herself, but it always happened the same way: she would do little more than turn a corner, and her hair, skin, and clothes were made perfectly intact again. She just figured it was recompense for her abysmal luck, although it came across as something of a cruel joke that she and her wardrobe would be restored just to have it all be fried again.
Laying across the middle island was a series of strips, looking like something between dough for a pie crust and dough for pasta. Poe was working hard at a cutting board, roughly chopping walnut halves, and making sure to pick out any bits of the shells that may have sneaked in from the pile he'd cracked them into. How he held the knife without flinging either it or a significant amount of the nuts into the air was beyond the ken of mortals, and so the banshee paid it no mind. Ruby was busy stirring something at the stovetop, a stack of flatbread on a platter on one side, and a series of plates on the other.
Misery glanced at Ruby, and then at Poe.
Then at Ruby again.
And then back at Poe.
"Why are you making dinner and dessert at the same time? So far as I know, walnuts and gyros don't really mix all that well."
Poe waved it off as though it was just a trifling matter, which it was, but Misery had a tendency to somehow turn small problems into huge disasters, even if they were only in her head. "Oh, it's nothing. Just prepping the ingredients for the baklava, since there are several factors that involve timing, and so it would be best to have everything ready when it's needed, would it not?"
"Oh."
Misery shrugged, and continued to look around at the going-ons of the kitchen for awhile longer before asking another question. "Do you know what's wrong with Iris? The only blush I usually see her with is the bit of makeup she wears, and her cheeks were redder than Malaise's pupils."
Calling out from the stove without looking, making sure to be loud enough that she could be heard over the scraping, sizzling, and slicing noises, Ruby came up with an answer. "I'm not sure. She doesn't seem to be herself, I guess. I don't know, I haven't paid as much attention to her as I have to dinner."
A hand went to her hip as she gave the cucumber sauce she was making a stir. "But hey, look on the bright side! When she sees the party once it's all ready, she'll be nothing if not happy. It'll be great!"
Remaining silent for a time, Misery was about to turn on her heel and leave the room when Poe put his elbow into her ribs. She stopped, and looked inquiringly at the raven. "Hm?"
Poe leaned over and said, quietly, "From what I saw earlier, Iris may be, erm... infatuated with Ruby."
At first, Misery furrowed her brow. Then, her expression snapped into one of surprise. "Iris is in lo- mmrrrmph!"
A wing over her mouth, even Misery's distinct voice was muffled properly. "Not so loud, girl!" scolded the bird, making sure to keep his voice down.
"Iris is in love with Ruby?" said Misery, having adjusted her volume to something more appropriate for not being heard by a third party, to which Poe gave a nod.
"At least, that would happen to be what it seemed like," he clarified. "It could be that she merely lusts after Ruby for her body, or that she truly longs for something deeper than mere friendship. I could not say."
Misery stared at Poe, and then at Ruby. She'd have never imagined that Iris would be into girls, but then again, she couldn't blame the cyclops for her choice. 'At least she has good taste,' she thought to herself. 'If I was a lesbian, I'd probably go after Ruby myself. A perfect face, her petite hourglass shape, and that tight little bot-'
She gasped, her hands flew to her cheeks in horror, and she bolted from the kitchen, not even able to scream at her epiphany, and what it might entail. All Poe could do was look at her confusedly, but he then gave a shrug and continued chopping the walnuts. He would never entirely be able to get her, that Misery.
o-o-O-O-o-o
Dashing through the hallways, Misery was absolutely beside herself. "I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE!" shrieked the banshee as she ran, her eyes no longer merely stained with tears.
Further down, there was another yell, although it was something more of a muffled squeak, followed by a light thump.
And a bang.
And a crash.
Rolling from the closet door that had a now-missing handle was a ball of fur, decorated with a pair of wings and a scarf. Two twitchy eyes could barely be seen from under the quaking wing membranes. Those eyes grew larger when they saw that Misery was wailing and charging down the hallway, while the rest of the body simultaneously tried to become as small as possible. "Oh dear, oh dear, ooohhh dear!" said the thing, its voice having a heavy Indian accent.
There was a bracing for impact, but thankfully, it never came. What came instead was a distinct whoosh of air and a shadow that passed over the head of the poor creature on the floor. The thud of Misery's landing resounded, but was immediately drowned out by her uncontrollable sobbing. The ball of fur and fear dared to take a peek in the banshee's direction, and relaxed only slightly upon seeing the melancholiac. "...Misery? Are you, ah, alright?"
With a sniffle, Misery took her hands from her face, and blinked the larger pearls of tears away long enough to get a look at who was talking to her. "No, Scaredy Bat, I'm not."
Standing up to his full height- whether or not this was saying much would depend entirely on those he was with- the black bat stepped forward nervously, though also caringly. "What is wrong? You are crying much harder than usual."
Another wet snort. "I... I... I think I'm a lesbian."
Scaredy Bat folded his hands together and took another hop or two closer with a confounded look on his face. "A lesbian? What would make you think that?"
Picking up the doorknob she had tripped over, Misery looked at her blurry reflection in the bronze that was due for a good polishing. "It was when I heard that Iris is crushing on Ruby. I thought that she's got an eye for the ladies, and started looking at what about Ruby that Iris would be... attracted to..."
"And then?"
"Then... and then... and then I thought Ruby's butt was cuuuuuute, waaahahahaaah!" wailed Misery, her body lurching as she half-choked on her tears.
In contrast, Scaredy Bat was remarkably quiet. He stared for a few seconds, his brain having a hard time wrapping around just how Misery would jump to such conclusions. "Misery, I am quite sure that just because you think that Ruby has some, ah, bonnie buttocks does not make you a lesbian."
Hiccuping through her crying that she could just barely suppress long enough to talk, Misery made an attempt to wipe away the tears currently obscuring her vision. "You- hic- you really th-think so?"
Scaredy Bat nodded sagely. "Mhmm. Just because you think that someone of the, ah, same gender has attractive parts does not mean that you are romantically predisposed to them," he explained.
Her mouth was dry, but Misery made a swallow of nothing anyway. "Thanks, Scaredy," she croaked.
She still wasn't entirely sure about it, but at least the bat's words had given her a glimmer of hope that she did, in fact, have the targets of her affection as they had always been. However, she still had myriad questions for herself, and couldn't help second-guessing everything about her that she thought she was.
Misery stood up, brushed herself off, and gave one last sniff before her black orbs returned to their usual wetness. She was about to leave when a thought popped into her head.
"Hey Scaredy," she inquired with as much curiosity as her voice could hold, "How do you have an answer for something like that? Do you have some personal experience with this kind of thing?"
A chill ran up the bat's spine and crawled into his brain, making him shiver uncontrollably with bashfulness. "I, ah, that is, um..."
Misery bent down and would have looked him in the eye, had he not turned his head away. "Who is it? Is it Frank? Or maybe one of the ravens?"
Squinting so tightly that one may have thought his eyelids would rip themselves from his face, Scaredy Bat whispered something under his breath.
"Huh? What was that?"
"I-I-I... I think that..."
o-o-O-O-o-o
Skull Boy's hands danced over a clipboard, a pen entangled by his fingers that scribbled check marks over a list as he surveyed the dining room.
"Decorations?"
He made a glance at the thin paper in varying shades of red, black, and violet that was hanging over the walls, the cardstock cutouts shaped like a heart and crossbones with a single eye, and the smattering of silver glitter to give the otherwise dark room a starry night effect.
"Check. Favors?"
Divided evenly between all the seats at the table and around the rest of the room were noisemakers of all kinds, from kazoos to party poppers to the... uh... those clicker-things-on-a-stick-that-you-spin-really-fast. He never could remember what they were called, not for the unlife of him.
"Check. Gifts?"
The skeleton took an inquisitive look at the pile of wrapped presents that sat in one corner. They came in a menagerie of shapes and sizes, ranging from a tiny gray box the size of what someone would present a small piece of jewelry in to a massive... shape. It would occasionally wriggle a little bit.
"Check."
Things looked to be going pretty smoothly. The table was set, ready for the food to be served, all the silverware laid out perfectly. Misery had brought it out from her collection of heirlooms; according to her, her great-great-great-great grandmother knew a man back in the eighteenth century who managed to slay ten werewolves in one night, all while at the dinner table, using only a fork. The silverware was a gift for having distracted them long enough to let him strike the fatal blows somehow. Skull Boy speculated that they were laughing at her for being struck by lightning during the encounter, or something.
A glance at the fork laid at Misery's seat revealed to the skeleton that it was tarnished, quite badly. He ceased his aforementioned speculation, deciding that details weren't important.
He gave everything on his list one last screening before settling on one unchecked box. "That's right! Frank and Lem need to get the speakers set up! I'll go get them, I think they're still in the gara- whoa! What was that?"
There was a whoosh that sounded not unlike a roaring wind, and thundering stomps outside, which then faded into heavy clopping. Once what was likely hooves on the path to the front door had stopped, they were replaced with slow, deliberate footsteps. Skull Boy hurried to the door to answer it, setting the clipboard on the table before approaching the oaken portal. Before he could even reach the handle, however, it flung open, scattering him across the floor; his eyes took a couple seconds longer than usual to stop spinning, since his fingers were neither intact enough nor anywhere near enough to help. He stared confoundedly at what stood in the doorway before him.