-PatB-
I stare at the calendar, by the refrigerator in the kitchen.
"What's up?"
"Halloween is next week."
Amy looks down at her still mostly flat tummy, "Too small to be a pumpkin, much less a watermelon."
My eyes ache from my smile.
I'm still holding her and petting her tummy when Lisa gets home.
-PatB-
I'm staring at my "costume" in the mirror, tattered wisps of grey and black silk that leave my most of legs, arms, and tummy exposed, and a silken zorro mask that leave my mouth and chin exposed.
Tattletale is far less dubious about hers, posing, flipping her skirt at us, and Amy's working on hers, adjusting the material to show off her barely-there baby bump.
"You really want to wear these outside?" I ask, frowning a little.
"I love Halloween," Amy tells me, "You get to walk around, hassle your neighbors, and they give you candy."
She poses a moment, continues, "It's like, it feels like, community and love. Even if it is only once a year, it is completely awesome."
I blink back sudden tears, "I never thought of it like that."
"Most people don't," Amy agrees, making sure the mouse face is centered over her breasts, the long t-shirt darted into a short dress, to be worn with pink tights when we go trick-or-treating.
Tattletale's purple and black dress is leather, grown and formed by Amy's power, short enough that when she bends over her panties show. She says she's waiting on the weather to figure out if she'll wear the purple bike shorts or the black tights. I'm dubious, because her comfortable temperature range is now three to six hundred and fifty kelvin.
My comfortable temperature range is only two hundred fifty to three hundred and forty kelvin, with a distinct preference for the two eighty to three ten range. I'm not sure how Amy's intending to go with basically a t-shirt and tights, but Halloween's rarely actually cold, just chill and dank, although it drizzled the year before last. We'll have to bundle her up if it rains this year.
-PatB-
There's yet another group of us, much younger, maybe ten, a white boy dressed as Grue, a blonde girl as Skitter, a short-haired redheaded kid in a skirt as Bitch, a brown-skinned girl in pink on the blonde's arm, and a tall skinny kid in black jeans and a purple shirt on her other arm. I nudge Pinky and point with my chin.
She smiles and laughs, "That's cute," she drags us in that direction.
"Cool costumes," ten-year-old Tattletale says, a smirk in her voice.
"Thank you, you as well," my Tattletale answers.
"My dad wouldn't let me get a proper Tattletale costume," she says, pulling at her jeans, "No short skirts or spandex, he said. But he did get me a new shirt, and help me spray paint it."
"That's very well done. Did you do the stencil?"
"Yes, I had to work off news pictures, because he won't let me on PHO at home," she continues, "But it came out pretty well." Her Skitter and Pinky nod agreement.
"I think it looks very good. A lot like what I would have worn, if I didn't have thousands of bugs to make my costumes."
"No," ten-year-old Bitch says, "Mayor Skitter?" his voice breaks, and I can see his neck blush.
I have the few thousand bugs in my costume buzz and rustle and click.
He smiles, "Awesome."
"The testosterone fairy has hit you early, hasn't he?" Pinky asks.
"Unfortunately," he agrees.
"I can always use more experimental subjects. Stop by my lab during business hours, if you want to talk about it."
He shrugs, "OK."
"Have fun," Tattletale says, "We have candy to acquire, and community bonds to strengthen," she flicks her fingertips at the kids, "And so do you."
"Community bonds?" ten-year-old Grue asks.
"Meet your neighbors, knock on their doors, give them candy. Emphasize the positive aspects of living in close proximity to too many people."
"But they're supposed to give us candy," ten-year-old Pinky says.
"What about when they don't have any candy to give, but answer the door anyway?" I ask her.
"Oh!" she says, smiling under her zorro mask.
Ten-year-old Skitter leads them off down the street the way we came, and we continue ourselves.
There are many vacant houses, some empty, some seeming to just be waiting for their people to come back from work, fully furnished, power on, leaves piling up and grass uncut. We're back up to over two hundred thousand people, a few thousand of those working on the evacuation corridors, clearing and reworking the streets so next time the Simurgh comes, we'll be able to evacuate the city in an almost-adequate twenty five minutes.
The ones that have people? There's a better collection of Halloween decorations, pumpkins, and porch lights than I've seen in years. Like Sierra, at my lair, they're giving out good candy, too.
"Aren't you three a little old?" the grey haired lady at the door asks, a little stooped, cane in one hand, bowl of candy in the other. She's smiling, and holding out the bowl.
"Got to get the little ones started early," Pinky tells her, "We're collecting for six."
"Oh my," the lady says, "I didn't realize. Make sure to grab one each, then."
Pinky reaches out and touches her hand, "Thank you,"
"How far along are you?"
"Almost twenty weeks."
"Don't eat too much candy, it's not good for the little ones," the old woman, taller, straighter, a little more muscle to her arms, tells her.
"I know, but it's so yummy. I keep it to special occasions."
Another old woman comes to the door, her cane sliding on four tennis balls, and props herself in the doorway, "It's been a while since I've seen such pretty trick-or-treaters," she smiles, voice weak and a little raspy.
"Gertrude."
"Abigail."
"Don't let her fool you, she's not a dangerous old lady."
Tattletale laughs, suddenly, cutting herself off with a hand in her mouth.
Pinky grabs Gertrude's hand, "Happy Halloween," she says,
Gertrude waves back, "Happy Halloween!" she calls, her voice stronger, less raspy.
Halfway to the next house Pinky stops, squashes Tattletale and I into a hug, and yells, "I love being a supervillain!" into my bosom. I get most of my bugs out of the way in time.
A few blocks later a man's stomach rumbles at us while he's putting candy in Tattletale's bag.
She hands him a card, "Call them, be honest, they'll find you work."
He looks at her, dubious, "You'll have to talk to them on the phone, but give them the code on the card, and all you'll have to do is show up and work."
The right side of his face wrinkles at his mouth, and he looks even more dubious.
"I'm sleeping with the Mayor,' she cuts her eyes towards me, "We need plenty of bodies, and there's still plenty of work to do."
He looks at the card, then finally nods.
I ask Tattletale about it, once we're back on the sidewalk.
"Long term underemployed. Got out of the military, crap job-search skills, barely adequate talk-to-people skills. Goes to drill once a month, covers his rent with that and his disability check, goes hungry when he forgets to show up for free produce. Makes a little too much for food stamps, but not enough to afford food consistently. And he buys canned goods instead of beans and rice."
"He was handing out candy?" Pinky asks.
"Halloween is more important to him than eating for a week. He'll eat the leftover candy tomorrow, anyway."
I tap my commbeetle, "Remind me tomorrow: 3535 west twelfth street, deliver a pot of soup," I tell it when it chirps. It chirps again.
It's only ten when we get back to my lair, and my pillowcase is full of candy. Tattletale is carrying Pinky's bag as well as her own.
"We're running low on candy, boss," Sierra says.
The big boxes on the table are empty, the bowl by the door already half empty. I fill it from my bag, then pour the rest into one of the boxes. I card through it with my fingers, throw a dozen candies back in my bag.
Tattletale sets Pinky's bag down, and pours most of her bag into the box, "People feel safer than they have in years, probably decades. The trick-or-treaters will be out until midnight."
"On a school night?"
"Yep. The kids will be tired and sugar-high tomorrow."
-PatB-
A/N: Halloween is awesome.
11 January 2018: 59,508 words written. 50 chapters posted in 50 days. And I'm pondering what happens from 17 November 2011 to 12 December 2011 . . . Any requests? Ideas?
