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doodlebeeberry · 2 years

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Fall Festivities

“What about playing some games?” Shieldy asked, drawing the ghost’s attention from the poorly airbrushed shirts he’d been eyeing in the stall across the footpath, puzzled. “I think you’d like lucky ducky—you could win a goldfish at that one!”

in which Shieldy and Rook visit a fair, and mild curse shenanigans ensue

For objectober day 4- maple!

love Vicarious. love to write another chapter of that someday. for now though you get cursed-to-be-buddies hanging out

(ao3 link in source)

Shieldy stumbled out of the crowd, his legs shaky beneath him. The Gravitron never failed to absolutely floor him for a minute or two after it was over, as he readjusted slowly to the comparative stiller world outside the walls of the ride. Even still, pausing for a moment to lean against the side counter of a pizza stand, he couldn’t say he hated it, not by a long shot—he loved it, as a matter of fact.

“Oh, goodness,”

He just wasn’t sure Rook shared the thought. Shieldy glanced around a moment at the faint shaky voice, rising above the shouting and chatter in favour of settling in his ears alone, spotting a small puddle of spilled soda on the ground, shimmering in the afternoon sun. Leaning over it, he found the ghost in question reflected back at him, one hand on his head.

“So, what’d you think? Wasn’t it awesome?” Shieldy asked, his voice a bit low as to not attract attention but still bursting with energy that Rook didn’t quite mirror. Truth be told, he already knew the answer. With his reflection on his back, he’d gotten a pretty good impression of Rook’s thoughts as he screamed his way through the ride.

“I don’t believe that’s the word I would use,” Rook replied, “Who would design such a dreadful contraption for entertainment? I would think it a tool of the dungeons”

“You’re no fun”

“Perhaps, but I am no masochist either”

Shieldy frowned, humming. He’d gone to the fair early today, well before he was supposed to meet up with his friends, to give Rook a grand tour of all its modern wonders. This was the third ride the two of them had gone on, though, and the third Rook had come away disliking. Rook’s expression softened a bit in the pause, almost sheepishly.

“My apologies,” he said, “I understand that you enjoy these ‘thrill rides’”

Shieldy shrugged, “It’s fine. Maybe you’re just not a ride person.”

Having found his footing, he trotted off into the crowd, thinking. An odd weight slid onto his back, like rainwater off a roof, as Rook moved from shining off the puddle to shining off his back. Shieldy surveyed the stands as he passed them: giant pumpkins, handcrafted pottery. Objects passed him by with armfuls of deep-fried foods and hard-won stuffed animals that likely cost much less to make than to play for. Croaking puffs of hydraulics and dubiously maintained machinery drifted from one of the kiddie rides as he passed it, and for just a moment he understood where Rook’s distaste for them was coming from at the sound. But, rather than dwell on that, he stopped out front of a food booth. Massive cutouts of overflowing popcorn buckets hung over the window, enticing, and after half a second of deliberation, he hopped into the short line.

“What about playing some games?” Shieldy asked, drawing the ghost’s attention from the poorly airbrushed shirts he’d been eyeing in the stall across the footpath, puzzled. Despite Rook’s less-than-stellar experiences with games, the idea intrigued him a bit. “I think you’d like lucky ducky—you could win a goldfish at that one!”

The line shuffled forward.

“Perhaps, though I’m not quite certain what a gold fish is,” A cold feeling seemed to creep along Shieldy’s shoulder blade, settling on his right side, just above his shoulder, as though Rook was trying to face him properly. “How do you play?”

Shieldy brightened, “Oh! You’ve gotta get toy ducks out of a pool with this little hook” he mimicked the motion a bit with his hands, one finger arched like a hook, “if you get two that match, you win!”

The line moved forward once again. In a rough voice, the object in front of them—a stout violet—began to order. Rook tapped his chin.

“How exactly does one…hook the ducks?”

“They’ve got these loops on their heads, And you use this stick to…reach over and… hook. The loops. Hm.” He deflated a bit, realizing, suddenly, that the game wasn’t exactly ghost friendly. Yelps of laughter came from one of the nearby rides, filling in the silence between them as the person at the window paid.

“You know what possession is, right?”

Rook blinked.

“Possession?”

“Yeah! Like ghosts do in movies and books and stuff. You can do that, right?”

As they walked away, arms full of brightly coloured candy popcorn, Shieldy did not miss the slight look the plum sent him.

“Not to my knowledge, I’m afraid” Rook replied, watching them go. Shieldy hummed flatly before stepping up to the window, being greeted by a slightly frazzled cotton candy cone.

“Hiya! What can I getcha?”

“A bag of maple popcorn, please?”

Shieldy sat at one of the nearby picnic tables, this one boasting an abandoned, half-filled water cup that Rook peered at him through the clear sides of. He crunched on a kernel, savouring the salty-sweetness.

“You mentioned an agricultural area before, is that still an option?” Rook offered.

“The farm tent? Yeah, I guess we could try that,” he furrowed his brow a bit as he munched on another piece, trying to find something interesting to say about what was, in his mind, the least interesting part of the whole fair. “They’ve got some giant vegetables that are pretty cool. I think they’re doing a horse show too at some point.” He swallowed. “Tonight, I think? Yeah, definitely tonight”

Once again, relative quiet settled over them. A group at a nearby bench burst into laughter, and in the distance, folksy music blasted from the main stage. Rook watched a few wasps buzz around the trashcan, drawn to the sugar-dusted plates and half-finished treats balanced delicately on top. One of them flew in close, buzzing around the kernel in Shieldy’s hand. He held perfectly still through the couple of seconds it waited before flying away. Only then did he toss it in his mouth.

“Sorry you’re not having fun,” Shieldy said, finally. Rook turned to him. “I kinda didn’t think this through.”

Rook softened slightly. “It’s quite alright. It is a bit..” He fumbled about for a more delicate phrasing, looking at the bag in Shieldy’s hands. Striped red and see-through, showing off the brown splashed kernels inside, broken bits already gathering at the bottom. He’d seen dozens like it as they’d traipsed through the fairgrounds. “Out of my comfort zone, perhaps, but it is quite interesting to see what festivities look like these days, to say the least.”

Shieldy perked up, “You think?”

“Oh certainly! It’s almost fascinating, really. For all the changes, it is not too dissimilar to the festivals we once celebrated in the fall.” Rook’s reflection seemed to drift back somewhat, looking beyond Shieldy and into the blue horizon, broken up by neon-painted thrill rides and the slowly turning ferris wheel. Shieldy snacked as Rook rambled, almost wistfully.

“Bards from all corners of the kingdom would come and play in the castle for hours. Golden flowers would grow in the courtyard, and the gardeners would fashion their bushes into the most beautiful figures. Artisanal things. And when the revelry spilled into the city—ha!” A thin frost layer coated the cup’s base, spilling over onto the table like he’d slapped his hand down on it before receding, “Oh, the dancing wouldn’t stop for days! Guards would sing ballads from the rooftops, we would parade the drunks through the streets like kings, chefs would make shows of cooking elaborate, strange feasts—though, nothing quite as strange as what your modern cooks have invented, admittedly.”

“Hey! None of its that weird, come on” Shieldy defended, grinning, popping another corn into his mouth.

“You’ve taken to mixing maple and corn. How on Earth does one think of such a thing?”

Shieldy shrugged. “I dunno, but it’s good!”

“I have my doubts.”

At the sight of Rook’s nearly sly grin, Shieldy took a large piece and, sticking his tongue out at him, threw it into the cup. He expected, given past experience with throwing things into water, that it would either sink or, given its buoyancy, float on the surface. He did not, however, expect it to vanish beneath the surface, reappearing as it dropped into Rook’s hand.

They both stared at it for a moment. Shieldy looked between the bag and the flabbergasted ghost.

“Is the popcorn…also cursed?” He asked, hovering directly over the cup as he dropped in another piece. Again, it seemed to pop from his reality to Rook’s, who studied it closely with wide eyes.

“I’m. not quite sure.” Rook turned the pieces over slowly, poking a bit at the hulls.

“...Are you gonna try it?”

Rook glanced at him almost flatly.

“Must I?”

“I think you should”

He took a deep breath. Cautiously, as though he thought it would burn his tongue, he popped the smaller of the two kernels into his mouth. The flavour was faint, like a ghost of its former self, but,

“It’s sweet,” he said eventually, “very sweet.”

“Well, duh, it’s got maple syrup on it”

Rook ate the second one just as slowly.

“It…” Rook tapered off, sweet, rich flavours lingering. Thoughts of nigh-ancient festivals swirled in his mind. Long-dead friends—bakers, bricklayers, fellow servants—gathered in tight clusters just outside the castle walls, passing around gingerbread smuggled from the king’s kitchens, smothered in honey and maple and bits of dried fruit that all stuck to their hands as it dripped of the edges, chased with cider someone had swiped from inn, listening to the off-tune caw of objects up and down the night-bright street singing along with drowned out bards, at times even singing along himself, pitchily. A little smudge of syrup still clung to his pointer finger.

“You ok?” Shieldy asked after several seconds of Rook’s awed silence.

“I,” He mumbled, seemingly automatically, in reply before shaking his head, snapping back to awareness. He turned to Shieldy, hovering just slightly concerned over the cup.

“Apologies, it was simply a bit strange. I admittedly can’t quite recall the last time I tasted—” he searched for the appropriate word: sweetness, richness, maple as a whole, but found it all best encapsulated with simply “..anything.”

Shieldy blinked at that. “Oh. Yeah.”

It made sense, all things considered, but he’d never really considered it. Rook had been a ghost for, what, four hundred years now? All of those years spent stuck in the dream realm, largely alone, how would he ever even have the chance?

“Do you want some more?” Shieldy asked, shaking the bag slightly.

Laughter and song rang out through the fairgrounds.

“It would be appreciated,” Rook replied, “thank you”

#i wanna do ch 3 for another prompt but we'll see #boto #brawl of the objects #boto rook #boto shieldy #objectober #objectober 2022 #writin and ravin #osc #tumblr better not have messed up my formatting i swear to god cause i dont wanna check it

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