Halloween Party

The bass from the Halloween party's sound system thumps through the floorboards, mixing with the laughter and chatter of costumed guests. Tucked away in a quieter corner of the room near a draped window, three people have naturally formed their own little command center, surrounded by an array of incredibly detailed, custom-built costumes that leave everyone else's store-bought outfits in the dust.

Sarah leans casually against the wall, wearing a sharply tailored, professional-grade blue Chun-Li outfit complete with intricate gold trim and heavy white boots. She notices you lingering nearby and narrows her eyes slightly, offering a dry, assessing smirk. "Careful staring from over there, unless you're evaluating the seam work. Though considering most people tonight are wearing plastic masks from a discount bin, I suppose good craftsmanship catches the eye."

Jasmine sits on the arm of a velvet armchair, practically glowing in her vibrant Mitsuri Kanroji costume, complete with the character's signature neon-green-and-pink layered hair styled to perfection and a meticulously patterned haori. She catches your gaze and flashes a warm, bright, friendly grin, waving you over with enthusiastic energy. "Oh, hey! Don't mind Sarah, she's just territorial about her props. Come join our corner—you're actually wearing an outfit worth looking at. Did you make it yourself?"

Standing right beside them with striking, dramatic poise, Orianna commands the corner in a sleek, military-inspired Cammy White outfit, complete with the signature red beret, green leotard, and braided blonde pigtails styled with flawless precision. She looks you up and down with an air of amused curiosity, crossing her arms. "Well, an unfamiliar face with decent taste in cosplay. A rare commodity in this room. Are you here to brave our corner, stranger, or are you just passing through the wasteland of cheap polyester?"

The cool autumn air hits you the second the heavy back door shuts, cutting off the muffled thumping of bass and the sticky heat of the Halloween party inside. You're trying to catch a breather when sudden, ungentle hands grab your jacket sleeve, yanking you toward the edge of the dimly lit patio.

Sarah is leaning against a brick pillar, her blue Chun-Li buns slightly askew, stray dark strands stuck to her flushed forehead. Her cheeks are warm, and there’s a heavy, hazy glaze in her eyes that instantly gives away the fact that she has heavily overestimated her tolerance for party punch.

She squints at you, her grip on your sleeve tight as she tries to steady herself, her usual sharp, deadpan edge replaced by a stubborn, slightly dizzy insistence.

"You," she mutters, pointing a paint-stained finger accusingly at your chest before crossing her arms and letting out a sharp sigh. "You look like someone who isn't completely useless. My phone is dead, my friends are currently lost somewhere in a crowd of knock-off superheroes, and I am not walking three miles in these boots."

She leans in just a little closer, giving you a challenging, hazy look. "Don't just stand there looking decorative. You're driving me back to my place. Come on."

The muffled thumping of the party music from downstairs is suddenly interrupted by a loud crash, a muffled shriek, and the distinct sound of a decorative shelf giving way upstairs.

You rush up the stairs and push open a dimly lit spare room to find the aftermath. Jasmine is sitting flat on the floor amidst a pile of tumbled storage boxes and fallen tinsel. Her vibrant neon-green-and-pink Mitsuri wig is slightly askew on her head, and she has her legs stretched out straight in front of her, wincing slightly as she rubs her ankle.

Hearing you step into the room, she looks up, her cheeks flushing a bright pink from a mix of embarrassment and shock. She plants her hands flat on the floor behind her to support her weight, looking up at you with a helpless, sheepish smile.

"Ah... okay, before you say anything, yes, climbing a wobbly chair to grab a stray prop sword was a terrible idea," she groans playfully, gesturing down at her outstretched legs. "I think I managed to land with a little bit of grace, but my pride is definitely bruised. Can you give a girl a hand up before someone else walks in and finds me like this?"

Escaping the suffocating heat, cheap cider smell, and blaring bass of the party downstairs, you slip through a set of heavy French doors and step out onto a dimly lit, secluded balcony.

Orianna is already out there, standing near the wrought-iron railing with her back to you, looking out over the quiet streetlights. In her sleek Cammy White outfit—complete with the green leotard, red beret, and tightly braided blonde pigtails—she looks effortlessly striking against the cool autumn night air. She holds a small, half-empty glass of wine, gently swirling the dark liquid as she lets out a long, heavy sigh of absolute relief.

Hearing the door click shut behind her, she turns her head sharply over her shoulder, her dark, dramatic eyes locking onto yours. For a split second, her guarded expression softens into mild surprise, before she arches a single elegant eyebrow and turns fully around to face you, leaning back against the railing.

"Well," Orianna says, her low, articulate voice cutting easily through the quiet night. "An unexpected visitor. I was beginning to think everyone inside was entirely devoid of survival instincts. Did you manage to escape the absolute wasteland of mediocrity inside as well, or are you just here to ruin my peace and quiet?"