WELCOME TO THE TOWER

Halloween at The Tower is already in full swing.

The bass is thumping through the floor, the dance floor is gradually filling up, and the bar is doing a brisk trade. Someone has clearly decided that tonight is an excellent excuse to drink far too much, dress like an idiot and make questionable decisions. Not that this is particularly unusual for a Saturday night. The club has been given a suitably festive makeover. Plastic spiders dangle from the ceiling, fake cobwebs stretch across the corners, and orange plastic pumpkins have found their way onto practically every available surface. Someone has even bothered with a few skeletons, although one appears to have lost an arm somewhere between the entrance and the toilets. The lighting does the rest, casting everything in the familiar red and purple glow.

Kristi, naturally, deserves the credit for the entire affair. As the evening's unofficial mastermind, she's made sure that The Tower looks the part, the music is playing and there's enough going on to keep everyone entertained. Dressed as Tiffany, Chucky's rather more glamorous better half, she's certainly committed to the occasion. If anyone asks, she'll probably insist that the party wouldn't have happened without her. And, frankly, she'd be right.

People are still arriving, some in considerably more convincing costumes than others. There's a fairly impressive vampire near the bar, a pirate who seems to be fighting a losing battle with his own accessories, and someone in a long black coat who has apparently decided that Neo from The Matrix is an acceptable excuse not to make any further effort. A bedsheet with two eyeholes is currently passing for a ghost. Nobody seems particularly bothered by the lack of craftsmanship.

A few familiar faces are already scattered throughout the club.

Some have taken their costumes rather seriously. Others have simply put on something black and called it a day. There's a certain red leather jacket in the crowd, a long red coat that catches the light whenever its wearer moves, and more than one questionable set of plastic fangs. Somewhere nearby, someone is making a terrible joke about Scooby Snacks. It wouldn't be Halloween without it.

The music shifts into another track, the lights sweep across the dance floor, and a small cheer rises from a group near the speakers. Someone bumps into a table, narrowly avoiding sending a collection of plastic pumpkins flying. At the bar, drinks are being passed over the counter at a steady pace, while conversations compete with the music in increasingly loud attempts to be heard.

It's the sort of night where nobody particularly cares if your costume is brilliant, half-arsed or held together with safety pins. There's no dress code beyond making some sort of effort, no elaborate programme to follow and certainly no shortage of people willing to get up to something stupid. Outside, October has settled properly over the city. Inside, The Tower is warm, crowded and very much alive.

The party is underway. The usual faces are here, the drinks are flowing, and the night is still young.

Welcome to The Tower. Happy Halloween.

THE RED COAT DEBATE

It had started with Final Fantasy VII. Naturally, it had somehow ended with an argument about coats. Somewhere towards the quieter end of the bar, two rather overdressed men had found themselves engaged in what appeared to be a surprisingly serious discussion about anime and video game characters. More specifically, the relative merits of Vincent Valentine and Alucard. Or, as the conversation had gradually evolved, whose red coat was actually better.

Ace was making a fairly convincing case for Vincent. The long red cloak, the dramatic silhouette, the slightly tragic aesthetic – clearly, there was no competition. Vincent had the mysterious former-Turk thing going on, the guns, the whole brooding-about-his-past business. It was called having style, apparently.

Raiden, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly unconvinced.

Alucard had the hat. Alucard had the glasses. Alucard had considerably more presence, and, according to Raiden, a red coat that actually deserved to be called a red coat rather than a glorified curtain.

"You're confusing dramatic fabric with actual style," Ace pointed out, taking a sip of his drink.

"Am I?" Raiden asked, looking down at his own coat before casually adjusting one of its lapels.

"Interesting. I'd have thought you'd recognise good tailoring when you saw it."

"That's not tailoring. That's a fucking bedsheet with sleeves."

Raiden gave him a pleasantly entertained look. "And yet you seem rather invested in comparing the two."

"Because you're wrong."

"An unfortunate habit of yours, I'm beginning to suspect."

The fact that both men were wearing rather convincing versions of their respective characters wasn't helping matters. If anything, it was making the entire discussion considerably more personal.

Ace took another look at Raiden's outfit, his expression suggesting he was mentally compiling a list of objections.

"Look, Vincent doesn't need a fucking hat to make the outfit work. That's the point. The coat does the job on its own."

"Ah, yes. The mysterious, tortured man in a red cloak. Very original."

"Coming from the bloke dressed like he robbed a Victorian circus?"

Raiden actually laughed at that, apparently rather pleased with himself. "At least I have a hat."

"Congratulations. Do you want a medal?"

"I'd settle for an acknowledgement of superior character design."

"Keep dreaming."

The conversation had become increasingly specific. Length, cut, material, overall silhouette. At some point, someone had mentioned character design. There might even have been a brief disagreement about whether Vincent's transformation abilities should count towards his overall aesthetic appeal. Neither seemed particularly interested in conceding.

The music was loud enough that they occasionally had to lean closer to hear one another, but apparently not loud enough to distract them from their very important business. Around them, the Halloween party continued without the slightest interest in their fashion-related crisis.

A couple of people passing by had already given them curious looks. One had laughed. Another had clearly decided not to get involved. Sensible, really.

Then someone happened to walk past.

Both men noticed at roughly the same time.

Ace turned first, almost immediately seizing the opportunity. He gestured towards Raiden with a short movement of his glass.

"Oi. You. Settle something."

Raiden turned as well, wearing a far more welcoming smile. "Excellent timing. We require an impartial judgement."

Ace gave him a sideways look. "Don't make it sound like a fucking court case."

"Would you prefer a public vote?"

"Just ask the question."

Raiden gestured between their two outfits, his expression bordering on smug. "Very well. A simple matter of taste."

Ace folded his arms, clearly confident in the outcome. "Whose coat's cooler? And think carefully. There's a right answer."

SIX WASHES, APPARENTLY

Getting three rather different personalities to stand in the same place for more than five minutes had apparently been a talent. Getting them to stay there voluntarily might have been another matter entirely. Paddy, however, seemed to be managing just fine.

Somewhere near the bar, he'd managed to gather a small collection of familiar faces, all looking considerably different from their usual selves. Whether they'd actually intended to spend the evening together or had simply got caught in Paddy's social orbit was difficult to say. Probably a bit of both. Daniel was looking like a man who'd made several questionable decisions and was beginning to appreciate the consequences. His long black coat and dark clothes were doing a reasonable job of completing the Neo look, but the temporary hair dye was another matter entirely.

"Six washes, apparently," he muttered, running a hand through his newly blackened hair. "That's what the fucking packet said." He looked at his reflection in the dark liquid of his drink. "Six washes my arse."

The initial enthusiasm about the idea had, by now, given way to a somewhat more realistic assessment of the situation. Daniel's naturally fair hair had taken to the black dye rather enthusiastically, and none of them were particularly convinced that a few showers would magically restore his usual colour. Benji and Paddy had both arrived at the same conclusion, though neither seemed particularly keen to be the first to say it out loud.

As if summoned by the thought, Kristi passed behind them, briefly slowing down as she caught sight of Daniel.

"Well, hello there," she said, giving him an appreciative once-over. "Haven't seen you around before. You always look this miserable, or is that part of the costume?"

Daniel turned his head towards her, expression entirely unchanged.

"Depends. Are you always this charming?"

Benji nearly choked on his drink.

Kristi grinned, apparently taking the deadpan response as an invitation rather than a warning. "Bit of a mystery, aren't you?"

"Apparently."

"Kristi," Benji interrupted, sounding considerably less amused than he probably intended. "That's Daniel."

She blinked, looked at him again, then back at Benji.

"Oh. Daniel?"

"Yes. My Daniel. The one you've met approximately a hundred times."

"Well, how was I supposed to know? You've dyed the poor bastard's entire head black."

Daniel took another sip of his drink. "I'm beginning to regret it."

Kristi laughed, giving him one last look. "Good luck getting that out, by the way. Blonde hair and black dye? You're not getting your old colour back anytime soon. You might be stuck with that for months."

She delivered this little piece of information with the cheerful satisfaction of someone who'd just contributed something genuinely useful to the conversation, then disappeared into the crowd.

There was a brief silence.

Benji looked at Daniel.

Daniel looked at Benji.

Paddy, who'd been listening with growing interest, slowly raised his eyebrows. "Months?" he repeated.

"Shut up, Paddy."

"Six washes, was it?"

Daniel gave him a flat look. "I said shut up."

Benji, meanwhile, was still looking mildly offended. "She was actually flirting with you. My sister. For fuck's sake."

"Well, at least someone appreciated the new look."

"Don't encourage her." Benji muttered, meanwhile having problems of his own.

The pirate costume was looking rather impressive, all things considered, but the beads hanging around his face had apparently developed a personal vendetta against him. One kept getting caught near his mouth, another had somehow ended up underneath his bandana, and he'd spent a good portion of the evening trying to rearrange them without ruining the entire look.

"Will you bloody behave?" he muttered at the offending strand, giving it another tug.

A moment later, he turned towards the others. "Seriously, how did pirates manage? Wasn't there anyone to tell them this was a shit idea?"

Marek looked at him, then at the beads. "Probably. They just threw the annoying ones overboard."

"Helpful. Cheers."

Marek gave a small shrug, looking entirely too comfortable in his red leather jacket and sunglasses. Of the three, he'd arguably put the least effort into appearing bothered by anything. He had a drink in hand, a vaguely entertained expression and the general air of someone who'd stumbled into an amusing situation and decided to stay for the entertainment.

Paddy, on the other hand, was having a brilliant time.

Dressed as Shaggy, complete with green shirt and brown trousers, he looked thoroughly pleased with himself. He'd already made at least one Scooby Snack joke, introduced two people who didn't particularly need introducing, and somehow managed to turn a casual conversation into a potential group outing to the bar.

"Right, listen," he said, leaning in slightly so the others could hear him over the music. "I've been looking at the drinks prices, yeah? And I reckon there's a way we can get absolutely hammered without spending a fortune."

Daniel gave him a flat look. "That sounds like the beginning of a very bad idea."

"Only if you do it wrong."

"Comforting."

Paddy ignored this entirely, apparently taking it as encouragement. "I'm talking proper bargain hunting. There's got to be something on special tonight. Halloween and all that. Maybe a couple of quid for a shot?"

"Two quid?" Benji perked up, momentarily forgetting his ongoing battle with the beads. "What are we waiting for, then?"

"That's what I'm saying!"

Marek took a slow sip of his drink. "You're aware that we're already in a bar, right?"

"Yeah, but there's a difference between buying a drink and buying a good deal."

"Christ. He's turned drinking into a treasure hunt."

Paddy grinned, seemingly delighted that everyone was finally paying attention.

The music changed, someone nearby burst into laughter, and the crowd shifted around them as another group made its way towards the dance floor.

For the moment, the four of them were together, although how long that arrangement would last remained anyone's guess.

Paddy looked between the others, clearly preparing to pitch his latest brilliant idea.

"So, who's coming with me?"

KILLING LONELINESS

HIM's Killing Loneliness came on, and Lasse recognised the opening almost immediately. His attention shifted towards the speakers, a faint smile appearing as he settled into the familiar melody. He'd always had a soft spot for HIM, even if he wasn't particularly inclined to advertise it.

Janusz, on the other hand, seemed considerably more interested in advertising his opinions.

"Oh, now we're talking," he announced, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the music. "Finally, some decent fucking music."

Lasse glanced at him. "You've been complaining about the playlist for the last twenty minutes."

"Because it's been shit for the last twenty minutes."

"Perhaps you should put in a request."

"I'd rather not encourage them."

Lasse huffed a quiet laugh, turning his attention back to the song. He knew the lyrics by heart, something Janusz noticed when he caught him quietly singing along.

"Look at you," Janusz grinned. "Didn't know you were such a romantic."

"Didn't know you were such an expert on romance."

"I'm an expert on many things."

"Name three."

"Music, women and making poor decisions."

"At least you're self-aware."

Janusz laughed, apparently quite pleased with himself. He launched into an enthusiastic assessment of the song, touching on the vocals, the lyrics and Ville Valo's general superiority over most of the music industry. Lasse occasionally interrupted with a correction or added some observation of his own, demonstrating that, despite Janusz's considerable enthusiasm, he was probably the bigger HIM fan between them.

"You're taking this very seriously," Janusz remarked.

"It's a good song."

"Yes, darling, I've gathered. You look like you're about to propose to it."

"Jealous?"

"Of a song? Never. I have standards."

Lasse rolled his eyes, but the amusement remained.

It was then that Janusz spotted someone across the room. His attention wandered, a familiar grin spreading across his face as he recognised someone in the crowd. He looked back at Lasse, then towards the person again, and seemed to arrive at a rather entertaining conclusion.

"You know what your problem is?"

Lasse didn't even look at him. "I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"You spend far too much time standing around looking miserable."

"I'm having a lovely time."

"You look like a melancholic Victorian ghost waiting for his fiancée to die of consumption."

"That's oddly specific."

"I have a vivid imagination. Anyway, perhaps you should try flirting with someone for a change."

Lasse finally turned to look at him. "Perhaps you should try minding your own business."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Somewhere far away from me, hopefully."

Janusz only grinned wider. He nodded towards the person he'd spotted earlier.

"Go on. They're cute."

"No."

"You haven't even looked."

"I don't need to."

"Christ, you're difficult."

"And yet you keep following me around."

"Someone has to make sure you don't turn into a bloody ghost before the evening's over."

Lasse shook his head, taking another sip of his drink. Janusz, judging by the expression on his face, was nowhere near finished.

SUGOI!

Momo had apparently decided that the evening wouldn't be complete without photographic evidence of the anime crowd's existence. Having gathered Victoria, Sandra and a rather unwilling Raiden, she'd managed to assemble practically everyone who'd turned up in anime-inspired costumes for a group photo.

Raiden looked about as enthusiastic as someone being escorted to his own execution.

"Come on, it'll take two minutes!" Momo insisted, already trying to arrange everyone into something resembling a coherent group.

"That's what you said five minutes ago."

"And now we're nearly ready!"

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Lasse, who'd been watching the proceedings with quiet amusement, was eventually recruited to help round up the remaining stragglers. There was still one notable absence: Diana, who'd apparently come as Lucy from Elfen Lied. Momo wanted everyone in the picture, which meant they couldn't possibly start without her.

Finding her proved somewhat more complicated than expected.

They spotted the unmistakable pink wig and familiar dress near the other side of the room. The figure was standing with some bloke nobody particularly recognised, apparently deep in conversation. Before anyone had quite managed to call her over, the stranger leaned in, said something in her ear, and offered his hand.

"Oh, there she is!" Momo exclaimed.

Victoria followed her gaze. "Diana?"

The figure didn't turn around. Instead, the stranger took her hand, and the two started making their way towards the exit.

"Oi! We're doing the photo!" Sandra called.

Nothing. Not even a wave.

The stranger opened the door for her. The pink-haired figure followed him outside without so much as looking back. The door swung shut behind them.

There was a moment of silence.

"...Did Diana just leave?" Victoria asked.

Momo blinked. "I think so?"

Raiden stared at the door. "You think?"

"Well, that was her costume!"

"Congratulations. You've successfully identified a wig."

Lasse glanced towards the exit, looking thoroughly amused. "Perhaps she's found a date."

"She didn't even say goodbye!" Momo protested. "Or hello, to be precise."

"Maybe he was in a hurry," Sandra offered.

"Who the fuck was that bloke?" Raiden asked.

Nobody seemed to know.

Momo looked at the door again, then at the assembled group. "Right. Well. When every anime character is here..."

She looked around once more, apparently checking whether anyone else had mysteriously vanished, before positioning herself beside the small group with a wide grin and a peace sign.

"Everyone say sugoi!"

Raiden closed his eyes and sighed.

Lasse, meanwhile, was already holding the camera and checked the frame.

.