milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

[ooc: PLOT-LOCKED. not!Jack and Triplets only please!]

Time is running out for the Triplets. Halloween's a week away, and they still haven't gotten their Haunted House built.

And after tonight, their plans will be squished like a bug on a windshield.

"I wish I still had my lighter. Stupid fleshie took it. Which fleshie? You remember Barrel, the one we sacked. OH. I thought it was the one we bashed. Nah, that was the one we nearly burned. No, he was the one who gave us a chain saw. No he didn't. OH. BAR. GIMME A CHAINSAW. And some acid. And some chains. And rope. Lots of rope. And some saws. Remember, we burned two others a few weeks ago? No... We got in trouble for it. Not really though.. we don't get in trouble for anything here. I mean, WE SACKED SOMEBODY. Like the Easter Bunny. Hey, that guy.. what's his name? Is he bleeding? Yeah. Heeeeeeeee! He looks like he's gonna die. Maybe he'll let us stick him in a pumpkin after he dies?"

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From out of nowhere, a voice echos. It is a strong voice, a resounding voice, one used to command. And quite familiar.

"WHAT!"

Shock shakes herself. "What the heck was that?!?!!"

The other two ignore her, paying more attention to the dying man on the floor.

"Maybe he'll let us bleed him? Nah, nobody here'll let us do that."

"Guys, c'mon, that was JACK."

Again the voice roars out, anger enough to shake dust from the rafters.

"IS! "

Lock whips around, shaking head to toe with intense fear.

"Shock..."
"I KNOW."
"THAT'S JACK."
"I KNOW."

Barrel raises his eyebrow at them both. "It's probably just somebody trying to scare us. Ignore it!"

He wanders a little bit nearer to Van Helsing, poking stick at the ready.

The voice sounds a final time, like the last trumpet.

"THIS?!"

The floorboards shudder with the steps of a powerful presence, bones rattling against each other in a steady 'Click-clack' of apparoaching doom. His right arm reaches out in one smooth movement, plucking the errant Barrel from his post and tossing him at the other two.

The mun is going to use puns and begs forgiveness, but.

Barrel barrels into a shocked Shock and a Lock whose legs are locked in place.

They fall into a moaning pile of limbs and tatters.

"What was that?!?!? WHAT DO YOU THINK BARREL?!?! IT'S JACK!!!! NO WAY. YES. IT'S JACK. HE'S IN THE BAR. HE CAN'T BE IN THE BAR. HE IS. What're we gonna do?!?! Get in trouble? OH THAT'S FUNNY."

Tim crosses his arms over his skeletal chest, no smile on his skull.

"Explain yourselves."

Three legs find themselves underneath three bottoms and three little monster children stand at attention.

"We'll be done with the House in a week days, we PROMISE!"

Not exactly what not!Jack's alluding to, but they have no clue that they've done something wrong.

"We're having some problems. No one will help us build."

A finger reaches out to tap each of them gently on the forehead. The finger quivers with restrained power, they can tell he is barely controlling his anger.

" What have you done here?"

Three little bodies quiver.

"What do you mean? We haven't done anything wrong! We've been doing Halloween preparations! We're a little late, but it's because the others aren't helping! We've got all sorts of things," Shock motions to Tub, in which they have most of their stash of weapons and a jug of Fog Juice and Acid.

"but there are rules here and we can't do anything. At least, nothing to hurt anyone."

Tim shakes his skull sadly.

"All this time away, and you have learned nothing? You HAVE hurt them. Mortals are not like us."

He leans in close to Barrel, sniffing.

"I smell blood on you, little one."

"Well, yeah. My blood, bunny blood,-" Shock hits him.

"SHUT UP. Jack, we're sorry. We know some of them are mortals, but it's hard to tell the difference! I mean, there's one guy here, Tim, he's not mortal, and he looks like a mortal! And there's a talking cat that doesn't like us. And then there's-"

Lock gulps. "Jack, we are sorry. Really. Maybe, we could just go home? Forget everything that's happened here?"

"Consider all of them as mortals."

His eyes gleam.

"I have been called here, by this place, to deal with you. Do you think that is a good punishment? Shall I take you back home, lock you in our realm? Shall I set you to cleaning our realm? Chain you to weights and force you to clean every surface with your tongue? Shall I...."

And here he starts tapping his chin with a finger.

"Shall I ban you from participating in Halloween?"

Three hands flail, clutching to Jack's coat and coat tails, and three hearts and throats moan as one.

"Please! No! Don't! We LIVE for Halloween! Who told you? Was it the Jack with the red hair? The one who dies on Halloween? We promise, we've done nothing horrible! We let the one we had in the bag go! The one with the burns healed! PLEASE Jack! Don't take Halloween away from us!"

Jack leans back, very calmly examing his finger tips.

"How do I know you will be good? I remember the last time I gave you a command, you broke it."

Oh the logic! The horrible pain of logic!

"But- BUT. We just won't! And- WE JUST WON'T, okay?!?!?!?"

"I may need to insure that you will not."

He taps the side of his head.

"But how?"

And there is Much Trembling. "Please don't Jack! We'll be good! We promise!"

"Be good?"

And his smile spreads across his face.

"Yes, I think you will be good. Very good. Do you promise to be good?"

Three heads nod eagerly in unison.

"We promise! We'll only trick if we don't get treats!"

He shakes his head.

"I need each and every one of you to promise, individually, that you will be good."

Shock smacks her two brothers. "I, Shock, promise that I'll be good."

"I, Lock, promise to be good."

"I promise to be good too!"

"BARREL!!!"

"WHAT?!?"

Good enough for Tim. His hands shoot out upwards, arcs of electricity sparking between them. Energy flows from his hands, wrapping itself around the three, taking thier promise and binding it to thier souls.

"Then good you shall be."

"How'd you do that?!? Don't ask Barrel! Just.. I dunno. Don't ask. Can we go home with you now Jack?"

Tim just grins.

"No, not this time."

He strides towards the door, then stops, glaring at it.

"I want the right door."

The flick of his fingers to cast the illusion is subtle enough to be seen as him simply brushing dust off his suit. But the effect is quite obvious, as the front door changes to the shape and coloring of a carved pumpkin.

"Thank you."

and he strides out.

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