This time, when Tag opens his door he isn’t greeted with the usual industrial concrete of the cabal sanctum. His face collides with a big black furry spider. The prop is suspended expertly from a web that reaches across the entirety of the hallway ceiling. The space and room beyond are littered with pumpkins, pho Victorian candelabras, and all manner of seasonal spookery.
Tag gives an imperceptible sigh and waits for the inevitable appearance by the pink werewolf.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Carried aloft on a cloud of novelty Halloween music, Spindle prances from one end of the foyer to the other, trailing black and orange paper streamers in his wake. His singing is out of tune, but it’s bang-on in its enthusiasm. The little werewolf does a pirouette, ending with one foot in the air and his nose pointed toward Tag.
“H-hi!” he chirps. “Um. Surprise! D-do you like it?”
“I…” Tag’s sentence is cut off when the creeping fog begins pouring across the floor and over his shoes. Tag silently watches it travel outwards. “It’s….festive. I didn’t know you were into Halloween.”
“It’s my chance to m-make all the stuff I want, and have the best costumes, a-and it’s the time of year when everyone wants to be a werewolf.” He gives Tag a meaningful look. “O-or a wizard.”
Tag completes his walk through the hallway and into the kitchen. On the kitchen island sits an assortment of what looks to be part mad scientist beakers and equipment and part potion brewing supplies from a witch’s lair. There are glowing fluids of all colors bubbling out more fog. “Yes, you’ve certainly made a lot of stuff.”
“W-wait until you see what I made you,” Spindle teases. He skips ahead to the pantry and opens the door, unleashing a clown head on a spring. “Um. Not this. This is for Grimnir. You’re harder to surprise than he is.”
Tag’s mouth twitches into a half smile. “Make that clown head a wolf head and you’ll certainly get a reaction out of him.” He weaves around the Halloween props to find an apple that he believes is actually real.
Spindle seems to have decorated the apples like Easter eggs, with monster faces painted on with edible dye. An oni grins back at Tag’s teeth.
“Th-there are still plenty to booby trap. Um. I still have materials. How should we prank Skald?”
Tag grimaces at the face and puts it back with its companions. “One thing you should learn, Spindle, is that you never surprise a Forces master.” He instead walks to the fridge to snag one of his infamous protein drinks.
His protein drinks seem to be missing, though there’s a large glass flask with liquid roughly their color that someone’s labeled ‘Witch’s Brew’.
“Why not?” Spindle asks as he fusses with a bag of waffle mix. “I won’t be around when it happens.”
“And neither will our home after she’s done.” Tag swishes the liquid dubiously, then pours himself a glass.
Spindle frowns over his shoulder. “Th-that’s silly. If I can control myself then she should be able to, too. Y-you all still have basically human levels of feelings, right?”
“I’m not even sure what you mean by that. But, you can go ahead. She may only stick you to the ceiling with static cling,” Tag says as he smiles at the mental image and takes a sip.
“Sheesh,” Spindle grumbles. “You make it sound like y-you’re more cheerful than her.”
“I’m the proper amount of affable,” the older mage says with a little indignation.
The werewolf perks up. “Th-that’s great, because I made you two costumes, and you get to choose which one you want!”
“I’m a little old to go Trick or Treating.”
“So? Y-you still get to walk down the street looking cool!”
“I don’t think cool is the word I would use to describe a fully grown man parading in a costume on a night meant for children.”
Spindle’s right eyelid twitches. “N-no it isn’t. It’s all about getting to be spooky, a-and have fun. Adults do lots of stuff on Halloween. There are parties, and movie screenings, a-and just admiring how hard everyone works on their costumes. It’s fun. J-just some nice fun.”
“Since when?” As incredible as the question is, the mage seems genuinely baffled.
Spindle stares. “Since forever?”
Tag’s eyebrows scrunch in disbelief. “I know that several of the compacts seem to have a preoccupation with costuming frivolity, but I’d assumed it was a quirk of some supernatural culture clashing.”
“C-can you hear yourself right now?”
“What?” Tag asks raising his arms, palms up.
Spindle facepalms, his expression just short of agonized. “T-trust me, it’s for adults. Um. You can have fun without getting too close to anyone, too. S-stay on the outside enjoying the view.”
“Halloween has a significant higher statistic for crime than other days. I’d do better keeping watch than dressing up.”
“Y-you can do both, though.”
“What purpose would a costume serve?”
“Fun,” Spindle repeats. “Th-they’re just for fun. They won’t make you any worse at f-fighting, or m-make you get too close to anyone, or anything y-you don’t like. They’re just fun! Please, try to have fun?”
Tag shakes his head. “The damage to the city…it’s had a costly effect on everyone. I need to stay on top of things.”
“Y-you can do both. Really. I just…I r-really worry about you.”
Spindle sits at the table, his chin on his crossed arms.
“Don’t be. I’m fine. This just isn’t a good time for me to goof about.”
“B-but that’s exactly why you need a little joy! You’ll burn out if you don’t get any.”
“I promise I won’t burn out.”
“C-couldn’t you at least take a look at the costumes? I made them just for you.”
Spindle turns on his sad eyes like headlights.
Tag tries to ignore it by finishing his glass of sludge. When that doesn’t work he nods his assent.
Spindle cheers as he flounces off to his room. He returns shortly after, staggering under the mass of two zippered suit hangers. One makes a rattling sound as he drops it on the table in front of his teacher to open.
“Better,” Spindle insists, beaming as Tag unearths what looks like an exact replica of Tony Stark’s Iron Man suit from Civil War. “A-and I have a Spider-Man one, too. So, um, that’s one set.”
Tag picks up the shiny red and gold helmet and hold it up to his face. “Well it’s damn impressive looking. You did this in metal working class?”
Spindle fidgets, watching Tag carefully to check for enthusiasm. “N-no, just for fun. Um. I sort of have to not show off too much in class. B-but it’s for you. Um. For Halloween. Y-you can dress up like a hero and no one will think you’re weird.”
Tag chuckles at that. He moves the helmet around in his hand to examine it from all angles. “It’s a really impressive piece.”
“Th-thank you. Um. I didn’t install any jets or anything since I’m not actually a scientist, b-but it lights up.”
“I would expect no less from you, Spindle.”
“S-so you’ll wear it? Um. I have a second costume, too, i-if you don’t like this one.”
“What’s the second one?”
Spindle pushes the second suit preserver into Tag’s hands. It has a more fabric-like give to it, and no clanging metal. “Open it!”
Tag does as he is bid.
Inside is a surprisingly tasteful set of Harry Potter-style wizard robes, with red trim around the edges.
Tag looks at the costume without comprehension. “Graduation robes?”
“N-no, Gryffindor.” Spindle makes a snarling face. “Y-you could be a wizard in public and no one would notice.”
“Wait. Is this Harry Potter?” Tag scowls down at the costume.
“W-well, yeah. I made myself a matching set.”
“Don’t you have friends at the University that you’d rather go to one of those parties with?”
Spindle props his elbows innocently on the table. “P-porque no los dos?”
“Either of these costumes would draw a lot of attention.”
“S-so? Everyone would congratulate you, then go on with their lives. That’s p-pretty much how it goes. You’d just make them happy for a little while.”
“But you made the costumes.”
“And?”
Tag’s hand goes to his forehead. “And I won’t take credit for your work.”
“S-so? You wouldn’t be.”
“You’re not going to let up until you get what you want. Are you?”
“I made you two costumes s-so you could pick which one you wanted,” Spindle wheedles.
“The illusion of choice.”
“I can’t really do illusions.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Spindle’s shit-eating grin reaches his ears. “S-so the wizard robes?”
Tag places his hands on the counter and leans in closer to Spindle’s face. His eyes narrow at the werewolf. “The armor. I’ll give you one hour.”
Spindle cheers. “Wooooooo! D-do you want to see a movie? Party? Show off? What?”
“I don’t care. Just pick something,” Tag says, rubbing his temple and shaking his head.
“Y-you know,” Spindle whispers conspiratorially, “Harry Potter was sort of an Adamantine Arrow. He grew up and became a wizard soldier.”
“Don’t you have a Forces mage to annoy?”
“But you told me not to because she’d blow up the house.”
“A prospect that sounds less and less undesirable.”