"So, what do you think?" The Cybertronian asked his companion. Several panels of grey-painted cardboard were strapped to the vending machine, giving him the vague appearance of a Gameboy. His human partner was wearing a blue coat with white fur trim along its hood and currently munching on a hot dog. He swallowed it and pulled down his skull mask.

"Yeah it ain't bad. How's mine?"

"You made that out of stuff you had lying around, at least I had to actually fabricate something."

"Perhaps, but being lazy is consistent with the character I am portraying, so there's really no bones about it."

The Cybertronian blinked a few times. "Did...you just...".

"Anyways." The human in the last minute costume started to head into the party. "There's no need for us to be a couple of lazy bones. We're gonna have a good time."

She burst through the doors and sashayed her way toward the crowd, grinning, fully expecting the entire room to stop and stare... only to realize about five steps in that her partner was not beside her. What the hell? She turned around and saw that he was still in the doorway, standing stock-still. With an aggravated growl, she stalked back toward him.

"Hey!" she hissed. "What gives?"

"This was a bad idea," said Derik, shaking his head. "I don't know why I ever thought this was a good idea."

Gall was confused. "What, the party?" She thought he'd been looking forward to it.

"No, no. This." His gesture included the two of them and what they were wearing—or, largely, not wearing.

His costume was fine. He was Jason Momoa's Aquaman. He didn't have the beard, but he had brushed some temporary gold highlights into his hair, which was almost the right length, and he had quite enjoyed letting Gall stencil the intricate, Polynesian-inspired fake tattoos all over his upper body. His only actual clothing at the moment was a pair of low-cut dark green leather pants. That was all fine on its own.

It was Gall's costume that made the whole thing a terrible, crass joke. It had been funny when they were planning it in the response center, but now, in public...

She wasn't wearing much on top herself, just a bandeau with a pair of pink seashells fitted to her breasts. Below, sparkling green leggings with frilly bits suggestive of fins floating around her calves. (She hadn't for one moment considered an actual dress.) She'd even wetted her hair and brushed it out until it was relatively smooth and reached to her upper back.

None of this did a single thing to hide the unmistakable bulge of her belly.

As far as she was concerned, that was the point. It was the coup de grace of the joke. Also, she was thrilled about her pregnancy, and as she'd entered her fourth month, she'd gotten a surge of energy that made her more irrepressible than ever. She was excited. She was proud. She glowed. She wanted everyone to notice.

Derik was excited and proud, too, sometimes. Mostly, and at this particular moment, he was terrified.

"Well, you can't back out now," Gall said. "Not after all the work I put in!"

He really, really wished he could, but she was right. As much as he wanted to run away, doing so would be at least as shameful as whatever attention was about to come his way.

But perhaps there was a middle road. "I'm not backing out," he said, and even took a step into the room to prove it, letting the doors close behind him. "Do you want anything? Food? Water?"

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, but biology got the better of her. She tilted her head. "You know what's weird? Remember those horrible fried green goo things from last year?"

"Yes?" He wasn't actually sure he did; a lot of the latter half of last year's party was fuzzy.

"I could so demolish a plate of those right now."

Derik smiled. "I'll see if they're there." He turned to abscond.

"Ooh, and maybe if there's haggis? That's a scary Halloweenish food, right?"

He had to look back. "Really?"

Gall scowled and put her hands on her befrilled hips. "Don't you dare judge my cravings."

"Never!" He put up his hands, don't shoot, and made his escape. If he could just set her up with some snacks and then avoid her the rest of the evening, maybe everything would be fine...

(( To the people who didn't know my secret plans: Surprise! This is a thing that is happening and was never not a thing that was going to happen.

(( If he doesn't run into anyone else first, I'll send Derik over to Ix and Charlotte's thread with the food table. Due to conflicting canonicity and the convenient excuse that he was kinda blitzed, he doesn't really remember anything that happened with Ix, so that should be interesting. ∗eg∗ ))

He adjusted his glove slightly and looked around the room, taking in everybody present. "I seem to recall something occurring two years prior to this night that was... unpleasant for all involved."

His companion shifted the fur cape hanging from his right shoulder, then smiled up at the first man. "Oh, don't worry about that," he said. "It'll be fine, and even if something does happen, we're Agents. We know how to handle ourselves."

The frown the man dressed as a slightly-more-practical (he wasn't going to leave his thighs bare) Chandra Nalaar bore lessened slightly. "You may have a point," he admitted. "I have not yet uncovered anything suggesting anything similar shall occur." Yet being the key word.

The man dressed as Liliana, Last Hope of Innistrad turned his attention to the room at large. "There, you see? If something was going on, you of all people would have found it." He looked around, hoping to see someone he might know. "Now, let's enjoy ourselves."

---

"How does she see through these things?" growled Apecian, brushing his currently reddish-pink bangs out of his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that night. "It's gotta be magic!"

"It is probably science, actually," Michael said, a slight smile playing across his face. He seemed perfectly at ease in his formal white-and-gold shirt and black pants, unlike Apecian, who was still getting used to moving in what amounted in a wedding dress.

"No, she's a - waaaait a minute." His irritation vanished and he grinned at his partner. "Okay, yeah, it's science. Guess her dad really planned ahead, huh?"

"She was meant to be a perfect perpetual combat machine," Michael pointed out. "It would be a rather large oversight to just... let her die because she refused to cut her hair."

… exclaimed Chelsea as she walked into the party, her footwear flopping against the floor.

Lemon, in a witch’s hat and dress, looked worriedly at her partner’s flippers on her feet. “Don’t you think you should at least change your choice of footwear?”

Chelsea, with an anglerfish mask over her head and a ghillie suit over her body, turned around. “Too late for that now!” She waddled towards the food.

Lemon shrugged, watching her go. “Alright then.” She then followed.

((Heyo! I decided to try RPing again! Lemon is a rat from the Sonic continuum and Chelsea is an Inkling from the Splatoon continuum. Edit: made an error on the mask, so I deleted part of a sentence.))

This rumbling proclamation from the towering posthuman did little to discourage his young human companion. “Leonidas. We’ve already been over this. As far as I know, Dozle Zabi is the only character from the franchise with a build remotely similar to yours.”

The Space Marine, the one the (much) smaller of the two Agents referred to as Leonidas, shrugged his massive shoulders. The oversized uniform of a Zeon officer seemed to be struggling to contain the warrior’s powerful form, as if at any moment he might erupt from it as a wild creature more beast than man. “Very well, Samuel. Who are you impersonating again?

“Just call me Sammy, I really don’t mind,” answered the gold-haired human boy at his side. The youth’s gray eyes peered up at his counterpart through a pair of pilot’s goggles. “I’m Quatre, remember? Pilot of the Gundam Sandrock?” The gleam of excitement in Sammy’s eyes touched a buried memory and the Space Marine’s flint-hard gaze softened slightly. "Very well..let's go." With that, they wandered into the room.

Kat glared at her brother, one hand on the door handle.

“I’m not sulking! I’m being in character!” Edward was dressed as a zombie, and he was walking like one too: arms stretched out in front, staggering from side to side.

“Don’t be silly! Just because I dragged you to this party doesn’t mean you can act stupid! I don’t know about you, but I’m here to have fun and socialise, not to have an embarrassing brother trailing after me!”

“I’m hardly the most embarrassing person in HQ. Anyway, this is a complete waste of time.”

“Shut up,” said Kat, adjusting her witch’s hat with one free hand. “How do I look?”

“Like my sister.”

Kat rolled her eyes, pushed open the door and stepped through. Edward lurched after her, hissing “Brains...”

“I said, shut up!”

...said Thoth, adjusting his costume.

Tom shrugged, his grey cloak obscuring his face. "Hey, you can probably blame Derik somehow. I certainly would. Just avoid offering anyone Mjød this time. The residual smell of the vomit hung around for quite some time."

"Very well." said Thoth. "I do not wish to see this costume ruined in any case. It took significant effort to get it in the proper size." The fur-lined jacket he was wearing looked it: while it was cleanly stitched enough, it appeared just a bit ad-hoc. There were more seam lines than might be expected, as was required to fit a Astartes' frame.

"Hey, I had to put in some effort too!" Tom waved the implement in his hand, so as to draw attention to it. "I had to find a distaff! I didn't even know what a distaff was when I started doing this!"

"And I had to research anything about this uniform that the novels did not reference."

Tom squinted at Thoth. "And what possessed you to want to go as a Dragonrider anyways?"

"It's what I've been reading of late. Care for some Klah?" The tone of that response made it clear Thoth wasn't getting any more information.

--

In another corner of the party, two men were engaged in an argument.

"I don't look like him!"

"You absolutely do."

"I don't at all! The build's off, I tell you, not to mention the hair!"

"Then why'd you go as him?"

"Because everyone says I look like him!"

Ialthos grinned. "You're not getting out of this one that easy, dragon."

Ferrux, laughed, his eyes twinking. "Oh, really, then? Well then I guess I can do... this!" He planted a large hand atop Ialthos' head, rubbing it back and forth through his hair.

"Aaaugh! Stop that!" cried the knight. But he was smiling as he said it. "I'm too tall, and not even in the right costume for that to make sense!"

"We could have gone as a pair, you know..."

"Please. You can pull of Iskandar easy, but if you think I could do Il-Melloi II, you're out of your mind."

"And what is your costume, anyways?" asked Ferrux (who, despite what he might claim, could put on a decent show as The King of Conquerers if you didn't look too closely).

Ialthos puffed out his chest in mock pride, pulling his mottled green cloak close around himself. "I," he said, "am the formidable Ranger, Halt."

"...Huh. Why that?"

"You know how everyone says you look like Iskandar?"

"Yeah..."

"Everyone says I'm a discount Ranger."

((Yes, I've brought in two groups this year. Meet Tom and Thoth, once again, and for those of you who haven't yet, meet Ferrux the Dragon (presently in human form) and Sir Ialthos! I trust you'll find them pleasant enough.))

Ix stopped just inside the doorway, nervously gripping the hilt of her rapier. "I'm starting to have second thoughts."

Charlotte gently tugged Ix farther into the room with one hand, using the other to keep the skirts of her red gown off the floor. "I'm sure," she said firmly. "Your mask isn't going to fall off this time—you'll be fine." She paused, then reached up to adjust the black bandanna on Ix's head. "Though hold still for a bit. You tied it crooked."

Ix's mouth quirked up in a smile. "As you wish," she said, and offered Charlotte her arm. The pair set off towards the snacks table, Ix feeling significantly more confident about this year's Halloween party than the last.