Chioniphobia

Colorful

"They deserve to die," he says.

He takes the form of a man more and more, nowadays. It's easier to walk around on two legs in the towns. Sometimes he still forgets to hide the ears, but it's never anything a well-placed hat can't hide.

"Everyone dies, mon lapin," Grim answers dryly.

He prefers talking to her in the towns. She always seems more distracted, easier to catch off-guard. The presence of so many people sets him a bit on edge as well, but he's never shown weakness in the Reaper's presence. He isn't about to begin now.

"It's unfair."

"And who ever said I was fair? Neither is life, you know."

"It isn't right."

"I'm sure many of the townspeople would do the same in the prince's place, given the opportunity," she argues.

"But they won't, because they don't have the opportunity in the first place. You can't tell me you approve of this!" he complains.

Grim's expression is pensive. "There are a great many things I don't approve of, dear. Not that anyone consults me on them."

A man nearby coughs, and Grims glances over at him. "Oh dear. There goes another one. Can you blame the prince for wanting to avoid this?"

This, as indicated by the Reaper, is a fit of coughing followed by rust-colored sweat. This is marked by numerous boils and sores. This makes its mark with blood everywhere, leaking from every opening, every pore in the unfortunate man's skin.

"No," he admits as the man keels over. "But I can blame him for holing up in that bloody abbey of his while his subjects are dying in the streets!"

"Honestly, the abbey is the least bloody place hereabouts for probably a hundred miles," Grim remarks.

She sees his eyes glint harshly. The clouded sun stubbornly dispersing its light in the sky above turns his green gaze venomous.

"You could change that," he suggests.

The suggestion hangs in the air, daring her to reach out and take it. She doesn't, not immediately.

"Why should I?"

He answers quickly, too quickly. "Because you hate it when people cheat you, and the only thing you hate more is when they hide behind others to do it."

He's thought about this, she realizes. This púca has been contemplating how to persuade me into murder.

Well, it would be a shame to have all his planning go to waste.

"I've heard that he's planning a masquerade next week," she proposes.

The púca grins. "Going to a party uninvited? Rude."

"Well, you said it yourself: the prince and his cronies cheated me. He has practically invited me, doing a thing like that. Anyway, when's the last time we've been to a good party?"

He blanches. "We?"

"Yes, we. You expect a lady to go to a party unaccompanied?"

"What makes you think I'll escort you?!"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me you really want to miss it."

"I do! I really would rather miss this, thanks very much!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I'd really rather be missing this, he thinks.

They're colorful. That's the only thing he can say about the rooms that's vaguely positive: everything else is very clearly negative. And even the colors are a potential point against it- they're bright, but also gaudy, garish, and just plain old ugly in some cases. The costumes are all ugly. The dancing is only such in the barest sense of the word, there's too much lighting in most areas and nigh none in the others, and the only reason he's guzzling the wine is because his need for a drink is currently outweighing his good taste.