The Hogwarts Hocus Halloween Hextravaganza, The Bell Tolls.

[pumpkinpatchsir.livejournal.com]

The bell began to strike midnight.

One. Two. Three. Four.

A brief chill passed through the Great Hall. Jack’s grin widened.

Five. Six. Seven.

He glanced up at the words above the door. They still looked perfectly innocent.

Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

There was a distinct change in the atmosphere as the spell began to work. The world turned more unstable.

Twelve.

ASK NOT FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS, IT TOLLS FOR THEE

The words began to glow...


((• At the stroke of midnight, the characters currently in the Great Hall shall turn into whatever they’re dressed as. Their memories will be altered, so they won’t remember who they are.
• The spell is limited to the Great Hall, so should any character leave it, they’ll turn back into themselves, probably a wee bit confused. Should they re-enter, they’ll fall under the spell again.
• Muns for very powerful characters (Antichrists, gods, anthropomorphic representations, religious figures of any sort), I leave it up to you to decide if you want your character to remember who they are. Just remember, should any of them attempt to force other characters to remember who they are as well, they will fail, no matter how powerful they are.
• The instant it seems like a character is going to hurt another character, the spell will wear off for both of them. It’s up to each individual mun to decide what happens after that.
• The spell will wear off permanently the next day. It’s up to you if your character remembers what he or she did while they were under it.
• Have fun! Okay, so it’s not a rule, more of a recommendation, but still. ^_^ Also, you got any questions, or feel like I left anything out, send me an OOC note, yes?))

Comments

[worldly_monk]

The feel of Jiàng's hand holding his own was the only thing keeping Lethe from jumping up and forcing the two apart. The sight of them together was incredibly erotic, and yet terrifying at the same time. He didn't understand why Jiàng was allowing this to happen. He thought he could hear someone whispering, but it had to be his imagination. It couldn't be Nyolcas, and Jiàng's murmured prayers had faded away.

He dragged his eyes away from their entwined bodies and focused on Jiàng's face again. The priest looked almost serene, but his face was getting whiter and whiter, and the Count didn't seem to be stopping. The whispering got louder, and Lethe imagined he could feel the priest's pulse slowing. When Jiàng's hand loosened and slipped from his, he started to panic. He couldn't let this go on any longer.

As if in response to his thought, the vampire pulled his mouth away from Jiàng's neck and turned his attention to the cut on Jiàng's hand again. The priest's face was pale and still, and Lethe's heart sank at the realization that it might be too late. He met the Count's triumphant gaze with eyes full of anger, although he wasn't sure if the anger was directed at Nyolcas or at himself, for sitting and watching while Jiàng's life was drained away. He felt a shiver of fear as it dawned on him that he was probably next on the menu. Well, the priest might have been a willing victim, but Lethe wasn't. He didn't know if a knife would be enough to stop a vampire, but it was all he had. In one swift movement, Lethe pulled the knife from his boot, grabbed Nyolcas by the shoulder and thrust the blade towards his heart.

Before the blade found its mark, there was a moment of disorientation, and then it was Genjyo Sanzo kneeling there, holding a butter knife and facing Cho Hakkai. Sanzo dropped the knife in confusion. "Hakkai?" He looked down and saw Gojyo lying on the floor between them. "Gojyo?" What the hell was going on?!

[perverted-kappa.livejournal.com]

It seemed almost a shame to give up his life so easily, though he feared neither pain nor death -- death was, after all, simply another step toward attaining complete enlightenment and achieving Buddhahood, and for that reason he wished he could find the breath to thank Nyolcas for assisting him. There was yet some feeling in his limbs, and he gently stroked Nyolcas's face, hoping to convey his gratitude that way, even as the vampire continued to feed from the open wound in his hand.

Jiàng had quite a few disciples, but no chosen successor. He wasn't yet twenty-one years old; naming another to carry the burden of the holy sutra once he was gone hadn't been a priority. Had that been arrogance? He wouldn't be at peace knowing he'd made a grave error, and his dedication to the Buddhist way of life would be for naught if he were to have such heavy regrets during his last moments.

Logically, these couldn't be his last moments, then.

Perhaps it was his stubborn sense of duty and tenacious will that prevented his heart from stopping and held back the descent into nothingness, though each slow, burning throb of his heart caused more blood to seep from the twin puncture wounds in a steady trickle, spreading onto the dark velvet beneath him, staining it black.

He wouldn't die. But he did consider meditating, or taking a nap. As his strength finally gave out, the choice was made for him.

His last conscious thought was a memory of cherry trees in bloom, blossoms carried by the wind and scattered across an impossibly green landscape.

[polite-sinner.livejournal.com]

The vampire smirked as his strength -- already considerable before his feeding -- was amplified by the priest's blood, now circulating through his chest and limbs. He felt alive, and even if this sensation of having a heartbeat, as faint as it was, was something he had experienced often after every meal, it was still something he savored every time. He leaned his cheek into Jiàng's touch, working on some sort of feline instinct that craved the contact and the attention.

The flash of silver as the knife was pulled caught his emerald orbs, and he couldn't help laughing a little in pity for the foolish mortal's attempt to secure his own petty life, especially when Nyolcas could offer him so much more. It was a shame, really, he thought dully, as one would comment on some tragic incident some safe distance away. One hand still loosely held around the monk's wrist, the other lashed-out like an attacking snake to grip Lethe's windpipe.

His fingers stopped just centimeters from their intended target, and for the briefest second, it was like there were two minds in one, waging a futile war within the clear windows of his oculars, battling not for victory, but for the sake of fighting. Cho Hakkai blinked his ethereal emerald orbs in obvious shock and carefully pulled his hand away from Sanzo's throat, glancing down at the butter knife poised at his own chest before Sanzo finally dropped it.

He was aware of a strong metallic taste in his mouth, a dull ache from his thumb, and some fading sense of warmth and satisfaction, like the last vestiges of summer before the rains of autumn. He saw confusion reflected back at him when he looked back up at Sanzo -- which meant that the monk had about just as many questions and just as few answers as he did. He felt a soft touch at his face slowly slipping away, and it took him a moment to realize that his deft, tapered digits fingers were still encircled around Gojyo's wrist. Hakkai glanced down at him, mouth partly open to voice his questions--

-- until the sight of Gojyo's pale face and bloodied neck brought back hazy memories of what had just happened. He gingerly touched the corner of his own mouth, and when the tips of his fingers came away red, he visibly blanched and looked very close to being sick. Without a word, he gripped Gojyo's wounded hand into his own, palm glowing yellowish-green as he healed the cut as fast as he could. It seemed that in Hakkai's almost blind panic he had forgotten about the school's no-kill spell, judging by the way he frantically repositioned himself and placed both hands at Gojyo's neck -- and if the healer was one to swear, he would have been uttering a long string of vulgar profanities. He poured his energy into the injury, making relatively quick work of repairing the artery and broken skin, and attempted to "repair" the blood loss, not realizing that that was beyond his abilities.

[worldly_monk]

Sanzo stared down at Gojyo, frowning in concentration as he tried to remember what he had been doing a moment ago. He had hazy impressions of anger and fear, and the odd feeling that he had been playing a part in a story. It felt like waking up from a dream. He watched Hakkai heal two puncture wounds on Gojyo's neck, and his brain suddenly made the connection between that injury, Hakkai's vampire costume, and the blood he could see on the side of Hakkai's mouth. After that, it wasn't hard to put two and two together and come up with 'oh shit'.

The neck injury had been healed, but Hakkai was still pouring his ki into Gojyo. Sanzo grabbed Hakkai's shoulder to try and stop him, and was immediately hit with a sense of déjà vu. He dismissed the feeling and gave Hakkai's shoulder a firm shake. "Hakkai, let go. You've stopped the bleeding, and he can't die on school grounds." Even as he was reassuring Hakkai, Sanzo was reaching to touch Gojyo's neck. He was more relieved than he would ever admit to feel the kappa's pulse beating steadily.

His hand on Gojyo's neck brought something else to his attention. Gojyo's costume had been a pretty good imitation of a Sanzo priest's robes, but that was no longer true. He didn't need to touch the scripture draped around Gojyo's shoulders to feel the power radiating from it. He could tell it wasn't his own Maten Sutra, and after one moment of completely illogical hope, he realized it wasn't his master's Seiten Sutra either. It was impossible for this scripture to be here, and it was impossible to deny that it was real. He pushed the questions aside. Answers could wait until the three of them were out of this room and away from whatever spell had done this.

[polite-sinner.livejournal.com]

Hakkai blinked when Sanzo shook him, looking at him blankly, at first, as though the monk was speaking a completely different language. It took him a moment to comprehend what he had said, but once he finally understood, he slowly pulled his hands away from Gojyo's neck; his finger tips still hovered a little uncertainly near the newly healed injury, as though he didn't trust his own abilities. "Yes, you're right," he managed, his voice strained and tight. "I'm sorry, I suppose I-- I just panicked."

His hand shook as he wiped the blood from his lips, his expression faintly disbelieving and partly horrified. Breathing deeply (mostly to keep himself from immediately running off to retch in a different corner), he calmed himself enough to assess the situation, now that he remembered that no one could die in the school (which was highly convenient, he thought, and he'd have to remember to ask about that for next time he inexplicably found himself craving blood, which would be never again hopefully). He nodded once, decisively, and said, "We need to at least get him into a bed, I think." He gently maneuvered Gojyo's unconscious form into a sitting position, placing an arm around his waist as a support. With one of Gojyo's arms around his shoulders, he nodded to Sanzo to take his other side.

[worldly_monk]

"I think getting out of here is a very good idea." Sanzo slid his arm around Gojyo from the other side, pulled Gojyo's arm across his shoulders, and helped Hakkai lift him up. Hakkai didn't look so good either, but hopefully they could manage to get Gojyo back to their room before he collapsed too.

As they walked a bit unsteadily across the room to the doors, Sanzo was still puzzling over what had happened. Hakkai had apparently become a real enough vampire to bite Gojyo and drink his blood. Gojyo was now wearing the robes and Sutra of a real Sanzo priest. If everyone had become whatever costume they had worn... Sanzo's mind skipped away from contemplating his own 'costume'.

As they walked through the doors, Sanzo felt something change. He looked over at Gojyo, and realized that the scripture on his shoulders had reverted back to the imitation it had been at the beginning of the party. "The spell must have been confined to the Great Hall," he muttered, thinking out loud.