Posted by Captain Zachariah Cobb (Commanding Officer) in MPT - ‘Festival of Frights’ - Holodeck 1 - All welcome

Posted by Lieutenant Casela Synthi-er (Counsellor / RTF) in MPT - ‘Festival of Frights’ - Holodeck 1 - All welcome

Posted by Lieutenant Casela Synthi-er (Counsellor / RTF) in MPT - ‘Festival of Frights’ - Holodeck 1 - All welcome
Posted by… suppressed (1) by the Post Ghost! 👻
The scent of campfires, candy floss and dry ice filled the air, the distant sound of screams alternating between playful excitement and pure, unadulterated terror.

The man in the top-hat strolled slowly along the winding, sawdust path, long, dark coat-tails billowing gently in his wake. Occasionally he would pause to rest against a gnarled and ancient tree, the ornate cane with skull-headpiece only partly for decoration. He would rub first at his aching left knee and then at his long beard, the full moon overhead catching highlights of purple amongst the usual, silvery-grey. After a few moments rest, he would sigh and then continue his wandering path, the trees eventually giving way to an open space, bathed in an amber-red glow.

Emerging from the shadows and into this light, a skeletal form could be glimpsed beneath the man’s long coat, his face similarly painted with bone-white cheeks and heavy, black-rimmed eyes. Crossing the remaining ground before him, he was presently surrounded on both sides by parallel rows of red and white stalls, their attendants crying out in mournfully melodic voices:
“Bob for apples! Come and bob for apples!”
“Three chances to knock down all the tin cans and win a prize!”
“Is your punch more powerful than Dave’s? Step right up and prove it!”

The man kept his eyes to the floor as he hurried past, no desire for a game at this time, although silently confident that the area would prove popular with his guests. Clearing the final stall, he placed carnival alley to his back and gazed out onto a vast, outdoor space. Immediately his nose was tantalised by the aroma of ox roast, burgers, hotdogs, fried onions, candy floss, warm doughnuts and…was that gagh? His stomach rumbling in anticipation, he delayed the procurement of food for a time and instead headed straight for the bar. At an open, saloon-style counter, the man procured the first of what he hoped would be many hot toddies that evening, then selected one of the numerous wooden picnic benches to settle onto and enjoy his drink.

Moments later and, as the crackle of fireworks danced above his head, a small, round man in a ragged clown costume and cracked makeup approached.
“Mr Cobb, come, come. Let me show you around!”
Zachariah sighed and waved his half-empty glass in the Clown’s direction as if to ward off his approach, sadly to no effect.
“Come, please, there is much to see!”
“Aye, alright, alright,” Zachariah relented, securing the top hat back on his head and the cane underneath his arm and being sure to bring his remaining drink along for the journey.

The pair moved off to the left, the Clown attempting to race ahead but slowing each time he received a tap from the skull-topped cane on his right shoulder. Once clear of the bar and cookout area the ambient lighting faded, the large field now before them only visible at its far border due to clusters of flaming torchlight. In the field itself, earthen furrows like waves were throwing up large, rounded pumpkins for the guests to select and then decorate at the many, well-equipped, carving stations.

The Clown continued with eager haste, clearing the pumpkin field on their left and reaching the back of the cookout area to their right, where a small, wooden stage was being completed ready for the night’s entertainment.
“Gre’thor are up first,” the Clown was rambling. “They’re a Klingon rock band. Then we have a Vulcan throat singer and a Terran funeral choir.”

The delights of food, music and revelry became a distant memory as the winding sawdust path continued to reach into the darkness. A heavy fog settled coldly around them, masking the path and the trees increasing in number on their right, and making each step they took awkward and unnerving. In a desperate attempt to prevent abandonment, Cobb found himself clutching onto the Clown’s ruffled collar, the scarred, bald head like a beacon against the surrounding gloom.
Then suddenly and without warning, the Clown stopped dead in his tracks. “It’s here.”

Before them, the mists drew back like curtains to reveal a house. Once grand and ornate, now the Gothic-style mansion had fallen to ruin; its darkened windows lit only by flickering candlelight, its curtains drawing back occasionally to reveal grotesque and monstrous figures, beckoning those scurrying past outside, inside.
“They look…are they up to code?” Cobb asked, pointing with his cane towards several two-seater carriages, resting in a line on a rusted track.
“Most comfortable. Most safe!” the Clown replied, rushing forwards and clambering eagerly into the front carriage, patting the empty seat next to him with eager expression.
Zachariah roared with laughter and shook his head. “I don’t bloody well think so. Let’s leave that for the guests.”

And with that, Cobb began to march into the gardens, the Clown struggling from the carriage under the weight of disappointment. But he was quickly back at the captain’s side, beckoning to the right and onwards into the dark.

On they moved through a small, crumbling graveyard, the Clown muttering something about the place ‘coming alive’ once the guests had arrived. Here, the fog became almost impenetrable, sparse lanterns and string lights in tree branches almost entirely swallowed by the soupy gloom. From somewhere within his tattered suit, the Clown produced a torchlight and swung it wildly from one tree to the next until pausing when it settled on its target - a bright, dripping red ‘X’.
“Here it is,” the round man leaped with glee. “The start of the Petrifying Forest. It’s well-stocked this year, Mr Cobb. I’ve invited all of my friends to wander inside and be ready to greet our guests.”
“Greet? Well, that’s one way of putting it,” Cobb shook his head. He’d already spied the masked man with the chainsaw. Gods knew who or what else was lingering in there.

Ignoring the blood-red trail into the heart of the woodland, the pair took a right-angled turn and placed the forest to their left. Far away in the distance to their right, the welcoming glimmer of the cookout campfires occasionally pierced the gloom, Cobb gazing with poignant longing at his now empty glass. The Clown, a natural student of humanoid behaviour, grinned. “There is a bar at the exit of the Petrified Forest, Mr Cobb. We can get you a refill there.”

And true to his word there was indeed a bar, where the pair procured another hot toddy for Cobb and a rainbow slushy for the Clown. Perching on two barrel-seats, Cobb pointed at a rusted iron gate to their left.
“That’s where they exit the forest?”
The Clown laughed. “Oh yes. That’s where they run out. Screaming! While the rest of us sit and laugh.”
You had to hand it to him. For such a ragged little man, he truly had thought of everything.

“So, what’s next?” Zachariah asked as he slurped at the hot drink.
“Over there,” the Clown pointed behind the forest and off into the distance, “is the corn maze.”
Rising to his feet and peering into the night, Cobb could just make out the rows of corn and the twisted, leering scarecrow in its centre.
“And this way,” the Clown continued, indicating a second right-angled turn that would eventually lead them back to the cookout area, “is a special surprise I have constructed just for you.”

With an air of amused resignation, Zachariah sighed and straightened his top hat, then once more followed his guide, chuckling to himself as they walked until the ‘surprise’ stopped them dead in their tracks.

“What the bloody hell is this?!”

It was the Leviathan’s Containment deck, reproduced down to the last, intricate detail. Except Cobb had never seen his containment deck like this; the whole area bathed in a neon red light, a deafening klaxon ringing out as a computerised voice warned on a loop: “Warning. Abell containment has been breached. Anomalies are not contained.”

The Clown squealed with delight and clapped his hands, before skipping over to a woman dressed in what appeared to be an RTF Uniform, although Cobb knew she would not be found on his manifest. Looking both men over, the woman launched into a well-rehearsed speech. “We have a situation. Abell containment has been breached and the anomalies are loose. You will have ten minutes to incapacitate as many as you can. There is a prize for the highest score at the end of the night.”
Then reaching into a metal cabinet, she extracted what looked like a phaser rifle, except this one was attached by a hose to a solid backpack. At Cobb’s scowl, she quickly explained, “These fire a laser that will interact with targets on the anomalies inside the game.”

Zachariah shook his head and admitted an exasperated chuckle. When the Clown had called it a surprise he had certainly not been kidding! Of course, there may be some who would question the appropriateness of turning the work of the ARU into a game. But Casela been suggesting joint training exercises for weeks now. And while Cobb felt fairly certain this was not what she’d had in mind, he doubted she’d begrudge the crew a little fun after what they’d been through.

Satisfied with everything he’d been shown, Cobb began to make his way back to the cookout, pausing briefly to glance at the final feature off to his right as they passed - a dull red tractor and trailer with haybale seating, driving a loop through several ramshackle, and presumably occupied, barns.

Back to the relative safety of the cookout, and with fresh drink quickly in hand, Zachariah offered the Clown an appreciative grin.
“You have most certainly outdone yourself,” he congratulated the man. “My crew will enjoy this thoroughly.”

In response, the Clown bowed to the captain, then turned and, with a laugh, disappeared into thin air.

---

That evening, all crew would receive a message on their personal terminals:

=^= Your Captain warmly invites you to the ‘Festival of Frights’. Festivities commence at twenty-hundred hours on Holodeck 1 and will continue into the small hours. It is requested that you choose a costume in-keeping with the night’s theme. =^=

• Captain Zachariah Cobb

OOC: I always love to do a Halloween-themed thread on my ships, although I’m a little bit early this year, lol! But please have fun with it, explore the different areas and if you want to break off and make extra threads then please do so. Enjoy!
OOC: Forgot the photo

Casela opened the message and read it. “Festival of Frights?” Casela chuckled, Cobb was in the spirit of the upcoming Earth season. She applauded his initiative. She did NOT want to go. Disguises, aliases she could do. Costumes? She snorted derisively. She could go as a convincing Frankensteing’s monster maybe. Well, it would be good for Gen to go. This was probably the most normal and fun thing she’d get to do on this ship. She liked Fenrir. She pulled up a few holographic ‘skins’ for Fenrir and summoned him to her office. She uploaded the different files to his system. “You can choose one and use your holo-emitters to project the image around yourself. Why don’t you go with Gen?” She sent him off to go find the girl and hoped they had fun.

Casela had to admit she didn’t like the idea of dressing up in costume, but she supposed she had been pushing Cobb to do something like this and she’d better show up if she didn’t want to incur his wrath. So she stepped into holodeck 1 and moved around the area. It was spectacularly spooky and fun. She made her way over to the fires with her knee high burgundy leather boots making only slight noise on the ground. Her Skin tight suede pants tucked into her boots, was adorned by what looked like a utility belt. A capped sleeved black shirt was covered by a burgundy leather bodice. Red leather arm bracers accented the ensemble. Over it all was a blood red hooded cloak that hid her hair and left her face in shadow. There were weapons, of course, but keeping to her promise to Ryder, nothing was lethal. In fact in the spirit of the fun, they were all foam. Which made her feel rather foolish. “Hello Zachariah,” Casela greeted from the shadows.

Casela in Costume
Lt. Synthi-er, CNS

His attention was caught by the sound of his name, but held by the vision before him. “Why Casela, you look…” he searched for an appropriate word, “breathtaking.” Then doffing his skull-trimmed top hat, he added with a chuckle, “I don’t clean up nearly as impressive myself but…it’s all in the spirit, I guess.”

Leading her over to the bar, Cobb fell into silence and allowed her a chance to take in this magical world. Then with his next drink procured, he attempted to explain. “There’s a certain dichotomy, I guess, in a man besieged by true horrors finding enjoyment in their fictional shadow. But I have always loved Halloween. The pumpkins, the costumes, the games and the food. It was a time when my father came home. A time when my mother would smile.”

He shrugged and gulped at his drink. “I just hope the crew enjoy it as much as I did.”

• Captain Zachariah Cobb

Having only a foggy idea as to the human celebration of All Hallows’ eve, Bog spend some time researching it and seeking out an appropriate costume. He went as far as to wright a holo deck skin to make the persona more realistic. When the time came he inisiated a sight to sight teleport.

Need the bar, at the point closest to the fire a hole opens in the ground and a yellow smoke chased buy orange flames erupt from it. Out from the rift poor a tribe of small imps that rush out to behind dancing in and out of the flames of the fire pit. Some few take up residence in the torches lighting the glen. From the smoke steps a figure, with forward swept bovine horns, red skin and bat wings. His cloven hives leave smoking prints in the grass wile his tail writhes around with a will of its own.

The figure is dressed in a white blouse with a lace collar and cuffs and a short sleeved black tunic. His goat like legs adorned in black knee length trousers. From his bearded face the upturned snowy and beady eyes of a familiar character pear.

Bog, lord of lies