[Thankgiving Day]

The loveseat was one of very few articles of furniture in Jack's living room. As a whole, the apartment was very sparsely furnished. She knew the life of one who didn't stay somewhere for very long, thus her apartment never felt fully settled in. Besides which, it was small. There wasn't enough room for a lot of stuff. But she had a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a bedroom, and that was really all she needed.

Jack lay on the loveseat, perusing her phone in the aimless way that many unoccupied individuals would. It, like her apartment, was already rather sparse. A couple of games, email, calendar, a sticky note app. Nothing more than necessary. Lately, however, her phone had acquired more inhabitants, much to the thanks of a new-found friend that had wriggled their way into Jack's life.

Skype was the most noteworthy new arrival. But there were also photos. Jack wasn't a sentimental heart, and scarcely touched her camera. Her photos were largely of woodwork projects she wanted to take-on, and the occasional interesting sight she'd caught on the city streets. Now, her phone was colored with snapshots of day-to-day life, a catalog of the budding friendship between her and Zinnia.

Jack tapped the icon marked "Messaging", then tapped Zinnia's name on the queue. She scrolled back the beginning. Over time, the text messages had been erased to create more storage space on the phone. Now, it was a mere collection of photos-- an exchange-- between her and Zinnia, over the last month. It was fascinating to rifle through the archives and look at the pictures that had been shared between the two of them.

The first was a pair of hands, palms towards the camera, stained with browns and greens from painting. In the background, a thick foam plate, painted and carved to look like a curved, wooden surface. The slick sheen suggested that it was in the process of drying.

Beneath it, the caption read, <<One down, a hundred to go!>> The date was marked as October 28th. A smile crossed Jack's expression. Her Groot costume. After her overnight at Zinnia's, the two of them had gone out to get supplies the next morning. The day after that, the 28th, had been filled with them working on the prawn's last minute costume.

Though, Jack thought it worthy of note, "a hundred" foam plates was a bit of an exaggeration.

<<<◊>>>

[28 October 2015]

After her shift at Xavier's, Jack found herself at Zinnia's door once again. Having agreed to the Groot costume idea, there was some debate about who would foot the cost. Zinnia had insisted that, since it was her idea, it was only fair that she would purchase the materials. Jack had replied, in-turn, that Zinnia would be doing most of the work, and it wasn't for a costume that Zinnia herself would be wear. Besides which, wasn't she a student? In nursing school, no less?

The debate was hastily resolved. Jack had handed Zinnia the cash she had in her wallet (more like, wouldn't leave until Zinnia begrudgingly accepted the money), and insisted that she should at least help out with some of the process. ("Ninny hands nake light work," was Jack's rationale.) It was only fair. And, Jack had still yet to reconcile the idea of someone making a costume for free, just to have a complementary character to accompany them.

The prawn knocked lightly on the door. She hunched down, remembering the possibility of roommates being present, and trilled, "Zinnia? It's Jack."

The Day of Thanks.

Zinnia was sitting in front of the oven, cross-legged, waiting patiently for the ding of a completed pie. The house was empty, the others had family stateside and had left the previous afternoon. It was just her and the pie. She was scrolling through her photo reel on the phone, looking to set a new background picture. So far It was a toss-up between the picture of the two of them in their Halloween costumes, taken early in the night by someone sober enough to work the capture button, and a duel selfie of half of each their faces, cropping off just above Jac’s mandibles. Getting her to let Zinn take a selfie had been a task in itself, so she had avoided the bits she was shy about. Over time she had grown a little more comfortable about the selfies (probably because of how many Zinn had taken of the two of them, in varying states of silliness) but this first one was one of her favourites. She selected it, and set it as the wallpaper. While she was staring at the screen a text from her Dad popped up. “I’ll pick you girls up at 5 ok?”. Taking pumpkin pie on the subway was just asking for trouble. Or surprise roaches. She replied with a emoji of a thumbs up, and flicked over to Jac’s messages.

“Dad’s gunna pick us up, meet at mine at 4:45?”

She snapped a picture of the countdown to pie to go along with the message. 23 minutes to deliciousness. She was determined to get it right. Her Momma would be over the moon that she had another recipe up her sleeve, even if it was a recipe laden with not a single thing healthy. Except maybe pumpkin. It had vitamins and stuff. Good old pumpkin, the essence of Fall. The face of Halloween. 

<<<◊>>>

29th October


Her sewing tape wasn’t long enough to go around Jacquelyn’s shoulders, so she had to improvise with cooking twine and measure it once unravelled. She wasn’t hugging, per se, but her arms did have to wrap around her friend’s chest more than a little. Purely to make the ends meet! She checked the number twice. It was impressive.


She downloaded a rough pattern from the internet, and they began the process of shaping and colouring the foam pieces to cover Jac's body. Fastening the foam shapes onto her friend’s body was an interesting mix of hidden Velcro and pushing the foam firmly against the spines on her body where they clung firmly.
 

The mask of Groot’s face was big enough to wrap around Zinn’s whole head, but sat delicately over Jac’s face. The mouth section was open, but backed with a dark netting, so Jac could speak without her mouth being seen. This had been important to get right.
 Her own pants were a little tight, she had been walking and swimming more since she broke it off with the jerk who bought them for her. She had liked the pants, so she kept the pants. She had disliked the guy’s persistence in telling her how to dress and organise her time, so she had ditched the guy.


She wasn’t ready yet to dye her hair for something as small as a Halloween party, so she had bought temporary spray-in colour to tip the ends with pink, it should hold for the whole night, and wash out with a shampooing.


The time spent costuming, the chuckles and the photos were the little things that made her smile.

The phone reverberated in Jack's hands, catching her on her unawares. Her hold slipped, but the secondary hands caught the smartphone deftly. There could only really be two possibilities of who it was-- Zinnia or one of her two places of business. Beyond that, Jack was something of a loner. Jack fumbled with the phone and righted it in her hands.

>> “Dad’s gunna pick us up, meet at mine at 4:45?”

Jack's lavender gaze flicked to the top right corner of her screen.

Well, sh*t, that'd work if she'd started getting dressed twenty minutes ago.

<<Kk>> was the short response that Jack sent in return. She roused herself from the couch with a grunt, tossing the phone onto the seat cushion and shuffling towards her bedroom. Likewise, a very sparse room. An enormous bed, dresser, and two bedside tables.

Jack crossed the room in a few strides, stepping out of her casual clothes as she went, until she had stripped down to her boxers. She didn't know what was "dinner with your friend's family" appropriate, but she guessed that a black muscle tank and cargo shorts was not among the permissible items. The prawn set to rummaging through the closet, pushing past the Groot costume, which was delicately hung on a black plastic hanger.

<<<◊>>>

Halloween Night

The red, plastic cup looked like a shot glass in Jack's primary hands.

She had to admit, the Groot costume had turned-out well, especially considering how last-minute the assmebly had been. She had recieved rave reviews from various other partygoers, to which the prawn had only responded, "I am Groot."

Now she was watching the party before her, absently swirling the mostly-untouched cola in her grasp. Someone sauntered up and lightly leaned against her, snapping the prawn out of her reverie. This earned a quiet chirr.

"How are you holding up?" a familiar-face green woman inquired. Zinnia's costume was phenomenal. Hugged her form in just the right way, and-- Jack hoisted her eyes back to the other young woman's face, her own face radiating heat. Rude to stare.

"Dey seen real nice," Jack assured her hostess, "I just no good at duh snall talk."

Jack took an anxious sip of soda, only to find that it had gone tepid... how long had she been holding it, anyway? The prawn rumbled, and set the glass down.

"Hey--" Zinnia said lightly. Jack gave an equally-light "Hm?" to which the smaller woman only gestured for the prawn to come closer. Jack stooped, grinding her mandibles uncertainly.

"Your mask is crooked," the young woman commented, fixing said mask nonchalantly. The heat that crept into Jack's face intensified, seeping to her core. Zinnia was close. "There."

Like that, Zinnia returned to standing beside Jack, after a pause that lingered two moments too long. Jack ground her mandibles again, trying to push back what she'd thought the moment would hold. Don't be ridiculous, Jackie, the prawn scolded herself.

"Sanks," Jack said simply, her tone wavering.

"You're so tense," Zinnia observed, her tone still upbeat, "You sure you're going to be up for the haunted house."

Jack gave a sharp exhale of air. Haunted houses were nothing compared to rooms full of this many strangers. "Sink I can nan-age."

The pie was starting to smell delicious. Part of her wanted to get changed already, the other part of her warned against leaving the kitchen when something was in the oven. She had learned that The Hard Way. The confirmation text popped up in the top of her screen and she left it, it didn’t need a reply. Judging by the time Jacqueline would be heading over shortly if she was travelling by foot, or a little later if she was going to cab it.

Once the pie dinged she removed it from the oven and set it on the bench to cool a little while she changed. The weather had a little autumnal nip to it, but it would be warm in her parent’s house, with her relatives piled in and the over cranking all day. She would wear a short sleeved dress with tights under, she had a shawl to toss over her shoulders for the outside moments as well. Somehow it seemed important this year compared to others, and she had decided on the same dress she wore to the speed date, but put more effort into her hair. It swept back from her forehead in one fell swoop then turned to a complicated series of swirls. It felt strange to wear it so done while still wearing a pair of daggy track pants and an oversized T-shirt (the neck-hole needed to be large to get her head through without messing aforementioned hair), so she donned the dress with something like relief, even though it was less comfy than the shirt and slacks. She was fussing with her makeup to get the perfect cats-eye when the knock at the door sounded. Thankfully she had just applied (the fourth try to) her second eye, and wasn’t lopsided when she answered it. Because there was nothing worse than lopsided.

<<<◊>>>
Jack’s mask was lopsided. The elastic had clearly been a little too loose, or the pattern they had based it on was factoring in hair to cling to, rather than the smooth hard shell of a mutant’s head. She sidled up to her friend and checked in on her. This party was lame enough as it was, how much moreso it must have been to someone who didn’t know anyone. The only thing that really made it worthwhile was the way she occasionally caught her friend looking at her. Like right now. She called her a little closer, and the proximity made her hold her breath. With the way Jack had been looking at her, and with the tingles running up and down her arms it seemed like all they needed was an excuse.

Her fingers brushed the cool hard shell of her friend’s head as she straightened the already straight mask. Her chin tilted up, just a little. If there was anything there, Jack would lean in too and it would be all over red rover. She waited, just a beat too long, as her friend didn’t lean in. She could have died from the wave of awkward moment that rolled over her. She slid around to next to the towering form, instead of standing face-to-face, hoping the blush she could feel tingling on her skin wasn’t visible through the green paint. She needed a diversion. Just in case.

To the haunted house!

The blood was remarkably well done really. The jump-scares less so. She might have grown accustomed to people behaving unpredictably, making the shambles, or the dropping-out-of-poorly-hinged-coffins less unnerving to her. More so to Jacquelyn. Maybe because it was Zinnia’s job to care for erratic people, and Jack’s to remove them from the premises. Either way, there was no leaning in in the haunted house, just the occasional squeal and hand-grabbing of a frightened patron. Not naming names.

[[Flip-flopping the order for this post, hope you don't mind. Halloween first for this one.]]

Jack was accustomed to the hands-on approach. She could kindly escort the uppity drunk man out of the bar or detain the wayward brawler, at Chrysalis. She had authority, there.

Strictly speaking, though, punching the actors or actresses of the haunted house was likely more than slightly illegal.

The prawn thought she'd be alright in the haunted house. Really, she did-- but in there, there was no authority to hind behind. In there, she was powerless. Each jump-scare whittled away at her reserve, her flinches becoming more and more noticeable each time. She trailed behind Zinnia the entire time, but each time, the distance grew smaller and smaller. Until, eventually, Jack one of her primary hands around Zinnia's arm, tethering herself to her friend with the gesture.

Jack uttered both human and inhuman sounds of alarm-- churrs and hisses, "eugh's" and "woah's" and the occasional well-placed swear. Each time, it was accompanied with a slight tensing of her hold on Zinnia's arm, quickly followed by lame apologies.

<<<◊>>>

Changing had taken longer than usual, and the end-result was a rather winded prawn finding themselves outside of Zinnia's door, gulping down their breath before hazarding a ring. Usually, Jack didn't give her outfit much thought. There were work clothes, for either Xavier's or Chrysalis, and there were casual clothes. Sure, she owned a few of her own dressy clothes, but she typically didn't care enough about how she presented herself to wear them.

At this very moment, she actually cared. A lot.

When she finally regained her breath, Jack slicked back her antennae and knocked at her friend's front door, taking a cautious step back.

Upon opening the door, Zinnia would find a better-dressed rendition of her prawn-friend standing just outside. An Oxford shirt beneath a tasteful v-neck sweater, which was of course bunched at the elbows, and a pair of crisp, dark jeans. To hide the mouthparts, she opted for both a clean, white surgical mask and a scarf, having been unable to decide which would be the appropriate choice.

"Hey," the prawn rumbled, gaze flickering over her smaller friend, "Do you sink dis is too nerdy looking? I wanna look nice for duh dinner."

She flexed her wrists, and gave a coy little sway, as a woman might do if she was showing how her skirt twirled. A strange motion, for someone who appeared masculine.

The prawn breathed a sigh of relief, upon seeing that the other young woman was likewise wearing nice yet conservative dress clothes. Food-smells were wafting through the doorway, prompting a curious antennae twitch and urging the prawn torward the door.

"You's hard at work," Jack remarked, ducking inside, "Any-sing I can do?"

[[[No problem~]]]

The costumes inside the Haunted House were much more to her taste than the ‘slutty xxx’s outside. Zombies shambled, a corpse fell out of a propped up coffin, and a convincing skeleton jumped out with a familiar ‘Blargh’. She jumped and squeaked and made all the appropriate ‘oooh’-ing noises at the assortment of corn-starchy gore. When her friend’s massive hand closed around her bicep she nearly jumped right out of her skin, once it was there though it was nice. They were in this together. Girly squeals and all.

They made it out the other side without injury to themselves or to any of the costumed workers which was a relief made of equal parts nobody-jumping-out-and-yelling and nobody-punching-anyone-and-getting-in-trouble. Her heart was thumping with a side of flutter. Only most of it was because of the scares. The other bit had something to do with the hand around her arm, or more specifically the person it was attached to.

“C’mon, lets blow this place and go watch movies.”

They’d made an appearance, had the appropriate noises made about them and got some good photos. Now it was time to head on to somewhere a little more comfortable and less populated.

<<<◊>>>
She peeped through the hole designed for that purpose before opening the door to get a proper look at her friend. She looked great.

“You look great! Not nerdy at all.”

Not that she would have any leg to stand on should she accuse her friend of being nerdy. What with the batman underthings she was sporting. Jac swished back and forth and she mirrored the motion, careful not to be too enthusiastic, she had slipped the dress on over her head, but it was not yet fastened. She could manage it herself, but it was so much easier if she had an extra set of hands. And Jac had two sets, albeit one pair contained under the sweater that looked particularly cuddly. She turned her back to her friend.

“Pie’s done, just needs to cool a bit before we pack it. Can you zip me?”

If her friend’s large primary fingers couldn’t manage to grasp the metal butterfly hanging on a short chain attached to the zip-pull she could do it, there would just be a short interval of not-quite-contortionism.

She smoothed the front of the silky material self-consciously, all of a sudden aware of the fact she was bringing her friend to meet her family. They were sweet people, but very intense especially if you weren’t used to the traditions. She suddenly realised she had no idea what colour Jac’s skin had been before it turned to shell. Not that it mattered in her interracial family, but the thought was an interesting one.

She slipped into her flats, a far more sensible shoe than the killers she had paired with the dress last time. A quick rummage in the fridge and she had the Tupperware container of whipped cream on the bench next to the pie. She also retrieved the only two mini-apple pies that hadn’t burned. She offered one to her friend and popped the other into her mouth. They weren’t bad, it was a shame she had burnt the rest.

Outside a bright yellow beetle pulled up outside the apartment and Zinnia’s tall, lanky, very white and very British father emerged to ascend the stairs to the apartment. Their lift had arrived, with no one thinking about the back-seat logistics of a giant prawn.

Jack beamed, eyes closing in a reciprocated grin as Zinnia swirled back at her. Whereas Jack felt completely ridiculous, Zinnia looked absolutely adorable as she twirled.

>> “Pie’s done, just needs to cool a bit before we pack it. Can you zip me?"

"Zi' you?" Jack echoed, ducking past the young woman and in through the door. Oh, yes-- the dress! Dresses did have zippers, sometimes.

"Sure!" Jack agreed. That was something that girls often helped each other with, right? Zippering dresses! Jack had never zippered a dress for anyone else before (in her human years, her mother had mastered the art of zippering her own dresses), so this felt like a momentous occasion of femininity. Her primary hands, however, were indeed to clumsy for handling a zipper, but her secondary hands were more than capable of managing it.

Just as one might push a hood or a veil back from their eyes, so did her secondary hands push the two layers of shirts up and out of the way, freeing the hands and arms from their confines. Since the reach of these arms was far shorter than the reach of Jack's primary arms, she drew closer to Zinnia. One hand pinched the base of zipper, while the other clasped the zipper pull. There were a few hitches here-and-there, but with some adjusting, Jack was able to draw the zipper all the way up.

The proximity, and the situation, gave Jack jitters. Would it be appropriate to use the phone text-to-speech app? Would the family be patient enough with her poor speech? What about the actual act of eating?

"Dere ya go," Jack trilled, letting the shirt fall upon the completion of the zip.

Heavy, bare feet padded after Zinnia as she returned to the kitchen. The prawn rooted herself at the kitchen's edge, propping her elbows on the countertop. She didn't cross the threshold into unfamiliar territory, ghosts of her mother's wisdom whispering from the depths of her psyche-- "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!"

Not that Zinnia seemed to need help, everything seemed done or near-done. The young woman meandered to the fridge, and Jack's gaze followed her, a sidelong and timid look. Then, the tank-skinned mutant returned, bearing two small pastries.

Jack's antennae perked, her posture straightening slightly. When was offered to her, the prawn trilled and gladly accepted. A well-practied finger unhooked the face-mask. Once free, the mandibles set to taking small, incrimental nibbles of the pastry.

Ooo, damn. Jack gave a faint whistle of approval. It was very good.

Preoccupied with eating, Jack used her free primary hand to type a message to cohort.

<< Better keep the pie away from me, >> the cool, synthetic voice alerted Zinnia, << I could eat the whole thing on the ride over. >>

The pastry was gone too soon, as pastries often were, and Jack gave a rumbling chuckle at her own sentiment. She was kidding. Mostly.

The tiny pies were quickly down the respective hatches and she brushed the imaginary crumbs from her dress. Jac seemed to approve, and she hoped the pumpkinny pie was along the same level of yum. From what she had snicked (taste tested!) of the filling it should be.

“Nuuuuuu!” She fake gasped, “my mom needs to taste that pie to make up for all my childhood kitchen failures!”

And a few of the adulthood ones too, but that didn’t need stating. She grinned at her friend and the knock at the door broke off whatever witty thing she was going to say next. She swirled over (this dress made her feel particularly swirly, or perhaps it was the company) and opened the door to let her Dad in. He dipped under the doorframe, although he didn’t have to- his height was less than Jac’s- and smiled at the pair.

”Hi girls, ready to go?”

Zinnia passed him the whipped cream and scooped the pie up in a pie carrier her Nan had knitted her. It only got used once or twice a year, but she kept it out of respect for the hours gone in to knitting the little pumpkin patterns. It was all in all the most Fallish thing she owned.

“Ready when you are.”

She glanced at Jac to confirm her readiness, and noted again just how cuddly that particular cardi made her look. She sectioned off those thoughts into the ‘not now’ part of her brain, and smiled at the two taller occupants. She wasn’t a shortie, but right now she felt like one. Once everyone was ready and the pie was carefully balanced in the holder she led the way downstairs, excited and a little nervous for the upcoming feast.

She stopped dead when she saw the car. She hadn’t thought to ask if he was bringing her Mom’s van, she just assumed. Her assumption had not been that he would bring his cute, tiny, adorable, tiny, yellow, TINY punch-buggy car. The pie swung beside her, all the suddenly halted forward motion Newtoning it’s way down her arm and into the dessert. Thankfully it stayed in the holder. She turned to her father, who seemed to not have grasped the logistics.

“Did you get the passenger seat fixed?”

He rubbed the back of his head, like he was being chided.

“No, but there’s plenty of room in the ba-“

He glanced at the massive form of Jac beside him.

“Oh. Well, it’ll be a mite squashy, but you’ll manage.”

With some tetrising they managed to get Zinnia, Jac, Dad and the pie all into the tiny vehicle, and with a shuddering grumble it started up the street. Zinnia was blushing under her light layer of makeup. How embarrassing. Jac smelled nice though, which was a boon. And as she suspected, the cardi was indeed cuddly where it brushed up against her bare arm.

Oh there's just no way--

>> “Did you get the passenger seat fixed?”

No way...

>> “No, but there’s plenty of room in the ba-“

Nooo...

Zinnia's father glanced at the prawn. Jack's antennae lifted at the attention, her expression politely concerned.

>> “Oh. Well, it’ll be a mite squashy, but you’ll manage.”

Oh, you've got to be f--king kidding me.

Jack ran a massive hand over her antennae, the flat of her hands scraping against the carapace of her skull. Sure, she'd manage, but Zinnia would probably die of puncture wounds. The prawn breathed a concerned rumble, but nodded to the other young woman.

"I'll go first."

The prawn was not the least bit eager about getting into the car. Her main rationale was that, if she clambered in first, the likelihood of accidental impalements was far lesser.

After Zinnia's father unlocked the doors and slid said out-of-commission seat out of the way, Jack ducked in through the tiny doorway, the beetle-bug groaning in protest under her weight. In fact, it groaned the whole time, as Jack crossed to the other side, and wedged herself in the corner, looking supremely uncomfortable yet not uttering a single complaint. She tried to make herself as small as possible, yet still she occupied more than half of the back seat. It couldn't be helped that she was such a massive woman.

Jack's face was likewise radiant with heat as Zinnia wriggled herself into the seat beside her. The prawn began with her arms folded in front of her, assuming that this would be the most space-effective way to sit. But, as the car sputtered to life and began rattling its way down the road, it grew more and more difficult to hold that position.

The prawn shifted her weight a bit, unfolding the primary arm closest to Zinnia, and draped it over the back of the seat. There wasn't really anywhere else to put it.

"Sorry," was the bashful and soft-spoken rumble, "Got shoulders like a soot-doll 'layer."

Jack felt sort of breathless, but she attributed the feeling to her conscientiousness-- breathe less, take up less room when your lungs expand, right? It had absolutely nothing to do with the smaller mutant beside you, riiiight?

"How are you holding uh'?" Jack murmured.