[spookies : Gift] Lessons in being nosy

As the evening trickled into night, more and more festival-goers flocked to the frosty streets of Elysium's Lunisolar Festival. Grand crowds roamed from stall to stall seeking warmth from the light snowfall gracing the town, their vendors thriving amidst the bustling hordes of folks visiting from far and wide. The frigid air held a sweet aroma that wafted throughout the fete, a little taste of the various sugary treats and goodies waiting to be served.

Nebula and Nymeia were two of the many symprites gathered here tonight, walking hand in hand as they browsed the troves of festival stands and the assorted delights on display.

They'd each gotten their hands on their own festival souvenirs already; Nebula clutching a bottle of caprisol wine, two Lunisolar masks slung across her waist, and Nymeia crunching happily on a handful of comet candy, second bag already half-depleted.

(Somewhere along their little trek, they'd needed to pause once in the middle of the street—Nebula practically restraining Nymeia to prevent the distraught bappy from picking up and eating crushed comet candies off the floor, those of which had fallen from an unnoticed tear in her first bag.)

All was going well that night—lovely sights to behold, mouth-watering delicacies to be had, charming music lifting their spirits... at least until distant shouting interrupted the jovial atmosphere, making both merchant and visitor alike pause and glance around curiously in search of the unseen commotion.

Then came the smell.

Nebula's nose wrinkled as she and Nymeia both paused themselves, following the confused gaze of other festival-goers as they tried to pin the source.

Whatever it was, it was foul and sour; a tangy putrid odour assaulting the senses of everyone unfortunate enough to be within the proximity of its unknown origin. The heavy fetor smothered the air making eyes water and lips curl, violently drowning out the light, sugary aroma that was once adrift upon the gentle breeze of the night.

Nebula choked on it, attempting to stifle the reeking stench with the back of her hand.

"What is that..?" Nebula muttered darkly, her concern blending into the cacophony of other comments voiced from those around them. Similar remarks of distaste and nausea echoed down the street as the putrid tang swept across the festival like wildfire.

Nymeia did not answer, but the unusually gagged expression on the young bappy’s nonchalant face told enough of their own thoughts on the rank odour. 

Despite the wilted mood of the festival, Nebula huffed in amusement at the sight and tugged on their arm, drawing Nymeia's questioning, furrowed gaze.

"Come, Nym. Let's get out of here."

***

They'd ended up finding a small bench just outside the main festivities, giving them a clear view of the cloud-spotted sky and the cascade of stars speckling over their heads. Fortunately for everyone attending, the double eclipse hadn't commenced during the unfortunate happenstance, meaning the mood of the festival could still be revitalised. The night was still young after all, just barely past dinner time.

Here, the vile stink just barely followed, instead surrendering to the crisp, thankfully clear night air. 

The pleasant chill was a much-needed reprieve on their senses, offering a familiar ease to a grateful Nebula.

Nymeia, however, had other plans.

"And where do you think you're going?" Nebula sighed, grabbing the younger symprite by the waist a third time to manhandle them back onto the bench. "Do you really want to go back that badly?"

Nymeia merely pouted, rocking back and forth impatiently where she sat. By this point, the young bappy had finished their bag of comet candies and was likely seeking more.

"We can return to the festival once they sort out that horrible smell, okay?"

Nymeia shook her head. "But I wanna know what happened..."

"We can ask around when we go back later."

"But... I wanna see what happened..."

Nebula sighed again and looked back up to the sky, flecks of falling snow brushing past her face. 

(It wouldn't hurt to open her wine, now would it..?)

"One of these days, you're going to end up like Houndle’s Courier sniffing out trouble like that," Nebula elected to say instead, shaking her head in resignation.

Then followed a short silence, during which Nebula would have expected some sort of disagreement or 'Nuh uh..' of protest. But when there was none, Nebula glanced down at the younger symprite, eyebrow raised at the non-response. Where she'd expected Nymeia to be pouting more at the silly comparison, Nymeia instead sat with a tilted head and small furrow to her brows, the tell-tale signs of a question forming.

"...What's the... Houndle’s Courier..?"

"You haven't heard of the story before?"

Nymeia shook their head, looking up at Nebula expectantly.

"Well, then," Nebula smiled, patting Nymeia's head. "Allow me to recount it for you. It's based on a true story, you know. It goes like this..."

"Thank you! Bye!"

"Of course, take care now!"

The Courier waved farewell to the family and the newly-delivered parcel at their feet, as they mounted their Houndle and began to trot away. Another job well done, if they did say so themself—package intact, recipients satisfied, everything in order. It was just them, their parcels, and their trusty steed against the world.

Humming to themself, the Courier consulted their checklist of deliveries to make. 

Today had been a productive day for them, surprisingly. Though that was likely attributed to the fact that all of today's destinations had all been in close proximity to each other, a rare but welcome occurrence. It was already past sundown now, but perhaps a fun little trip to the nearest post box to squeeze in more parcels wouldn't hurt?—

"...Why would they want to do more work..?"

"I don't know, some people really love doing what they do. Anyway…"

—It was not a long ride to the next post box, even with the slower, more relaxed canter they’d taken through the grassy plains. The Courier rubbed comforting circles into their Houndle's frill as the cool evening chill brushed against their faces, a familiar gesture of affection answered with a soft whinny.

Unfortunately for them, however, the nearest post box was on the edge of an infamously run-down farm. There'd been chilling rumours about this place, spurred on by nearby residents braving the intimidating aura of the land to drop off their mail.

Some claimed the farmland to be cursed and infertile, casting terrible luck upon those who dared trespass. Others claimed to see apparitions of strange creatures grazing upon the wild fields, or even claimed to witness a ghostly, cloaked figure picking at the remains of the long-dead crops and overgrown weeds.

A silent, eerie figure... similar to that which waited unmoving, right next to the very mailbox they’d come to collect from. The Courier could’ve sworn its hooded gaze was following them, almost burning into their skull like a brand—

"Oof! Hey, I haven't even gotten to the really spooky part yet." 

A tremor, followed by a comforting pat on the head. 

"Are you sure you want me to continue..?"

A timid nod.

"Okay..."

—The Courier's heart began its own gallop in their chest, even as their steed slowed down in hesitancy at the sight of the lone, imposing figure. The Courier gripped the reins tighter, courageously (or perhaps foolishly) urging their Houndle toward the postage box.

As they approached, the Courier's nose twitched at the growing smell of something... off. The air was different here, minutely muskier, the closer they moved towards the box and the unmoving form.

Stopping just a short distance away from the box and the figure, Courier themself just shy of outright quaking in their saddle, they braved facing the figure and scrutinised its silent, unmoving form beneath furrowed brows.

Under the growing darkness of the encroaching night, every part of its form was shadowed behind the heavy cloak draped atop its body, leaving no sliver of fur or scale in sight (if it truly even was another person). Dark stains blotched and splattered across the sleeves and front of its weathered shawl, making a shiver crawl up the Courier's spine as they noticed the deep-red, almost black tinge dying the fabric.

The Courier's heart all but leapt out their throat when the figure suddenly shifted to look up at them, even their Houndle shifting on its feet with unease. Startled even further when a rough, gravelly voice addressed them.

"...A ride if you will, stranger."

Their grip on the reins began to slip with how sweaty their palms had gotten.

"I—"

"You will deliver me to Morella with utmost haste." The figure's voice rasped like sandpaper, making the Courier flinch.

"Th—that's quite the distance away from here…!" the Courier spluttered, an obvious tremble in their voice. "But alright..! Just—just give a moment, please..."

The Courier dismounted, approaching the mailbox hesitantly and giving as wide of a berth as they could to the cloaked (impatient?) figure, shaky key in hand to unlock the vault. But upon opening the compartment, there was no familiar tumble of letters and small parcels there to greet them.

"Ah... It seems you'll be my only delivery from here today..." the Courier joked, slowly turning to the hooded form. And it was only then that the Courier noticed the form carrying a single wrapped parcel, held close to its body and near obstructed beneath the layers of material. "...If you have any extra baggage, I'd be happy to load it into my Houndle—"

"NO! You do not come near her... I will do it myself. Show me where to place her."

(...Did—did they hear that right?!)

"H—her?!” the Courier repeated, their voice cracking an entire octave higher in alarm as they stared wide-eyed at the form’s package. “Uhm—alright then...! Over here, if—if you would..."

The figure followed behind the Courier as they led it to one of the many saddlebags and crates lined up against their Houndle's rump, making goosebumps raise upon their nape. 

(‘Her'? What did ‘her’ mean? Was that the figure’s package..?!) 

They shakily motioned for the figure to load their mystery package into one such crate, stepping aside to give them space. But as they watched the figure produce the wrapped parcel from their grasp, the Courier couldn't help but nearly gag at the putrid smell emanating from the misshapen, rounded object within. Whatever it was, its wrapped fabric was splotched with splatters of the same red-tinged stains upon the figure's cloak... And whatever was within... was strangely head-like in shape and size...

"Let us ride," the figure interrupted testily, impatiently (or nervously?) gripping the side of the saddle with a red-stained, gloved hand. "There is no time to waste..."

The Courier gulped as they both mounted and took off into the distance, praying their journey to Morella was a swift and uneventful one…—

"Wh... what's inside the package..?"

"I'm getting to that, don't worry..."

—Over the course of their overnight journey, the Courier didn't dare look back at their mysterious passenger or cast their gaze beneath their guest's hood. But they could feel the form's growing restlessness and impatience, if the constant shifting of its cloth was any indication. Every time the Courier would even tilt their gaze to the direction of the suspiciously loaded crate, they would feel the figure tense and agitate behind them, prompting the Courier to immediately snap their gaze to the road ahead, a shrill terror shaking them to their core at the possible implications of its contents.

Where had the figure even come from? The wild fields? Were the cursed rumours real? Whatever supernatural being it was, it was surprisingly corporeal for an apparition, but the Courier wasn’t about to risk the safety of them and their Houndle to question it or attempt any unwelcome small talk. And the stains upon the figure’s weathered cloak—it was already dark out, but the red-tinged mysterious splatters were unmistakable. Not to mention the smell. If it weren’t for the fear-striken adrenaline running through their veins, the Courier would have been infinitely grateful for the fact that they were careening through the countryside at breakneck speed, the whistling wind dragging the foul, rotten stench in their wake.

They did not pause once in their long hurried journey across wild fields and empty plains. Only the stars overhead served as their witness as they streaked across the terrain, their Houndle’s speedy dash unfaltering. They journeyed through the entirety of the night, until the sun began to wake and stars were tucked into the horizon. Midnight blues yielded to muted purples and oranges along the skyline, and the land grew rough and patchy as muddied bogs squelched underfoot. Where hours ago they were passing through blurs of farmland and distant mountains, there was now an abundance of colourful wetland vegetation and mushrooms all about. Even the air here was different, notably more humid than the dry countryside they’d just come from.

The marshy swamplands were an extremely relieving sight to the weary Courier, only easing them further once they’d finally reached the town of Morella, its citizens yawning awake and milling about in the early morning light. The Courier brought their Houndle's gait to a slow stop as they eventually approached the settlement’s town square, basking tiredly in the morning glow filtering through the swamp's canopy.

Their passenger had grown silent upon nearing the town gate—the ensuing calmness soothing the jumpy Courier, who took the eased tension as their passenger’s satisfaction having finally reaching their desired destination.

But when the Courier turned around to announce their arrival, the blood drained from their face as the saddle behind them was empty—completely absent of their testy, elusive hitchhiker.

They looked around frantically, wondering if they'd already dismounted or were otherwise nearby, but there was no sign of the weathered cowl or the figure's rusty, disused voice.

Instead, all the Courier was left with was the pungent odour now filling the square from the crate mounted upon their Houndle's rump.

Onlookers cast suspicious glances their way, muttering darkly under their breaths at the horribly rotten smell. Those closest to them even had to go as far as holding their noses to repel the foul stench.

It was only then that the Courier realised their mysterious passenger would not be returning. 

And so, they decided to brave the storage crate.

When they uncovered the crate, they were overwhelmed with the terrible stink coming from the innocently wrapped, round package within. And with bated breath and trembling hands, they reached for the parcel inside and loosened the red-stained fabric... and found...!—

"...The rotting head... of a giant wolf mushroom!"

"A—a what??"

Nebula burst out laughing, much to the dismay of a flustered, affronted Nymeia.

"N—Nebulaaa..! It's not funny!" the young bappy whined, kicking off the bench and stomping around on the snow in front of her laughing elder.

"But it was!" Nebula gasped for air, cheeks aching from her delighted giggling. "Oh my stars..! You should have seen the way you were shaking and looking at me with your big bappy eyes..!"

The image set Nebula off again, who—despite the concerned looks of a few passers-by—could not for the life of her stop laughing at the whining symprite.

"Hmph..! I don't like you anymore!" Nymeia exclaimed, crossing their arms and turning away in embarrassment. "That story doesn't even make sense! Where did the hooded guy go? You didn't even mention what all the red stains were..."

"Oh, Nym..! I'm sorry," Nebula finally relented, getting up to face the pouting bappy. "Like I said earlier, it really was based on a real story. No one knows what happened afterwards, or where the mysterious figure went. Just make sure you stay away from bad-smelling things, or else you might end up like the Houndle's Courier next, okay dear?"

"Okay..."

"Aw, don't look like that... Here, let me make it up to you—I think the smell from the stalls is gone now, so let's go back and get you a top-up on your comet candy. Does that sound good?"

***

"A cosmo basket? Sure thing! I'll fill this up for you in a jiffy."

"Thank you."

A momentary wait as the sound of candy filling a basket trickled out from the stall.

"Aaand, done. Here ya go!"

"For her, please. What do you say, Nym?"

"Wow... thank you, mister!"

"Haha, no problem little one!"

A crunch, and a chew. And a few chews more than that. A swallow, and a happy little hum.

"Okay, I like you again, Neb."

"I love you too, Nym.” A pause. “Oh… Say, mister? Did you happen to catch what happened during the commotion earlier?"

"Hm? Oh, with that gross smell from before? Ah, well... I heard it was just some transport guys who accidentally dropped a bunch of caprisol wine crates, which made all the drinks mix. With all the different flavours from all the imports, it's no wonder all the different types mixed into one nasty abomination, huh?"

"Huh. No wonder..."

***

Somewhere, a cloaked figure—now clean and stain-free—grumbled facedown against the counter of a dark dimly-lit tavern. Beside them, another cloaked figure nodded in sympathy and agreement, knocking back a shot.

"Bah, woes all around, mate. But mine are nothing compared to yours. Like, remember that time when you lost that giant wolf mushroom you were raving on about for months?"

A muffled groan smothered into the polished countertop.

"Augh... do not remind me. I still reminisce about her every day. I couldn't even spare the time that afternoon to wash my shawl of the fruit juices from the winery, once I'd realised she'd snapped off her stem from her own weight. But with how far the winery is from you, it was no use... Her dying breath was leaking all over, no matter how fast I traversed, or how tightly I wrapped her..."

A deep, suffering sigh.

"She would have been a record-breaking discovery, had I remembered to grab her before leaping from my ride, instead of focusing on the search for your newly-relocated, damned laboratory. But alas... I wonder what that postal carrier did with her..."

***

Somewhere far away, much further than the dingy underground tavern, galloping across grassy fields and beneath clear skies, a courier atop their Houndle sneezed.