Forums » General Roleplay » Trick or Treat: Choose your poison 🥃

Bailey’s bar sits on the corner of Main Street, the kind of place that looks cozy even in the dead of night. Usually it’s all dark wood, warm lights, and the low hum of good music—but for Halloween, she’s gone all out.

Fake cobwebs stretch across the bar shelves, with plastic spiders dangling from the liquor bottles. A glowing orange sign outside reads “Bailey’s Boo-tique Bar — Spirits Served Fresh!” in flickering neon. Paper bats hang from the ceiling, and the old jukebox by the wall has been charmed—every few songs it lets out an eerie ghostly moan that makes patrons laugh (or jump).

Pumpkins line the counter—each one carved by Bailey herself and flickering with battery candles. A life-size skeleton in a leather jacket leans against the dartboard, holding a fake beer can. Bailey’s even dressed up: black jeans, ripped band tee, and a witch hat that keeps slipping over her eyes whenever she laughs.

The menu features two new drinks for the night:
1. The Witch’s Kiss — blackberry vodka, lime, and a hint of dry ice for that misty “potion” effect.
2. Blood Moon Brew — a crimson rum cocktail rimmed with black sugar and a candy eyeball floating on top.

The bar smells faintly of cinnamon, orange peel, and bourbon. The door’s propped open to invite in the cool October air.

Outside Bailey’s bar, a wooden barrel sits by the entrance, draped in black lace and fake spiderwebs. On top is a big orange bowl overflowing with candy—mini chocolate bars, sour worms, and pumpkin-shaped lollipops that glow faintly under the porch light.

A handwritten note taped to the front reads in looping script:

“Take some — Happy Halloween! 🎃
Kids: Grab a handful of candy!
Adults: Come inside and try my new Halloween drinks — The Witch’s Kiss & Blood Moon Brew.
— Bailey”

A few little toy bats are stuck to the sign, and next to the bowl is a small lantern flickering with a warm orange glow. Every time the bar door swings open, laughter and faint music drift out, mixing with the crisp scent of autumn air and the sweet smell of chocolate.

The sound of laughter and music spilled out onto Main Street long before Olivia reached the corner. The glowing orange sign flickering above the door caught her eye, “Bailey’s Boo-tique Bar — Spirits Served Fresh!” The scent of cinnamon, orange peel, and bourbon drifted into the cool October night, wrapping around her like an invitation.

She paused outside for a moment, studying the carved pumpkins lined along the steps and the bowl of candy perched on a barrel near the entrance. A few trick-or-treaters darted past, giggling, and Olivia reached down to snag a small chocolate bar from the bowl. “Research,” she murmured to herself, unwrapping it as she stepped inside.

Warm light bathed the bar’s interior, soft and golden. The cobwebs, bats, and skeleton décor made her laugh quietly; it was charming in the most delightfully over-the-top way. The jukebox let out a playful ghostly moan just as she reached the counter, earning a surprised laugh from her lips.

“Well,” she said, resting an elbow on the bar as she took in the woman behind it, “I was going to say I just stopped by for the candy, but I think your sign out there talked me into something stronger.”

Her gaze flicked to the menu board, amusement playing at the corner of her mouth. “The Witch’s Kiss or the Blood Moon Brew,” she read aloud. “You’ve got quite the poetic streak, Bailey. Which one do you recommend for a schoolteacher trying to pretend she’s not grading essays in her head right now?”

Olivia smiled and leaned on the counter, the soft glow of the hanging lights catching in her hair. The place had that rare kind of warmth that made her want to linger, to trade stories and laughter until the night felt a little lighter. She tapped her fingers lightly against the bar and met Bailey’s gaze, waiting for her answer.

The door creaked when he pushed it open, hinges groaning against the pulse of music spilling out. Neon bled across his face—amber and orange flicker from the sign outside catching in his eyes like stray firelight. He lingered in the doorway long enough to take in the scene: cobwebs, skeleton, candy bowl. Cute. Not his kind of haunt, but after the night he’d had, a drink somewhere with light and laughter sounded like a miracle.

The heist had gone clean. Mostly. The weight of it still clung to him with the faint metal smell under his nails, adrenaline humming behind his ribs. He’d ditched the gloves three blocks back and swapped his jacket for a hoodie that still smelled faintly of asphalt and smoke. One hand ran through his hair as if that could erase the street off him before stepping into somewhere this warm.

Inside, it was all soft gold light and cinnamon. The jukebox crooned a tune that twisted with an occasional ghostly moan. Someone’s idea of a joke. He smirked, a small huff leaving him as he let the door shut behind him. For a heartbeat, his ears caught the clinking glass, low laughter, the scratch of someone’s dart missing its mark before the noise melted into something comfortably human.

He found a spot at the bar, sliding onto a stool like he’d always owned it, elbows resting on the polished wood. The witch hat on the woman behind the counter caught his attention first; then the glow of bottles lined up like stained glass behind her. “Hell of a setup,” he said, voice low, carrying the kind of rasp that came from smoke and too many late nights. “Wasn’t expecting Halloween to smell this good.” His gaze flicked toward the board. He read the drink items under his breath like trying on someone else’s poetry.

“Give me the Blood Moon. Double, if you’re feeling generous.” A half-smile tugged at his mouth. “Long night.”

He was still waiting on the drink when he caught the sound of her voice. It cut through the bar noise in a way that made him glance sideways. A schoolteacher. That was the word that stood out. Atticus turned slightly in his stool, his hoodie pulled low as the neon from the sign outside carved faint color along his jaw. She didn’t look like she belonged here or maybe that was what made her fit better than anyone else.

"A teacher?" His tone was casual, voice roughened by smoke and the night air. "Didn’t figure I’d meet someone grading papers this close to a barstool. Guess it’s never too late for extra credit. You think the Blood Moon’s got more bite, or should I play it safe and go for that Witch’s Kiss? For my second drink." The jukebox then let out its ghostly moan just then. He laughed under his breath, glancing toward Olivia again. "That thing’s got better timing than me."

His eyes lingered for a moment, green and steady, before he straightened up slightly, resting both forearms on the counter. "Name’s Atti, by the way. Figured I should introduce myself before I start stealing your thunder."

Bailey smiled, wiping her hands on a bar towel as she leaned forward. “Well, if you’re looking to forget about essays for a bit, the Witch’s Kiss is sweeter—goes down easily and makes the world look a little softer. But if you’re in the mood for something bold, the Blood Moon will give you enough of a kick to make grading sound like fun.” She winked.

Bailey caught the low rasp of his voice from a few stools down, the corner of her mouth lifting as she wiped the counter. “Glad to know the setup’s earning its keep tonight,” she said, a note of pride slipping through. “It took me weeks to get the lighting right — had to strike that balance between cozy and haunted.”

She reached for a clean glass, glancing up at him as she poured. “The Blood Moon, huh? Bold choice. Most people play it safe their first round.” The amber glow from the bottles danced over her hands as she slid the drink his way. “Something tells me you’re not the type who likes safe.”

Her gaze lingered a beat before flicking toward Olivia with an easy grin. “Guess tonight’s full of brave decisions.”

Tom looked up from where he’d been restocking the shelves, catching the tail end of Bailey’s comment. “He’s right,” he said quietly, voice low and steady. “Place does look good tonight.” His gaze flicked toward Atticus, assessing but not unkind. “Blood Moon’s a solid choice. Strong enough to take the edge off without clouding your aim.”

He set a bottle down, the faint clink cutting through the background noise. “Just don’t ask for a third,” he added, a hint of dry humor threading through the words.

Atticus caught the faint curl of her grin as she slid the glass his way, condensation trailing along her fingertips. The drink was a deep, blood-red hue, rimmed in black sugar that caught the low light like ash on a matchhead. He reached for it slowly, the chill brushing against his knuckles before he lifted it in a small, unspoken toast. “You’d be right about that,” he said, voice even, rough in the way that hinted at late nights and long roads. “Safe’s never done much for me. Can’t say it’s ever gotten me anywhere worth staying.”

He took a sip and it was smooth, burning… topped with something that tasted like danger dressed up as fruit. It sat well on his tongue. He glanced between Bailey and Tom, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe it’s a bad habit, but I’ve always been the type to see what happens when you lean a little too far over the edge.”

He set the glass down with a quiet thud, tracing a fingertip along the rim. “Guess it’s the rush. That heartbeat right before things could go sideways… that’s when you know you’re alive.” His eyes flicked toward Bailey then. “Besides, playing it safe never got anyone good stories. Or decent company.”

“Don’t worry, I can handle my liquor,” he said with a short, quiet laugh, the sound low in his throat. “Takes a hell of a lot more than this to knock me off balance.”

He swirled the glass once, watching the light catch the deep red swirl inside. “But I won’t lie,” his gaze lifted toward Bailey again, a lazy grin settling back into place, “tonight, I’m hoping this one does a little damage. Something about the idea of getting a bit buzzed feels right when there’s something to celebrate.”

A small victory hiding behind casual phrasing. Whatever it was, a job well done, a close call, he wasn’t spelling it out. Instead, he raised the glass again in a loose salute before taking another drink. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the ‘get wasted and forget your name’ kind. Just enough to take the edge off. Makes the world look softer like your drink promised.”

Olivia smiled as Bailey set down her drink, the ghostly mist curling above it like a whispered promise. “You make a convincing argument,” she said, lifting the glass with a quiet laugh. “Here’s to forgetting essays and finding good company instead.”

She took a sip, the sweet tang of blackberry and lime spreading warmth through her chest. When she set the glass down gently, the rim had a faint shimmer where her lipstick met the condensation.

Turning slightly, she caught Atticus’s remark and arched a brow, the corner of her mouth curving. “Extra credit usually requires effort,” she said playfully, eyes bright with amusement. “But since you seem brave enough to double down on the Blood Moon, I might just give you a pass.” Her tone softened, carrying a hint of curiosity. “Though I’ll admit, I agree with you. Playing it safe rarely makes for a good story.”

When Tom chimed in from further down the bar, Olivia turned toward him with an appreciative smile. “Solid advice,” she said lightly. “I’ll try to stop him before drink number three.”

Her attention drifted back to Bailey, her expression warm. “You’ve got quite the crowd tonight, good drinks, and good atmosphere. And I apparently have good timing.”

She lifted her glass in a small, easy salute to the trio. “To brave choices and softer worlds,” she said before taking another sip, her eyes reflecting the soft amber light of the bar.

Bailey’s smile lingered as Olivia toasted, the soft clink of glasses weaving right into the hum of the bar. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, matching the motion with her own glass before slipping back behind the counter to check the next order.

The door creaked again, a gust of October air cutting through the cinnamon warmth. An older man stepped in — shoulders squared, hat tucked under one arm, the lines on his face carved deep enough to tell a lifetime’s worth of stories. His eyes swept the cobwebs, the hanging bats, the glowing pumpkins — and narrowed.

“Place looks like a damn toy store,” he muttered, loud enough to turn a few heads. “Never thought I’d see the day a bar got taken over by plastic skeletons and party fog.”

Bailey straightened, towel in hand, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Evenin’, Jack,” she said easily, recognizing the regular tone of a man who’d seen more than most. “You say that every Halloween.”

He grumbled, settling onto a stool with the same precision as a soldier setting camp. “Still true every year. Can’t see the whiskey bottles through all this decoration.”

Bailey leaned her elbows on the counter, meeting his look without missing a beat. “Guess that means I did it right,” she said, voice light but edged with pride. “If the bones and fog can distract a man who’s survived worse than my décor, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

A few quiet laughs rose from nearby patrons, the tension easing. She poured his usual and set it down with practiced ease. “Here,” she said. “Liquid camouflage. Works better than cobwebs.”

Jack gave a small grunt, the closest thing he had to approval, and took his drink. Bailey turned back toward Olivia and Atticus with a wink. “See? Not everyone appreciates a good theme. But I promise—everybody leaves warmed up, one way or another.”

Tom stayed seated near the end of the bar, thumb brushing against the dog tags at his chest as he watched the exchange. His eyes tracked Jack’s every movement, noting the slight tension in his shoulders and the way he assessed the space.

When Jack muttered about the decorations, Tom’s voice finally cut through — low, steady, and measured. “Decorations don’t change the whiskey,” he said, tone even but carrying an edge that made the man think twice. “If you’re here for a drink, the Blood Moon’s still the same strong pour as last year. Same goes for everything else behind the bar.”

His gaze flicked toward Bailey briefly, a silent nod of reassurance, then returned to Jack. “Enjoy the night, or don’t. But the fog and the pumpkins aren’t hurting anyone.”

Tom leaned back, calm and unshaken, letting the words hang just long enough to assert authority without raising his voice. In the subtle weight of his presence, the room felt steadier — and Jack, for all his grumbling, knew he wasn’t about to cause trouble.

Olivia’s gaze shifted between them, amusement flickering in her eyes as the exchange unfolded. Jack’s gruffness didn’t faze her in the slightest; she’d seen plenty of men try to hide sentiment behind complaints. She lifted her glass slightly, the faint curl of mist catching in the golden barlight.

“Jack,” she said with an easy smile, “if plastic skeletons and party fog can keep a man from finding his whiskey, I’d say that’s a magic trick worth keeping.” Her tone was light, teasing, but carried warmth beneath it. “Besides, it’s Halloween. The world could use a little more pretending and a little less grumbling.”

Turning toward the woman behind the counter, Olivia’s smile softened. “Bailey,” she said, voice warm, “you run a good ship here. It takes a steady hand to balance warmth and chaos like this.”

Her gaze drifted to the quiet man at the end of the bar, her tone shifting to something fond.
“And Tom,” she added, “you make a fine first mate. Every captain needs one to keep the peace.”

Finally, she turned back toward Jack, lifting her glass once more, her voice calm but edged with playful challenge. “You might find the night goes down smoother if you toast with the rest of us.” A spark of humor danced in her eyes. “To strong drinks, strong company, and the courage to enjoy both.”

The jukebox gave a low, ghostly moan at just the right moment. Olivia laughed softly into her glass, the mist of her drink curling upward like smoke and secrets.

Bailey leaned on the edge of the bar, brushing a stray curl from her face as she studied Olivia and Tom with a teasing tilt of her head.

“Well, I’ll take ‘steady hand’ as a compliment,” she said, a faint smirk playing at her lips. “Chaos is part of the fun, isn’t it? Keeps the night from feeling… ordinary.” She gestured toward the flickering skeletons and swirling fog with a sweep of her hand. “Besides, a little pretending? That’s exactly why I’ve been perfecting these Halloween drinks all year. Just had to wait for the right crowd to share them with.”

Her eyes flicked to Tom briefly, a soft laugh escaping her. “And first mate, you’d better keep up—or risk being swamped by ghosts and spooks.” She leaned closer, voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. “But somehow, I think you’ll manage just fine.”

He finished off the last of his Blood Moon, the black-sugar rim leaving a ghost of sweetness on his tongue. It had done its job—enough warmth to take the edge off, not enough to dull him. He set the empty glass down gently, fingertips lingering against the condensation for a breath before he pushed it toward the center of the counter. “You weren’t kidding, Bailey,” he said, that low rasp curling through his words. “That kick was just right. Guess you could say it did the trick.”

His gaze shifted toward Olivia. “And for the record, teach, I’ll take that pass. Don’t want to end up in detention on my way out.” The grin that followed was easy, but faintly tired around the edges. He reached into his pocket, left a few folded bills under the coaster, then stood. The stool creaked softly as he stepped back, pulling his hood up against the draft that slipped through the open door. For a moment, the light caught the faint green of his eyes, a flash of warmth before the shadows took it.

“Good crowd,” he said simply, his voice quieter now. “Keep that up.”

The words were meant for Bailey, maybe for all of them. He gave a brief nod to Tom, respectful, then glanced toward Jack, offering a wry, unspoken truce of shared understanding.

As he stepped outside, the cool air hit him like clarity. The street glowed faintly under the flicker of old lamps, and the echo of laughter trailed after him as the door swung shut behind. He paused once on the curb, glancing back at the orange neon sign still pulsing against the fogged windows.

“Happy Halloween,” he murmured to no one in particular, then slipped his hands into his pockets and disappeared down the street, the sound of his footsteps fading into the city’s hum.

Olivia watched Atticus go, the faint sound of the door closing behind him blending with the quiet chatter that filled the bar. A small smile formed on her lips as she swirled the last sip of her Witch’s Kiss.

“Looks like class is dismissed,” she said softly, the words more to herself than anyone else. Then, glancing toward Bailey, she added with an easy warmth, “You really do know how to turn an ordinary night into something worth remembering. I’ll be keeping this recipe in mind, strictly for research purposes, of course.”

Her gaze drifted toward Tom, and she lifted her glass slightly in a quiet salute. “And first mate,” she said with a knowing smile, “keep her from running aground, will you? Something tells me this ship’s got a long voyage ahead.”

Finally, she looked toward Jack, her tone light but genuine. “You’ll have to admit, even a little fog and a few skeletons can make the whiskey taste better. Try enjoying it. It’s Halloween, after all.”

She finished her drink in one smooth motion and set the glass down with care, leaving a few bills tucked neatly beneath it. “Thank you for the company,” she said, eyes sweeping over the small circle of faces: Bailey’s spark, Tom’s calm, Jack’s reluctant charm. “And the reminder that even grown-ups can still play pretend now and then.”

Olivia slipped from her stool, tugging her coat tighter against the chill waiting beyond the door. “Happy Halloween, everyone,” she said as she stepped outside. Laughter from inside the bar followed her into the night like a promise.

Olivia exits here.

Tempest loved Halloween. She loved all holidays. They were always so exciting. Tonight was no different. In the sharp wind, and with the infectious energy all around, she felt at home.

It wasn’t rare for her to be surrounded by the mystical aspects of the world, but it was much more fun when the veil between life and death was so thin. She encountered things she wouldn’t on almost any other night. It was genuinely captivating how many supernatural creatures blended in with humans on a daily basis, but more so how many visited from the beyond tonight specifically. Humans reactions were varied to the extreme, with doubt being most prevalent. Awe and fear were rather high as well.

Tasked with maintaining balance, Tempest had no issue with anyone that kept to nature’s rules. In fact, she was far more accepting than most nymphs she knew, willing to talk to almost anyone, with exception of those detrimental to her safety. Not that she always made that distinction very well.

Tonight, she was ironically dressed as a vampire. She wanted to be something that allowed her to unfurl her wings, but thought last minute about how risky that might actually be and decided against it. Tempest had invited Alodia but, per usual, she had declined. So, Tempest was alone as she crossed the street to enter the bar with a bright neon sign that attracted her.

Passing the wooden barrel, she took a lollipop, unwrapping it and popping it in her mouth immediately. She was still a kid at heart. She took less of a great interest in the menu as she did the other patrons from her peripheral view, always finding the act of studying strangers illuminating in some way. Tempest eventually came to choose her drink, smiling brightly at the woman she guessed through context clues would be Bailey.

“One Blood Moon Brew, please!”

Bailey looked up from the row of half-polished glasses, her grin slow and easy as her gaze swept over Tempest’s costume. The irony wasn’t lost on her, and that amused spark in her hazel eyes said as much.

“Well now,” she said, voice warm with a teasing lilt, “a vampire, huh? You’re either brave or ironic walking into this place dressed like that. Half my regulars might start checking for bite marks.”

She reached for the tap labeled Blood Moon Brew, the deep red liquid catching the glow of the orange string lights as it poured. Setting it down in front of Tempest, Bailey leaned her elbows on the bar, head tilted just slightly.

“You’ve got that Halloween sparkle about you,” she added, a touch of curiosity beneath the charm. “You one of those folks who just live for nights like this? Or is there more to your fascination with things that go bump in the night?”

A smirk curved her mouth as she slid the drink closer. “Either way, you picked the right place. The veil’s thin, and the company’s… interesting.”

Tempest beamed in response to Bailey, a playful glimmer in her eye. “Irony is my forte.” She paused for a bit of dramatic effect before lowering her voice conspiratorially, “And I’m the one who would leave bite marks.” She winked.

The question she was asked next wasn’t a simple answer exactly. While she was fascinated with the darker aspects of Halloween, she doubted it was the kind of fascination one would be talking about. “You flatter me.” Tess joked, before continuing on, “I’ve always gone out for Halloween. It’s like a personal tradition of sorts, I guess.”

Tess took the signal of the drink she had neglected being pushed towards her. Thanking Bailey, she took a long swig, feeling the sharp burn slip past her lips and down her throat, tracing a line of fire all the way to her stomach. Tess didn’t drink often, (it usually caused more problems for her than it solved), but it was a special occasion, after all. And even if she didn’t have anyone else to hang out with tonight, at least the bartender seemed inquisitive enough to be talking to her.

“Besides, interesting company is exactly what tonight should invite! Don’t you think?” She asked in return before finishing her drink quickly, throwing her head back to drown the rest of it before abandoning her glass in exchange for allowing her extroversion to get the better of her. Twirling around on her seat, she directed her question towards the rest of the patrons in the bar. "What about y'all? Do you agree that Halloween is the best night to meet intriguing new people?" A subtle hint of mischievousness colored her tone. She hadn't even had enough time for the alcohol to work to blame what she was planning to do on it.

Bailey’s laughter rolled out, low and genuine, the kind that turned a few heads nearby before fading back into the easy hum of the bar. “Oh, I like you already,” she said, smirking as she wiped down a spot on the counter that didn’t really need cleaning. “And careful with that talk about bite marks, sweetheart. Someone might just take you up on it.”

She watched as Tempest downed the rest of her drink, arching a brow with amused approval. There was something about her—this strange blend of grace and chaos—that made Bailey want to see what would happen if she just let her run wild a bit longer.

When Tempest turned to address the rest of the bar, Bailey leaned back, folding her arms and taking in the reactions. A few drunks laughed, one man raised his glass, and a couple of locals exchanged wary glances, as if they’d caught something in Tempest’s tone that wasn’t entirely… human. Bailey, of course, noticed.

“Well,” she said after a beat, leaning forward again with that same easy smile, “if you’re looking for intriguing, you might’ve just found the right crowd. But I’d watch your phrasing—some of these folks might take ‘intriguing’ as an invitation.”

She poured another Blood Moon Brew unasked and slid it her way, eyes glinting beneath the flickering neon. “So tell me, Tempest—what kind of trouble are you hoping to find tonight?”

Tempest wove her hand in dismissive acknowledgement. “No need to worry about me. I’m a tough cookie.” She held up her arm and flexed her bicep muscle in show of proof, laughing at herself.

In actuality, she was warned often about her behavior. By Alodia, her sisters, the elder air nymphs, the elder fire nymphs, humans and other supernatural sorts. Still, Tess had never gotten hurt before, and no one within the bar stuck out to her as a very strong threat.

Turning back to Bailey, there was an exaggerated frown on her lips from the distinct lack of response to her question, other than vague and silent curiosity. “I’m not sure how much more of an invitation I could offer. I feel like I was just rejected by multiple people at once.”

Despite the subject matter, Tess had a permanently optimistic attitude, shrugging nonchalantly and taking the second glass Bailey poured before answering her question.

“I don’t find trouble. I find fun.” She said sarcastically, raising the glass in the air slightly and nodding her head in gratitude before knocking the entire thing back again. “Or maybe it’s ‘I don’t find trouble, it finds me’.”

Being naturally fidgety, she shifted in her seat, her excessive energetic buildup needing some outlet. She wished she could find trouble at times. Unfortunately, trouble for her usually came in the form of trouble for nymphs in general, which wasn’t something she was willing, or even allowed, to risk.