She greets them at the door. "Welcome, lady. Welcome, sir. Welcome. Welcome." Her hair is up today, her body veiled: Bring me the head of John the Baptist.

She was hosting the party because she felt like it, though she hadn't expected so many of them to come. She'd demanded peace here, but that didn't mean she'd get it. She'd get it if they knew what was good for them.

She may be human, but her deals were law.

Welcome, lady. That was Madame Butterfly, her eyes sad, her white face lowered. Welcome, sir. That was Torquemada, his eyes red in a pale face, his clothing redder. Welcome, Lady. Mata Hari, her lips and eyes dark, her skin bare.

Welcome, sir. The Green Knight, in a blasphemous role his young Lord Commander would be horrified to see, hoisting his axe to his shoulder easily.

Welcome, lady. Snow White as she'd never been seen before. Hair as black as coal, lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow. Terror springs up in her footprints, and poison apples fall from her lips.

Already here are Lady Justice, blindfolded and quiet, observing with a notebook; a young James Dean, one of two who had shown up, though she could only see the one right now; Mister Billy Flynn with a lawyer's smile and a sparkling suit ("Are you going to believe what you see or what I tell you?"). A zombie, how original. Launcelot, withdrawn and sulking behind the bar. A fat smiling Cortez. Ghandi.

A Bedoin man, carrying a tiny stuffed camel, comes up to her and smiles a brilliant, trademarked smile. She can't fight a smile back. "Going well?" he asks.

"As well as can be expected," she says, offering him a nugget of honesty, the type he snatches up. "Though J. Edgar Hoover seems to be devouring all the candy-"

"What *possessed* him to come up with that costume?" the Bedoin mused.

"I have something of an idea."

"I suppose. Is there anything I can do to help?" He offers his arm, genteel, but she shakes her head, turns his favour down. "If you're sure."

She flicks a veil back. "Other than keeping them from killing each other, if you can. A girl needs a party now and then, with her old friends and older enemies."

The Bedoin looks around, sees that Torquemada and Lady Justice aren't looking, and so ducks his head and kisses Salome's cheek. She smiles a smile that has barely any knives in it. "Happy Halloween, my dear."

"Happy Halloween," she echoes. And then the bad fairy shows up, grinning a dark smile, and she excuses herself to deal with him, mind already racing as to how to stop the trickster from ruining her party.

Though it was hardly halloween without a little trick and treat.