#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oletus-hullabaloo · 3 months

Note

🍫 What is your favorite dish?

🍫 COCOA BEAN HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🍫

As usual, the young man was busy in the café's storefront, balancing coffee cups with well-trained precision across his forearms as well as holding two flat on his palms. This was a trick usually reserved for plates, as the larger surface area would assist with weight distribution, but Cocoa Bean was too busy to make that sacrifice.

Part of his duty to Bite’s staff was giving them an eased workload, and that often led to running himself ragged in exchange for his employees’ comfort. With the dazzling grins and jubilant laughter coming from his direction, however, he never seemed to notice the problem until it was time to close up the shop for the day.

"Ouch..."

Aches and pains were temporary compared to the long-standing rivalry he’d been swept into, and he had no intention of backing out. Only White Truffle took it seriously, however - it was a game to Cocoa Bean, and of little consequence to his business. If anything, he wanted to indulge her so that their customers had a better experience.

Like chocolate, exchanges between two rivals could only be so bitter before they became unpalatable.

Even though the café was busy as usual - the hum of contented customers a constant source of noise and disruption - Cocoa Bean had a couple of minutes to step away when his attention was redirected. Sometimes, though work was his passion, he'd find his workers passing him notes scrawled on receipts and order books to give him an appreciated excuse.

This was the case after he placed his cups down at the appropriate table, flashing a familiar smile to his patrons. He was lucky he'd stuck a new pencil in his pocket after the hectic day left him with little other preparation time. He leaned back in a chair, squinting at the ticket with unnecessary scrutiny.

"My favourite dish, you say? I could list many things from my own repertoire, of course... but that would be boring, wouldn't it? This might strike you as clichéd, though I have no distinct favourite out of what I can make. Perhaps the melt-in-your-mouth velvet of chocolate mousse?"

The man paused to wave at a figure coming to the doorway - Basil. Always someone he'd admired, and the companion of his "rival". He'd liked to have thought they were on good terms... he craned his head back to the docket, humming contemplatively.

"Something sweet, surely.

Ultimately, regardless of personal feelings, I just like whatever brings the most joy to those I serve. My own tastes are subject to change too much, see, for me to accurately pin something down like that in an environment where I'm surrounded by all sorts of delicious treats, day in and day out.

Would you allow me to say... 'anything made for or by a friend'? I think that sums up the matter nicely."

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike #🍫 gleeful gastronomy / cocoa bean 🍫#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪

3 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

🎾 Were you always interested in tennis? Even from a young age?

🎾 ACE HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🎾

Ace was busy, as always, out at the court. Alone, but that didn't much matter. He found his ways to be occupied. His racquet hung loosely at his side, calloused fingers only affording grip enough so that it didn't slip away. He'd just gone through the hell that was restringing it himself, given his lack of trust in others - even though the machines could perhaps do better - and was unwilling to let the work go to waste.

Rubbing thumb and forefinger together, the young man's expression dropped into a sudden and jarring frown. He was more used to a cocky smile, even a smirk, but there was no audience. Despite the tautness in his shoulders that he couldn't shake out, he was usually fine to brush off any minor injury and continue playing.

"Damn it."

He whispered, setting his racquet down gently into its case - leaving it un-zipped, for he'd likely come back to it later - and retreating from the court in search of something. Only after wrapping his fingertips in individual gauze strips, fastened shakily with small portions of adhesive tape, did he lament his own foolishness. He'd cut himself with one of the strings, but didn't tend to it until later.

Distraction came in the form of a bark, and Wick followed. The small dog's jacket contained a pen of green ink and a sheaf of paper, to be used alongside the accompanying letter that he unfolded. Walking to sit on the benches, Ace exhaled for the first time in a while and poised himself to write. It was lucky he was ambidextrous, for he could avoid unnecessary friction on the hasty bandages.

"I've always been an energetic sort of person. That hasn't changed, as you can see. Sports has served as an outlet for my emotions over the years, but tennis just... seems to fit me best."

He afforded himself pause to laugh, lifting his head to gaze out at the court. Despite time-restraining circumstances, it'd kept its position as his place of solace. A break from the hell of it all.

"I still juggle, you know. Acrobatics can be seen as their own type of sport, but I don't think they're commonly recognised as such. My answer to you, then, would be yes. Tennis has taken its place of pride on my list of talents, and I'm already very familiar with the athletics of it all. It's a great way to release some built up tension in your mind.

The inner turmoils of every young person can be eased with a strong serve, and it's even better when the crowd cheers for you after. The match point is never too far away. If you keep going, then I don't see why we couldn't play together some day.

Don't overexert yourself, and more importantly - have fun."

Tucking the folded paper into the patiently waiting dog's pack, Ace was content just to feel the sun on his skin for a moment. Bliss, if only brief. He'd leave the grounds soon, but preferred to go with the sun. Daylight was playing time, and he still had his title of champion to uphold.

#🎾 racquet's response / ace 🎾#idv mike #identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪

3 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

🦊 Are there any animals that are notable to you? Birds? Snakes?

🦊 FOXTROT [CUNNING] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🦊

Foxtrot was seated at one of the Banquet's tables, affording himself brief respite from his oft-expected trickery and entertainment. The fallen king of the Banquet was nowhere to be seen, but he paid no mind to such a break in the proceedings. The patrons came and went, though all would return in due time.

There was no cause to stress over something so trivial.

He wrapped his hand in a pale bandage, having unexpectedly cut it during a juggling act, and watched as crystals of ice spread across his skin. He wasn't sure if that effect was a result of his own connection to the frost, or if the Banquet itself was so eager to keep its patrons alive - however mentally twisted, at least whole in physicality - that it made strange things happen.

No chill ran down the man's spine. He was long adjusted to such sensations, and what might have harmed further or exacerbated wounds served to cool. To placate.

Complaints would not be made if an injury was numb.

As he finished tying the bandage, a Banquet Maid tapped him lightly on the shoulder and handed him a glossy black envelope, alongside a feather quill resembling a raven's. He took it graciously, dipping his head to the Maid and beginning to write.

Despite everything, his text remained stained red.

"Birds are strange creatures. I see them more in costume and feather, in symbol, than I ever have the chance to in reality. This hall's windows are glazed, you see, so that the patrons might not catch any glance of what lies beyond the walls. Everything is a masquerade of perfection, one that even I have difficulty resisting.

They see a world that I don't, and I envy them for it. If I were able to spread wings of my own, who's to say I'd be stuck here at all?

Snakes are seldom seen here either, but the seething words of dissatisfied patrons may as well be spat venom, and remain as corrosive to one's sense of self. Being connected to my king, I'm more easily shielded from the bites, but I cannot say it's a pleasant experience in hearing.

The vulpine... foxes, rather, prey on these two animals. They are omnivorous, seeking opportunity whenever it strikes in harsh environments. I suppose I do the same here, in my own way. I'm not where they are."

He afforded himself brief pause, taking the mask away from his eyes and looking at it. His identity was contained in costume. Moulded to fit, and never allowed flair beyond.

"I suppose that's why they call me Foxtrot."

#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#🦊 foxtrot's foolery / cunning 🦊#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike

3 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

🪶 What was robbed from you… ?

🪶 MR. SWIFTS HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🪶

The showman sat alone in a backstage area, the lights outside the tent he was performing in - the distinctively red and white striped Big Top, for he was the star of it all - having dimmed for the night. He glanced out to the moon, the dull shimmer of its light only deepening the shadows that crept upon his back.

He didn't want to be so tired. Truthfully, everyone around him thought he'd achieved his lifelong dream, being able to bring the widest smiles and brightest laughter to the people wherever he may have traveled. But there was something that nagged at him, and he couldn't put a finger on it.

A knock came at the door, but he allowed himself a moment of rest before responding. Nobody would come to see him that late unless they absolutely had to, or they were a friend - Miss Oil Painting, as he knew her, often kept him company. They were travellers together, for they'd both been displaced in the same way.

It was only when he took the ruby out of his cravat and looked at his reflection that he realised he wasn't smiling.

The letter was slid underneath the door, boasting neither address nor sender, but he knew it was meant for him. Nothing else was expected of him while the curtains drew, much less face-to-face correspondence. Swifts stood, tugging at his ruffled white gloves, and picked it up in one smooth motion, throwing it in a calculated yet nonchalant arc through the air and watching as it landed perfectly on his desk.

He picked up a glistening blue feather, plucked for use as a temporary quill from his very own outfit, and twisted it about in his fingers before finding a sheaf of paper to respond on. To his dismay, he couldn't do much to suppress the dull laugh of disbelief that burst from his lips afterward. People were just so invasive, even when they had no right to be.

But who was he to deny an audience their story?

"Admittedly, I'd find it much easier to tell you what hasn't been taken away from me. But I think I'd bore you half to death with such a droning list, and I wouldn't want to lose track of an audience established so soon.

There are many things that come and go, you see, but they're not necessarily lost when they disappear. As a bird migrates, they always return to their rightful places. I'm the same. I'd never desert my friends, not if I could help it. So I have a lot of possessions, despite the migratory nature of a travelling troupe."

A single tear dripped to blot the paper, and Mike couldn't move fast enough to swipe it away. He was drowsy, arms leaden and movements reluctant because of the unwelcome sense of dread overtaking his mind. He hated to overthink, but sometimes it was inescapable.

"I've had my livelihood stolen, in essence. My trust has been crushed no matter how many times I try my best to protect it, locking it behind bars... I'm too expressive, see, too willing to give out chances to people who don't deserve them. My naivety is my folly, and there are certain people who prey on that sort of thing.

You'd know well the impact of those people. They're unwavering, vicious and when they bite they don't let go. They just want to see you suffer, and it doesn't truly matter how long it takes to get to an appropriate point. Sometimes they'll just use mental tricks, and sometimes they'll box you in in a million different ways so there's no escape from the torment. There's no way to tell.

But I won't let that happen again if I can help it.

My feathers are pruned."

#🪶 filigreed feathers / mr. swifts 🪶#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike

4 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

🎃 Enjoying October City?

🎃 QUINLAN [TEA PARTY] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🎃

Quinlan was far too busy getting up to mischief, as always, to pay much mind to his friend - Specter was loyally delivering the party favours, as he'd always done, away from the toyshop - as they approached him. This was fixed, of course, by the sharp bark of Wick serving as a warning.

The vampire had found himself up in the rafters above the (mostly empty) shopfront, legs dangling over a significant drop. He'd been expecting renovation, but nothing of such a scale. More and more people were being lured to a strange town, and the Banquet wasn't nearly as much fun...

So he joined in, following his uncle to the city, and reluctantly left his friend behind. It was okay, though, as Wick could always find him.

The letters would come, and they were on time as usual.

As he took the envelope into his hands, he breathed in deeply. The scent of pumpkin left on the paper was familiar, whimsical, and matched perfectly with the glimmering orange ink printed onto the paper as he talked. He didn't need to steal another of Fenix's feathers to write - his words would print on the page as if by magic.

"I am enjoying it here, thank you. I'm missing the usual sights, of course, but there's nothing worse than prolonged boredom for someone who lives forever. I certainly hate it, at least. Uncle dearest insisted I come along, but I haven't seen him around yet. I've been following the Count, as he's the most familiar presence.

That Lead Consultant... he and his hoard of cats make me nervous, silly though that might seem, because my rabbits are telling me there's more to them than even I - not a mortal by any means - can see. Perhaps it's just the occupants spreading stories.

Don't you go spreading this around, but I may have allergies to the cat hair. Either that, or my nose instinctually wrinkles in disdain whenever I see his ugly face.

Miss Paper Heart seems the most welcoming soul here, and it's a right shame she's only on the art committee and not a permanent resident. I should like to visit her some other day, but I'm not sure I'll be able to approach her without scaring her off."

And with a puff of amber smoke, laughter ringing through the air, Quinlan disappeared.

#🎃 treats and trickery / tea party 🎃#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike

3 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

🫖 What’s it like in the tea house?

🫖 BOHEA HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🫖

Bohea was in a back room of the teahouse, applying the last strokes of his chou makeup. Even though the venue was no proper opera house, it brought him comfort to have the familiarity of a mask or some covering on his face. The customers all enjoyed him more when he was fulfilling that role, anyway.

Why would they want to see him for who he was?

He was the lowly clown, and always would be - the smiles of the customers were all he needed to keep himself happy. His own elation stemmed from that of the crowd, so a job like that suited him just fine. Lady Thirteen hadn't found reason to scold him yet, which was the best he could hope for in that environment.

A knock at the door caused him to fumble, dropping the brush in his hand and blotting makeup onto his shirt. He frowned for the first time in an age, wiping frustratedly at it with one hand as he stood to pick up the paper that'd been slid beneath the frame.

He scanned the paper quickly, setting down his brush in favour of a pencil at the desk.

"You'd really find me boring to ask, dear sender, but the teahouse is a lovely place. I couldn't ask for anything more fulfilling than a place in this stage... I doubt I'll be performing in any major roles any time soon, though that hardly matters.

The mere sight of Lady Thirteen is enough to draw more people forth, and that means I get to entertain truly devoted crowds when she's about. I'm just a silly clown, but it's rather comfortable. Acrobatics and such are my strong suit, you see.

All I could wish for is a smile.

Why don't you come and visit? Even if I'm not around, you'd certainly be in for a treat. Do mind the displays, however, because you'll have to pay for whatever you break. Some of those teapots are worth more than I've ever seen in my lifetime...

Be well, and remember - you'll always have a friend at the teahouse. Just ask after "Bohea" and I'll be by your side."

#🫖 teahouse tales / bohea 🫖#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike

2 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

" To Sparrow,

How have you been? Sorry for missing your performance, I got busy.

Do you remember how we met?

My mind's been slipping away from me. I miss you.

- Andrew Kreiss. [ @mausoleum-letterbox ]"

🌟 SPARROW HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🌟

Sparrow, as always, had found just the right amount of time to stall his performance at the theatre in order to reply. Smarty Pants and her ingenuity were a rather big help, of course, as she'd recently repaired her dearest robot and could send it up to cause appropriate trouble. The two [or three, rather] always shared the fallout of their tricks, but neither seemed to mind if it meant spending time on joyful things.

They were thick as thieves, and mischievous to match.

Glancing back to the hastily 'barricaded' doorway of the practice room, little more than a closet hosting a wonkily carved star sign emblazoned with "Sparrow" on the door, the stuntman wiped a bead of sweat away from his forehead. He didn't want anyone to find him and scold him for the latest prank, much less so soon.

There was little more important to him than his performances, but the people around him were first priority - bringing them joy and whimsy off the clock was just one of his many obligations. It mattered not whether he'd make a crowd of the theatre-goers or of his troupe members, because all deserved it.

Aside from one Ronald of Ness, whom he mocked - "Ronald of Mess" was his proper and deserved title to Sparrow, never corrected on tongue.

He turned his attention to the doorway when there was a knock, standing to pick up a letter that was slid underneath. At least someone respected his boundaries.

The response wasn't as quick as it should have been. The writing wasn't as fluid as he'd expected from Andrew, and the stuntman became hesitant. Much as he tried his best to offer the benefit of the doubt, something about the letter's text unnerved him. Sparrow always thought himself to have nerves of steel, as was necessary for someone so thrill-seeking, but looking at the blunt text made his stomach do backflips without the rest of him.

He did reply, but the pen shook in his hand.

Nothing felt right.

"Dearest Andrew, surely you haven't forgotten our encounter? It was that night, after the performance, when I'd nearly fallen off the tightrope and you were so tense that you called out to me. Our eyes met, and I was able to snap to my senses enough to save myself.

Goodness knows what I would've done if you hadn't been there. I wouldn't be performing now, that's for sure, with quite as much zeal, whether that means I would have been injured or not.

Fright makes colours pale, and you know that well.

Oh, you're fine. Don't be silly! I know that you can't make it to every show, whether it's because of your job or some other ridiculous obligation. You've missed them every so often, and I've almost come to expect not seeing your face in the crowds.

They've become better without you, even."

So he lied.

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#🌟 shining songbird / sparrow 🌟

4 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

💎 Does Oz have any good music to behold? Maybe you should try dancing as a break someday! Maybe even with Dorothy for fun?

🍀 MONTY [EMERALD CITY COACHMAN] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🍀

The coachman was sitting in his coach as usual, but had steered it off the golden path he so loathed and stopped it in the fittingly emerald grasses surrounding the gates. Sometimes it was a pleasure to truly pause and bask in an outside view of the stunning buildings, the architecture sharp and gleaming, as the outsider he still considered himself to be.

There was still a spark of wonder left, even though the star in his eye was often cloaked from view by his hat. He didn't want to fool those undeserving within the gates into thinking he wanted to be there, not at all. It was simply one more question avoided. The Oz-goers did like to pry into personal matters, especially if they were regular passengers.

They'd learn over time that the only person he'd divulge such information to was Dorothy, whether it took a singular tense ride or multiple for that to register. He was capable of small-talk, sure, but little more was afforded if he could avoid it.

Monty leaned further forward and crossed his arms, letting out a sigh as the postman caught up to him again. No coaches in Oz - even though his was the only one - boasted horses, driven by magical means and controlled by spoken or gestured commands, though the structures still remained. He wasn't in the carriage, but sat out in front of it near where a set of reins and such should've been.

He took the letter, waving the coach to a proper halt. It'd often spin wheels impatiently if he didn't. Writing would be difficult on moving ground.

"You'd be pleased to know, dearest correspondent, that Dorothy comes to me with songs aplenty that she makes up. She sings nonsensical things, but all are lovely to my ears because they're in her voice. She's as close as a younger sibling to me, you know, and shares the bond for it.

She's never asked me to dance for or with her, but I would.

I think she knows.

I've had plates added to my shoes, see, akin to those of use in tap-dancing, and she used to comment on how I sounded like the horses. With the magic of the City, we've never had need for them for the coach, but I enjoy the clicking of their hooves.

I can dance to perform for anyone who asks, but no-one cares to see me in any context other than one sat-down driver.

It's a shame. The wind carries its own melody of chatter and laughter, and I wish I could move to pay it due respect, but duty calls. There will be a time, but not any time soon.

I'll dance with my sister dearest one day."

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#🍀 iridescent innocence / emerald city coachman 🍀#/ he calls dorothy his sister because he cares about her a lot :)

2 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 6 months

Note

🎪 🦊 🛞 Would you go back in time if given the chance? What would you think you do differently?

~ YOUR LETTER HAS BEEN RECEIVED! ~

[ 🎪 ] "Go back in time, you say? Of course I would. If I retained my memory of what tragedy happened now, I'd hold my friends closer and warn of the flames. Try to divert the path in its entirety. I know that it was what had to happen, in the end, to bring new life to an old act, but... I can't say that I'm not filled with regret.

I just did what I had to do to make things progress. Call it back-burning - disaster prevention, all things considered.

If I didn't remember, then who's to say anything would really shift? Sometimes we get thoughts stuck in our heads and tune out all the noise so that we can't hear anyone saying no.

Sometimes ruin can't be changed."

[ 🦊 ] "Why would I turn back the clock now, do you think? Why would I do something so foolish?

You're not in paradise with me. You'd never understand the euphoria that fills the air, that makes every word of the banquet halls' patrons hum in ears and create melody that would make the most stalwart fighter shed tears.

The transcendent beauty of this place cannot be replicated, not ever, for it is suspended eternal. And so it should be appreciated for that time, not stopping.

You're selfish to think I'd change anything."

[ 🛞 ] "You folks really do like to interrupt a working man! Can't say it hasn't been a pleasure, of course, writing these letters out and giving dear Paperboy a run for his money, but I do have wo-

Well. I would have work to focus on if I weren't being pestered by a million different people at once and could choose. They tell me I'm an agent of the Transportation Corp., but I work for just about anyone who needs my help since I've been taught a lot by Repairman.

Go back in time? I don't think I would. Call me foolish, but I've done so much already. It'd be stupid of me to throw away what I've achieved after so long. Of course the circumstances could be better, but that's just the life I'm doomed to live.

My business keeps the thoughts of dread from sinking in too much."

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#🛞 racing recollections / pumping tires 🛞#🎪 acrobat's acquaintance / base 🎪#🦊 foxtrot's foolery / cunning 🦊#🎪 juggling responses / multi-mike madness 🎪

4 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 7 months

Note

🎭 Oh? What’s your greatest wish?

🎭 "JOKER" [JAMBOREE] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🎭

Much to everyone's fitting dismay in the already gloomy Manor, a source of joy had been snuffed out in time for Hallow's Eve - Mike had lost himself in the persona of "Joker", if only for a short span of time, and was intent for all the world not to respond to any questions addressed to his true name.

Letters were going to be no different.

It wasn't clear if it was all a joke or not - the jest of the name was solely paying homage to the usual owner, though he was anything but a joker. "Joker" had atypically hidden himself away from his fellows, donning greasepaint typical of the true smiling clown, and considered everything a simple practice round for the true event of the day.

As the young man's calendar turned to "October 31st", he finished his last strokes of make-up. The envelope slid under his door, and he donned yet clawless gloves to open it. Though the clock had struck in his mind, he'd afford brief correspondences, as long as they didn't take up too much of his fun.

"My greatest wish, you say? It'd be to get closer to her. Gain the respect I'm deserved from my peers, and finally see my ambitions play out. The shows I put on are just a vessel for my true plans, you know, and tonight is no different. The moon gleams high in the sky, and it's a wonderful time to put on a show.

I'm tired of having no reason to smile! These miserable little ants that see themselves fit to be on my stage? They'll never get in my way again. Not while I have any say in it. One of them stole that away from me once, and you should know well enough that I have no intent of letting them pull it off again.

Repeat acts become boring, and flowers from audiences past still wilt.

Why shouldn't I get it all over with?"

#🎭 masquerade's mockery / jamboree 🎭#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike

2 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 7 months

Note

♥️ Did you catch him?

🃏 "ZERO" ["THE FOOL"] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🃏

At first, there was a heavy and unsettling silence in the room. This was something that "Zero" was all too happy to let hang - he sat out in his tent, preferring the dull silence to any ruckus that would interrupt the thoughts whirling in his mind. These morbidities served as entertainment enough, and whatever others could provide paled in interest.

This was only momentary, like every fleeting emotion the once-jovial young man felt. His ability to express himself had been muted, cut back, just as the colour of his outfit dimmed with time and wear. The fact it was black and white didn't matter: it was still capable of fading more, especially from black to grey.

Similar skies were common where he went.

After a brief pause more, the quiet was broken by the door's shift, and "Zero"'s sharp voice calling out to interrupt it with a warning. The letter was instead slid under the door as it closed, and he nodded as he bent down to pick it up, taking a pen from his desk as he passed. The staff were wise not to interrupt him.

The hydra's seal remained the only colour in the room.

His gaze swept across the script on the letter, and a flicker of shock was evident on his face before it was snuffed like a candle's flame. The pen in his hand threatened to snap as his grip tightened, but his facial expression remained blank and listless as he bowed his head to respond. He hadn't expected anyone to know.

"Of course I caught him. What sort of Acrobat would I be if I hadn't? The man's slow, easily tired... no, no. Le Roy was a fool ten times more than I for thinking he could get away. Unlike some, I cannot be driven to surrender so easily.

What I did next is not much information to disclose... Well. It is absolutely mine and mine alone to tell, but whether you're deserving of that record is another story entirely. I do not appreciate anonymity, dear sender, as it gives me less reason to trust you. My trust is a commodity, soaring higher in value yet.

For all I know, you could be de Ross, hiding to try and draw my secrets out of me. I wear my heart on my sleeve and hide nothing beyond that which is necessary to keep a straight face. If you are, if you are not, that doesn't matter. You're prying with your fingers in places they don't belong, and I'll shut the lid on them.

I'll thank you never to contact me again."

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #idv mike #mike morton #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#🃏 feigning flattery / fool's heart 🃏#yes thats a promo #but its also context

3 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 7 months

Note

🛞 Do you fear the Molten Hound?

🛞 PUMPING TIRES HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! REMEMBER TO THANK THE PAPERBOY! 🛞

The racetrack was unusually silent that day. Out on the tarmac, sun-struck to the point of almost sizzling at contact, few remained dedicated enough to brave the unusual heat. But Pumping Tires - known as Michael, rather, in full, save for those he held close calling him Mike when permitted - was always one such individual.

He couldn't afford to lose the race. Not this far in.

There were always going to be someone coming for him. Not even his allies would care about him, at the end of the day, if he was in front of them on the track at the time.

A bark was heard, and it was the first time Pumping Tires hadn't craned his neck downwards in a number of hours. He looked towards the source of the noise and found the Paperboy's dog coming at him full trot, holding up his hands in comical surrender so that they'd slow down.

Reaching out to scratch them behind the ears and raising his other hand in a gesture of thanks to the ever-vigilant Paperboy, Pumping Tires' eyes scanned the page that he took gently from the dog's mouth. This he flipped over to scrawl a response on in glaring yellow roadside chalk. That was all he had on hand.

"Fear?"

The young man wrote, laughing softly.

"Of course I fear the Molten Hound. You'd be insane not to. He has nothing on his mind except winning at all costs. He'd utterly gore you with those twisted metal horns on his helmet without a second thought, I'm sure, if it meant a few seconds of your racing time were lost.

He's soulless, heartless, and without any moral code. Sure, some of the reports and papers circulating outside the Paperboy's reach might seem like horror stories to you, but I've seen it with my own two eyes. You can't doubt it.

Chill of the Wintry Harbour or not, he'll melt us and our vehicles all to scrap and drag this racetrack to the pits of Hell in an attempt to make it his own."

He handed the letter back to the post-dog, returning to his work within seconds of letting go of it. There was too much to do.

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#🛞 racing recollections / pumping tires 🛞

3 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 7 months

Note

💎 The Witches and Dorothy, what do you think of them?

🍀 MONTY [EMERALD CITY COACHMAN] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🍀

Monty wasn't at the gates, welcoming people into the gleaming city. Nor was he in his coach, or even by it - the key, also, green metal and "head" moulded into a clover, was absent from his waist-belt. Instead, he sat at the bank of a small river within the city's bounds, heedless of any rule that'd tell him not to roam.

His own interests prevailed over his job at the worst of times.

Staring down into the crystalline waters, the young man decided to plunge his hand into the river, watching as the bubbles erupted from the movement. One, however, refused to pop. It was shuddering with the light breeze that ruffled Monty's hair but staying otherwise, one could say magically, in-tact.

Miracles to anyone else were common enough in Oz, but the first sparkle of joy still lingered within the coachman. Most everything in his homeland made him happy, save for a few unlucky individuals. They weren't going to stick around, not while he had any say in it. They could walk.

Turning his attention to the bubble, he scooped it away from the riverbank, and it burst in his fingers to reveal another letter, a blank page for a reply, and a green glass calligraphy pen. He'd have to let them know of the happiness that blossomed in his chest at the sight - he was never personally contacted often.

So, he began to write his response.

"Thank you for the letter. Monty here - Emerald City's finest coachman, and ever your friend! The pen's rather pretty, too. Do let me know if I can keep it, won't you? I often have to scrawl things down as I deliver people and cargo alike, you know, and it gets rather irritating not having something on hand.

To answer your questions... there's only one Witch I know of here, and she's certainly a nasty piece of work. Far be it from me to hold a definitive opinion of her, though, as I've only ever heard gossip and rumours from my passengers. I'm not very high-up in this society, so not much genuine information is passed to me.

You'd think it important for the Coachman to know the status of the city, wouldn't you? Apparently not.

Dorothy is a darling, though, and those slippers of hers shine just as bright as her smile. I'm lucky to have had the job of taking her around this city, because she always seems so happy to see me... Enough, even, to have given me my name. I wasn't always Monty. I worry for her, despite my response to another question, but only for her safety. I hope she's doing well."

Monty hummed a small tune to himself as he set the pen down in the grass, holding the letter close enough that he could check for and smooth out any wrinkles. After this, the coachman confirmed that there was a breeze, nodding to himself and beginning to fold the paper anew. This he crafted into a fine little origami boat.

With a push down the river, his grateful correspondence was taken by the wind.

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#🍀 iridescent innocence / emerald city coachman 🍀

2 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 7 months

Note

💎 Don’t you tire of your job, with everything that’s happening?

💎 MONTY [EMERALD CITY COACHMAN] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 💎

Monty had just finished greeting someone at the gates, and looked towards the source of the letter - where it appeared to be coming from, in any case. Things in his land were strange, and it was common for him to receive supplies out of thin air.

Of course, that was just what he was told. Feigning his innocence got him further and further into the gates by the day, so he didn't particularly intend to let slip just how much he really knew. After a moment, he slipped the green key he'd been swinging about on his finger into a pocket and picked up the strange letter.

He had to keep appeasing people, no matter how ridiculous he thought their requests and demands both were. Punishment wasn't something he was eager to receive, seeing as it'd not even give him a break from work.

He was the lone Coachman in the city, and he revelled in it.

The man's mis-matched eyes sparkled with mischievous joy while they flickered across the simple question, and it was all he could do not to simply burst out laughing.

"How curious! You really think this gets boring?"

He flung his arms wide, gesturing out to the view of the gleaming city that could be seen for ages around. There were residents needing to get places, of course, but spending a few minutes writing a reply for a stranger was far more interesting to him - he could just bluff and tell anyone who reprimanded him that he needed to record a note for a passenger.

"Of course not! Sure, I have my slow days, but the gossip of my lovely passengers keeps me going! I'm well-liked here, and that's all I could really ask for. I don't want for grander things yet. It's not my call to make, in any case...

I worry for those who have more stresses than me. It's a funny little thing, isn't it? Stressing about stress? But I don't have any worries of my own, and the lives of even the most boring resident in this place would keep me entertained for weeks. There's no dullness in a land that always shines!

You don't need to fret."

#identity v #idv #idv askblog #mike morton #idv mike #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#💎 iridescent innocence / emerald city coachman 💎#// hes monty as in diamante! :o)

5 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 7 months

Note

🍫 Has there been any particularly difficult customers you’ve seen in the Cafe? How did you deal with them?

🍫 COCOA BEAN HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🍫

Atypically, but fitted simply to the café's setting, the question had been passed through the ordering window, scrawled on a ticket. This caught Cocoa Bean's eye, and he walked to pluck it from the line while the dishes he'd been watching over simmered.

Luckily enough, one of the pens used for writing orders lingered, and he took this into his hand so that he could reply on the back and pass it through the window when he was finished.

Time was precious, even at a small venue like his and not a grander affair like his companion's. Well. The other - Basil, the whispering voices of patrons called him - claimed to be the top dog of the culinary world where they both danced, but Cocoa Bean never thought of him as anything less than a friend.

He wanted to prove himself in the end, even if the deadline loomed in the corner of his vision.

"Bold of you to assume, my dearest patron, that they can resist my charms for all that long. All customers deserve the utmost respect I can provide to them, even if it comes at the expense of my sanity... I keep myself calm, I think.

If the pot boils over and you have to start again, that's lost time and an angrier table to serve late. The same holds for customers - if I'm outwardly rude or disgruntled with them, I have to build my rapport and reputation again from scratch. It takes care and patience in both instances."

Cocoa Bean took a moment's pause from writing to take one pan off the heat, setting it aside. He dipped a spoon into the bubbling sauce and drew a finger across the back to have a taste before nodding to himself, then returning to the other matter at hand - the response still needed a definitive answer.

"There's a haughty man, he calls himself Sauce, who thinks himself too good for my humble café. He won't tell you outsiders the truth, of course, but he's never even set foot in this place. He seems remarkably content simply slandering my name, and I'm glad for his lack of attention."

#🍫 gleeful gastronomy / cocoa bean 🍫#idv #idv mike #idv askblog #identity v #mike morton #🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪

3 notes · View notes

oletus-hullabaloo · 7 months

Note

🎪 The manors games, how do you feel about it?

🎪 MIKE MORTON HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🎪

"The games? Well, like any sensible person here, I'm scared. But you sure wouldn't catch me saying that to anyone out loud. My friends worry for me enough as it stands, and I don't want to pile on any more unnecessary pressure when I'm sure they have their own concerns to deal with..."

Mike tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and straightened his hat as he talked, trailing off into silence after a while as he thought of other things to add. It wasn't particularly hard to talk about, no, but the invasiveness of it all just twisted his gut.

His nails drummed on the desk he sat behind, the noise shuddering with the shaking of normally stable hands.

The Acrobat's expression had become worryingly and altogether unexpectedly different as his usual joyous smile faded, frowning with the concern. He gradually recalled what explanations he'd heard from his fellow manor residents. The practices hadn't yet begun, and he hoped they never would.

"I can't tell what the Baron is thinking, putting us all in situations like this, but he offered me something I couldn't refuse. Whether I want to play or not isn't exactly up to me, as I'll be hunted down by staff and forced to participate even if it kills me. My reflexes can only do so much here...

I'd like to be paired with Margie or Murro, if the Baron would allow me that one break in the terror. So that if things go south, at least they'll plunge while I have my friends to guide me in the darkness. I wouldn't want to condemn them, of course, so you can call me selfish all you'd like, but... just if."

#🎪 acrobat's acquaintance / base 🎪#🎪 hullabaloo hijinks / ask answered 🎪#mike morton #idv #idv mike #idv askblog #identity v

3 notes · View notes