Samhain! Now there was something he'd forgotten about. Although such a feeling had not been annual during his time away, as Razekiel approached the end of October back in his home in Inferni, he felt like he was definitely forgetting something. The red-faced hybrid had thought long and hard about it, determined to remember whatever it was that was missing him, but his foolish insistence on mind-altering drugs and perpetual worshiping of the autumn foliage made it difficult to focus, let alone even remember that he was forgetting something. Wait, what?
The howl, quickly recognized as Anselm's, reached his ears even as they were drenched in clouds of lightheaded substance, thanks to the little stick balanced as always between his lips. Razekiel could add two plus two -- Samhain, for some reason, only dawned on him there and then. The holiday was a strange one, reaching back to odd festivals of humankind and their odd fear of being naked on that particular night, so they would dress in strange clothing to hide themselves from the dark spirits that wished to eat them. Someone had told him that. It had to be true; that was the only explanation he could come up with.
Razekiel followed the howl eagerly like a sheep to its shepherd; it led him to a great building of a size he hardly noticed and the pacifist entered without hesitation, but remembered shortly thereafter that he was uncostumed and moved quickly to remedy it. A white tablecloth thrown in a corner was an easy solution: he burnt a small hole in it, draped it over his head, and appropriately placed his still-smoking stick of marijuana through the opening. Perfect! He could be in the spirit and still smoke his weed. The boy was brilliant.
The stench of alcohol was thick in the air as he listened and approached the sounds of his clanmates; one he recognized from afar as his mother, the other Anselm. Strange, since the two along with Gabriel were the only faces he'd yet to meet. He stumbled up the stairs, wandered through a room, and found them on a balcony. Odd. Standing in the doorway, Razekiel flailed his arms up and down poorly, grinning around the smoking stick beneath the white cloth that shrouded him. "Whoooooo, man!" he gurgled, only then realizing he had not burnt/cut eyeholes for himself as he had for his marijuana-hole and actually could not see through the white fabric very well. Ah, well. "I haven't partied a Samhain in years, man. Count me in, yeah?"