Try the Ring Toss booth with Juno—it's a dexterity game, which might play to the claw's lesson about slow movements.

Ring Toss Booth, Madame Lilith's Midnight Carnival, at 1:55 AM on Wednesday November 1, 2024

You walk toward the Ring Toss booth with your teal hair bouncing against your shoulders, those ridiculous shorts riding up with every step. The neon rings overhead crackle and hum—pink, green, orange—casting shifting colored light across the sawdust path. The booth itself is a garish structure of painted wood and blinking lights, with a row of thick glass bottles arranged on a raised platform. Each bottle is topped with a wooden peg, and the pegs are painted in the same neon colors as the rings hanging from hooks along the booth's front.

The girl working the booth leans against the counter, arms folded beneath breasts that strain against a cropped halter top in shimmering gold fabric. Her hair is the first thing you notice—a wild mane that shifts between deep crimson and electric yellow, sometimes both at once, the colors bleeding into each other like a sunset that can't decide what it wants to be. Her eyes are amber, sharp and restless, set in a face that's pretty in a scrappy, angular way—high cheekbones, a pointed chin, a mouth that looks like it's used to smirking.

"Oh, hey," she says, straightening up. Her gaze rakes over you—over the crop top, the shorts, the teal hair—and her smirk widens. "Love the look. Very carnival-chic. You here to play or just model?"

"Play," you manage, your voice coming out softer than you'd like.

"Juno," she says, tapping her name tag. "One token per ring, three rings minimum. You land a ring on a peg, you win tickets based on the color. Green pegs are five tickets. Orange are ten. Pink are twenty." She gestures at the bottles. "Land all three on the same color, you get a bonus multiplier. And if you manage to ring the golden peg in the back..." She whistles low. "Fifty tickets. One shot at that per game."

She leans closer, that color-shifting hair falling across one eye. "Fair warning—the rings are weighted funny. They don't fly straight. Most people just chuck 'em and pray."

You count out three tokens and place them on the counter. Juno scoops them up, hands you three neon rings. They're heavier than they look, the plastic thick and slightly warped.

"Show me what you got, birthday girl."

You take the first ring. Slow, you remind yourself. Deliberate. Like Vesper said. You breathe in. Focus on the green peg closest to you. You draw your arm back gently, aim, and release with a slow, controlled flick of your wrist.

The ring sails through the air—and catches the lip of the green peg. It wobbles. Teeters. Your heart stops.

And settles.

"Holy shit," Juno says, eyebrows rising. "First try."

Emboldened, you grab the second ring. You aim for an orange peg, further back. Same technique—slow, gentle, deliberate. The ring flies true... and bounces off the peg's top, clattering to the platform.

"Close," Juno says.

One ring left. Your hands are trembling. You could go for another safe green—guaranteed five tickets—or risk the orange again for ten. Or...

Your eyes find the golden peg, way in the back. Fifty tickets. That alone would nearly get you to fifty total.

Juno watches you, that smirk playing at her lips. "Most people don't even try for gold. The peg's tiny and the ring has to land perfectly flat." She tilts her head, crimson bleeding into yellow. "But you've got that look. That determined, stupid look."

The ring sits heavy in your palm. Your new body aches. Your shields pulse warm in your chest—two layers of protection against whatever the shadow might do. You don't need help. You can do this yourself.

You aim for the golden peg.