Regal Terror and Remote Lounging: A Derry Halloween Clash

Derry, the town where logic takes a holiday and time is perpetually late to its own appointment, was the perfect host for the Offbeat League's Halloween costume showdown. This was no ordinary match—there were no hoops, no nets, and no balls involved (unless you counted the occasional giant balloon bouncing about unpredictably). Instead, this was about style, panache, and possibly confusing your opponent into a state of utter bemusement. Derry Ballooons [sic] versus the Harlem Couch Potatoes.

Harlem Couch Potatoes, known for their philosophy of "everything while doing as little as possible", and not wanting to stray too far out of their comfort zones, had rolled into Derry with their most complicated game plan yet—switch places. Recliner Reggie showed up as Lazy Susan, Lazy Susan showed up as Recliner Reggie, and frankly, nobody, including them, seemed entirely sure who was who anymore. Their couches, of course, were unwilling participants, neither couch conforming to its new occupant’s personal imprint. This caused much distressed swiveling and a fair amount of effort that went against the entire ethos of the Harlem team.

On the other side of the field, Harlequin, the Grinning Menace, had promised a costume unlike any seen before. Or after. Or at all, actually. Schrödinger's Costume was an idea so refined that only the truly Offbeat could perceive it—but only if you didn't look at it. Harlequin strode through the crowd, adjusting invisible visible lapels and casting majestic glances left and right. Art Steelmoor was the chosen judge for the evening. Having lived on a ledge of the Chrysler Building most of his life, he had after all seen all the fashion New York had to offer—and then some—so if anyone could pretend to see a costume that didn’t exist, it was him.

The contest began with Harlequin’s customary flair for the dramatic. As he twirled around, showing off the "weightless elegance" of his unseen attire, the crowd responded—some clapping enthusiastically, others squinting desperately but trying to not look, as if willing the costume into existence. Lazy Susan, meanwhile, was deep into the "Tao of Couching", her efforts to embody Recliner Reggie hindered only by the couch that refused to conform. She swiveled with determination—at least in the vicinity of determination—while occasionally tossing cheese puffs at an angle that felt more like a metaphor than a snack distribution.

Halflequin, inspired by Harlequin’s audacious gambit, decided to improvise. His Pouch of Improbable Inflations™ was uncorked, and out came a balloon ballerina—or something that vaguely resembled a dancer after being reflected in a funhouse mirror and left too long in a dryer. The balloon did what Halflequin’s creations always did: it defied expectations, physics, and possibly good taste. It was unclear though what it had to do with a Halloween Costume showdown. It floated, wobbled, then gracefully drifted into the display where The Couch's 'face' was shown—he had decided to do remote working and participated from home in Harlem via Zoom—who reacted, predictably, by doing absolutely nothing. However, the same people who claimed to see Harlequin's costume also insisted they heard a subtle whump from the well-worn cushions, suggesting either tacit approval or mere resignation.

Reggie, or Susan-as-Reggie, attempted "The Lean", a move that normally induces extreme relaxation in anyone within a ten-foot radius. This time, however, with the wrong couch and the wrong person, it resulted in an unexpected feat of balance—a stilted sort of half-lean that left her precariously wobbling while still managing to look remarkably comfortable. Meanwhile, Harlequin continued to sell the grandeur of his visibile invisible ensemble, occasionally pointing to a non-existent embroidery feature and exclaiming how "the patterns seemed to shift in the moonlight".

The climax came not as a bang but a slow, drawn-out creak—as if the very essence of relaxation had leaned too far. Harlequin, caught in his own grandeur, drifted too close to Recliner Reggie’s imposter, just as Susan finally found the perfect pivot on the couch. With an effortless swivel, she—he? they?—accidentally sent a bowl of snacks flying directly into Harlequin’s path. Harlequin's grin faltered—just a twitch—as a handful of cheese puffs stuck to his ethereal "costume". A few puffs landed perfectly on his head, almost forming a makeshift crown.

The crowd fell silent for a moment, as if holding its breath—and then Art Steelmoor, from his vantage point, spoke up with a shiver in his voice, "A cheese puff crown... Truly, a puffy king is one of the most frightening things I know". He gave a solemn nod.  He unfurled a scroll—why he had a scroll, nobody knew—and announced, "Tonight’s winner, by virtue of snack-enhanced regal terror, is Harlequin and the Derry Ballooons [sic]!".

Harlequin bowed, the cheese puffs somehow only adding to his mystique. Lazy Susan leaned back with a sigh—or maybe it was Reggie-as-Susan. Harlem Couch Potatoes had lost, but there was comfort in knowing they had barely moved in the process. The Couch itself from the other side of the screen emitted a soft, approving creak, as if to say, "Victory is fleeting, but comfort is ethereal".

Harlem Couch Potatoes began the slow process of getting up (or maybe not) while the Derry Ballooons [sic] drifted onward to their next bout of chaos.