The Spirit Halloween doesn't have a convenient staple gun or even thread and needle to do stitches, so this is going to get patched up with mummy gauze and cheerful bat and candy corn washi tape. The good news is that Pratt actually knows what he's doing so Pickles won't bleed out. He could make that happen though, he could shove his fingers into the wound and rip his whole jugular out - but he doesn't. All the fight has gone out of him and the adrenaline crash is hitting hard.

"The cat yeah. We were looking for Guatauva, and we ripped the whole fucking bar apart thinking he might be trapped in an object. You know like a shiny jewel or a coin or something. And then I suggested maybe we just ask the bartender? So Izzy did and this cat showed up. It was just sitting there on the bartop all glowing, more like uh.. the silhouette of a cat but light rather than shadow." He finishes taping Pickles up, sitting back on his heels and looking at the ground, brow furrowing as he tries to remember this in the sequence it happened. "Izzy tried to pet it, and that didn't work, his hand went right through it. But then when he said the name Guatauva it attacked him, started clawing the ever loving shit out of his arms but instead of bleeding it's claws were like..."

Pratt pauses, a coughing fit overtaking him, thanks for fucking up his voice even more, asshole. "Every swipe was sucking out Izzy's.. life force I guess. His whole arm went white and dead when I pulled them apart. And then the cat disappeared. We think it needs a sacrifice, needs someone's life so it can manifest. But uh.. I don't think that's why the place is falling apart. Or why Sh--Pickles showed up. Unless the cat let them all out, or I guess Guatauva, if that's him."

But he doesn't really know that, maybe he and Izzy cursed the whole place in their fervor over finding some sort of leverage over the Captain.

"You talking about Jenny?"