[ It isn't the first blizzard Ray's ever experienced, of course, although it certainly surprises him nonetheless, given that he never imagined California (even further north) even could get snowstorms. Watching the way the snow comes down weirdly makes Ray grateful that, if he had to be married to a woman again, it's someone like Ellie, who's got a similar instinct as him when it comes to practical survival skills. Ray may not have grown up in an apocalypse, but...

Anyway, not knowing what more to expect from this place, the two of them had luckily thought to stock up on a few essentials earlier in the month, food and blankets and batteries, gas cans, flashlights -- winter essentials, really, as far as Ray's concerned, because he's never not lived somewhere that didn't get cold enough to snow you in or knock out the power -- so if he happens to see anyone outside caught up in the storm from his window, Ray may well invite them in to warm up and wait until the snowfall ebbs enough for them to make it all the way to their own home. ]

[ As far as the lake goes, well, it is unpleasant, but Ray can't help but be briefly thankful in the moment to have an unfeeling wooden hand strapped around his arm perfect for breaking through the ice with, although it isn't enough. The freezing water is making his body lock up, his legs entirely, disturbingly, familiarly numb, so he nearly goes under a few times before managing to drag himself out and lay on the shore like a limp pile of rags until some of the feeling returns to his extremities. He has no idea how he'll get home like this, but rather than worry about that, Ray focuses first just on getting to his feet, making his legs move even if it's with an icy stiffness that makes them feel as if they're filled with broken glass rather than bones.

It's a no-brainer that he heads right to Santa's Workshop as soon as he sees the lights are on, not knowing exactly what he'll find there (dry clothes? a warm drink? someone to give him a ride home?) but knowing he won't last like this outside for much longer. Then...

Ray feels great, actually, mind bright and pain forgotten. A lot of things forgotten, really-- even getting home from the Christmas Village feels like a blur, but not in an unpleasant way. It all worked out, after all, and anyway, it's Christmas! Who can stay upset during this time of year?

The next day or so (next few days, really) will be a bit of a blur as well, Ray making the most of his Christmas spirit. He finally gets a job down at the department store -- he needed one anyway, but also hello, money for gifts? and perhaps food for a dinner party? -- where maybe you'll see him alternating between the makeup and men's cologne counters on the days the store's able to stay open, rarely without a scarf around his neck and wearing one of several holiday sweaters, or he'll be at home decorating, baking, and gift wrapping. Are you a neighbor? Stop on by for shelter during the storm, and maybe you'll get to leave with a tupperware full of fresh Christmas cookies too. ]

( *ooc | assume the Robbification can be applied to/during any of the prompts, as appropriate; it won't be affecting Ray for the entire event, hence the listed dates, so if you have a preference for before/during/after please specify! )

[ Seemingly immune to the holiday stress (not to mention stress of any other kind), on Christmas morning Ray is pleasantly surprised by his gift rather than disappointed, putting it up on a shelf like it's some bizarrely charming tchotchke, before he steps outside into the newly fallen peace and quiet, waving and saying hello to any passing neighbors (or customers, if he's at work, merrily spritzing people with Vetiver 1961) as if nothing devastating has been going on the past couple of weeks at all. ]

Good morning! Merry Christmas! [ At work, with a bright, perky Stepford smile: ] Let me tell y'all about our after-holiday sales!

[ Or, if it's after the 26th... the difference in his mood will be apparent, probably like night and day, crabby like he's nursing the world's worst hangover no matter where he is. Almost by reflex when spoken to, he's likely to snap: ]

Oh, fuck off. Do not even start with me about which one of us had a shittier Christmas.