robbies: (Default)
TRANQUILIZERS ([personal profile] robbies) wrote in [community profile] logsville2020-12-01 06:00 pm

DECEMBER 2020 EVENT - PART 1


CHAPTER ONE, PART 1: A HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAY

Do you hear what I hear?


DECEMBER 5th | A MYSTERIOUS VILLAGE | THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

DECEMBER 5th

Don’t you hate to be the last to know?

Out of the windows of your brand new homes, you spot families trotting along in their happy, nuclear units. Stores and restaurants have closed early—on main street, where jingle bells hang from every door, the only souls to be seen are heading toward the town hall, where wreaths hang around the stone lions’ necks. A stage, awash in string lighting, has been erected with three chairs sitting empty behind a podium. Policemen with their smiles and baby-blues stand guard before it; they too are not allowed beyond the velvet ropes. Twenty feet tall—near to reaching the tip-top of the clock tower—a mass is hidden by black tarps. This is the most guarded of all, ringed by no less than twelve junior policemen standing vigil around the clock.

At sundown, you start to see what’s to come.

As the crowd swells, bundled in their coats and scarves, the ladies with silk scarves drawn around their perfectly coiffed hairstyles, three figures take to the stage:
Chief of Police, Dale Harding, who must constantly slip away and bend his ear to listen to one of his boys, giving orders with long sighs, firm words, and grumbles as he takes his seat again. Occasionally one sees a flash of silver moving from his lapel up to his lips, but surely that must only be his policeman’s badge that he kisses, because he loves his town so very, very much!

The Happy Homes Association—or at least, their junior representative. Her bright and shining pin of office sits hidden behind the tremendous fruit basket poised upon her lap, where green and scarlet cellophane cannot quite hide the fruitcake inside the way it does her name. How does she keep her teeth so white and her lipstick so clean and red? Subscribe to their newsletter and read Cathy’s Cosmetic Can-Dos! column to find out!
Mayor Phillip Clarke—well, Phil to his friends. He takes his place at the podium, his top hat inky black, leather gloves oiled and bright, and draws all the town’s breathless attention. He taps the microphone. Once—the crowd inhales—twice—their eyes shine as they look up—three times

“Gooooood evening, Santa Rosita!”

The crowd goes wild as Clarke bellows. Eventually, he raises both arms and gestures for them to quiet down.

“I want to thank each and every one of you for coming out, especially on a school night!” Like the admonishing parent, he wags a knowing finger at several teens in the crowd. “Believe you me, on a night like this, I know how tempting it is to stay home and curl up on the couch with a good book. And,” he adds with a wink to a woman in the front of the crowd, “maybe some of Margie's famous hot chocolate.”

Laughter ripples through the crowd. Again, Clarke patiently waits until they’re finished before continuing, “But that's exactly what makes our little town so special. No matter the time, every day of the week there's always someone out there who will sacrifice something for the better of the community. Be it the energy to get this terrific tree set up—” he gestures to the tree, “—the patience to string twenty yards of lights up—which, I might add, have been generously donated by our pals at Honeybees—or even just time.”

Clarke’s tone turns solemn, but his face remains fixed in a winning smile. “Santa Rosita isn't just a town. It's a family. Each and every one of you out here tonight is a valued member. Even all you new faces out there!” He points to several newcomers in the crowd in what might almost be an accusatory manner if not for the smile on his face. “Don't think I can't see you! Tonight, you have become part of that family. Santa Rosita is your home now. It's through our traditions that we endure, and it's my sincerest wish that you, all of you, will join together with us and help us keep them alive for years to come.”

The crowd applauds, everyone turning to face the new families. As Harding takes a swig from a flask he pulls out of his pocket and the HHA representative continues to beam at the audience with her too-white smile, Clarke fully turns to the tree and pumps his fist in the air, riling the crowd back up.

“And now, without further ado, let's RING. IN. THE HOLIDAYS!”
As his words come to a close, at last the tarp is pulled away—revealing twenty feet of pure, polished, brilliant...

...aluminium christmas tree.

Quick as the busy bees they are, the Happy Homes Association is there to announce that you can buy both table-sized and home-use duplicates for your own homes! The cost is $8 for the little ones and $18.50 for the big trees—get your wallets ready!

As the crowd stampedes toward their own tiny and/or six-foot silver replicas, the three figures on the stage are hurried away. The HHA representative presents their gift basket to the Mayor. He kisses her on both cheeks, rubbing his belly in anticipation of the deliciousness to come, and hurries on. Chief Harding takes the rear, casting back a sour look, and before you have a chance to see if the three could answer any questions, the stage is empty again.

...well, get in line! You want those trees too, don’t you?

↑ back to top ↑


A MYSTERIOUS VILLAGE

The days are getting colder and the entire town seems to be getting into the holiday spirit, between the tree lighting ceremony and the decorations your neighbors are putting up. But something seems to want you to get into the Christmas spirit as well—you haven’t done anything out of the ordinary, but when you open the door, you’re met by a burst of frigid air carrying the scents of gingerbread and peppermint on it.

Stepping through the door, you are not in Santa Rosita any more.

Well, technically, you are; you’re just down by Rose Garden Park, before the Old Growth starts. But it’s not where you thought you were going, and it doesn’t resemble the normal streets of suburbia now. You’ve stepped into a charming Christmas village, packed with all sorts of fun winter activities and sights to see! The ground is covered in pure white snow that never seems to melt into slush, and the sounds of high, sweet jingle bells fill the air as a team of reindeer haul a sleigh past. Maybe that’s Santa’s sleigh they’re pulling?
As you walk into the village, a red pole demands your attention, placed in such a way that no one can miss it. A letter is attached to it:

’Twas the month before Christmas and all through the town
The people were smiling; there was nary a frown!
They entered my village, all brimming with cheer
And knew that quite soon, old St. Nick would be here
There's skating and snowmen and light shows galore
There's even a place to make wreaths for your door!
But somewhere inside there's a mailbox to find
And Santa may bring you what's most on your mind…

As the letter suggests, the village is full of hustle and bustle. Santa’s elves—Robbies decked out in red and green costumes with matching tights and jingle bell boots—are everywhere, making sure that there’s always plenty of holiday treats available for visitors to eat and drink. The nearby pond is iced over and the elf manning the ice skate exchange station seems to be able to guess your perfect size with a glance, while reindeer racing courses have been set up encircling the village. All of the buildings and many of the trees have been lined with lights, warm and bright, and there are stations set up where visitors can make garlands or wreaths to take back with them to the real world.

The real world? Yes, of course—that boring place with work and school and vacuuming! Though the door you initially walked through may have turned into a station for making gingerbread houses, you can hoof it back to your home in Shadyside at any time. The public library is just that way, past the baseball diamond! Any time you open a door, however, you run a risk of finding that it leads back to the village, where the elves are waiting to ensure you enjoy your visit. You can try to close the door and open it again, but who knows if your luck has changed?

The organizers of the village seem to be most insistent that you come and enjoy yourself—flyers are all around town, stuffed in your mailbox, and pinned on bulletin boards. Though some signs on lampposts seem as though they’ve been torn down in a huff, you still can spot them on Main Street: “Visit Santa Rosita’s Very Own Christmas Village!”

And visit it you will.

While the elves are happy to welcome visitors to their village, they also have to work. Christmas toys don’t build themselves, you know! The elves will point out Santa’s Workshop to you, where you can buy freshly made candy canes, charming ornaments for your new aluminum Christmas trees (you did buy one from the Happy Homes Association, didn’t you?), and other sundries and stocking stuffers. There’s even a German-style bar in the back serving hot chocolate and mulled wine—non-alcoholic, of course; this is a family event. Just outside of the workshop’s entrance is a mailbox, its post swirled red and white and wrapped in garlands. A small desk sits next to the mailbox with a stack of stationery, envelopes pre-addressed to Santa Claus at the North Pole, and pens on top.

At the top of the stationery, beside cutesy illustrations of hippos and children missing their front teeth, are the words, “What I want most for Christmas is…”

Why not write Santa a letter? What have you got to lose?

↑ back to top ↑


THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

...to the annual Christmas gala, beginning at 4:00 pm sharp at Santa Rosita’s stately town hall! The invitation appears in your mailbox with just enough time for you to gather all your family and go shopping, because you certainly want to look your best. You simply must. The who’s who of the town will be there, all wearing their finest velvet dresses and shined black shoes. Be warned that the dress code will be strictly enforced by the Happy Home Association—only red and green allowed, or else it simply isn’t festive. Men in bright red or green suits - women sporting taffeta skirts in complementing shades - pinned corsages and matching handbags - no detail left untouched!

You wouldn’t want to be caught standing out from the crowd, would you? In the Mayor’s presence?

That might be a bad idea.

But the holidays do get the better of us sometimes, don’t they? The HHA understands, and if on the day of the party you have found yourself without a red or green garment, they have some loaners to wear. If you’ll simply follow Mrs. Jones down to the coat room, she can show you some options.

  • For the ladies (and female-presenting), they offer up beautiful green or red dresses as loaner. ”It matches the metal trees!” the coat clerk brightly tells you, her own dress as shimmery as they come.

  • For the gentlemen(ly presenting among you), fresh off the rack at the local Sears Roebuck department store, these fetching blazers are available, complete with matching trousers.

In front of you in line is someone who very clearly does not have the Christmas spirit flowing through them, judging by how they wish to argue with the HHA about these “loaner garments.” How rude! But don’t worry—when you see the once-irascible individual later by the punch bowl, there’s a glassy smile on their face and they’re decked out in jolly green and poppy red, happy as—well, a kid on Christmas morning.

Tables are laid out with food and drink aplenty. Even the sandwich loaf has made its effort to match the decor, as red poinsettias and holly berries dot the windows (careful children—they’re poisonous) and rich green pines occupy every corner. Move outside of the room and you’ll find nothing more than locked and darkened offices, with the occasional policemen and night guards shaking their fingers at you to go back and enjoy the party. This is a night to be merry and drink some mocktails, not to go through the filing!

Up by the fine wood paneling and brilliant metal tree stands the mayor himself. Looking dashing as Santa Claus, a cluster of parents flock nearby beaming as their child gets their photo taken with Mayor Clarke! That’s certainly going in the Christmas newsletter! Each of them has a little present—perfectly wrapped, just see Grandma’s Gift Wrapping Guide in this month’s HHA newsletter—to give to the Mayor for all his hard work this year.

You didn’t think that stack of presents by Santa’s chair was for him to pass out, did you?

Between music sets (graciously played by the Frederick Loren High School marching band), the Mayor stands—the hall falls silent, all the little cups and plates still in jolly hands. He has a speech to give you all, you fine citizens, faces old and new:

“Ho-ho-hi there, Santa Rosita! And how are we enjoying ourselves tonight? I see some of our new families were able to make it out tonight—is that Richard O’Reilly and the missus?” Using a hand to shade his eyes, Clarke squints into the throng of townspeople. “And Jim Astin with Lucy and little Susie! Wow. Isn’t that something?”

In the back of the room, Chief Harding pours himself a glass of punch, takes a sip, then reaches into his suit jacket for his flask.
“Now, in my house,” Clarke continues, “we have a rule not to open any presents until Christmas Day, but with all the ones I've gotten tonight, it's just too darn tempting.” Reaching down, he takes a box from the pile of gifts at his feet. “I think this one's a tackle box, and I'm pretty sure this—” he reaches down for another smaller box, “—is that electric razor I’ve had my eye on.” He shakes the box, chuckling, as the rest of the crowd joins him.

“But let's get serious for a moment.” Clarke’s expression turns thoughtful. “Although getting a truckload of Christmas presents is swell, do you want to know what the greatest gift you've given me is?” He pauses performatively, waiting for an answer from the crowd that never comes.

“The greatest gift you've all given me... is letting me serve you.”

In the back, Harding ditches the punch cup and just drinks straight from the flask.

“I'm honored to be here with you all tonight,” Clarke continues proudly, “just I am honored to be able to wake up every morning, look in the mirror and tell myself that I... am your mayor. Which is why I want to give something back to you. How many of you have already visited Santa's little village?”

There’s a round of cheering in the front of the audience from the many children in attendance with their parents. Clarke opens his arms wide.

“My idea! I decided that if I can't bring Santa Rosita to the North Pole, I'm going to bring the North Pole to Santa Rosita. Enjoy yourselves! Saint Nick's got a lot of work to do before Christmas. So be good, don’t pout, and for goodness sake—have fun!

The clapping threatens to take down the garlands hung from chandeliers. ”A fine orator!” “Reminds me of the war, when we heard Churchill over the radio. Why, Clarke gives him a run for his money, ha ha ha!”

A delightful HHA elf comes to replenish the pickle tree on the appetizer table, and the covers of Bing Crosby carry you away into the night.

Remember to stay until 9:00 pm, when the Santa Rosita Children’s Choir will start caroling!

↑ back to top ↑


OOC INFO

Welcome to the first part of the event! You can use this entry to top-level for the event, but feel free to use the log and network communities as well.

A few things to keep in mind: Firstly, there is no return portal back into town once your character is teleported into the Christmas village. They will have to walk back on foot or get lucky and catch a ride from a helpful citizen.

Secondly, please be mindful of how your character interacts with the setting. While characters are welcome to explore the town and ask questions, Santa Rosita is still a happy little suburb in the 1960s, where appearances matter and acting too out of line from commonly accepted societal norms can come with their own unique consequences. We do not intend to punish players for their curiosity, but be aware that the townsfolk may not be so understanding of wanton disrespect for their ways!

And thirdly, the NPCs will not be available for interactions. At the party, Harding will leave early and Clarke will leave to handle other business. Santa does have a schedule to keep, after all.

Any questions can go in our FAQ thread below. Try to check and see if your question has already been answered on the plotting thread first here.

Remember--Part 2 of this event is coming December 15th!

▶ NAVIGATION ◀
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OOC INFO premise | rules | faq | taken | applications | hiatus/drop/canon updates | activity check | reserves | mod contact
SETTING INFO calendar | setting | housing | npcs | death and tranquilizing | event suggestions/engagements
undiagnosed: (bisexual idiot jail)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Sounds like something you should probably work out, idiot. If you don't show up then they'll fire you.

[if he... you know... has one? archer realises he doesn't know he has one either and seeing as he woke up in a hous with a woman in the same position... does that mean there's people in other houses in the same situation...?

archer gives daylight a flat look as he flicks an errant branch off his shoulder.]


You know, being this polite to someone who just broke into your house is giving me serial killer vibes. Just throwing that out there.
undiagnosed: (pic#14468691)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Yeah. Space pirates. [and that 1999 dream sequence, but he's not going to mention that. he finds it best if he doesn't talk about any of his coma dreams at all, for himself and to avoid confusing other people. all it leads to is questions he has no interest in answering.] I stopped them from taking over a Mars base because everyone else in my agency are fucking useless.

[he rubs his temple, shaking his head as he takes a flask out to drink from. it's almost empty -- he was on his way to the kitchen to refill when he'd ended up here. fucking santa rosita. fucking california.]

I'm gonna get a cab back. You got money?
undiagnosed: (pic#14468713)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 06:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Are you seriously expecting the answer to that to be yes? Who wants to be stabbed? I mean... except masochists, I guess.

[he keeps his eye on the knife, ready to try and, you know, avoid getting stabbed if she moves to attack him. he can think of a few ways to disarm her and avoid being gutted like the world's most annoying fish in the process.]

No, I don't want to be stabbed. Happy?
undiagnosed: (pic#14468598)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)
I feel like-- hang on. [he pulls himself out the window, landing on his back in the tiled kitchen with a pained grunt.] --like the what is pretty obvious.

[he pulls himself up on the counter, wobbling slightly in place.]

I'll trust you to show yourself out the door.

[archer might... think he's in his own house, here.]
thepsyingnun: (Default)

[personal profile] thepsyingnun 2020-12-03 07:14 pm (UTC)(link)
What respectable person breaks into a house? I cannot fathom what you may want, sir. Am I to trust it isn't to assault us?

[She's pretty sure it isn't, considering the general tone of this odd conversation, so she lets the knife lower a little.]
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: PUZZLING)

Papyrus | Undertale

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-03 07:26 pm (UTC)(link)
EARLY DAYS (Dec 1st - 4th)
A: WAKING UP KNOCHENMUS - Kiara
[Papyrus startles awake from dreams of a human life, the sounds of crashing windows and distant shouts fading from his ears in the quiet of his bedroom... Or, a bedroom. He seems to wake up. But it's yet another unfamiliar room, and his arms aren't skeletal, and it seems the sounds are fading from actual human ears.]

I didn't know... you could dream in a dream?

[Really, you learn new things every day. Is this part the dream within the dream, or was that the first bit?]


B: [NETWORK] WALKIE TALKIE TEXTING - open to all, addressed to Sans
[Maybe an hour or two into waking, everyone's wrist radios - wherever they've been left - light up with sudden capslocking.]

SANS ARE YOU HERE?? OVER.

[Listen, with how new yet old-fashioned all of the technology looks, maybe they have to type "over" like it's a telegram. He doesn't know for sure.]


C: LOST ROBOT
[All around Shadyside, people can spot Mr. Knochenmus in his bright red Lincoln Continental, driving upwards of fifteen miles an hour, without even winding up on the sidewalks now. Learning to drive in a dream: you could easily see a 300% improvement.

It would seem he's misplaced a pet or something, with the way he's tacking up posters here and there... but anyone who inspects them more closely will instead find this: a HAVE YOU SEEN THIS ROBOT poster, with a large black stamp depicting a box shape on a wheel, waving at anyone who looks its way. At the bottom, the poster instructs readers to call Papyrus if they have... but it neglects to include a number to call.

Maybe you catch the moment when Mr. Knochenmus realizes that, when he spins around to the last poster he put up, and dashes over to handwrite that at the very bottom.]

GETTING INTO THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT (Dec 5th - 14th)
D: ILLUMINATING LOOMIS DRIVE
[If the HHA's enthusiastic sponsoring of the aluminum trees is anything, it's a blue flag reminding him of the functionality of jack-o-lanterns. He remembers run-ins with the zombies, between being chased, and hearing others' danger over the radio, and those vivid red gashes in his brothers' arm. If this holiday is enforced as energetically - maybe by those friendly elves or something? - then he wants to get ahead of the curve.

To that end, Papyrus dumps a lot of time and money into decorations. The tree, yes, but also yard decor. Little window candles, wreathes, string lights, home-made fake snowmen to dot the yards... You name it, and by 1961 technology you got it.

More to the point, you got it. His neighbors on the odd side of Loomis Drive will find Papyrus stopping by, as neighborly as any of the gifters of gelatin back in October... Except instead of coming to the door and announcing himself, he's just helpfully installing a couple of decorations on everyone's property. Better safe than sorry!]



E: SURPRISE SNOWTOWN
[Going through a doorway to suddenly find himself in a different location is an all-too-familiar experience. Sure, it lacked the brief blanking out of the world, no jolt or sound to announce when things were back in place... but familiar, and all too easily to know who to blame.]

SANS!! Did you magic me here???

[He didn't know magic was working - it hasn't been for him - but rest assured he'll be interrogating his brother on the matter. But he only shouts like that for so long, and only up until he gets answers from his brother.

The rest of the times he finds himself in the holiday village, he explores and enjoys the snow - as best he can, with the cold. It's so busy with activities, and vibrantly colorful decorations. But if he squints, and just focuses on the snow and lights on the decorative houses...]


It almost looks like Snowdin.

GOLLY GOSH IT'S A GALA (Dec 15th)
F: IS FOR FASHION
[In what is becoming a distressing trend in this town, there's yet another social event coming up with almost no warning! Almost no prep time! Fortunately, he already has a red blazer, which with white shirt and black slacks is surely enough to satisfy the HHA's requirements - red's the only color in it, after all!

With that justification well in hand, he's using this pre-Gala time to hit up a barbershop and get a little help getting his hair as styled as it could be. Audible from the street is his instruction to the barber:]


Formal... but still cool!!

G: GETTING THE PARTY JITTERS
[As it turns out, just a colorful blazer is not quite enough, and Papyrus finds himself the... happy... lendee of a shinier red suit. If he's less than thrilled about it, it's not because he hates borrowing, or even because he dislikes the reflectiveness - he's seen celebrities in flashier outfits than this and cheered. It's just that he thought he'd figured out the rules, and hadn't, quite. Which leads to another worry, as Mayor Clarke finishes that speech.]

Were we supposed to bring presents?? I think they left that off, on my invitation...

WILDCARD
[ooc: You know the drill, there's so many possible prompts and so little time to write them all. If none of these suit but you want to run into the ex-skeleton, catch me on the plotting post, hit this journal or my plurk with a pm [personal profile] swirlingflight, or gamble on writing a prompt of your own!

He'll be around the house fairly often, between decorating and getting the hang of the tools of this time period... But he'll also spend time out on the town, whether driving, checking out the latest fashions in stores or peering in at barber shops, and probably even trying out some part-time jobs.

Also, feel free to use prose or [brackets] as you prefer, I match styles.]
Edited 2020-12-03 19:28 (UTC)
righthandstand: (breaks into your house)

Okuyasu Nijimura | JJBA | OTA

[personal profile] righthandstand 2020-12-03 07:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Waking Up, Closed to Miguel O'Hara

[This is not his bed. This is not his house. Where is the peeling wallpaper, the bare floors, the sound of Dad crawling around in the hallway? Okuyasu fights his way out of the warm, comfortable bed to look out the window and sees that this is not Japan at all.

According to the weather and calendar, apparently it's already winter. So was he kidnapped and knocked out for a few months? Where are Josuke and the others? Are there more Stand users they forgot about in Morioh?

Okuyasu steals some clean, ironed clothes from whoever owns this room (are they in someone's house while they're out on vacation?) and sneaks downstairs, where there is thankfully a newspaper left for them on the kitchen table. He leans over the table get a good idea of where he is-]


What the fuck?!

Christmas Village

[The first time Okuyasu opens a door and sees something other than the living room, he slams it shut and and backs away from his house as if it was ready to attack him. Maybe it was, who knows when the actual Stand user will show up.

After 10 minutes in the cold, he decides, fuck it, might as well see who's in there and beat them up.

...An hour has passed, and this is Okuyasu's third trip to the candy shop, filling up his pockets with sweets, grabbing another mug of mulled not-wine, and running back to the workshops and races screaming in excitement.]


Never mind what I said! This place rules!

Gala

[Okuyasu looks at the teenage-sized suit and...honestly, it's something that would not be out of place in his universe. It's too bright for his own tastes.] But it's not all that bad if it means I can get into the party. Where's the changin' room?

[He comes out, unbuttoning half of the suit, just enough to be let in while making sure that no one mistakes him for being a square. Apart from stacking his plate with cake, meat, and cursed dishes, he finds a spot on the floor near the darkened areas and claims it as his own.]

Hey, I'm gonna try everything here. Wanna see? [He holds up a forkful of jelly pickles.] This whole party's boring as shit, anyway.
undiagnosed: (pic#14468845)

christmas, b

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 07:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[having been transported to the same place, again, when he absolutely didn't want to, again, archer is in no mood for hot chocolate. he assumes peter to be one of the robbies trying to hoist more crap onto him he doesn't want.

archer stares peter in the eye for a long few moments, eyes narrowing...

then slaps the hot chocolate out his hands and onto the snow.]
righthandstand: (tough guy)

[personal profile] righthandstand 2020-12-03 07:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Or at least a regular bus passing by. I asked if there was supposed to be a route headin' back earlier in the day, but everyone looked so confused.

[Hell has no public transportation.]

Nothin' better break on the walk. [As he holds out a large paper bag that is filled with decorations, Christmas treats, and hot cocoa mixes.]
ribticklers: (133)

B

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-03 07:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[It's nearly afternoon when Sans replies, partially because he woke up later and partially because he's not yet in the habit of checking this weird watch internet regularly. But even without Papyrus's font, there's only one person who would be capslocking directly at him, so he hardly has to check the name of the sender.]

what's up?
over


[Sans doesn't think you actually have to put "over" on these, but of course he's going to play along. As long as he doesn't forget.]
undiagnosed: (pic#14468744)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 07:55 pm (UTC)(link)
[his expression shifts when sans mentions kidnapping, just slightly. archer's intelligence (gathering) can be questionable, but he's not about to ignore something dumped into his lap like that.]

Uh, yeah, the alcoholic that's already run away from all his responsibilities? [...he could be talking about himself and he seems to realise this with a light wince, even if sans has no context for it.] Yeah, I think I'll pass on that one. I give it a week before he's sacked in some kind of adultery related controversy.
shalamayne: (22)

skating~

[personal profile] shalamayne 2020-12-03 08:01 pm (UTC)(link)
The novelty of the Christmas village is quick to wear off in Anduin's opinion, though at least this time he's appropriately dressed for the cold. Last time he had opened a door and wound up in this place in his pajamas — that had been one very hasty (and freezing) retreat.

Still Anduin can't resist the urge to don the ice skates when he sees the rink the people have set up. It brings back memories of Winter Veil, of the occasional brief times he'd been able to spend with his father, throwing snow at each other and having a laugh before duty swiftly caught up with them. Anduin isn't an expert at ice skating but he soon enough finds his balance on the ice, slowly making circles around the rink with the rest of the crowd as he takes a few moments to clear his mind. New place, strange people, a mayor who claims to be in charge. Everything is bizarre but he's not the only one stuck in this; there are others too who hail from other worlds. Whatever is at work here is immensely powerful and Anduin knows that right now fretting isn't going to help him. A nice clear mind will bring answers and clarity on things —

I will do so when I am ready. Anduin knows that voice, instantly snapping out of this thoughts to look over in the direction it came from. Blue eyes widen as he spots Wrathion. So people from his own world were here too? The rush of emotion is an almost overwhelming mixture; relief that someone familiar is here, but also a sense of wariness. Of all the beings, it was the one Anduin was most unsure about.

The young king of Stormwind skates over. He should extend the hand of friendship, should offer to help Wrathion find his feet upon the ice rather than looking like a newborn fawn taking it's first steps.

"Wrathion.....?"

Anduin would offer a hand but now he's here he can see the emotion on Wrathion's face. Actual emotion in his eyes and the priest bites back the surprise at the fact that said eyes are no longer a red glow. No wonder he can see the irritation. Perhaps offering help will not go down so well.....

"I don't believe their amusement is malicious."
shalamayne: (25)

[personal profile] shalamayne 2020-12-03 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)
For once Anduin is actually appropriately dressed for the cold this time. He's managed to avoid the door trap that leads to cold places when one is in their pajamas this time! Now he's able to look around and try to find out what he can, speaking to a local here or there to see if they say anything new. Most would call it snooping, Anduin would call it reconaisance. That's what his master spy would call it and that counts!

Things seem quiet enough, unnerving almost and Anduin sighs. Looks like today is another bust in finding a way out of here. He turns to make his way home, startling when he bumps straight into someone. Just like Huaisang he apologises, putting a hand out to try and steady the other person.

"I apologise, I was not looking where I was going." Anduin pauses, taking note of the helpless look. It's something a lot of them are probably feeling, himself included in this strange place. It's enough to let Anduin know that this person is probably not a local and he gives a small smile. "That would make two of us. It's difficult to find a way around this place."
righteously: (¹⁵ Tʜᴇ ʜɪɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴜʀʏ)

𝓌𝒾𝓁𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒹 → 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀

[personal profile] righteously 2020-12-03 08:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Dean Winchester wakes up before the asscrack of dawn. That's not exactly new in and of itself, he tends to rock four hours of sleep most nights — less in Purgatory. What drags him up to consciousness is the feel of somebody else in the room. Unfamiliar breathing, the general sense of a space being unexpectedly occupied by a foreign entity. High-alert wariness has him moving through the place silently, mouthing what the f- to himself every three seconds.

Who's the broad?
Where the hell is he?
Who the hell is good enough at photoshop to stick his face on creepy family photos?
Who's the kid and why does he look familiar?
And-- he cannot stress this one enough-- where the hell is he?

He spends a solid hour scoping the place out for clues, diligent about not waking up the randos. Spends another two hours stealing (his own?) car and driving around a barely-awake town with frustratingly minimal intel earned.

All that is basically a long way of saying: by the time someone else makes it down to the kitchen any time after sun-up, he's sitting at a table already re-assembling a gun. That's bound to be a fantastic first impression, especially when you take into account the hard expression on his face and the tight energy in every line of his body. No real attempt to conceal the staring.

That purgatory PTSD hasn't wound down yet. Sorry, bud.
ribticklers: (133)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-03 09:01 pm (UTC)(link)
[Sans sure is glad he's not carrying the tree, it sounds like it takes a lot of effort! But--bus crash. That was--October. Okay, so maybe...] I just spent most of my time eating a lot of weird gelatin. If there are any more bus crashes, I'll keep 'em to myself.
ribticklers: (125)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-03 09:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Yeah, that'd be great. [Honestly, Sans could probably handle the tree, since it's made of aluminum and not actual tree, but... He doesn't want to. Sans gets back to his feet and reaches back to crack his spine just a bit (at least some of his skeleton tricks are still there; he can reliably get most any joint to crack). Since Erwin clearly remembers him, Sans figures talking about October won't be too bad, as long as he's vague.] After all that weird stuff at the end of October? Figured I should go along with the holidays. Anyway, look at this thing, it's great.

[So shiny! So garish! Amazing! Sans has not yet moved to actually help with the tree, he's just admiring it again.]
ribticklers: (126)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-03 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)
I'll show you if you give me a nickel. [WINK. Come on, it's just five cents, you know you want to!]
ribticklers: (133)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-03 09:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[Is that what this place is called? Sans has heard Santa Rosita, California, and now America. He's sure those are nested places. Maybe he'll look it up sometime to figure out what's inside of what. (But probably not.)]

Yeah, back home the trees are trees, but man, if I can bring this thing home with me, I totally will. [He's imagining it either on the balcony in his and Papyrus's house in Snowdin or right in front of Toriel's house in the ruins.] But the way people are talkin' here, Christmas is later in the month, so maybe they moved the feast.
ribticklers: (122)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-03 09:13 pm (UTC)(link)
[Sans isn't going to question anyone wincing at the idea of responsibility; no matter the context, it's a fair reaction.] I dunno, have you heard some of the people who live here? Sounds like they love the guy.

[Sans honestly isn't sure if they're just all politely ignoring the alcohol thing or if they really are seeing it as him kissing his badge. Everyone actually from here is so weird.]
undiagnosed: (pic#14468582)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Kind of gross, though...

[archer, meanwhile, is picturing a shellfish sticking out of his drink.]

Well, whatever, it's not like you people have any idea about anything even remotely fun. I mean, have you ever even left this shitty town?
undiagnosed: (pic#14468721)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 09:41 pm (UTC)(link)
No, [he says, a little irritably.] I'm not going to hurt you. Not unless you try to stab me. So we're at an impasse.

[...not really.]

What I was hoping for, instead of some condescending old woman, was some answers.

[a beat.] ...And some more gin.
righteously: (¹⁵ I ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴘᴀʀᴋʟɪɴɢ ᴇᴀʀʀ)

ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ

[personal profile] righteously 2020-12-03 10:30 pm (UTC)(link)
So, he's seen some weird crap since he got here. The black eyed children were pretty normal for him, stepford neighbors less so, he's seen things put in jello molds that really defy all natural and social law.

And then there's this.

So he's walking, and he catches it out of his peripheral vision. Winds up taking a few more steps before it actually processes, and then he backpedals two or three with his brow scrunching up. Obviously rubbernecking, unapologetically.


What's with the cavity graveyard, Dr. Pepper?
undiagnosed: (pic#14468590)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-03 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)
Uh, yeah, the characters in this Orwellian nightmare come to life? I'm sure I trust what they think.

[they-- he's differentiating sans from the rest of the town. seems it clicked that sans is in the same situation as archer is, though he's well aware there's other people by now. he sure broke into enough houses to work that one out.]

Wonder what they'll do when we stop collectively laying low.
feudalladyshandmaid: (Hmm)

Cassandra | Tangled: The Series

[personal profile] feudalladyshandmaid 2020-12-03 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[a: the world looks so wide]
[Another illusionary world that wants to psyche her out? No thank you.

But this place wasn't like anything out of even Cassandra's earliest memories, even worse, everything was solid. Just that simple fact was a shock to her nerves. Rising anxiety clamped around her throat the more and more she learned about her new "home", and her new "husband". And, by that point, all the anxiety just... stopped.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope. Time to leave.

Cassandra makes a point to throw on something from her "closet". Better that than making a sight of herself wandering about in pajamas; actually, that was the exact opposite of what Cassandra wanted. From the moment she's out the front door, Cassandra ducks into a hedge, than a fence, and finally behind a neighboring house as she makes her way down the neighborhood. Stick to hiding spots, remain unseen.

Except.... everything looks the same. So at least once, you'll probably spot a young woman start to dart across a street before very quickly switching to a casual strut.
]

Good morning [Her face is masked in a tight-lipped smile.] Just... enjoying the day.

[b: yet every horizon seems near]
[So, more people are stuck here than her. Okay. That's... a pin in her plans of escape. More people means extra hands and level heads. Perfect for dealing with the surreal nature of... everything so far.

But then that weirdness comes out in full force, in the form and shape of some sort of winter wonderland. At first, Cass assumed it had replaced the pantry, then it replaced the closet. And the grocery store. Now, it was the front door of her house.
]

Listen, I just want it to stop happening. [She could be overheard repeating herself to the elf working the ice skating pond. Trying to remain concise behind some lightly chattering teeth and some barely restrained contempt.] No. For the last time, I don't want to- Ugh, fine. Give me the darn skates.

[A bench nearby provides an ideal spot to do up her skates, because she might as well at this point. All the while, muttering not-so-quietly under her breath:] It's not like I had a life I wanted to get back to or anything, but hey. Ice skating.

[c: and from up here no path is denied]
[It's a small comfort that galas haven't really changed. They're still a formal event, celebrating whatever the hosts deemed important enough to celebrate. Cassandra wouldn't have bothered showing up, but apparently anyone who's anyone is going to be there, and well....

There was nothing in her wardrobe to properly prepare for the event. Luckily, the party itself provided; with a soft green dress that she'd probably discard the moment the night was over. Anything to fit in, she told herself. Ugh.

For the most part, Cassandra hangs back. Taking turns mingling with the locals with the same false smile she wore the day she arrived, and nursing a glass of punch that never seemed to run dry.

If she spots someone else trying to go for the concessions, she'll wander over and remark in a quick whisper:
] Don't eat that. You don't know what's in it.

[d: you choose which direction you veer | Closed to Erwin]
[You know how sometimes you get an idea in your head and it seems like a good one? But then you sit down and suddenly that idea is looking less possible by the minute?

Cassandra hasn't hit that point yet, but she is most definitely considering it. All while she sits in the driver's seat of a "car" that she and her "husband" apparently "owned".

A shame that neither of them knew how to drive.
]

I'm not so sure about this.

[She finally admits. Her hands gingerly wrapped around the steering wheel like it might snap off if she were too forceful.
bibliophilicbells: (039)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-03 11:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, please. You won't find a better partner here.

[What he means is: Look at these people, Crowley, come on.

He doesn't quite realize the subtext of it.

I MEAN —

What subtext? There is no subtext. They are speaking about dancing, nothing more.]