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 ◀
COMMS logs | network | ooc | memes
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
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: COOL)

first paragraph - something of a panic attack

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-08 07:19 am (UTC)(link)
[Who's to say what goes on in that skull of his. Who's to say it's even still his skull. The short of it is that he bundles some things up, takes over the master bath, and spends a few minutes taking everything in. The view in the mirror, the view out the window, the strange gasping quality his breath takes on when he thinks too much about dealing with all of this... again? And overall, just a break from any effort to smile reassuringly.

When he examines his reflection some more, he discovers that muscle memory means something - he's able to style his hair with far more ease than the first dream. And when he emerges from the room to head downstairs, he's stylish - and wearing sunglasses inside. The perfect, most impenetrable of disguises.]


I didn't find any clues in the bathroom! But it's sunny outside. And the sky is blue.

[Just in case mentions of sun or sky startle her the way it startled him, any hint she might also be a transformed monster who's just staying calmer about it.]
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: YORICK)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-08 07:24 am (UTC)(link)
[Papyrus grins all the more sincerely, seeing the guard reindeer welcomed into his neighbor's yard. It's not armed with anything but decorative hooves, but far better that than nothing. But speaking of being stuck here...]

I heard about that. The tunnels are... closed?

[He wanted very badly to go for a drive on a real highway, last month. But the police and other guards turned him away, ominously, in a way that reminded him of the empress.]
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: COLLEGE)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-08 08:04 am (UTC)(link)
Now you'll never have to start. [They both know what the deal here is, Papyrus isn't even going to do a nonsense banter about it. But he snorts into his sandwich, before going contemplative again.] Hey... isn't that a job? Being a driver... I wonder how much I should charge you.
ribticklers: (132)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-08 08:13 am (UTC)(link)
What, you're not gonna cut a deal with family? [This is a True Tragedy.]
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: PUZZLING)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-08 08:19 am (UTC)(link)
[That wounded confusion is contagious, and Papyrus stares back with the spray bottle still at the ready.]

It's... it's for spraying bad dogs. As a deterrent.

[It's a spectacularly terrible way of training dogs, which probably compounded the problems back home underground, but never mind that. If this mystery window climber is confused why anyone would spritz them... they must be confused about some very basic details of this situation.]

You know this isn't your window, right?
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: EYEROLL)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-08 08:21 am (UTC)(link)
If it's a full-time job?? [As it's sounding, what with Sans's usual preference for doing absolutely nothing - or as close to it as possible - on full display.] Maybe a family discount.
ribticklers: (130)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-08 08:24 am (UTC)(link)
Almost makes a guy want to figure out how driving works. [Almost.] But that kind of sucked last time. I guess if it's a discount you're at least throwin' me a bone.
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: BONE)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-08 08:44 am (UTC)(link)
Loads better. And besides, I haven't seen many pine trees...

[The strangely pale and splotched trunks through Shadyside aren't the sort for this aesthetic, and the Old Growth is... Well, he hasn't gotten the impression anyone would want to go in and cut some trees down from it.]

Maybe the metal... saves on lighting bills! Since it illuminates so well.

[He's already floundering in the attempt to brainstorm reasons why they're actually very good and impressive trees. It's a shame, since he means to get one regardless, but it's always better to have a cover story of something positive, just in case people want to ask him things.]
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: EYEROLL)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-12-08 08:54 am (UTC)(link)
I charge extra, if you make me listen to your terrible jokes. [They haven't even figured out what the pricing here is supposed to be, or if they're just bantering this idea of paid driving out, but that part is a clear rule.]
ribticklers: (124)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-08 08:59 am (UTC)(link)
Now you're just robbing me. [So cruel! Betrayal!] I'm gonna have to get a second job. [...] And a first job...? [That lilts into a question because he does remember having one in October, but not what it was. Well, he's probably been fired from that by now if he didn't show up for a whole month.]
sunborne: (366. - 🧭 - WAVEMAKING.)

[personal profile] sunborne 2020-12-08 09:40 am (UTC)(link)
[ daylight laughed at the comment, his eyes crinkling up as he tried to cover his mouth to muffle the jolly sound. ]

Right? I was pretty much shocked when I woke up and saw her pacing around. More so when we later found stuff that claimed we were married because, um, I'm definitely with someone but not with her.

[ no offense to agatha, of course! he's pretty glad she's with him, all things considered. it's just he already misses emer and hopes he's doing okay. is he safe? is he aware of what's going on?

anyways- ]
She's really put together, though. Gotta give her that. While I was- [ getting used to having human skin and organs, you know, the usual stuff. ] -trying to get my bearings, she was already trying to sus out info between us. It's how we learned that people are coming from different periods of times.
feudalladyshandmaid: (Gasp)

A for aaaaaa

[personal profile] feudalladyshandmaid 2020-12-08 09:53 am (UTC)(link)
[That voice.

From the moment she had her rude awakening... and sorted out matters with her "husband", Cassandra had been alone. Maybe not physically alone, but in every other sense, she felt a great divide between herself and everything she saw. Nothing in this world made sense. The technology was miles ahead of the things Varian created, and the locals... Between scanning the neighborhood for threats or any possible means of escape, Cass had found... nothing she recognized. She was alone in a world of strangers.

Except a voice cut straight through the gloom, ringing in her ear like a chorus of bells. All because she knew that voice; lived with it for a year and a half.

Her footfalls are muffled in her ear as she rushed up the sidewalk, following the scent. It came from here? Or was it over there? She had to find it. That voice could only belong to-
]

Rapunzel?

[She stops just short of the driveway. That brunette, with her face pressed up to a car windshield, there was no mistaking her.]
feudalladyshandmaid: (Default)

[personal profile] feudalladyshandmaid 2020-12-08 10:00 am (UTC)(link)
...What? I- No, ugh. Look, I'm not supposed to be here, but I woke up in this house, and it's covered in weird... [What's the word. Erwin said it.] photographs with my face in them. So, while I don't want to be here... it's still mine.

[...]

I don't even know why I'm trying to explain this to a man trying to crawl through a window.
fwizz: (pic#13933669)

— waking up. (FIVE YEARS LATER SORRY)

[personal profile] fwizz 2020-12-08 12:01 pm (UTC)(link)
[ when miguel wakes up, his mental state is a little north of discombobulated: he's not, strictly speaking, a stranger to ending up in different times, it's not something that, normally, just happens to him. sure, there had been the time he'd found himself in peter parker's apartment entirely unbidden, but that was more of a freak occurrence than anything else; every other time he's found himself somewhere and somewhen else, it's been deliberate.

in a sense.

waking up in a whole new bed, in a whole new (actual) house is — it's new. automatically, then, he finds himself asking for lyla.

(silence.) ]


Lyla. [ again, more forcefully and—

and again, it's punctuated by silence — shocking great — although he thinks he can hear the faint sound of movement from another area of the house. quickly, he weighs up his options: investigate, stay where he is, or—

he eyes the window, just for a moment. climbing out briefly seems like his best course of action until, quite suddenly, he's aware of how abso-shocking-lutely blurry the photos on the wall next to the window are; and he realises, too, how totally unsensitive to light he is and—

right. sure. great. wonderful. no spider abilities.

(new option: possibly dream, possibly nightmare.)

grabbing some clothes from the wardrobe, and his glasses (thanks) — neatly placed next to a glass of water — from the bedside table, he mentally notes that the window option is still there for when he wants to dramatically throw himself out of it in a fit of pique.

(there was something about falling in dreams, right?)

on the landing, he pauses at the top of stairs — the photos are weird, okay — and that's not even touching on the decor, and he thinks, just for a moment, that his subconscious must be on some wild journey to be imagining—

(it reminds him, every so slightly, of one or two of the old twencen movies xina had made him watch, which just makes the knot in his stomach tighten a little more, like he can't decide if he's annoyed, angry, or worried.

or all three.)

—and then he hears a what the fuck from downstairs and whilst he doesn't exactly rush towards the voice, he moves a little quicker, through the lounge, into the kitchen — what the shock year is it supposed to be? — and—

it's the kid from the photos.

shock.

alright, miguel. be calm. be calming. be— ]


—Morning. [ that's maybe not it. ]
petsthedog: (pic#12827142)

[personal profile] petsthedog 2020-12-08 12:19 pm (UTC)(link)
[Shinjiro doesn't necessarily disagree with that--he's seen snotty, entitled people harass the staff at the places he'd go to buy food and other essentials--but it's still a little strange for him to picture people getting that worked up about any given holiday in particular. Hell, businesses tended to be closed during New Years', even, and that was one of the biggest holidays in the country. He merely shrugs.]

Fair enough.

[Shinjiro takes notice of the way Ray's limp is more pronounced as he walks toward the workshop, and though he says nothing, his own steps silently slow in response. He's careful to stand just close enough that Ray could catch himself on his shoulder were he to stumble, but he mostly keeps his gaze fixed ahead to avoid being too obvious.

He does frown, however, at the other man's introduction...because he'd prefer the more distant "Gillette", but that's a bit difficult for him to...pronounce....]


....Ray, then.

[Ugh, that feels itchy. He wishes he had a coat to hunch into. He walks in somewhat abruptly moody silence until they're a few feet from the workshop, at which point he steps in front of Ray rather than continue to walk beside him--which might be a little bit mysterious, at least until he speaks up again.]

Careful, ice patch.
petsthedog: (pic#12818057)

[personal profile] petsthedog 2020-12-08 12:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[Ah. That's better, actually, it's easier. He wasn't expecting anything in return, but accepting it ... works. This way he doesn't need to examine the impulse to help overmuch.]

Sure, that works. [An. Awkward beat.] You're still gonna have to dump out about half the cart, though. What's the most important shit here?
sunborne: (391. - 🧭 - DETECTING.)

[personal profile] sunborne 2020-12-08 01:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Not a sex thing. Honest. Just a big old pileup of some crewmates beating the shit out of each other to build some camaraderie.

Kinda worked, if you ask me. [ he makes a wriggling gesture with his hand, causing the coffee to spill to the ground some more. jesus, daylight, watch out with that mug of yours. ] So, judging by your response and... stuff, I'm taking it that you're like me? Stuck here?
sunborne: (382. - 🧭 - OH WOW.)

[personal profile] sunborne 2020-12-08 01:57 pm (UTC)(link)
[ oh that's a rip, buddy. ]

Hang on-! [ daylight makes a grab for a drink as someone passes by them with a tray. after taking a cautious sniff of it, making sure it's not alcohol or, worse, more gelatin, he hands it over to the poor guy.

talking with the experience of someone used to poor food adventures, daylight tries to give some gentle but useful advice: ]
If you gotta spit it out, spit it out. Try to down the dirnk in one shot. Don't breathe in if you can, okay?
undiagnosed: (tactleneck)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-08 03:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[it honestly takes him an embarrassingly long time to work out she's doing that for him and not just... leaving stuff around. for someone who acts like the universe is centered on him, archer is also surprisingly prone to forgetting that other people, you know, do things. when he finally realises, though the constant haze of alcohol, what she's doing, it kind of... softens his metaphorically blackened heart a little.

he's a little nicer after that. still not quite reaching normal human levels, but for archer? it's nice. case in point: he's humouring her instead of telling her to fuck off and learn how to drive herself.]


Pssh. Probably equally as dangerous, weirdo. [he saunters past her, twirling the keys around his finger. he is definitely a little drunk right now, and will likely be a little drunk if he ever properly teaches her. he is not a good influence.] ...You can come with me, if you want. I was gonna go to the store. I think people are starting to wonder why we don't go out together more, anyway.
sunborne: (392. - 🧭 - COCKSURE.)

[personal profile] sunborne 2020-12-08 03:43 pm (UTC)(link)
At least they got some funky Christmas trees for us to fight over. I guess that's a plus.

[ daylight pats the tree in question, careful in his touch. he rather not by the reason why the tree is shedding so soon, thank you very much. ] Speaking of the neigbours: Do you know anyone else in our position? Run across them personally or something like that?

I know my 'wife' is- [ oh man, those air quotes right now. he's getting the hang of it. ] -but that's about it so far. It'll be nice to get in touch with them and let them know I'm in the same boat as them.
thevalley: (i glances)

[personal profile] thevalley 2020-12-08 03:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[Because being inside with a guy she's supposed to be married to is fucking stifling and weird, even though he's really objectively not that bad at all. She prefers being outside and alone.]

If you don't want the attention then walk the other way around the fucking block.

[She really shouldn't get into fights like this. But she's terrible at containing her anger.]
thevalley: (uff-da)

[personal profile] thevalley 2020-12-08 03:52 pm (UTC)(link)
[She follows his glance to the officer and then back at him.]

It's one guy. We could take him out.

[And yet no one has...]

What else do you think is going on?
ribticklers: (129)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2020-12-08 03:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Yeah, there's somebody living with me in the same situation. Then my bro's next door, and he's got someone like the rest of us livin' with him, too. [Secretive is one thing, and not telling people about his brother is another. People are going to know if they spend any even slightly significant period of time around him.]
thevalley: (lookin at u fam)

[personal profile] thevalley 2020-12-08 03:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Nah, it's... pretty bad. I tried to sew a sleeve back on a onesie and the second the kid moved, it ripped right off.

[Maybe because she'd been trying to prove Dina wrong about her sloppy stiches and sewed ~delicately~ that it couldn't handle the power of Potato when he wanted to run.

Still, she relaxes. This is an easier conversation to have.]


Yeah. It's the only way I feel like I can think. [For real.] I've never tried painting. Stuff like that is hard to find back home.
bibliophilicbells: (104)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-08 04:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[Bro Aziraphale has no idea what you're talking about. Baking shows?

He glares. Bloody dull Americans and their addiction to television.]


I didn't move here by choice! I was — well, kidnapped, essentially.