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
bibliophilicbells: (083)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-02 03:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[Aziraphale frowns. He's proud of that collection, thanks, and what a shame that it's gone. Sort of. Maybe?

He takes another sip of his drink.]


Only for recreational purposes.

[In other words, no, he will not help Crowley break into anything or anywhere.]
shalamayne: (6-3)

abstain

[personal profile] shalamayne 2020-12-02 03:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Anduin had been finding his own way around the village, wondering what the whole deal was before he hears someone speak up. It's a sentiment he can agree with, even if Anduin wouldn't be so quick to put his own thoughts into voice in that regard.]

We do not celebrate a Christmas back home. Something similar, but not this.

[ The young king glances on over, expression sympathetic.] Are you new here?
demonicmiracle: (050)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2020-12-02 04:13 pm (UTC)(link)
What sort of recreational breaking and entering have you been doing?

[He looks like he isn't quite sure whether Aziraphale is having him on or not. It could so easily go either way, knowing what he's like, but right now he's mostly just teasing, because he's determined to hold onto the good mood he's found himself in.]
shalamayne: (Default)

Anduin Wrynn | WoW

[personal profile] shalamayne 2020-12-02 04:18 pm (UTC)(link)
(tree lighting)

[ Anduin has no idea what is going on here when it comes to the comment the Mayor seems to be making. School night? Curling up on the couch with a book? Hot chocolate? The whole thing is so bizarre that not for the first time the young man wonders if this is some bizarre, Old God induced out of body experience. It doesn't feel like one but he can't help but think it, especially with his connection to the Light either gone or muted. Things are difficult to tell.

Still he manages to smile when everyone laughs at the hot chocolate joke, doing his best to try and fit in for now. There's an undercurrent of tension enough to let Anduin know that speaking up and out right now will only do more harm than good. He's even managed to find suitable clothing, managing to put together a turtleneck sweater and plaid pants without looking too garish or standing out too much. Things are strange, even the clothing.

The comment of years to come rings in Anduin's ears. They're expected to stay this long? It sounded more like a threat to him and as he stands in the queue for an aluminium tree he can't help but wonder about it. Should he even ask anyone about it? It's difficult right now to know who to trust and who not to trust, so Anduin opts to talk about the other elephant in the room instead.]


These trees are made of metal? They certainly are....[ Garish.] ... Unique, wouldn't you say?

(gala)

[ A party would be the best place to learn things. Anduin has been to enough of them in his position as King (and prior to that, young prince). He's even managed to put together a red and green variant of a suit that has just managed to pass approval. Good job too, the loaner jacket certainly is a sight to behold. At least Anduin isn't uncomfortable around people intent on schmoozing, ready to smile and answer questions the people native to this place may ask.

He picks up a nearby sandwich slice, noting that the food here isn't much to write home about as he looks around to see if anything stands out. Most things do but there do seem to be others that look as lost as he feels so that in a way is a small comfort and a concern; just why is everyone here and what for? Kidnappings rarely happened without a ransom and if this was an Old God messing with them they would have shown their hand by now.

The speech is listened to, once again, with a keen ear. Anduin can't glean much from it other than that the Mayor is definitely one pulling the strings here. He catches a glimpse of another man taking a drink from a flask, seemingly unimpressed with what the mayor says. Someone to speak to later if Anduin can find him.

Too late. Before he can even do much about it everything is done and dusted, everyone is going back to dancing and the food is being replenished. It's difficult to keep his amicable poker face up and so Anduin glances to the nearest person.]


Would you like to dance?

(wildcard)

[ooc: anything is fine! feel free to PM or pp at [personal profile] sailorstarmaker!]
interdicted: (pic#14489661)

[personal profile] interdicted 2020-12-02 04:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Unfortunately, there's only one person Wolfe might allow to take his hand, and he's not here right now. Wolfe doesn't quite snatch his hand away—he recognizes Huaisang's attempt to diffuse the situation, even if he definitely isn't making it any better by glaring back over his shoulder toward the offender—but he does pull his hand away. Sorry, Huaisang, no affection allowed! ]

A nightmare. [ Wolfe's familiar with those, and knows all too well how often nightmares are based in reality. But this stranger's words make it sound as though this "whole other month" was detached from this one, and while he may have to acknowledge that somehow he's been Translated to what seems as though it must be some sort of alternate timeline offshoot, something in him refuses to accept that the laws of the universe would allow for this.

That's a question and thought problem for a different night, though. ]
Local superstitions are often rooted in explaining unknown phenomena. The end of October is said to be when the boundaries between this world and the spirit world are thinnest; Christmas has little to do with the dead. Hedonism might be more appropriate.

[ Beat. ]

If you want to participate, I won't stop you.

[ He drops his voice so that the people around them won't hear as he adds: ] Tell me more about these monsters in October once they've stopped paying attention.
blackscales: Commission, Do Not Take! (10)

[personal profile] blackscales 2020-12-02 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Ah.

Wrathion's eyes narrow, as if weighing this up. Surely whoever brought him here knows who he is, and thus knows he is 'out of place'? What would be the point in keeping such a thing a secret, especially if others are enslaved as he is?

He slants his eyes toward a window, still tense, and studies the motion of people outside. It's certainly... odd. Oddest of all, if this is the Black Empire's doing... there's a distinct lack of corrupting whispers. His stillness has a practised air to it, a sense of intense personal control -- as if he's had to keep myself very still and quiet many times before.

It breaks, just as suddenly, as he focuses back on Wolfe. ]


You stand before the Black Prince Wrathion. I fear we are both in a great deal of danger.

[ This would be a more dignified introduction, and a more grave warning, were it not for the pyjamas. ]
13thcommander: (serious side-eye)

[personal profile] 13thcommander 2020-12-02 04:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[This whole notion seems fairly ridiculous, but Erwin remembers the carved gourds with candles in them and how they kept the zombie children away, and he's going to err on the side of caution and make a request. The handwriting on the letter is shaky and almost childish, like it's being written with his non-dominant hand.]

Dear Mr. Claus,

It has come to my attention that we may make requests of you, which you will then consider granting. If this is the case, I would kindly request an operational set of Omni-Directional Maneuver gear.

Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely,
Erwin Smith
undiagnosed: (pic#14468749)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-02 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[archer's about to comment when sans goes ahead and deep throats that pickle, briefly surprising him enough that his train of thought derails for a moment. archer's left there with his finger on another pickle he was about to send sailing in kind looking like an idiot.]

Yeah, but like, a non-shitty bar. This retro theme was old before I even woke up. [a beat as he stands up, away from the tree, then:] Or, well, I guess it's all new to you idiots. Hey, do you still put leeches on people to heal them?

[he takes a sip from his flask, pointing at sans with the base of his cane as he speaks.]

Fuckin' dry events. Don't even have the decency to spike the punch with LSD. Where's Carol when you need her?
13thcommander: (considering)

Christmas tree sucker

[personal profile] 13thcommander 2020-12-02 04:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[The whole Christmas tree spectacle is a little much for Erwin--although he does appreciate the aesthetic of metal trees--and he's glad for the distraction when he hears a familiar voice.]

Sans?

[He follows the sound to a toppled over tree, and looks over its metal branches.]

Are you all right?
bibliophilicbells: (65)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-02 04:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[WOW, OFFENDED.]

I haven't!

[How dare you suggest that Aziraphale has been doing bad things!]
13thcommander: (meh)

tree lighting

[personal profile] 13thcommander 2020-12-02 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[Erwin has had the same impulse, and is also carrying around one of the smaller trees. He's more interested in it for the metal alloy that it's made from than as a decoration, but there's no need for anyone to know that. He's blending in, after all.]

[The question surprises him, and the mere fact that she's asking it tells him that this probably isn't a local. She's another transplant, like himself.
]

I haven't. This is the first I've heard of him.

[Is Santa Claus real? Erwin has no idea.]

Are you familiar with the man?
demonicmiracle: (116)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2020-12-02 05:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[That just gets him grinning again, terribly please for having riled Aziraphale up in a harmless way.]

Mm, right, so let me get this straight. You know how to pick locks, but you only do it alone, with your own locks?

[There's a metaphor here. He may or may not be about to get himself smacked.]
undiagnosed: (pic#14468565)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-02 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Pep-per-mint Patty-- [he says again, slower, louder, somehow more obnoxiously.] --Holy shit, are you Gene Wilder?!

[he's not too far gone right now, though he does push the thermos towards aziraphale. something about this drink really puts him in a sharing mood-- it smells equal parts pepperminty, chocolatey and very boozy. quite decadent, overall. definitely something to keep one warm in the cold weather of the village, even if archer's already wearing a thick winter coat.]

Here, try it. I will bet you actual money dollars that you have never had anything this good before.
13thcommander: (getting a headache)

ho ho no

[personal profile] 13thcommander 2020-12-02 05:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[Erwin happens to find himself next to someone with mud on his arms during the gala event, but he's not going to comment on that. It's none of his business if this guy army-crawled in here, although the cane makes him wonder exactly how much army-crawling Archer is capable of. The flask gets the faintest eyebrow raise, and Erwin is considering asking if he can have a swig when the guy mutters to himself.]

[Erwin catches that little sentiment, and his eyebrows rise higher.
]

If that's your intention, I wouldn't go announcing it in a public place.

[Come on, buddy, be a little more subtle with your murder/violent coup plans!]
fanoperator: (guarded)

[personal profile] fanoperator 2020-12-02 05:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Huaisang's not sure what to make of this person. It's clear from the lack of mindless holiday cheer that he's been brought here like Huaisang. It's some comfort that they've all been put into family units with other people who have been brought here, since he's sure it would be worse if he were assigned into a family of these smiling drones. At least this way his house feels like it offers a measure of privacy and safety.

"They're festive," Huaisang argues lamely, aware of the listening ears around him in the line, all those locals who don't seem real but do seem ... attentive. "But I don't understand why they're metal. Is there a lack of real trees in the area, or is it a way of showing off wealth?"
interdicted: (pic#14489671)

[personal profile] interdicted 2020-12-02 05:20 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Wolfe gives a brief nod—smart lad. But— ]

There are many schools of thought in the world. This is only one of them.

[ Santi worships his Christian god, while Wolfe worships his own. Differences of belief are common where he comes from and Wolfe hasn't yet learned how gung-ho about Christmas the people here are.

But at the boy's question, Wolfe drops his voice as well. ]


I haven't decided. Some think they might be for protection; I've been told something similar happened in October.
interdicted: (4vBkGh5ilVbykp58leRfbf)

[personal profile] interdicted 2020-12-02 05:30 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Wolfe takes note of all of this, momentarily wondering what Wrathion has been through in his past to develop that control to be silent and still before he tamps down on the thought. His students have made him soft; he doesn't want to know. He can't help him, no matter what it was.

Wolfe nods, and in spite of the both of them standing in their pajamas the air is definitely a solemn one. These both seem to be men of presence and bearing. ]


I agree. The question is from whom and what direction to expect it.

[ As he says it, his mind is working. Wrathion—Old English, proto-Germanic. European. He knows the rulers of the European countries, and he's never heard of this Black Prince. ]

Your homeland?

[ "I did not ask for your nationality," he'd said once. A similar meeting, not so very long ago. But things have changed, and this is no longer Library soil. ]
undiagnosed: (bro i am just sitting here)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-02 05:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[hey, respect. it's a nice coat. peppermint patties have always made archer more amiable-- probably because who isn't put in a good mood by a good mug of hot chocolate?

well, that and no other townspeople have expressed desire to interact with him like this. that's worth following up on. he screws the top back onto the thermos and holds it over, hands coated in thick gloves to stop the cold from seeping in.]


Here. Don't spill any of it or I swear to-- look at me-- I will literally end you.
Edited 2020-12-02 17:40 (UTC)
thevalley: (Default)

[personal profile] thevalley 2020-12-02 05:41 pm (UTC)(link)
[Ellie moves instinctively away.

She's been with so few people ever since she and Dina moved out of Jackson that she doesn't even know how to react. Her mind goes to Joel, but this isn't Joel. He's just a guy. Just a fucking guy.]


Too many people.
bibliophilicbells: (032)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-02 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
You know what I am, I can't simply go out and —

[Ah.

Right.

There it is, dawning on him, what Crowley is actually saying. Aziraphale huffs and scowls; no smacking. He can't smack his wife.

In public, anyway.]


Oh, don't be vulgar.
thevalley: (innocent for once)

[personal profile] thevalley 2020-12-02 05:45 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm from 2039 and modern people can still be assholes.

[Looking at you, Jackson's Resident Homophobe: Seth. She snorts and shrugs at the compliment.]

It's not really my style either. [But there's a twitch on her lips at the mention of a dress.] That's what I thought when I saw the shoes. How does anyone move in those?
blackscales: Commission, Do Not Take! (8)

[personal profile] blackscales 2020-12-02 05:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Wrathion tilts his head in a way that says he finds this reaction and answer curious. He supposes not everyone has to know who he is, but equally...

It's an awkward realisation that he doesn't particularly know where he calls home. ]


I suppose I've spent most of my time in Southwestern Kalimdor, lately.

[ Does the count as an answer? He really has no idea. His eyes slide to the window again, studying the outside. It's quiet. There are no nightmarish entities on patrol. No dark pools of corruption. No sound of screams.

Somehow, that isn't at all comforting. ]


Tell me, what is the last thing you recall -- before you woke here?
undiagnosed: (pic#14468645)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2020-12-02 05:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[it's incredible, how archer is the one who broke into daylight's place, yet he's the one acting like daylight is inconveniencing him. he is, kind of, if you think about it from a ...unique standpoint. archer had expected this house to be empty, but obviously over-estimated that part of the recon he didn't actually do.

he hops up, leaning on the window sill and experimentally stretching his leg out. daylight isn't holding a weapon, so archer doesn't bother to treat this situation as seriously as he should.]


What? No. To both of those. [his boots make the broken glass crackle as he stands on it.] When are you going to work? I'll come back later.
demonicmiracle: (066)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2020-12-02 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[It's the 60s, he could probably get away with it.

Crowley makes an attempt to appear as innocent as possible, something that's actually a little easier, now that he knows Aziraphale can't sense anything demonic on him. And when he doesn't have demonic, serpentine eyes.]


Vulgar about what? I thought we were talking about lock picking.