DECEMBER 2020 EVENT - PART 1

[robbies]

CHAPTER ONE, PART 1: A HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAY

Do you hear what I hear?

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

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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?

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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?

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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!

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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!

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▶ 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

Comments

Huaisang | The Untamed

[fanoperator]

Arrival – closed to Castiel
Huaisang was here in October, or at least he remembers that as a dream. It’s disorienting in a familiar sort of way to wake up in a strange bed in a strange room, but it’s not the strange bed that he had gotten used to over the month of October, and he doesn’t remember anything that happened after the night of the pumpkin lanterns. Startled to find a stranger in the opposite bed who isn’t the stranger he remembers, Huaisang shrieks and pulls up the blankets to his chest. “Who are you? Where’s Jack?”

Tree-Lighting Ceremony
After the events that he remembers in October of the zombie children attacking every house without a pumpkin lantern, Huaisang knows the importance of the holiday trappings provided in this place. He’s quick to get in line, hoping that the small tree will be sufficient. Those trees are expensive, and Huaisang has plenty of other things he’d rather spend the money on (clothing, fans, alcohol). Still, he’s not going to do without.

Nudging whoever is next to him in line, he unfurls his department store hand fan in order to murmur behind it. “What is the significance of the metal trees?”

Christmas Village
Doing his best to participate in the holiday cheer after he’s been not-so-helpfully transported here by a door in his own home, Huaisang can be found at any of the craft stations. He’s warmly dressed in a long blue coat, carefully watching the wreaths of the locals in order to try and make a holiday-approved approximation.

Once he’s completed his holiday-cheer-mandatory craft project, he feels freer to do a bit of snooping around the area. Running into someone else in an area between holiday houses, Huaisang quickly widens his eyes and puts on a helpless expression. “Excuse me, I’m lost.”

Mayor’s Gala
Not about to risk the deadly crime of being unfestive, Huaisang is dressed in a glamorous though low-cut velvet dress. Despite the many unpleasant things about this place, he’s ready to relax with a party. Surely even this falsely-cheerful hell can’t mess up a party too badly! Surely there will at least be alcohol. There is not alcohol.

Gazing dismally into his mocktail, Huaisang quickly lifts his head with a smile whenever someone approaches, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights. “Isn’t it a lovely party?” he asks, taking a nervous half step back.

Tree-Lighting Ceremony

[blackscales]

Wrathion is not, exactly, in the queue. He's more curiously patrolling up and down the queue, eyeing the trees and trying to decide how he feels about the whole affair. Of course, Winter Veil trees are something he's familiar with -- why this place has renamed the festival he's not entirely sure. Then again, this whole... realm is a little off in that regard.

"Fascinating, aren't they?"

He glances sideways at Huaisang, his normally bright red eyes reduced to a less intimidating gold-flecked hazel.

"Ugly, too, but that seems to be the fashion here."

A controversial opinion. Then again, Wrathion is apparently reduced to rebellious teenager here. His black leather jacket hangs open over a plain white t-shirt. The jacket itself is... tolerable, but he's not a fan of jeans so far.

[fanoperator]

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?"

[blackscales]

An interesting point! Wrathion tilts his head, studying the tree.

"Perhaps the metal is valuable..."

A show of wealth might explain the otherwise seemingly terrible choice.

Still.

He has, in fact, managed to get a reaction that tells him something valuable -- exactly what he hoped for! This person has revealed themselves to also be new to the area. He plays at curiosity a moment longer before lifting his eyes back to Huaisang, trying for his most disarming smile again.

"You moved to our charming area recently, then?"

Do tell him more.

[fanoperator]

Huaisang nods earnestly in reply, meeting that disarming smile with guileless wide eyes. "Yes, just in October. Er." His own smile wavers uncertainly. "Just recently. I'm on Carpenter Boulevard. Everything is very new to me here. The customs aren't anything like at home. When did you arrive?"

Wrathion's lack of knowledge about the trees--and lack of 'festive' attitude--has betrayed him as also a stranger to this world.

"I'm Huaisang, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you."

[blackscales]

"A few short days ago. I find it quite unique, myself."

The customs aren't totally dissimilar, but the people? Very strange. The arrival, too. The inability to leave. He makes a rather grand, dismissive gesture with one hand.

"You may call me Wrathion."

No titles for now, since they do little good here anyway. Either people recognise the name or they don't, and if they don't then referring to himself as The Black Prince won't help anything.

[fanoperator]

"Wrathion," Huaisang repeats carefully. The local language falls easily from his tongue, but there's still a hint of an accent in there, and he struggles especially when it comes to slang or to words that aren't the American English loaded into his mind.

The name means nothing to him, and Huaisang has discarded his own titles and his traditional forms of greeting. Sect Leader Nie Huaisang of Qinghe carries no influence here, and he's supposed to be Mrs. Shurley. The locals only seem to grow confused when he introduces himself as Nie Huaisang, so he's stopped. Huaisang, just Huaisang. No longer bound to the sect he always chafed within.

He misses home so much it aches.

"It's pleasant to meet you," Huaisang says, ducking his head shyly. "You do certainly stand out as ... perhaps not local." As does Huaisang, he knows. He hasn't yet met anyone here who looks like him.

[blackscales]

Does he? Wrathion tilts his head curiously, wondering what specifically about him stands out. He hasn't even particularly thought of it, since his eyes are no longer their vibrant red. Glancing up and down the line he seems to dwell on this.

"You may be right," he admits finally, "although I must confess, I've never been good at blending in."

He could, if he wanted to, but really -- who would want to go unnoticed all the time?

[fanoperator]

Huaisang finds it quite easy to tell the locals from the newcomers. The locals have that empty cheer all the time, unquestioning, with a sort of awful blankness behind their eyes which Huaisang tries not to let himself think of as horror.

"You're not very festive," Huaisang points out. "You have to be festive to blend in. And get a tree." It's important, he thinks. Blending in. Being festive. Getting a tree. It kept him safe in October--relatively so, anyway. It will keep him safe again.

[blackscales]

"Festive," he repeats, as if it might be the name of a sworn enemy or virulent disease. "Winter Veil celebrations have never been something I have... held an interest in."

Or Christmas, as the locals call it. All the same, he's always been rather too busy to take part -- aside from the odd celebration staged by Chromie and the Bronze dragons. Sometimes, that's worth attending for the party atmosphere.

[fanoperator]

"Back home, our winter festival is called Dongzhi. It's held on the longest night and it's about food and family. Nothing like the festivities here."

He already misses home, and he knows he's going to miss it all the more when solstice rolls around. No one's here from home, and he feels achingly lonely in this strange land.

"Is your Winter Veil anything like this Christmas?"

[blackscales]

"Similar," he admits, "we put up trees and hang mistletoe. Different cultures celebrate the season in their own ways, the Tauren prefer to focus on it being a time of renewal, but Greatfather Winter is commonly spoken of. It is said he wears winter as a cloak and blankets the land with snow."

Wrathion lofts an eyebrow mildly, expressing doubt about this, then carries on.

"He also is said to enjoy gingerbread cookies."

[fanoperator]

"I'm unfamiliar with the mistletoe they have here. All I know of it is that it is meant to be hung above doorways and kissed under? We have spirits of winter and ice, but ... it's not the same, and not particularly connected to Dongzhi either."

Huaisang's bewildered by all these foreign traditions, and he wonders what the common link is between the two cultures of trees and mistletoe. "What are ginger-bread-cookies?" He knows of ginger and bread, but cookies are too different in his culture for him to make the connection.

Mayor's Gala

[righthandstand]

A teenager in a green patterned suit is disappointed in the lack of alcohol as well. Not because he planned to drink, but it's the principle of stealing shit he's not supposed to that makes fancy parties like this fun.

So, all he has left is a sweet drink and some mediocre food as he looks for someone to hang with - and there's someone else who looks bored.

"I guess. I already tried a bit of everythin' and there's nothing left to do."

[fanoperator]

Huaisang nods tentative agreement, glancing around to make sure no one is listening too closely before he continues the conversation. "This place overall seems a bit... boring. The locals never seem to want to talk about anything but the weather and conforming to the planned festivities. What kind of party doesn't have alcohol, anyway?"

It's worse than the Cloud Recesses. Huaisang's going to have to get back in the habit of sneaking alcohol everywhere he goes.

[righthandstand]

"A boring party, that's what! The food's not that great either and there nothin' to do."

Boredom: worse than studying for exams. Okuyasu crosses his arms an peers at Huaisang, humming. He seems like a decent dude, trying to find something to do.

"How about we ditch this place? They won't let me go anywhere alone since I'm a kid to pretty much everyone here," he adds with plenty of bitterness at the sudden limits imposed on him.

[fanoperator]

"What did you have in mind instead? Since you're... pretty much a kid." Huaisang looks him over skeptically. He's all for new friends, but ... children? He's not ready to be the responsible adult in any situation.

Never mind that Huaisang only looks a couple of years older than Okuyasu. He's an adult!! Just not a responsible one.

[righthandstand]

Okuyasu stuffs his hands into his pockets and growls. "I'm 16." He stops himself from adding "idiot" at the end of his sentence, but the sentiment is there. He's a responsible teenager who can fight adults in magic ghost fights.

"I'm old enough to go wherever I want so long as I don't need an ID."

[fanoperator]

"Why would you need an ID?" Huaisang asks, bewildered. "Why don't you have an ID?" He only has the identification card that came in the mystery wallet that came with the mystery house and his entire mystery life here. It's true that he does get asked for his identification at the liquor store, but that's the only time, and he doesn't understand the need for that.

[righthandstand]

"You need one for some stuff they only let adults do. You know, like buying smokes or getting into nightclubs."

What point was their for a child to have an ID card in this neighborhood? All good boys and girls were supposed to stay safe and follow their parents' rules.

"But it's not like I wanna do illegal stuff."

[fanoperator]

"They have a nightclub here?" Huaisang asks, lighting up with hope. What a ray of sunshine that would be in this dismal existence! A nightclub! Beautifully attired people employed to dote upon him! "Then why do you need an ID? What stuff do you want to do?"

[righthandstand]

"I dunno. I guess they have bars, but I can always get before night hours." The idea of sneaking into a bar isn't that fun when you already know what it's like inside.

"From my guess, a small town like this isn't gonna have anything fun like that. All the late night stuff I know about was in Tokyo."

[fanoperator]

"Never heard of it," Huaisang says with a shrug. He heads for the door willingly enough, though, ready to sneak out of this party. "Let's go, then. I'm not coming back until I've had myself a proper drink. If there's something fun in this town, let's go find it."

[righthandstand]

They could just leave...if the Robbies were polite to ignore them and mind their own business. When Okuyasu walks to the door, two of the partygoers with smiles pastered onto their faces cling to their sides.

Somehow both were gripping their plates of unholy food meacingly.

[fanoperator]

"Oh, hello!" Huaisang says brightly, greeting the party-goers like they're dear friends. "Ethel, isn't it? And Ann-Louise? It's such a lovely party--we were going to go and look at the Christmas lights in this neighborhood. I'm still getting ideas on how I want to decorate our own house. Did you want to come along?"

Cheerful misdirection comes naturally to Huaisang, and he's had two weeks here (and October) to reconnoiter among the more terrifying locals. They may be dull, but that just makes it all the easier for Huaisang to fit in.

"Oh, but you wouldn't want to miss the carolers," one of them chirps.

"You couldn't possibly," the other affirms.

"Oh, no," Huaisang agrees earnestly. "But that isn't until nine, is it? There's plenty of time for a brisk walk--really, with all the sandwich cake I've eaten, I might just burst a seam on my gown without a nice walk!"