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?

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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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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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

December 5th

[ bruce decides to follow the throng of imitation smiles towards the town hall, having early found a black peacoat sitting in the master bedroom closet waiting for him expectantly. once prepared, he slips into the crowd inconspicuously and listens as the various announcers prattle on. he's surprised to find he's not the only one without a smile, noting dale harding early on but losing the chance later to talk to him as he quickly departs present company. now that the stage is empty, he can't help but feel watched by the glassy eyes around him, even as they talk to themselves. he begins to wonder idly if they were once people like him before this town really got its claws into them.

it's an opportunity to leave. he didn't exactly get any of the information he might have wanted, but he did get a list of names, at the very least: dale harding, phillip clarke, someone named cathy, seemingly a member of the happy homes association, and another stranger named margie. that's enough for him to look into during the coming days, though the christmas trees for sale make him take pause. he's not one for celebrating himself, but the pictures on the wall at home remind him of his not-daughter, the odd little girl named kipo, who very obviously wasn't his, and very obviously wasn't one of them. still, she was young and alone, living with a strange man who fancied dressing up as a bat at night to beat criminals to a pulp, so perhaps a small tree at least would bring her a sense of normalcy. he hadn't bothered to ask her if she celebrated christmas where she was from. too late, anyhow, as he easily slung it over his shoulder and began the trek back home. ]

Christmas Village

[ the door to the garage leads him to the magical village, and he's not thrilled. not only to be teleported somewhere else unexpectedly-- a new variable to worry about, to be certain-- but also that everyone else here that isn't one of the shambling masses seem so cavalier about it. on the plus side, he hasn't found any razor blades in the food yet, something he has a distant memory of, like a dream, yet can remember vividly, but he also only ever spectates areas like the frozen pond, workshops, or bar. there's a creeping sensation that something will inevitably go wrong with all of this, though that moment never comes, and he'll wonder briefly whether this feeling is a consequence of this new place, or something ingrained into him from experiences back home in gotham... ]

The Mayor Has Invited You

[ likewise with the village and all of the other events, bruce will attend the gala for information. to familiarize himself with his surroundings and the people who don't seem to be just smiling emptily at him or offering him plates of jello. well, they might do that too, but at least they'll have something more to say to him than small talk about the weather. for how overtly suspicious the whole disturbance of being brought to santa rosita has been, these past few days have been anything but, putting him on edge; like they're all standing in the eye of the storm and they can't notice what's staring right at them.

but much to the chagrin of the HHA, he's bruce wayne, and while you might have expected him to look awful in some off the rack sears roebuck blazer, he instead looks incredible, floral pattern and all. it's very hard to make the billionaire-- or ex-billionaire-- look bad in a suit, and he wasn't about to start today. but throughout the night, as with santa's wondrous village, you'll find him teetering on the outskirts of the gala, watching instead of participating, lest he call more attention to himself than he wants. after all, a big red fucking blazer was more indiscreet than his usual black... ]

Wildcard

[ bruce is a scrooge! these prompts not doing it for you? feel free to throw absolutely anything at me, or message me on

BATGUY if you'd like me to write you a closed prompt or if you'd like to plan something specific! BAH HUMBUG! ]

[archer hasn't realised what bruce is doing, he hasn't been watching bruce and he only notices bruce when he comes close to the outskirts where he's leaning against the wall, cane next to him and arms crossed. the similarity in the red waitcoats they're wearing makes him cock a brow but-- no other townspeople have come this way yet, or at least no-one one their own. only women on the arms of their husbands or men chatting about the latest soccer game with their friends.

not looking at bruce, still staring at the stage where the mayor had given his speech archer offers lightly:] Kind of makes you wonder what happens when they arrest you, right? My guess is...

[he reaches out and pushes a punch glass someone had left behind on the table next to him over, watching the red liquid spill everywhere then the glass roll off to shatter on the ground. literally a pointless action other than spite to whoever has to clear it up, which is coincidentally exactly what it was.]

Sears catalogs? Good house keeping manuals?

We're a long way from Paris or Italy, and Versace has another seventeen years until it even exists, unfortunately.

[ he plucks lightly at the fabric of his jacket before eyeing the stage, and the sheriff in particular. ]

A lot of police here for a small holiday event like this. Hard to imagine they've had trouble in the past. Maybe they're expecting some?

Or maybe it's all the convenient new arrivals, [he shoots back, resting both hands on the top of his cane.] I wouldn't know. It's been a while since I last read anything by Anthony Burgess.

[he sighs a little, frustrated at the fact he even gives any kind of a shit about any of this.]

Not that I give a shit, but if I was going to do my job then I might look for any patterns with this kind of presence in the past. You can have that one for free, my dear failed clone.

Edited 2020-12-04 17:05 (UTC)

[ he regards archer's outburst with mild contempt, ignoring the clone jab almost completely. ]

I might have suggested Ira Levin myself, but I see your point. Keep yelling and breaking glasses and you might be able to tell me which of our comparisons ends up being closer.

I didn't yell, [he says, tersely but not loudly.] so, what genius motive got you to try and explore right now, when there are cops everywhere? You know the location. Come back later, or go tail the Mayor or something. I mean, honestly. Be serious.

The only reason to worry about the police is if they see me, and I'm not concerned about that.

[ but more to the point... ]

You know, it sounds a lot like you're giving me orders.

Seriously? But you're, like... huge.

[archer is tall and muscular, but bruce is taller and more musclar...er. that kind of annoys him, but he'll call it overkill.]

Suggestions, idiot. From the world's greatest secret agent, I might add.

You're a little forthcoming with that kind information for a secret agent, don't you think?

[ speaking of idiots, the more this one seems to open his mouth, bruce's perception of him drops. ]

And there are dozens of them. Maybe more, if you consider the closed off hallways, and all of them are armed.

CHAPTER ONE, PART 1: A HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAY

Do you hear what I hear?

DECEMBER 5th

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A MYSTERIOUS VILLAGE

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THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

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OOC INFO

Bruce Wayne | DC Comics

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