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Entry tags:
- !event,
- archer: ray gillette,
- archer: sterling archer,
- attack on titan: erwin smith,
- attack on titan: levi ackerman,
- bbc dracula: agatha van helsing,
- dc comics: bruce wayne,
- dceu: diana prince,
- fate/grand order: kiara sessyoin,
- fate/grand order: leonardo da vinci,
- ffxiv: takame kesi,
- good omens: aziraphale,
- good omens: crowley,
- great library: christopher wolfe,
- jjba: okuyasu nijimura,
- kipo: kipo oak,
- marvel comics: miguel o'hara,
- original character: daylight vis lornlit,
- original character: vasiliy y ardankin,
- persona 4: shinjiro aragaki,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- tangled: cassandra,
- tangled: rapunzel,
- tasm: peter parker,
- the gifted: lorna dane,
- the last of us: ellie,
- the untamed: huaisang nie,
- undertale: papyrus,
- undertale: sans,
- world of warcraft: anduin wrynn,
- world of warcraft: wrathion
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
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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: |
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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! |
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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!” |
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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
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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? |
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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: 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. |
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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...
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...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. |
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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.
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? |
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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. |
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“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!
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!
no subject
I can't say I remember them any more than you do.
[She'll get up to take a look at the photos, appreciating the time that's been taken to create them, but...]
It's a bit unusual, isn't it? We both know this isn't quite right, and yet it seems like someone has gone through an awful lot to convince us otherwise.
[Okay, maybe more than a bit unusual, but she thinks she has a different scale for unusual than most.]
no subject
[Or any of his personal belongings and effects, things that would really sell the sense of this being home. Instead, it feels like he's been plopped into someone else's life.
...Especially since it's not even his own body. He prods at his face again, then tries smoothing the curls back from his forehead.]
Do you... feel like you? Uhh. You know. Your mood! And memories, and everything.
[There's no good way to subtly ask if someone's usually in a different body, or missing magic powers, is there?]
no subject
[She gets the feeling there's something else he's asking there, but she's not quite sure what it is. She's definitely missing her powers, but it's not like he would know that.]
I would say that as far as those things go, I definitely seem to be myself. There is admittedly some fuzziness about some things, that's a bit unusual, but other than that...well, I seem to be fine aside from not being able to use my abilities.
[But that's probably for the best!]
What about you? Is anything...off?
no subject
Uhh. Well... Is this me, in these photos, with you? Because, I don't usually look like... that.
[Papyrus hedges, abruptly dropping his hands away from the nearly unfamiliar hair. He does remember Sans cautioning him against telling people... as well as having told some people, and things going wrong at the end. Maybe that's connected. But this sounds so open-ended as to invite more questions, so he rushes to clarify:]
Less hair! And, I can't use my abilities, either...
[Magic bones do not manifest in the air around them, despite a little hand gesture on his part.]
no subject
[She's really not following on the hair thing. She's seen animated skeletons before, they're a generic enemy mob in her world, but that's not what comes to mind there.]
I can't think of much that would be able to seal off someone's abilities.
[Much less her own. Kind of the problem with being overpowered in her world, there's less things that can interfere with that, so thinking of what it could be is difficult.]
So I certainly hope to find out how it was done.
no subject
[Or that's what he makes of the much clarification, anyway. He nods, deliberately not looking for signs of her disagreeing with his take, and turns to the bureaus on his side of the room.]
Right! Then, I'll look for hints, and give them to you to sort out. After I get better disguised.
[The better to grab some clothes and make an escape to the bathroom, to examine his reflection and panic a little bit more in private.]
no subject
...then again if those weird memories of zombie children? breaking in through the windows are anything that actually happened, there may be some alarm regardless.]
Of course.
[She's not really sure why he needs a disguise, but she won't argue about it.]
Take all the time you need.
[She'll just explore the rest of the house while he does that. Seems like a good use of her time.]
first paragraph - something of a panic attack
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.]
no subject
[Definitely not startled by it. Though she does find it a bit of an odd remark. Despite her own words, who cares what the weather is like? There's much more important things to think about.]
It's a good thing too, your sunglasses should come in handy with the nice weather.
[She's a little amused by him wearing them indoors, but she doesn't think too much more of it. She certainly has some questions, but doesn't consider them entirely important. The important thing is that she thinks she can get along with him, so there shouldn't be any problems for the time being.]
And I didn't find anything of note either. Just more of the same really. It seems it's just the two of us living here as far as I can tell.
[She somewhat remembers that not being the case before, but not enough to actually recall any specifics there. Just that things were different. Probably.]
no subject
[Even with the sunglasses, his eyebrows scrunch together almost comedically obviously. Looking around living room, kitchen, and so forth, all the photographs available are of the two of them. Over and over, different poses and expressions from a life he has no memory of, not even scattered dream memories.]
I guess... I don't seen them in any pictures, now.
[If the people he remembers in those dreams aren't here... What if that means nobody he knows is here? Not the kids or "wives" he remembers admitting things to, not even his brother...?]
no subject
[She remembers one. She thinks.]
I hope they're all right. Whoever they were.
[She's not going to go out of her way to find out since she's not even sure who look for, but the sentiment is genuine. So at least there's that.]
no subject
[They wouldn't have just disappeared completely, that would be too much to handle. Maybe it's just that too much Papyrus is too much for anyone to handle, so they had to get shuffled into other houses... Or, maybe, everyone deserves the chance to live with Papyrus so much that they're all going to keep rearranging at regular intervals. He nods decisively with that interpretation of events, and settles on that as the thing to think unless something drastically contradicts it.]
So you didn't see any notes, or anything else of note. I guess that would be too easy.
[It would be more polite if they at least gave a hint. But turning over every document in an entire building seems time-intensive, and he wants to find out if Sans is really here, or anyone else he knows.]
Maybe the answers are... outside.
[He squints through his shades at the nearest of the windows, the brightness of the sunlight outside brighter than nearly any light source he's encountered in his life. The existence of sunglasses makes so much more sense now.]
no subject
[After hearing the pause and noticing the way he's squinting, she'll try and broach this subject, figuring she should try and say something there.]
If I may ask, are you worried about that? I'm sure it will be fine.
[As fine as being kidnapped to somewhere else can be sure, but she's trying to sound reassuring about it. Outside looks fine to her, and it could really be a lot worse. There could be zombies running around or everything could be on fire or any other number of things she's either seen firsthand or heard about from someone else in Chaldea.]
It's hard to imagine anything too terrible waiting for us with such nice weather outside.
[Admittedly thing could still be terrible! But that's not a stance she's trying to put forward right now.]
no subject
[Maybe that's the real nature of his nerves, here; the last thing he remembers, before waking up in the room upstairs, was tending to his brother's injuries. But also, somehow, running from an aggressive trick-or-treater himself, or maybe listening over the radio while others were attacked somewhere...? Either way, the common theme was outside and sudden surprise violence.]
I'm not imagining any terrible things, or worried what we'll find. The outdoors are wonderful. I've gone outside many times! A regular outdoorsman...
[To make his bald-faced lies a little more convincing, and better demonstrate his complete chill and comfort, he sidles up toward the door and peers out its window. See that, no soggy trick-or-treaters here. Just a nice neighborhood, positively blanketed in sunlight.]
no subject
[She sure isn't fond of imagining that either. Or having it reaffirmed that it wasn't something imagined and most likely happened. But it's all presumably over and done with and no one here seems any worse for the wear, so she'll just resume not dwelling on that one.]
Oh, but an outdoorsman? Really? I had no idea.
[She doesn't sound skeptical of this (though she is). She seems much more delighted by the thought of it.]
While I wouldn't consider myself a stranger to the outdoors either, I would hardly call myself such a thing. So there may be times where I will have to rely on your expertise.
[She may be dooming herself here and not know it. Or possibly dooming both of them. Who knows?]
no subject
My expertise... Well! You can count on that. I'll just do a little brushing up, on the fine details, of survival here. Because... I'm more used to snow than, uh, desert...?
[There, that's a great cover story for any mistakes he chances to make in the future. Right?]
no subject
[That's understandable enough, so she just smiles and seemingly accepts the matter. She's still not entirely sure, but isn't questioning it, so that's good. Probably.]
I, on the other hand, am not very used to snow. I've seen it of course, and there was plenty of it where I'm from, but it really wasn't the type of weather you'd go outside in.
[Really not interested in braving Antarctic weather. No thanks.]