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Entry tags:
- !event,
- archer: ray gillette,
- archer: sterling archer,
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- attack on titan: levi ackerman,
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- dc comics: bruce wayne,
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- 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
Which is exactly what Wrathion is getting from Anduin. The black dragon looks unique in his own attire that Anduin can't help but ponder if the other chose the clothes himself or not.
"Somewhere warmer would indeed be a good start." He starts to follow Wrathion, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who may be watching them. It wouldn't do to rouse suspicions so early in the day.
"How are you finding this weather?"
no subject
There, a neutral enough way to address things. His eyes no longer being their burning red is surely something instantly recognisable. Although he hates the... vulnerability of it, this is important. Anduin must know that Wrathion is hampered here. If he could, he'd simply rip them both from the place. He cannot.
"I find I am feeling the cold more than I used to."
A clue. Hopefully he can begin to put two and two together.
no subject
Anduin can't feel his connection to the Light or use his powers at the moment and that in itself is isolating enough. But for a dragon to be brought here and physically changed? Anduin knows he can only guess at how awful that must feel and the look he gives Wrathion is a little sympathetic (though not too much, Wrathion is still in trouble for the whole Legion thing).
It's rare for the young King to hate anything but this place certainly is testing that. For now Anduin simply wonders what it is this place needs for them to be kept there, though he doesn't need pains from the Light to know that whatever it is, it can't be good.
"What is done can be undone, I am certain of it. Changes aside, has everyone in this place shown you the same kindness as they have myself?"
no subject
Wrathion arches an eyebrow as he glances sideways at Anduin, an expression that questions this choice of wording.
"Certainly the locals have a surprising amount of cheer," he notes. "Did you attend the festivities? The silvered tree, neatly decorated and available for sale?"
What a ghastly concept. He lifts one hand, makes a sweeping gesture with it.
"The spirit of this celebration is familiar to me, yet nobody I have encountered recalls it as I do."
Nobody knows it as Winter Veil, which means so far the two of them seem to be the only ones from Azeroth.
no subject
That, and there's just an underlying sense of dread that permeates everything, it makes Anduin's skin crawl the more he thinks about it.
"It is very much similar, though I have seen some differences, one of which sits in my own abode." The tree had been garish to look at but Anduin just couldn't quite say no to such an enthusiastic seller.
There's no shame in admitting that.
"I wonder what other celebrations there will be, and if they will be forthcoming with more information for us to understand them." It's not often sarcasm leaves Anduin's lips, but this time he just can't help it.
no subject
With Anduin's more gentle manners, more determined patience. Is this equally sarcasm, or said in earnest? Wrathion makes no indication either way, just continues on.
"I confess, my experience with such celebrations is... limited. Is there usually much more to come?"
Winter Veil is just a feast, yes? With gifts and so on. Wrathion himself has no particular reason to partake, no family to feast with and a very small quantity of 'associates'. An even smaller quantity of friends.
-- Although, of course, there is Ebyssian now. The thought gives him pause. Does Ebyssian celebrate? He... has no idea, which is troubling.
no subject
"I don't believe there should be more to come. With Winterveil there is only Greatfather Winter leaving presents on a specific day for everyone." Anduin makes no mention of Wrathion's experience being limited; it makes sense considering that the other won't have seen many Winterveil celebrations and that's before the fact he's a dragon is taken into consideration. What did someone gift a dragon anyway?
"If they celebrate something similar here then I would suppose something would turn up later in regards to gifts. Or someone." If it's similar. Anduin isn't sure and in all honesty the idea of this place giving them gifts doesn't instil him with a sense of confidence!
no subject
Wrathion himself did not, of course, as he suspected some nefarious trap. Would he could ask for? Surely they would never give him what he truly desired, a way home.
no subject
Maybe he'll ask for his sword and see what happens? It's not the worst thing Anduin knows he can ask for and it would ultimately prove if those here could control their pull on purpose or not. There is so much about this place they just don't know and having to wait and see is extremely jarring.
Anduin glances over as they walk, vaguely wondering what Wrathion has been doing since arriving here. Looking around, finding things out? Speaking to locals? Anduin isn't sure if it's worth pointing out to the other that actions can have serious repercussions in a place like this; it isn't as if such things stopped him with the Legion events.
"Did they give you a place and people to stay with?"
no subject
Something challenging to achieve, but not necessarily impossible. Wrathion glances sideways at Anduin, hesitantly turning over a thought. Their last meeting had been... heated, and he isn't quite certain he knows where they stand. Especially here, where things are... difficult.
"You seem... well, despite the complications," he manages. There, nailed it.
no subject
"Then our idea of 'well' differs." He isn't going to speak out loud on how much this place disturbs him, bothers him on some whole different level. It almost feels the same as N'Zoth and the old Gods when it came to unease. Something wasn't right and Anduin knows he's in no position to fix it right now.
"I have the suspicion that being in one piece is considered a victory in this place."
no subject
He'd rather not have to fight to stay in one piece too much when devoid of any of his... natural gifts.
Wrathion frowns in thought, eyes flicking between Anduin and the road as they walk -- hands fidgeting his pockets as he considers his words.
"You are... unharmed, I hope?"
Since he said their idea of well differs. What does that mean? Speaking in code all the time is so tiresome, when Wrathion really just wants to ask. He glances up the road and resists the urge to speed up, clamps down on his unease and tries to stay cool.
no subject
"I am unharmed, merely caught off guard at such a place as this." Normally Anduin would be all for learning a new culture, thrilled to find things that are new to most others. But the underlying sense of unease sets him on edge and Anduin shakes his head to himself. A shame that such marvellous things are tainted by circumstance.
"What of yourself, considering your...condition?"
no subject
It is... disturbing. Disturbing to limited so completely, to be unable to access things that should be as natural as breathing.
His fingers curl inward in his pockets, nails digging into his hands.
"Quite the mystery, isn't it?" he offers, tone mild -- almost flippant. "I'm sure our new friends find it amusing to keep me this way."
Perhaps Anduin finds it amusing too. After all, he still remembers the sting of his right hook. Wrathion is still paying for his crimes, he knows that. Perhaps this is yet more punishment.
no subject
"I am certain they find it that way. I must admit that I find myself faithless since more recent times." It's tempting to just come out and say it, to speak openly about such things and yet Anduin bites the words back. He's grateful he did when someone waves from the other side of the road, a random passer-by who gets a smile and a wave back for their sins.
"There are a lot of people here." At least that person seems to have carried on their merry way rather than coming across for a conversation. If it had come to that Anduin isn't sure if his protocol training would save him from saying something he shouldn't.
no subject
"Indeed," he says, with a mild sort of tone that betrays he's thinking about something rather than paying full attention to Anduin. "Come, my newly appointed accommodation is just up here."
He gestures to the turning onto Mockingbird Lane, frowning sideways at Anduin.
"The food so far has... not been what I am used to."
Unpleasant, that is, when the locals are responsible for it.
"I've been endeavouring to see what can be done about it."
That is to say, he's made attempts to see if he can cook. Can't be that hard, can it?
no subject
As to if the result is good or bad remains to be seen and these days there's a sincere lack of pain to help Anduin make such a choice. Perhaps that in itself is a blessing, Anduin vaguely wondering if he relies on that too much.
"The people here seem to have their own tastes, some of them are rather unique." And mostly non solid from what Anduin has seen. Thank everything that he can manage to make some basic things for himself, though living off of sandwiches won't end well for the King. He snaps out of his thoughts to look down the street they're on, wondering if Wrathion's abode will look as mundane as his own.
"If I find the library here I will be glad to send you some books on the matter of food."
no subject
No matter.
He moves across the street toward the correct number, drawing keys from his pocket and unlocking front door. The blast of warmth from inside is immediate, both Wolfe and Wrathion dislike the cold and are more accustomed to warmer climes. A quick check around and call out reveals them to be alone, so he simply waves Anduin in then (after a moment of consideration) locks the door behind them. Caution is something Wrathion has manage to learn the hard way.
"I'd offer you tea," he begins, "but even the tea here manages to be lacking."
Perhaps mostly because he developed a taste for it in Pandaria. He drops his keys on a small side-table and begins to shrug out of his coat, running fingers through his curls to tame any disarray the wind might have caused.
no subject
"The coffee also lacks." It could be part of the torture this place has in mind, to kill them slowly with mundane food and beverages. Such a plot would not surprise the human in the slightest and he takes another look around. He wants to see if there are pictures of Wrathion growing up with his "family" or not, just like Anduin has in his own (colder) house.
"Do you believe these places to be safe to talk?"
no subject
"I believe it the safest option we have, everywhere else I venture it seems friendly locals seem to constantly bump into me."
He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, since it's nice and warm here, leans against the counter as he waits for Anduin to settle into the space and make himself comfortable.
"I admit, I'm glad to have found a familiar face."