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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Comments

december 1st

[chromiums]

[ lorna has already been awake for about an hour, and the fact that the person sleeping next to her did not resemble the guy she remembers sharing a house and fake family with for the past few weeks just hammers home that there is something very, very wrong about this place. she's been walking through the house, trying to see if she recognizes any of the people who are supposed to be her new "family".

it's nothing quite as jarring as it had been. there are pictures of her and her new "husband", but none of them with children. she wants to go out and see if she can find anything out about the people she'd initially been playing house with, if they're okay or not, but she wants to see what she's in for with the person she'd woken up with first.

so she comes back upstairs, starts running once she hears a body fall to the floor, and opens the door just as he stands, proclaiming how weird their situation is. she scoffs. ]

Nicely understated. [ she looks him over, a little wary. ] What's your name? Do you know who I am?

[ribticklers]

[Someone else is here. Sans goes completely still, but his face reads as obvious alarm as he stares at this woman. Okay, nobody was here the first time, but this time-- This is different. He forces his features to smooth out, but he still looks a little wary.]

Uh--Sans. No idea who you are, sorry. [He shrugs. He's continuing to keep himself held very still, which might look kind of weird as a human.]

[chromiums]

[ lorna exhales in a sigh of relief, though she still seems wary, tension held in her shoulders even as they lower slightly. good, so they're in the same situation as before. bad, there had been some sort of reset, which means something probably went wrong. ]

I'm Lorna. And it's fine. I just wanted to be sure we were on the same page.

[ she walks further into the room, taking stock of what they've got - more vintage wardrobe, more pictures. nothing that informs her of what could have lead them to a different location in the same place. ]

What do you remember about Santa Rosita? Besides waking up this morning.

none of my human icons look confused enough

[ribticklers]

[The way Lorna says that, it sounds like she expects there to have been something before. And there was, but Sans isn't sure how much it applies to now. This is different from when Sans woke up the first time, but not that different. Reset, reload--whatever it is, it must have gotten messed up, right? Is everybody going to remember this? Or is it--a human thing? Everyone here is a human. So is he, right now. Maybe this is how it works for humans all the time.]

Well, uh--pretty sure I was in a house by myself, before. [Actually... He's speaking half to himself now, voice a little lower.] Is this even the same house...?

[They all look so similar, it's hard to tell.]

i'll just picture the regular ones with skin?

[chromiums]

I don't know. [ because he's right, they do all look similar. ] I don't think so, I had - there were more people in my house before. One guy who was supposed to be my husband and one that was supposed to be my son.

[ and speaking of human, she'd been hoping that her sudden lack of ability to sense anything metallic wasn't something that would extend to this, that it was maybe part of a dream. but she still can't feel anything. ]

perfect

[ribticklers]

[Sans feels a strange relief at the confirmation of October existing in the past. He's--never felt that before. This human stranger acknowledging that something weird is happening is--new? Well, a lot of this is new, he guesses.]

Maybe it's like assigned seating at school and they swap everybody around sometimes. [That's no way to put together a family, but neither is shoving people together with weird fake pictures. But wait, if he's here, and she's here, and he's an adult, and she's an adult, then...] Wait, are we supposed to be...? [Sans finally looks around for the pictures. Yup, there they are. They're supposed to be married.] Wow, sorry 'bout that.

[chromiums]

It's not like it's your fault. [ she feels safe in assuming that he's about as clueless in this situation as she feels, which is...

well, it's not exactly comforting, but at least they're on a level playing field. ]

Okay. So we're supposed to be married, and we both remember what happened around Halloween. [ she's guessing. ] Should we try keeping an eye out for people who were in the same situation as us before?

[ribticklers]

Yeah. There's probably some other people still around. [Papyrus should be somewhere in town. Sans is going to have to look for him.] Hopefully those Halloween weirdos are gone, too. [Since Sans hasn't yet realized it's December 1 and not November 1, the potential threat of Halloween zombies still seems possible here.]

[chromiums]

God, I hope. [ come to think of it, she doesn't feel any sort of lingering effects from eating the poisoned candy either. which is as much of a relief as it is disturbing.

lorna starts searching through the closets and drawers, trying to find things for both of them to wear and talking as she moves. ]

All right, here's my plan: we look through town to see if there's anyone we recognize. If what we remember is right, we're bound to run into one of them at a block party or something.

[ finding a sweater and pair of slacks that look like they'll fit him in the first closet she looks in, she pulls them free and tosses them to him. or onto his bed, wherever they happen to land. ]

Is there anyone you knew from before you were here that was around?

[ribticklers]

[Look at that, Sans is going to get dressed in actual clothes today. He has to think about the question and the implications of saying anything.] Yeah, my bro should be--well, he was here. [Papyrus shouldn't be here any more than he or Lorna should be, but he was. And Sans knows, if Papyrus is here, that them being brothers isn't going to be a secret. Sans keeps a lot of secrets, but he knows he couldn't keep that one.] Taller'n me, and skinnier. Better hair, too. What about you?

[chromiums]

No one from home, but there's still people I want to check in on if they're around.

[ she eventually finds a black pair of slacks and a green sweater, pulling them out of the closet and tossing them onto her bed. shoes and socks are found next and she pulls those out, coming around her own bed to hand him what she's found. ]

I don't know who would be and who wouldn't, but I don't love that they've decided to reassign us.

[ribticklers]

[Sans takes the offered clothes, then looks around the room again. Attached bathroom, right, he remembers that. Different house, maybe, but same layout. He'll head there to change. Also, with the door closed, he can reexamine his weird human face in the mirror without that looking incredibly strange.]

Maybe it's--a social experiment, or somethin'. [His tone suggests that he thinks it would be a very dumb social experiment, if so.] Who're you lookin' for? I can keep an--eye out. [Eye, not eye socket. He has to remember this stuff.]

apologies for the wait, this week has been rough. also i found a different outfit.

[chromiums]

[ lorna appreciates that he takes the initiative to change somewhere else - she would have done it if he hadn't, there's extra rooms now that there aren't kids around to worry about - and she hurriedly pulls her nightgown off to pull her sweater, pants, and shoes on. as she starts looking for a coat, she keeps talking. ]

His name's Peter. A little taller than me, brown hair, brown eyes, kind of lanky. Maybe around seventeen or eighteen?

[ once dressed, she looks in the mirror and fusses with her hair a little bit. there's not much she needs to do with it as straight as it is, but she does push a headband into place to make herself look more together than she feels, especially when she asks what she does next. ]

Have you ever seen anything like that before? [ a social experiment, that is. ]

[ribticklers]

[Sans makes note of Peter's description as he stuffs himself into these clothes (which he guesses are his, since they fit, but that's very weird). He looks in the mirror at his hair and, yeah, still has no idea what to do with it. He just leaves it as the curly mop it seems like it wants to be.]

A real one? Nah. Just kids online messin' with people and then saying it was an experiment once they got caught. [Sans knows the Undernet is monster-specific, but that kind of experience has to be universal, right?] This just seems like the kinda thing a mad social experiment scientist would do, y'know? Forcing people into families and swapping 'em 'round.

[chromiums]

[ it does sound like something kids on the internet would do when they're bored, but it's been a while since lorna's had the opportunity to use that for anything frivolous. the latter thing he mentions is something that sounds more familiar and is what she's concerned about. ]

They've never tried the family spin on it, but I've known people who these kind of experiments have been done to. Experimenting, brainwashing, having the people they'd captured turn on their friends, the whole nine. I'm worried that might be what's happening here.

[ her lack of powers would fit in with that concern, but the rest of the people she remembers meeting don't. no one she remembers talking to had heard of mutants in the way she'd meant it, much less sentinel services or trask industries. which doesn't mean this place, wherever it is, doesn't have similar goals. ]

[ribticklers]

[When Sans finally returns to the bedroom (he gave it extra time since he didn't want to walk in on Lorna changing or something), his eyebrows are sky-high on his face.]

Uh, wow, that's rough. Haven't been involved in anything like that, myself. [But anything could be going on on the surface. Apparently this was going on on the surface.] Unless this ends up counting.

[It better not.]

[chromiums]

[ again, she appreciates that. a coat and shoes are found and handed to sans once he emerges, and she stands with her arms folded, still looking anxious and grim. ]

I almost was. [ the only thing that had prevented it was interference from the underground and strucker, oddly enough. ] As for whether this counts or not, I don't know.

[ there's a brief pause as she looks him over, trying to determine why the people in charge might have been interested in him. ]

Are you...different at all here than you are at home? How you look, something you could do there that you can't do here, anything like that?

[ribticklers]

[Sans didn't expect to be asked that. And, of course, everything is different about him. He's in a body that's a foot taller than his normal one, not to mention all the skin and blood and everything else. His magic is completely gone, replaced with all the matter in a human body. He has hair.

He's going to lie, because even if Lorna is safe, which is no guarantee, he doesn't know if she'll mention things to someone who might not be. But he wants to know why she asked, so he'll offer something.]

Well, I feel kinda weird, but I might still be recoverin' from falling off the bed. What about you?

[chromiums]

[ upon discovery that he's lying, if she figures it out, she'll probably be angry. but she does understand the need to hide, especially given what she's just told him about her world. she just hasn't been for a while. ]

They changed my hair. [ hers is usually green instead of the jet black it currently is. ] And I can usually manipulate metal, but I can't even feel it here.

[ribticklers]

[Manipulating metal. That sounds like magic--not common in humans, but also far from unheard of. But at the same time, she didn't call it "metal magic" or anything like that. And she specified hair, but nothing else--although she could of course be lying about the extent in either direction. He lied, so it would only be fair.

This could actually be important, beyond just his own personal situation. But he still doesn't want to actually talk about his own personal situation.] ...Yeah, okay, they messed with how I look too. [A little. A touch.] So maybe that's a pattern. Like they want everybody to look a certain way.

[chromiums]

[ her eyes immediately narrow when he admits that he'd been lying, but she softens as he goes on. given that she's just come from somewhere where her kind is being hunted because of what they are, she can't really stay mad at him for trying to keep a secret. ]

And they want to keep us from accessing whatever we could use to fight back, I'm willing to bet.

[ribticklers]

[That's definitely a possibility--Sans can't do much like this unless he wants to try punching someone, which he does not. But on the other hand, a human body is much more resilient than his monster body. Then again, if it's humans causing the problem, that might not matter that much.] Yeah, it'd mess up the friendly town aesthetic if a bunch of people stormed the place. [He doesn't know how many of them there are, but he remembers multiple people stuck in this situation in October.] Not that I've got any idea which place we'd even want to storm.

[chromiums]

[ lorna could probably deal out some damage if she really wanted to, but without her abilities she knows she's at a severe disadvantage. that doesn't make her feel good about the possibility of the zombie children possibly coming back, or some other bizarre thing happening (and that seems more likely a possibility than not, given what they both remember about santa rosita so far). ]

I don't, either. [ this seems unlikely even for trask, but it's the only comparison she has to draw from. ] But I think someone's definitely in control.

[ribticklers]

Yeah, this is a pretty crazy set-up to just happen randomly. [But ugh, Sans doesn't want to solve an entire ontological mystery.] D'you think maybe they brought some detective here too who'll figure it all out for us? [That'd be so much easier.]

[chromiums]

[ she has to laugh at that, though it's more of a scoff. ]

We've already been abducted, had things about us messed with, and been assigned families we don't belong to twice now, and you still think we'd be that lucky?