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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!
shinjiro aragaki | persona 3 | ota | cws for references to death and suicidal ideation
[Shinjiro Aragaki died on October 4th, 2009.
He opens his eyes, and the date on the calendar is December 1st. He closes his eyes again. Surely he is hallucinating this, like he hallucinated the little girl's cry for help. He is bleeding out in an alley in Iwatodai, and it is for the best. The fact that he feels no burning pain in his gut or back can only mean that the end is drawing nearer.
He opens his eyes again. It's still December 1st, but that's impossible. (Is it, though? The Dark Hour was a lost stretch of reality, after all--)
...A closer look reveals it's December 1st, 1961. Shinjiro stares at the date for a very long time, trying to decide if he has lost his mind, or if there's truly an afterlife and he has found himself in a very confusing hell--and then he spots the pictures.
Any pretensions toward handling this situation gracefully, or even cautiously, go right out the window. His expression twists into something particularly sour.]
Okay, what the shit? Whoever did this, it ain't funny.
ii. have a holly jolly christmas; village, OTA
[Okay. So it's been...a few days. He's come, grudgingly, to the conclusion that he is not dead, and barring some kind of fucked up afterlife situation, is not going to be dead in the near future. Not that he's ruling out afterlife at this point, because he feels (physically) better than he has in a long time, but he's pretty sure there's more to it than that. The pictures and the creepy neighbors and the scars where his bullet wounds would've been give off a different impression entirely, and he's pretty sure it'd just be way too weird for the powers that be in the universe to come up with an American suburb in the sixties as a representation of hell. Someone is likely behind this, and given all the work they put into reviving a dying orphan, it's unlikely they'd let him go, even he resorted to ... other means. There's no choice, then, but to go exploring.
He is NOT partaking in all this Christmas cheer, though. He attends the Mayor's speech, sure, but wallflowers around the back and leaves without any kind of tree, thank you very much. Unfortunately, the powers that be also insist that he participate, because the first door he opens looking for somewhere to warm up from the cold, he winds up....elsewhere.
Shinjiro stares out at the wintry wonderland before him, expression some mixture of baffled, perturbed, and irritated--all of which intensifies when he reads the letter on the candycane.]
Well, this is bullshit. "Letters to Santa"....what are we, five?
iii. auld lang mnemosyne - outside mayor's house, OTA
[Shinjiro Aragaki does not like parties. He doesn't particularly care to be around large gatherings of people in general. It's only been a few days, and he's already tired of this place and its endless weirdly smiley-happy freaks, and he'd rather just stay home and stare at the ceiling until the void consumes him, but there's little else to do, and he's admittedly curious.
The dress code, however, is summarily ignored--he shows up in whatever clothes were available in his closet in whatever kind of coat he can find to protect against the elements. Only .... he just so happens to be nearby when that one person from town argues with the HHA about the loaner garments, and then all of a sudden he's gone.
It's about enough to get Shinji not to protest about the blazer, which is admittedly a hell of a feat. But it's seeing that townsperson by the books again, with some blitzed out look on his face, turned into some kind of happiness zombie, and Shinji puts down his own punch and snacks, about faces, and walks right back out of the Mayor's house, possible information there or otherwise.]
Nope. No. Nah. Uh-uh. I'm done. No point stickin' around to get my brains rearranged today. Ain't worth it.
howdy son
Though a significant amount of time was wasted trying to find a sense of balance. He never realized how much he needed his tail until it was taken away from him. He took a tumble a few times, once into a dresser in the room he woke up in lined with framed... paintings? Eerily detailed paintings one of which fell back onto his head that showed his scale-less likeness beside a younger Hume man with brown hair.
With a shake of his head (and a clear forming bruise not even his bangs will hide) he forced himself back up when he heard someone's voice just outside the room.]
Who is there? [Said reaching to his hip for a sword blade he didn't have. A fact that made him growl to himself, but he didn't need that to deal with a petty intruder. Stepping slowly out of the room, frame dropped to have both fists ready, who does he see but that same man from the pictures.]
... You.
sup dad
He's stiff and guarded as he waits for the footsteps to approach, but then he's caught out by the same realization that the older man is--they share the photographs.]
....Alright, this is officially way past creepy.
no subject
It wasn't until he gave the younger man a long stare down from head to toe, eyeing posture and searching for any hint of deception, that Takame dropped his stance. To say he relaxed would be a lie, however, since he was still eyeing him with great scrutiny.]
I assume you don't recognize any of those either. [Said gesturing towards the pictures with a deeper frown.]
no subject
[His shoulders rise and fall in a vague shrug. He sighs.]
...Look, I ain't expectin' shit from you or whatever. Ain't had parents in ages, and I've been fine on my own.
[For an, uh. certain value of fine, at least.]
I can even clear outta here if you want, a bed ain't that important to me.
no subject
But Takame wouldn't harm a young, unarmed man. A long since orphaned one, it would seem.]
I'll not ask you to leave, but nor will I bar your way. If my presence causes you discomfort, I will stay out of your way. A bed means just as little to me. [A pause to take a look around the unknown home, the clothes he wore that he didn't remember putting on and the back of his hand, still scarred but without scales or tough nails. He's suddenly overcome with deja vu, like he's seen this once before... one or two moons past...]
If I may ask... what is the last thing you remember hearing before you found yourself here?
no subject
[So far, he sees no reason to have a problem with this guy, anyway. But he hasn't shared a living space with anyone but other teens since the orphanage, so it's gonna be some weird growing pains, he's pretty sure.]
Long as we're clear that you ain't my dad and I ain't your kid, I don't really care. Your business's yours, mine's mine.
[He wishes he still had an oversized coat to shove his hands into tbh...it feels weird to be without one. As for the question...he frowns.]
I uh. I'm not sure. I thought I heard a kid call out, but ....I kinda figured it was just in my head.
[He was bleeding out in an alley at the time so it wasn't an unreasonable assumption.]
no subject
He could only try to prevent any faux pas on his end which tbh was harder than god killing but kami as his witness he'll try. At least he still had all of his hair to habitually run a hand through just to busy his hands. Not that it helped, it just reminded him he didn't have his horns again.
And if that didn't make his brow furrow, Shinjiro's answer to his question sure did.]
No, I heard the same. A young child calling for help... [What could it mean, he wondered? It wasn't Hydaelyn, and it wasn't...it wasn't the Echo. He saw no image, only heard the voice. Was it a product of the star shower as well? Damn it all. He shook his head, holding back a frustrated huff let out through his nose half way. He mustn't falter, he is a pillar.]
... My name is Takame. Takame Kesi.
(no subject)
(no subject)
iii snow white witch cackling gif
1) This is very obviously not his world, and it seems to be very possible that a number of Scholars' theories about potential alternate universes are about to be proven.
2) There are only so many of them new to the town, and they're all in the same boat.
That's enough for Wolfe to follow the boy when he sees him heading out of the hall, stalking after him like a tacky dark green shadow. Once they're outside and he can speak without drawing attention— ]
What in the hell do you think you're doing?
[ Oh. That is not a happy tone. That is most definitely a very angry tone. ]
chinhands
What's it look like I'm doin'?
no subject
But that doesn't prevent Wolfe from striding up to him now. ]
You tell me. I'd like to believe you're not enough of a fool to risk the well-being of our contemporaries inside the town hall by making it obvious to our hosts you're out of place, but at first glance that's exactly what you're doing.
no subject
I ain't makin' any kind of scene, alright? That's why I'm leavin'.
[He shrugs.]
Besides, there's no way the people in charge here don't know exactly who we are.
no subject
[ Did you see the guy at the punch bowl, Shinji? (Yes, of course, but Wolfe doesn't know that yet.)
Wolfe's dropped his voice to something only the two of them can hear, but there's real venom in his words. He's seen what happens to people who step out of line in situations like these. He's lived it. He won't do that again... and the part of him that's been thawed by his young students understands instinctively that he has to protect this youth from that too. ]
We don't have enough information on our situation yet. It's best if those in charge think we're inattentive and oblivious to what's going on.
no subject
Look, guy, I don't owe you an explanation. But for the record, I'm leavin' because I saw what happens when you ain't playin' the game right. I don't know shit about fancy parties, and I ain't gonna get my brain zapped because I didn't pick the right dessert fork or whatever the fuck.
[He is, noticeably, wearing the hideous festive blazer, Wolfe might realize. He did try to blend. It's just that seeing the punch bowl zombie convinced him it was a much better idea to leave than risk failing to conform appropriately enough.]
Bein' some punk kid ditching early fits in better with their image than tryin' to fake it wrong.
[He could even picture that painfully saccharine voice putting out platitudes about Troubled Youths. It was a role he knew how to play well, and it was the easiest to slip into now.]
no subject
[ He's not telling him that he has to get it all perfect—just that appearing as though he wants to fit in and become part of the town is going to keep him a lot safer than storming off. Sometimes you can't get out of hard situations. You have to learn how to suffer through them.
It's a small change, but the acidity in his voice lessens. Only by a touch, barely perceptible if you don't know him well, but it's there all the same. ]
Playing the game and playing it right are two different things. As long as we play, our hosts think they have the upper hand. Upsetting the board tells them they need to deal with us faster.
(no subject)
ii - because I gotta, but something a little later on than the tree reveal?
Oh, Santa doesn't stand on ceremony! You don't have to be too adult about it... You can just send casual letters in. No itemized invoices or forms in triplicate required.
[That's meant to be reassuring, compared to how paperwork for other major officials can get to being. At least Santa offers a clear, friendly arrangement with simple terms: be good, request presents, receive presents. Something any skeleton can embrace going along with.]
omg ... i'm so sorry papyrus lmao
So he just settles for his default of blunt.]
Ain't you a little old for believin' in Santa?
I am so glad, and he's going to be so confused
[The sincerity's still on display, albeit mixed with a self-aggrandizing joke and an edge of confusion is trickling in. Why would age matter when believing in Santa? Is it a child labor thing...?]
god bless
He lets out a careful breath.]
I mean, that's usually a little kid thing.
no subject
[Papyrus absently scratches at his chin, thinking back to gatherings around the tree in Gyftmas. The little kids were the most excitable there, the most eager to receive presents... but little kids are the most excitable generally.]
Well, if it is... I guess that's because, adults are embarrassed to ask for what they really want. And teenagers are embarrassed about everything.
[No offense meant.]
no subject
I legit can't tell if you're messing with me right now or if you're actually serious.
no subject
I would never tease a complete stranger, for being too embarrassed... to ask Santa for gifts.
[He is a liar, and that is exactly what he's doing. Papyrus might not know why Shinjiro's comparing him to small children, but he has caught that there's a hint of insult to the comparison, and he's cheerfully turning that on its head by offering backwards reassurances instead.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
III
Vasiliy pauses in his steps toward the giant mahogany double doors on the house's face and changes direction to match his stride to the boy's, projecting his voice just enough for anyone in their periphery to hear: ]
Are you sure you don't want to come along? It looks fun. [ A beat, then, under his breath, he quickly adds: ] We will step away. Keep talking.
no subject
He doesn't have much of a show to put on for any passerby, aside from token teenagerish grumbling about the lame party the old guy is trying to drag him to, but it's dropped almost immediately upon getting away from the main hub of activity.]
There was some guy who didn't wanna wear their shit. They did something to him, and now he's like one of those fuckin' happiness zombies around town.
no subject
What do you mean, did something to him? Did they inject him? Did it look like they are telling him something?
[ Scopolamine, his mind fills in, or maybe Haldol. Any number of injectable drugs that would presumably wreak havoc on the human body when given to people who aren't sick. ]