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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!
GALA AF
Go figure.
Not that Crowley has to stay by Aziraphale's side all night. That's not it at all. It's a party, they're meant to mingle. To get to know people. And they agreed, didn't they, to be strategic about it — to try to gather information, to try to learn more about this place and its happy citizens.
But it still miffs him when he looks around and can't find that red hair in the crowd.
Let it be said that he is unsurprised to see Crowley eventually reappear with a policeman hovering at his side. Rather than walking over to sheepishly claim his "wife," to offer the officer a lopsided little smile and apology, he stays where he is: standing off to one side of the punch bowl, drink in hand, sipping and staring at Crowley with a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face.
The green in his blazer really brings out the disappointment in his eyes, don't you think?]
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He spots him across the room as he's being led back to the party, flashing a bright, unabashed grin in his direction.
As soon as the policeman leaves him be, Crowley slips through the crowd to appear at Aziraphale's side, mischief in his eyes. He might have made an attempt to act more contrite, but he's just tipsy enough that it doesn't even occur to him.]
You weren't supposed to see that.
[He sounds neither troubled nor apologetic.]
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Or.
Or.
Aziraphale could allow himself the tiniest smirk, which he does.]
You weren't supposed to get caught.
[like come on did he really think crowley was going to behave, of course not]
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By you or the copper?
[They're two very different things, after all, not that he gives Aziraphale any time to answer before continuing:]
Wasn't much interesting, anyway. All the doors were locked and I left my lockpicking kit at home.
[He doesn't know how to pick locks.]
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[Amateur.]
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[He does a little Marsha Brady flick of his hair, never mind that it's more loose waves than the proper curls he had as Ashtoreth, or that he definitely slept with rollers in last night to make sure they were, in fact, this good.]
Anyway, I've no idea how to use 'em. Hardly the sort of skill I needed to cultivate, is it?
[What with the being a demon.]
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He gets that look when Crowley flicks his hair. There and gone.]
True, but it makes for an interesting hobby.
[Not that he knows from experience.
Don't worry about it.]
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Says the bloke that collects snuffboxes. [He does raise an eyebrow, though, looking curious.] Do you know how t'pick locks?
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He takes another sip of his drink.]
Only for recreational purposes.
[In other words, no, he will not help Crowley break into anything or anywhere.]
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[He looks like he isn't quite sure whether Aziraphale is having him on or not. It could so easily go either way, knowing what he's like, but right now he's mostly just teasing, because he's determined to hold onto the good mood he's found himself in.]
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I haven't!
[How dare you suggest that Aziraphale has been doing bad things!]
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Mm, right, so let me get this straight. You know how to pick locks, but you only do it alone, with your own locks?
[There's a metaphor here. He may or may not be about to get himself smacked.]
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[Ah.
Right.
There it is, dawning on him, what Crowley is actually saying. Aziraphale huffs and scowls; no smacking. He can't smack his wife.
In public, anyway.]
Oh, don't be vulgar.
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Crowley makes an attempt to appear as innocent as possible, something that's actually a little easier, now that he knows Aziraphale can't sense anything demonic on him. And when he doesn't have demonic, serpentine eyes.]
Vulgar about what? I thought we were talking about lock picking.
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Aziraphale clicks his tongue and makes air quotes.]
Indeed. "Lock picking." I'm onto you, wily old serpent.
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You're the one talking about recreational purposes. [Still grinning, but he moves on quickly, glancing out at the crowd and feeling brave enough to ask what he wants to ask.] D'you want to dance?
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Which is to say, they don't know the same dances. They've not yet danced together.
if you can call what either of them do "dancing"Aziraphale looks out at the crowd as well. What the people here are doing doesn't seem complicated at all — certainly easier than a gavotte, and not nearly as embarrassing as disco-dancing.
It's Christmas. They're human. It's fine. Sure. Why not?]
I suppose we could.
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But he's pretty sure neither of them are here, that whatever power is behind this, is something entirely different. So he can ask, and he can wait for the answer, and he can not grin too much, when Aziraphale says yes.]
Music's a bit awful, but I reckon we could manage a waltz. I'll even let you lead.
[How generous.]
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's no big thing. Just a waltz.
Aziraphale, hesitant to put his drink down — he had to work hard for the booze he was gifted! — knocks the rest of it back in one go before ditching the glass and offering his hand.]
How kind. Mind your feet, hm?
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Should I be worried? I have heard things, about how angels dance.
[A little teasing is necessary, keeps things from getting weird when they're stepping so far past their usual boundaries.]
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[Angels don't dance, angels and demons don't fraternize.
Aziraphale steps into the music easily enough; the tempo for a waltz isn't quite there, but he can awkwardly make do.]
My point was more that you can hardly walk a straight line on a normal day.
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[His only source of information on all things angelic, as if he wouldn't just ask Aziraphale rather than listening to whatever gossip is going around Hell.
Neither of them are especially good at this, but they're at a gala hosted in a little American town, not in the court of some noble, where they'd be expected to do better. They're hardly going to stick out for occasionally fumbling a step or two. He keeps his hand settled sensible on Aziraphale's shoulder, and follows his lead as best he can, even if it's been a while since he's waltzed the woman's part.
He also sticks his tongue out at him, just for a moment.]
Not my fault I'm a serpent, is it?
[That excuse doesn't hold up so well now.]
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Ahem.
Aziraphale wrinkles his nose.]
Not your fault, no, but one would think that after having legs for six thousand years...
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[It's obviously a joke, some phrasing that's partly parroted from who knows where, most likely the internet. It's just easy to talk nonsense rather than focus on how close they are and how warm Aziraphale's hand is in his. It's an odd thing, knowing that anyone on the outside would think nothing of the two of them together.]
And I've never had any complaints about my dancing.
[Not that he's heard, at least!]
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Except — it's strange, being this close to a pair of human eyes. Aziraphale can't shake the feeling that this isn't Crowley, not really. Maybe that's why saying yes to a dance was so easy.
Mentally, he bats the thought away.]
Impressive, if true.
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