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

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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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

🍸 DEC 1st - 4th

💣 AT or AROUND 540 KARLOFF COURT ( for ELLIE + neighbors, feel free to engage with whichever part of the prompt! )

[ Suffice it to say it's Goddamn alarming to wake up the way Ray Gillette woke up on December 1st, in a strange house, a strange bed -- definitely not where he went to sleep last night(?) -- sharing a room (though thankfully not a bed) with a strange girl who barely looks old enough to drink legally. So startling is that fact it actually causes him to whimper out loud with surprise, unable to clamp the sound back behind his hand because, his right hand? Yeah, it's not there.

Which is a whole separate kettle of fish. Ray's had his bionic hand for 5 or so years now, he barely remembers what it felt like for his arm to simply stop at the wrist, but it feels pretty damn shitty. His legs, too, throb will a dull yet numb sort of ache, something he hasn't felt since long before he regained his ability to walk again.

He can move them, though, bend them at the knee and flex his toes, so that's something, but putting weight on them isn't effortless, if the way he crumples to the ground upon getting out of bed is any indication.

After a long time spent miserably investigating his body in the bathroom mirror, Ray will strap on the prosthetic hand hanging off his bedpost and limp around to investigate the house with quiet mounting alarm, eventually making it downstairs where he halfheartedly throws together some breakfast (the stress make him hungry, okay?), and eventually steps outside to collect the paper and goggle with still mounting horror at the suburban sprawl around him. Did he die and become a Stepford Wife or something? ]

Hey! [ He clutches his robe closed with his good hand and waves the other to get a neighbor or passerby's attention. ] Do you live around here?!

🍸 DEC 5th

[ Ray naturally can't help but follow the crowds, curious to investigate whatever it is they're gathering for, which-- okay, he can appreciate the HHA's adorable looking rep, but the rest he only pays as much attention to as he needs, listening for any significant name drops or information that helps him understand more about where he is (and, ideally, why and how he's there).

... But no, the Mayor's speech, while certainly informative on some level, doesn't do much to tell Ray anything new. He remains fidgety from the cold and simple irritation, growing increasingly restless, but the sight of the massive lit up tree admittedly tamps down the worst of his sour mood. ]

Oh, wow-- [ God, he's a sucker for holiday festivities. Although... ] Wait, it isn't even a real tree?

[ Hard to tell at first, but upon closer look it's definitely aluminum. He wrinkles his nose, suddenly reconsidering his initial reflex to line up and buy his own-- if not for his wooden hand and leg braces he might consider taking it upon himself to go cut down his own, but unfortunately there's no possible way he could 1) wield an axe effectively, or 2) get the damn thing home, even if he did somehow chop it down.

Ray sighs, muttering to his neighbor: ]

Damn things are just tacky, don't you think?

🍸 A mysterious village

[ The door Ray had been trying to walk through was, funnily (and perhaps luckily) enough, his own front door, meaning that once he steps out into the surprisingly out-of-place winter wonderland he is at least not dressed completely inappropriately; the weather isn't as cold as what he's used to, at least, though a scarf and sweater isn't quite robust enough against the sudden frigid chill of snow. Heaps of the stuff. ]

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

[ But the charm of the quaint little village isn't lost on him, as much as he hates to admit it while everything else is still a big ol' fat question mark. He wanders past the ice skaters with a wistful look on his face, limping with his cane too obviously to go out onto the ice and join them, but even having only one good hand he can at least make a fancy garland or gingerbread house or two (join him, why don't you!), pick up some ornaments and candy canes, enjoy the refreshments, hot chocolate and mulled wine.

(Oh, right, and drop in a letter to Santa. Please, he cannot deal with all strangeness unarmed.) (No pun intended.)

Overall not the worst way to spend a winter's day, even if Ray feels moderately ashamed of enjoying himself so frivolously under the circumstances. What else can he do, though, but keep exploring until some answers begin to fall out...? ]

🍸 THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

[ Similarly, Ray feels guilty (but only a little) about looking forward to the Mayor's gala, but he tries to take comfort in the fact that there's really no alternative here-- he can investigate and also have a good time, or he can be a miserable, humorless bastard about the whole thing. Frankly, if there's anything being a spy for a shitty, shitty agency has taught Raymond Gillette, it's that if you can afford to enjoy yourself a little during a mission, then why the fuck wouldn't you?

Exactly.

That said, he hadn't been counting on the dress code. Red or green makes for an absolutely hideous suit. Bell-hop chic, if you will. He selects the most tasteful outfit he can find among the HHA loaners and prepares himself to grin and bear it for the evening, wandering off to take full advantage of the refreshments and try (unsuccessfully) to see what the policemen are guarding.

As he sips on punch, Ray can't help but wrinkle his nose at the weird display the Mayor puts on in his Santa suit, but comments: ]

Wait, is this really a dry event? Did no one think to sneak in a flask?

[ He didn't, but only because he assumed there'd be champagne or something...... God, now he's going to have to track down Archer or something if he wants any booze while he's here, which is just great. Ray contemplates his options while he angrily crunches down on a pickle.

But otherwise he'll mingle as inconspicuously as he can, starting up conversation -- compliments of attire, wry commentary about the evening or even month so far, casual small talk that won't necessarily give him away as probing -- when he can to see if it yields anything interesting, though as the evening goes on the veneer of subtlety might slip more and more. ]

Hideous.

[That would be Aziraphale whispering his agreement, a slightly aghast expression on his face.

He's a sucker for the holidays, always has been: all the lights and decorations and love, why, it's almost enough to make an angel giddy!

But this?

No.]

[ It's downright impossible (in Ray's opinion, anyway) to be immune to the holidays entirely; even here, in a completely unfamiliar town under completely alarming (and mysterious) circumstances, everything has that familiar winter edge when the atmosphere turns crisp and romantic and hopeful.

Or it might have, if the big-ass fake tree hadn't killed the mood. ]

Right?! [ He gestures helplessly with exasperation. ] Y'know, back in New York when they put up that big ol' tree they always go real, [ (at least, he thinks so?) ] and lemme tell you, you'd think pine trees would be even easier to come by here on the West Coast. Assuming that's really where we...

[ Er. Anyway, he's babbling. Ray shakes his head, looking at Aziraphale with a wan, tense smile. ]

Saves us the trouble of having to wait in line to buy our own, I guess.

Edited 2020-12-03 00:56 (UTC)

[Babbling, or making a valid point? Aziraphale looks from Ray — while wearing a half-smile of his own — to the decorations, then back at Ray.

His smile falters, like a twitch.]

Unless they're like the jack-o'-lanterns and something will hunt us down if we don't have one.

[Does he sound bitter about that whole thing? Maybe.

They still haven't replaced all of the carpet.]

[ Oh, well, that's a thought Ray hadn't considered, actually... because dream or not (Ray isn't even sure himself anymore), clearly it had been rather prophetic all the same, even if for the wrong holiday.

His eyebrows furrow slightly, troubled by this notion. ]

Good point. You remember Halloween too? I was startin' to wonder if I just imagined all that... [ He shakes his head again, crossing his arm. ] But at least jack-o'-lanterns are charming-- I dunno if I can bring myself to put up one of these monstrosities, I just can't. It'll haunt me.

CHAPTER ONE, PART 1: A HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAY

Do you hear what I hear?

DECEMBER 5th

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A MYSTERIOUS VILLAGE

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THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

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OOC INFO

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dec 5th

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Dec 1st

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Dec 1.

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gala!

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village

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cw for reference to suicidal feelings

DECORATIONS BOUGHT AT TIFFANY — wildcard

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Dec 5th

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