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

Waking Up, Closed to Miguel O'Hara

[This is not his bed. This is not his house. Where is the peeling wallpaper, the bare floors, the sound of Dad crawling around in the hallway? Okuyasu fights his way out of the warm, comfortable bed to look out the window and sees that this is not Japan at all.

According to the weather and calendar, apparently it's already winter. So was he kidnapped and knocked out for a few months? Where are Josuke and the others? Are there more Stand users they forgot about in Morioh?

Okuyasu steals some clean, ironed clothes from whoever owns this room (are they in someone's house while they're out on vacation?) and sneaks downstairs, where there is thankfully a newspaper left for them on the kitchen table. He leans over the table get a good idea of where he is-]

What the fuck?!

Christmas Village

[The first time Okuyasu opens a door and sees something other than the living room, he slams it shut and and backs away from his house as if it was ready to attack him. Maybe it was, who knows when the actual Stand user will show up.

After 10 minutes in the cold, he decides, fuck it, might as well see who's in there and beat them up.

...An hour has passed, and this is Okuyasu's third trip to the candy shop, filling up his pockets with sweets, grabbing another mug of mulled not-wine, and running back to the workshops and races screaming in excitement.]

Never mind what I said! This place rules!

Gala

[Okuyasu looks at the teenage-sized suit and...honestly, it's something that would not be out of place in his universe. It's too bright for his own tastes.] But it's not all that bad if it means I can get into the party. Where's the changin' room?

[He comes out, unbuttoning half of the suit, just enough to be let in while making sure that no one mistakes him for being a square. Apart from stacking his plate with cake, meat, and cursed dishes, he finds a spot on the floor near the darkened areas and claims it as his own.]

Hey, I'm gonna try everything here. Wanna see? [He holds up a forkful of jelly pickles.] This whole party's boring as shit, anyway.

This place is awesome, right?!

[Kipo is also helping herself to the candy shop, and also carrying a wreath almost as big as she is.]

Look at the size of this thing!

It's like, this one day I'm gonna spend my allowance on everything! It's not like I'm gonna be here for long, right?

[But he's being reasonable - the pile of candy he has is just enough to last about a month and a half, just so nothing spoils so long as he spaces out his treats.]

Is that from that one workshop where you have to make it yourself?

Right! Totally not gonna be here long, so we might as well enjoy ourselves a little!

And yeah it is! I've never made my own wreath before. What do ya think?

[It's very. Colorful. Lots of different colors and ribbons and little round ornaments on it.]

Man, that's look great on my house. [The one in Japan, of course.] And they're lettin' you make that stuff for free?

Yeah! Wild, right? Wanna go make one?

You bet!

[Zero money for stuff! And he has his chocolate!]

Race you! [With his arms full, he WILL beat a 13-year-old to nab the best seat in the workshop.]

[To be fair, he's much taller than Kipo - and probably faster. But that doesn't mean she doesn't try!

She catches up eventually, huffing and puffing.]

How. Are. You. So. Fast!

[He claims the workshop nearest the instructor. Best seat in the house!]

It's cause I'm way stronger, of course. I work out each day of my life!

[He gently rests his shopping on the bench and leans on his propped arm, facing Kipo with a grin.] Nothin' even broke when I ran.

[ oh god, will gelatin give him no respite? will he be allowed some moment of peace without the food stuff haunting his every turn?

no, apparently.

the sight of it alone makes his stomach churn - a novelty he would like gone, thank you very much - and daylight visibly recoils at the sight of it. he takes a step back, trying to keep some distance between himself and the weird, weird appetizer. if this what humans like to eat, daylight wasn't really missing out on much, huh? ]

Are you sure about eating that? [ he gestures to the jelly pickles, unable to hide his expression of disdain. ] That. Does not look appetizing at all.

[Nothing has ever stopped Okuyasu from eating free food, and weird American cuisine isn't any different. He wiggles the fork in above his head to give Daylight a better view of his delicious meal.]

So? Sometimes food sounds like it's gonna suck and then it doesn't, like spaghetti with a bunch of spice that ends up being the best Italian dish you ever ate.

[But not all cooks are Tonio. Okuyasu jams the entire thing in his mouth and immediately gags.]

[ oh that's a rip, buddy. ]

Hang on-! [ daylight makes a grab for a drink as someone passes by them with a tray. after taking a cautious sniff of it, making sure it's not alcohol or, worse, more gelatin, he hands it over to the poor guy.

talking with the experience of someone used to poor food adventures, daylight tries to give some gentle but useful advice: ] If you gotta spit it out, spit it out. Try to down the dirnk in one shot. Don't breathe in if you can, okay?

[Thanks, he nods, grabs a napkin, and spits everything in his mouth onto it.]

Blergh.....

[And immediately downs the glass of punch in one shot without pausing for breath beforehand.]

What the hell was that?! Did no one taste test their food?!

Apparently not. [ fool him once, shame on them and their weird obsession with the powder. he's never going to forget that weird, weird monstrosity that he and sans had to hustle out of the house and to someone else.

he looks at a passing tray and, urgh, more gelatin. ] They've got to have something else besides gelatin here. I mean. The punch isn't gelatin flavoured.

[ a little pause. ]

It doesn't, right?

Nah.

[He smacks his lips a few times to check - yes, no gelatin.]

Okay, so I'm stayin' away from anythin' that jiggles. [He squats, pushing aside the fruit in gelatin, and thinks twice.] Dessert should be fine, right? Might as well try.

[And as if nothing happened, he pops in some fairly tame dried fruit jello, cleansing his palette.]

Huh. Fruit's a bit hard, but the flavor compliments the goopy parts that enhance the whole experience.

[ seeing the guy not immediately gag is a good sign for the dried fruit thing. long as it isn't gelatin, daylight thinks he can give it a second chance.

(no. daylight does not know it's gelatin/jello. not yet at least. this poor man.) ] That's good to hear. Glad there's something we can eat here without fear of gagging.

[ ... he quickly looks around, to make sure no one overhears his comment. ]

Soooo- Got any recommendations for these things? Never seen this stuff before so this is all new to me. [ he peers over the pile of dried pieces, curious about their shapes and colours. ]

The strawberries are okay. [These people are sane enough to leave out fruit platters, Granted, the fruit is carved into bizarre shapes and arranged with unappealing fruit and vegetable crafted into rough animal statues, held together only by toothpicks.]

Stick away from the meat if you're not a fan of meatloaf.

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

Okuyasu Nijimura | JJBA | OTA

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( prompt: gala! )

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— waking up. (FIVE YEARS LATER SORRY)

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