HARK! How the bells, sweet silver bells...

[piper90npcs]

Who: Everyone
What: Holiday Events
Where: Piper 90 - The Rig
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Holiday cheer, smooches, tactical snowball action

It's the Holiday Season in the Gone Away World and on the Rig in particular! Though they claim to be open to any cultural celebration of this time of year, the dominance of Santa Claus, reindeer, and elves in decorating really kind of blunt that claim. But the PA system, when not blaring alarms or fuzzy announcements for working party C to show up at the maintenance bay, play Christmas tunes of all sorts at inconvenient volumes. Decorations hang limply from the walls. And every worker with children has been issued a shotgun and a bandoleer of shells loaded with pellets of cold iron.

Just in case.

Comments

SECRET SANTA SHOPPING

[piper90npcs]

1. Ellie Hacker and her husband, Sam, are total opposites. He's a big man, muscular, silent, with a vein constantly throbbing in his temple and a military haircut that does very little to hide it. He wants very little to do with this job, it seems, but the bulge under his jacket suggests that he's fully prepared to deal with someone that might cause trouble with something a little longer lasting than a little zap. She's small, chubby, and endlessly cheerful, chattering nonstop. She also has a habit of waggling the controls to . It's through her that the New Hires will learn that she's in the secretarial pool, that she and Sam have been married for six years and have a four year old at home, and that he's just come back from a weeks-long resupply jaunt that was apparently escorted by a team lead by a man named Captain Armstrong who Sam thinks very highly of but, for some strange reason, won't invite over for drinkies and dinner and isn't that the rudest thing because Sam's so charming and giving normally, but you New people wouldn't know a thing about that sort of thing, just bless your sweet little hearts, now here's the places you're allowed to shop and if you get out of view it's a zzzt for you-

Fortunately, she's easily distracted when she sees a co-worker at the jewelry kiosk, but she won't give out the money for gifts until the New Hires have asked her, and politely, if one is appropriate. Sam, however, won't engage except for an irritated glare, unless one of the New Hires starts to act out. If that happens, he'll simply tranq them with his dart gun and declare the trip a wash, cutting it short there.

2. Gertrude Hayes is one of the sourest old ladies you'll ever lay your eyes on. Her face seems permanently locked into a scowl of disapproval, with wrinkles so deep that you could go spelunking in the lines between her eyebrows and lose yourself rapidly.

"I'm a stickler," she announces on the elevator down to the residential shopping area. "Mind your manners and get this over with as soon as possible. I don't want to miss my soaps. They're all I've got now that my Harold's passed on, the stupid man." She scowls even harder, then pulls out the control for their nanochains. Her thumb jams down on the button and... There's a tingle. That's all. She's holding it down as long as she can, before a beeper warns her that she's moving into Punishment territory and she lets go. All through that, there's not a hint of pain, no sign of an electric shot stronger than a tingle. "Had to stop for a slut in red. Hmph. Now all I've got is his old books on electronics." She slips the control back into her purse and leans on her cane.

"I don't feel like chasing you brats everywhere, so stay close. Any of you starts straying too far or acting out and your trip is canceled. I don't care if you've bought your little trinkets or not. Speaking of." She reaches into her purse and withdraws a billfold, throwing a wad of money at each of her charges roughly. Never mind that she was told, well within earshot of the group, that their accounts already had the money for the gifts credited to them. Maybe she's got a spotty memory.

When the elevator dings at their arrival, she doesn't say anything. She simply marches off to settle on one of the benches, slips on a pair of sunglasses and a large set of noise-canceling headphones, and pulls out a set of knitting needles.

Well.

DESTINATION: DECORATIONS

[piper90npcs]

It had to happen. You and a few others have been pulled together, had a box full of ribbons, paper, jars of fake snow powder, singing toys, and/or balloons slammed down in front of you, and told to make this area of the Rig look appropriately merry. Some helpful guides have been given. If you need more sticks of glue, call this number for a delivery. And do not eat the glue. They've heard about you types and they don't appreciate that sort of activity. This is after all, a good, Christi-ah. Multicultural company full of decent people of all religions. None of whom eat glue.

With a final admonishment, they leave, but the last one through the door turns and points at his eyes, then the New Hires. Then promptly turns around to walk into a closed door. Swearing, he opens it and slams it behind him, catching himself in his ass as he goes.

There are menorah and unity cup patterns, stuffed into the very bottom of the box. Diversity, such a high priority among these people.

[princesspower]

Adora is, surprisingly enough, actually kind of into decorating. Even it is kind of kitschy. It's sort of soothing to just be hanging decorations and pasting glitter on things as appropriate. She can be found in the area of the mess hall, trying to run tinsel or put up paper cut-outs of reindeer and snowflakes. She even has a step ladder.

"Hey, would you mind holding this end in place over here-?"

Of course, sometimes you need more than two hands. Just watch out for the scattered boxes.

Of course, she gets a text from someone important and so at one point, she's just waiting, using the stepladder as a seat, toe tapping against the floor. What's Catra want? It sounded kind of serious, weirdly.

[heterochrocatic]

Catra makes an appearance shortly. She laser-focuses in on Adora and heads straight for her. Without saying anything at first, she just wraps Adora up in a hug and holds on tight. Finally, she steps back to hold her at arm's length, her face twisted into a conflicted frown. She pauses, obviously trying to gather the right words. Unfortunately, they never quite seem to make an appearance and she finally just has to blurt out what's on her mind.

"Tenten is in love with me." There, that's said and out of the way. "We got stuck in one of those stupid mistletoe things." Her discomfort about what's transpired is probably obvious, especially to Adora. Her ears splay flat, her tail flicks wildly, her whole body seems tense and on edge.

[takenalive]

What Alloran would consider a good way to decorate this space using these materials doesn't really go with the guidelines. His inclination runs towards trying to make things look like foliage, and he's not put off by not everything being green. Plants on his homeworld come in many more colors. If not for the repeated insistence on not eating the glue, he wouldn't have thought about it.

After the last staffer leaves, the Andalite steps back for a few minutes - no one wants to watch him morph, if anyone does follow they're not going to be comfortable with the sight - and returns in Aria form, tying Aria's long hair back.

And tastes the glue. "It's good. Not very flavorful though," he says in her voice. Big surprise. It's not a stimulus he's familiar with or can really map onto his own Andalite sense of taste, but the stimulation itself is a positive.

[monkey_wrench]

[Trusting Jack with the responsibility of decorating the rig was a mistake. That should have been obvious from the start, when he asked "Can I feed you the glue?" and made no attempt to even feign remorse after a brief shock. Today was a day of causing as much passive aggressive chaos as he could with his meager supplies and taking whatever consequences may come.]

I. It’s a Diverse Holiday, Right?

[It starts off small, spreading out the unity cup patterns and slamming down menorahs in the most prominent places he can find, while sweeping anything distinctly Christmassy back into his own box. Or on to the floor. It’s a case of wherever they happen to land is where they stay.

But slowly he escalates to more “creative” forms of “decoration”. Like taking the glue sticks to the walls and drawing any symbols from Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and yule that he can manage to google, and covering the sticky residue with pulverized Christmas tree bulbs. That’s close enough to glitter, right?]

II. Poking the Bear

[Eventually he gets an idea in his head that turns his ire more pointed, and more aggressive than passive. Wandering far away from the area he was assigned to decorate, he just so happens to find himself at the entrance to a certain physical trainer's office, and aw would you look at that? There are no decorations in this hall, and that just wouldn't do. Clearly if anyone needed some Christmas cheer it was Planker, right?

So the garlands go up around the door frame, along with some sprigs of holly, a single sprig of mistletoe, and some cheesy pre-cut red and green letters above the door that read “Seasons Greetings”. Just to make things look legit for five minutes.

But then, using more of that glue and powdered bulbs, he draws a mural of sorts on the door itself, depicting a rough sketch of a blocky man, who was likely meant to be Planker, struggling in a massive snow drift at the bottom of a set of stairs. And encircling it are the words "All Hail The GOD Of The Snow, May He Reign Eternal In His Tiny Kingdom".

And then, the garlands starting to sag as he adds dangling fishing wire with christmas bulb hooks attached. They’re not sharp or barbed like fish hooks but surely Planker will appreciate the call back to one of his own torture training rooms.

Standing back to look at his work he looks distinctly unimpressed.]

This needs something more.

III. Silent Night

[And he ends the night, possibly worse for wear if he's already been caught, by going up to the top deck to stand at the railing with what's left in his box of decorations. Occasionally he fishes something out of the box to either drop off the side of the rig or pitch at a target.]

III

[heterochrocatic]

[ Guess who else comes up here to brood sometimes, Jack? It's your villain pal, Catra! She arrives with her usual stealthy tread--she's a cat, after all. She announces herself by plucking an unused decoration from the box and chucking it over the railing. As it smashes into something (not even what she was aiming at, but who cares?) she leans up against the railing next to him. ]

Looks like you had a busy day.

ii

[zerofield]

[ Tio is not, as a general rule, the petty sort. It requires a level of emotional investment she normally finds it a struggle to reach, so those who earn her ire are more likely to simply be ignored than anything else.

But as she surveys Jack's handiwork on Planker's door, she can't help but feel a little twinge of satisfaction. This is a cause she can get behind. ]

I think it needs something cute. I'm sure he'd appreciate cute and heartwarming, right?

[ Such as, say, the item she's helpfully holding up from her own box - one of those tacky window clings, a large one of a ridiculously saccharine pink kitten sporting a sparkly Santa hat. ]

I

[humandroid]

[ Finally, Data is free to live his best life in a low-stakes environment. To perform per his usual preferences one of his favorite recreational activities.

Watching people he hasn't interacted with do things and then sticking his nose into it.

This is his business now. He lives here in this moment in time, with his armful of crummy generic Christmas decorations. ]

Intriguing. An unconventional use of extant materials to transform their purpose. There have been many historical observations of the ways in which creativity and destruction may complement one another.

[ Are decorations art theory? Maybe they should be. ]

Your technique lacks refinement, but I find your intentions quite impressive. Good work, Jack.

[ (Although if Jack doesn't have a Jorgmund-issued nametag on him at the moment, that can be edited out, just lmk) ]

Re: DESTINATION: DECORATIONS

[myagents]

Price carefully places the various Christmas decorations around the halls, carrying the box with him as he takes his time to empty it. When he sees the menorah at the bottom he tilts his head. He remembers the Director mentioning he was jewish. Tucking a single small menorah somewhere and lighting it was the most he would do, and he wouldn't even do it every year. He must've given up on faith, and there was even a look of shame on him whenever he brought himself to 'celebrate'. Agent Carolina didn't seem to stick to those religious beliefs - why would she when he didn't? - and would keep other agents company, even when they left the ship to celebrate somewhere else, with the head staff's permission.

In those occasions Price, who didn't have a family of his own, would simply remain alone with the Director and work with him as if it was a normal day. It was nice to catch him glance at the menorah in reminiscence and then pretend not to see him when he would snap back to reality. Any remark or invite about celebrating with Carolina would earn Price a scolding, which was utterly rude by the way. Then again, he himself didn't celebrate. Nobody ever thought much of it, though, they never questioned it. He loved to keep up on the gossip but that would mean that he would hear unpleasant comments about himself, the ones he found most offensive were about being weirded out at the mere idea that he needed to sleep, eat or go to the bathroom like any regular human being, so of course they wouldn't even conceive the idea of him celebrating the holidays.

He used to be so thankful for the head staff never ever time off or free days...Yet Project Freelancer was the period of his life that offered him the best holidays, as he could get to do the job he loved and watch the Director and the Agents. In his own special way, he liked them, he just had to keep them close in a way that made them unable to leave, even if that led to them seemingly disliking him. At the end of the day they would always come to him whenever they had a problem. He was important to them whether they liked him or not.

He shakes his head almost violently, embarrassed of how his thoughts spiraled even though nobody saw him. Then he proceeds to put the single menorah that was in the box on display, taking his time to light it and place it in a way that makes it look as pretty as possible.

[notvulcan]

Michael needs to draw from long-ago memories to create appropriate Christmas decorations—and she had barely known anything at all about Hanukkah before being brought to Vulcan. She takes a popsicle stick and squints at it for a moment before deciding what to do.

"You want to make a few more of those?" she suggests. "Out of these, I mean." There are enough markers that they can color up a variety of lit candle arrangements.

[humandroid]

[ Data is more than on board for decorating duty when it rolls around. Seeing how no one has a choice in the assignment, that's probably for the best. It's a mixture of historical Earth culture that he likely would have gotten around to studying and experimenting with for the sake of knowledge, and the sort of low-tier preparatory "grunt work" he routinely found himself assigned as an Ensign.

He takes to it with palpable curiosity and enthusiasm for a unique experience. He's well and impressively repaired, there's no longer an immediate existential threat to the crew of this Rig in the form of Rose Tattoo, it's a new day. It's a social activity. What's not to take to?

Having given the instructions a cursory flipping through for memorization, his contributions all match up to that rubric with precision.

But he can be found, sometimes, standing back from his work with a tilted head-- adding more ribbon or snow, perhaps, in an attempt at "taking creative license." Data is very able and willing to turn to the nearest party to ask if they're willing to offer their opinion on his work. ]

The decoration guides all seem to indicate that merriment is quantifiable through means that are primarily material, rather than emotional. I find that assertion to be questionable at best.

[ Data has not written his small-talk subroutine yet. He's trying.

He is equally able and willing to stick his nose into someone else's efforts with observations or praise or guidebook quotes, etc. Set 'em up doing literally anything! He'll talk to anyone, he'll go right for it.

Also handy for: relocating heavy objects, opening difficult containers, anything that requires having someone stand very still for an extended period, giving boosts so someone can reach a high spot, overall moral support. ]

SNOWBALL SLAUGHTERFEST

[piper90npcs]

It had to happen. You don't have this much snow, even if it's fake, without someone trying to make a snowman. And, in what's probably the tamest ARE in the history of the Rig, miniature Stuff storms sometimes sweep the halls, filling them with real snow, colder but even better at holding its shape or shoving down stairs to practice file cabinet sledding. And, of course, the natural reaction to this much snow, false or real, is to gather it up, pack it together, and let loose at someone else. Snowball fights spread across the Rig like a virus, children and adults alike giving into the energy of the moment.

Oddly enough, management, normally so concerned with efficiency, says nothing of the practice. Though, rumor has it that Dickwash hasn't been seen in days. Not since a mysterious avalanche buried Planker in a pile of cold and wet fluff on the stairs, leaving him soaked and more furious than normal.

[whethertheyshould]

Malcolm stands back and admires the pyramid of spheres he had made from the snow. He was a mischievous sort, and on top of that, enjoyed using his math skills to create a perfect pyramid like this one.

Now he just needed an opponent. He'd been sure to place his armory of snowballs just behind a barrier, across from a perfect location to ambush anyone who happened by. Now he just needs to wait.

Accordingly, he moves behind the barrier and waits.

[fuckingaqua]

[ Now everyone knows that it's important for a Jorgmund hire to do their assigned stuff or whatever for the efficiency of the company, but what Tucker's theory presupposes is: maybe it isn't? That's sort of been his stance when it comes to "working" here all along. Just like his official Blue Army days. Bare minimum, if that.

He's admittedly been off his game when it comes to his favored brand of having fun doing dumb bullshit since getting here. Comes from the overall vibe of literally everything about it and about Wash and about none of his other ride or die trustworthy teammates being around to count on. Tucker's not good at stress and he's not good at emotions, because he is a dumb sensitive trash man who refuses to process how much he cares and is impacted by things in his life.

He's incrementally worked his way around to adjusting more, proverbially unclenching, just by being stuck here this long already with no hints at a way out. Honestly, he's really still not vibing with the shenanigans at default. It mostly makes him miss his idiot friends more.

But if his options are going about his assigned business or fucking around in the snow for a while, he's gotta pick the latter on principle. The energy in the moment does turn out to be infectious, too, enough for him to pack up a couple of snowballs. ]

Dude, check out how shitty I am at juggling.

[ Excuses to lob a snowball directly at someone whose guard might be down because they expect shitty juggling: one-brain-cell edition. This is his natural habitat, really.

He might also be around vibing, though. Laughing at people who slip. Building a shitty snowman in Grif's honor. Just sort of taking a few minutes to hang out in an environment that isn't pure corporate hell. Whatever. ]

(post-Ghosts of Memshare)

[credit_not_blame]

[Stacia...squeaks and throws her arms up to protect her face from the snowball. See how very non-threatening she is? How completely, not-even-remotely terrifying? She definitely hasn't been quietly stalking you, Tucker, looking for an opportunity to strike up a conversation. Nope, not at all.

She giggles, just to underscore her point.]

Okay, yeah, I probably should have seen that coming.

[infailtration]

York is released onto the rig to explore after what he considers a rude awakening and very strange orientation. But hey, he's alive, even if he isn't certain what to make of things just yet. Jorgmund does offer free healthcare but he's got a bad vibe, something he's learned to trust after Freelancer. He'll certainly behave enough not to get shocked, but he'll keep an eye (his only eye) out for trouble.

Speaking of his good eye, he almost thinks something is wrong with it when he steps into a corridor and little white things float through his vision. But no. It's... snowing...? On the rig. As he walks through it, it gets thicker and has started to stick on the ground as well, until he's trudging through it and very tempted to just flop down and make a snow angel. Curiously he reaches down for a handful of the stuff, and yes, he's able to pack it into a cold ball.

It'd be in poor taste to throw a snowball at someone he doesn't know, of course... York wouldn't do that... or would he? There's the telltale crunch of someone coming around the corner and York holds up his ball with a grin. Might as well have some fun, being alive and all, but he'll ask first.

"Wanna play?"

[bothbarrels]

North expects someone he knows from the rig when he rounds that corner and sees a figure standing there. He can't help it when he realizes it's York—he grins widely. He and York had been thick as thieves, so to speak, on the MoI, and he'd missed York for years, even though they'd been able to occasionally keep in touch on the planet where they'd ended up when the MoI had crashed.

"Hell, yeah, of course I do," he says, bending to pack a snowball of his own.

He understands that York has the advantage in this situation, having already prepared by quite a bit.

MISTLETOE MERRIMENT

[piper90npcs]

There's mistletoe in the decorations. Of course there is. But that's not the kind to worry about, especially after an announcement goes out over the PA system that no one needs to participate in that. It seems someone got the idea to try to sweep Doctor Lillian off her feet and ended up inventing a new yoga position with her swift and typically perky assistance.

No, the kind to worry about isn't the little plastic replicas. It's the organic type, growing right out of the ceiling thanks to the Stuff. Those who step underneath it are trapped in an invisible cone, unable to leave it until they give or receive a passionate kiss from someone else. However, word quietly spreads that simply admitting some secret or giving a small, but honest, gift is enough of an alternative... sometimes.

Also, children seem wholly immune to the mistletoe's effects, much to their glee when they realize that they can trap their teachers and babysitters underneath them and head off for storytime with the Easter Bunny.

[71lines]

She'd planned on going to the gym, to experiment after getting her bandages off at last. Given the amount of taunting and teasing Tenten's received from various sources over her torture at the hands of Rose Tattoo, though, people might be surprised to see just what great shape she's in. There's not a mark on her, no scar remaining. Medical, perhaps, wasn't quite that bad if they could manage such a great recover in such little time.

Then again, Tenten hadn't exactly spread around how excellent her transformations could be. Or how draining, either. Keeping one going for so long was an experiment of a different kind, one that was a constant, if low-level, pull on her chakra reserves.

She'd like to blame that distraction for getting caught under the mistletoe like this, but she didn't even know what it was. Not until a faint announcement, warning people about the new breed of mistletoe, echoed through the halls. Followed swiftly by a strangled noise of frustration from the ninja.

ota

[takenalive]

Alloran, realizing he's prevented from leaving, has gone completely still, not even his stalk eyes moving, most of the great arc of his tail low and, honestly, a tripping hazard. All he's doing is breathing, very slowly. Is this a productive response? No. Can he help it? Also no, his mind has blanked. He gets weird about being invisibly prevented from acting.

Going still for some period of time is just something he does now and then, often without much provocation, but he's usually moving a little more and not so in the way.

[greyerrant]

Loken is trapped fast in the invisible cone, his expression one of cold fury as he realizes that he has been trapped by some kind of Stuff, or sorcery, or something else he can't quantify and overcome with the strength the Emperor and science have given him. He seems to wrench against the field, but is held in place, awkward and angry.

[humandroid]

[ Data walks into this invisible barrier with the graceful head-jerk of a mildly startled bird, on principle. This very quickly morphs into abject fascination with his circumstances.

An ancient human tradition, a force field, a telepathic conveyance of information that actually affects him. All the pieces of a Very Cool Mystery. In his own way, he kinda loves it.

Data is also de-prioritizing the means of escape for the moment in favor of carefully feeling out the boundaries of the invisible cone. Sorry if you wanted to address or get that over with immediately. Now you are part of the discovery experience first and foremost. ]

Intriguing.

[fuckingaqua]

[ Here's a cool thing: Tucker hates this. Legitimately! The whole entire enterprise of it!

Yeah, it's not hard to piss him off or get him worked up about something, but the invisible mistletoe cone is some real what-the-fuck material. ]

Okay, this is like ten times more bullshit than any of the other bullshit around here. [ He decides that it's time to yell vaguely upwards into the heavens. It's not about thinking that maybe someone specific is responsible for this and will hear his opinion. It's about the principle of the thing.

So, just in case there is someone specific responsible for this who is listening, basically. Fruitless yelling into the abyss is a lifetime staple. ]

Hey, I get that we're doing the Christmas thing, but how about you go get get another outlet for your jollies, you fuckin' creeps!

[ Is Santa real in this world and if so, is he orchestrating magical mistletoe cage traps for corporate slaves? Does Jorgmund have a Human Resources department to complain to? Is this comeuppance for Tucker's status as someone who set off a canonical planet-wide sex pollen fic off-screen according to a questionable writing decision?

Consequences also being forced onto some poor stranger who had nothing to do with his actions?

How deep does the rabbit hole go?

Tucker is not thinking about any of this in great detail tbh. Head empty, still mad. ]

[ open to 18+ for secret sharing or gift-giving etc. options, but prefer to keep partners 24+ for potential kissing (lmk if your preference falls to smooching or non-smooching in that case if we haven't talked it out already! contact me however!) ]

[infailtration]

If there's one thing you learn as a stealth operative, it's that people rarely look up. Unfortunately for York, this includes him too. He's noticed all the decorations around the rig, of course, but not anything strange about them. And the cafeteria has a higher ceiling than the corridors or his room, so it's harder to notice things hanging there... like mistletoe.

He's about halfway through the room when he finds he can't move any further. What the--? Now he glances up and sees the little sprig of berries and leaves. The kind of thing he would deliberately stand under, under normal circumstances, just for fun, but. He doesn't seem to have a choice right now.

Damnit, he's actually hungry. How does he free himself from this..? There's only the obvious answer.

The next person to enter the cafeteria will see him just standing there, unable to even turn to face them, as he points above his head.

"Watch out. Unless you want to come give me a hand. Or a... face? Also, hi, I'm York."