Enter the Holidays
Cutscene: Enter the Holidays
IC Details

Thanksgiving Day starts off the holiday season, and everyone enters into it in their own way… (Thanksgiving Day Montage!)

IC Date: November 28, 2019
IC Location: Various
OOC Notes & Details
Posted: 29 Nov 2019 03:33
Rating & Warnings: G
Associated Plots

The giant, tusked goose reared back its awful head and screamed, its body bloating like a pigeon on freshly ingested Alka Seltzer. An explosive fall array of plumage erupted from its tail, and its goosey cry warped into an even worse, echoing gobble before it peered down at him with its baleful gimlet stare. Its head plunged down, razor beak coming straight for him—

Agent Ulysses Arngrim tips back into wakefulness, in that his chair had been angled too sharply, thus overthrowing his center of gravity and sending him on a swift meeting with the floor. It's a rather harsh greeting, made all the more so for the fact that it's freezing cold in the office and he can feel it almost amplified through the Renwick's old linoleum tiles beneath him despite still wearing his wool coat. His pocket starts to buzz, and as he stares up at the blurry ceiling, he fishes his phone out.

"Hey mom. No, you weren't interrupting. I was just about to close up. — I am not a work-a-holic." He is. "…Archie did what? I told you he would, first chance he got. So we'll be one drumstick short, it's fine, a little less for leftovers." He lifts his other hand to nudge his glasses back into position from where they'd been knocked askew across his face. "Yeah, I'll head right over. I just- yes, I brought my scarf. …you know the one. Hah hah. No, I left the wand at home. Right. Uh-huh. See you." Phone lowered, he releases a long sigh. Well, if he wants any turkey before his dog gets to it all, he supposes he should get off the floor. That's probably a good start.

'…Are we not going to delve deeper, Khalid? To see your true potential?'

Distracted by the dissonant sound of Christmas music playing overhead, Khalid sighs. Too many day-to-day items to think about and the other prominent voice inside of his head is competing with it all. He refrains from making any other outward expression in the middle of the baking aisle of the grocery store, reaching and dragging out a large can of pumpkin puree sitting near the back of the metal shelf.

"I know it looks like I'm stalling on understanding the magic stuff, Nabu, but if you haven't noticed? There's a lot on my plate right now school-wise, including the hours I spend at Strange's place. Besides, mom said to get some things while I'm out here." A few more cans are plopped heavily into his shopping basket with a clunk clunkCLUNK. With all of the weight, he's sure his arm will fall off at some point. "Something about inviting our whole block over for a Thanksgiving gathering type of deal, but I didn't think she needed a ton of pie filling- " He pauses to blink. " -Wait a second, did you say— "

The immediate arrival of commotion abruptly interrupts Khalid's train of thought. He turns halfway in the direction of the noise, the basket of canned goods hitting the linoleum with a cluttered THUD as he instinctively grabs hold of his backpack strap.

And Nabu almost chuckles. ''As you have said: my reply will have to wait.'

Khalid then frowns, resisting the urge to throw the Helmet of Fate through a wall.

This time last year was different. She was alone, but free. (With varying values of ‘free.’) This year, Harley sits in her cell, and she’s not doing well. She’s nearly manic today, which has made her downright intolerable.

She laughs loudly for no reason, and she alternates her unnerving cackles and mockery with absolutely downright lewd suggestions depending on how her fickle fancy strikes her in the moment when she’s got a visitor guard.

She got her cot taken away after she turned it on its end and kept trying to find a way to use it as a diving board. She got her sheets and pillow taken away, too, after she tried to wrap herself up like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Every deprivation and denial is met with wild, wide-eyed laughter that everyone writes off as her grating variety of lunacy.

Eventually the guards have enough, and a crew of them come in with enough tranquilizer to drop a horse. The guards want a quiet Thanksgiving, and they’re going to have it while Amanda Waller isn’t here to check them on it. One of them will have a VERY quiet Thanksgiving in a hospital room after Quinn resists and takes out his knee before the others manage to restrain her and shove the needle under her sun-starved, pale skin.

Her last thoughts before she loses consciousness settle on a charming two year old who has never met her Aunt Harleen.

She was drunk when she walked into the club, and she’s certainly drunk now. White wine made way for red wine, and red wine made way for the scotch that she’s been sipping on ever since she was pulled into the Inner Circle’s latest gathering.

The fire roars pleasantly beside her perch upon the couch, Emma Frost’s head settled lazily back upon its rolled arm. Really, it makes listening to the squabbling between the gathered bodies a lot more tolerable… which is good since she hasn’t much in the way of patience this evening.

She hopes inwardly that their fighting will mean that no one will ask about the progress in repairing Mutivac, which is still inoperational after being stolen back from the facility in Kenai. She doesn’t want anyone asking questions about it in general, and so the blonde remains silent unless spoken to. Shaw credits himself for her docility, and she hasn’t the energy to disabuse him of the notion.

It’s going to be almost as long and ugly a night tonight as if she had needed to spend it with her family in Massachusetts.



While Ryan was on the run, he had missed a Thanksgivings. Mainly because he could not really celebrate it being on the run and hiding and all, nor did he want to because he really did not have anything to be thankful for. Though for this year, Thanksgiving that has changed for him.

This year he has something worth celebrating, something to be thankful for. This year, Ryan’s circumstances have changed quite a lot. He has a new home and family with the X-Men that took him in as one of their own, though it took him a while to integrate himself into the new surroundings. And he made some new friends with Dead Girl and Ombra in Gotham, whom with he is spending part of his Thanksgiving with.

As part of Ryan's preparations to celebrate thanksgiving, he plans on cooking up a recipe his uncle taught him when he was younger—a simple venison stew but very delicious, so he would head to acquire the needed supplies to make the stew. But first there is one other stop Ryan must make, the memorial site to all those who died during the invasion of New York back in 2008, for he has not yet been there since that day where his family was killed.

Ryan spends some time there just thinking back to that day of the invasion, thinking about all that has happened to him since that day, all he has lost, and what he has gained while trying to not let himself break out into a sobbing state, ultimately failing at that, though. After his time there and paying respect to his lost family, Ryan makes his way back to Dead Girl and Ombra's home after getting the supplies needed and a few drinks to share with them as well and start cooking up his venison stew and celebrate the Holiday with his new friends and new stage in his life.

Ombra treats Thanksgiving with a somber sort of mind. Her family, alive, has cast her out. They don't even know she is herself, or at least they didn't. They might know now, she considers. But she doesn't bring this up to her two closest friends. She puts on a brave face, not wanting to bring about another burden to them. An unseen but understood brave face. She helps Ryan do the cooking, albeit with limited success. Unable to hold on to anything for more than a minute or so means she has to frequently stop touching, but she has help in the form of her shadowy companion to hold things steady. She does not need to eat, but she can enjoy food anyway. It's just different for her. Today she needs encouragement to do so, more 'quiet' as the day wears on into the evening. Not trying to express herself as much, needing to more and more show that brave face. By nightfall she slips outside, alone at the day's end, confounding herself when she thinks about how she needs to be.

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