Previously: Liebs finds a festive red box with a jaunty green bow in the Jungle outside NewHome. After much trial and error, she realizes that the only way to open it is to shout, “Ho ho ho!” At which point said box emits blinding rays of light, spins and plays “Jingle Bells,” and explodes, covering Liebs's hair and face in red and green tinsel that won't. come. off.

Also, on a different note, Liebs and Justa were in a prank war for quite some time that culminated in an exploded-fish-covered Liebs ruining all of Justa's bedding by falling asleep in it. Justa left DICE shortly afterward for unrelated reasons.

Pleasantville

Justa is sitting on a nearby bench, staring at the splint on her thumb. Feeling adventurous, she pokes the injured digit with her other hand.

Festive Liebs's hair has decided to just roll with its sudden infestation of glittery tinsel, really, and has managed to create swirls and eddies of holiday festivity amongst her curls. She presses the heel of her hand to her stomach to stop its grumbling.

Festive Liebs strolls through the gates in search of oh god steak please.

Justa thinks, Okay. We are not doing that again, and slowly lowers both bandaged forearm and good arm back down on her lap with a suppressed whimper. She looks up in the direction of a British drawl, a festive-looking kittymorph. A blink. Oh.

Justa lifts her splinted thumb in a stiff wave towards the pair before she's distracted by a walking abomination of sparkling festive cheer. “Oh my,” she says and stares.

Feliz Navidad Arodang giggles faintly and scoots over to hug the big man tightly. “I-it is Dan,” she murmurs quietly, blushing still.

Classy Albert Wesker stares down at Dan. “…Oh.” It's all he can really say. “…Well, uh. This is certainly different.” He pats Dan's back lightly in an awkward embrace. “So, how have you been?”

Feliz Navidad Arodang leans against her uncle and waves to other two with a smile. “F-fine! Aside from th-this,” she scowls, grumping quiet loudly.

Festive Liebs rubs at a shorter, silvery bit stuck to the bridge of her nose and winces at the scrape of skin-covered bone on skin-covered cartilage. She peers over her knuckles, about to cursorily wave at the denizens of Pleasantville, when –

Festive Liebs blinks. Freezes. There are two options running through her head – run very far away and avoid embarrassment/disemboweling/further pelting with dead-fish-bombs, or throw herself at the joker's feet and beg forgiveness.

Festive Liebs chooses neither and instead gapes underneath the hand still curled loosely around her nose.

Classy Albert Wesker looks up at Liebs and Justa, with a grimace and a nod (respectively). He glances down at Dan with a bit of a smile. “Well, it won't last too long, I presume.”

Justa realizes that staring may not be conducive to socializing. She lifts her hand again and gives a wave that would make any zombie squint in kindred spirit. “Hallo,” she tries because that is how most conversations begin with, right? Er. Right.

Beeker is looking fluffier than usual. It looks as if someone has sprinkled his fur with random bits of fluff. Is this festive? Possibly. He is followed by a Corgi puppy.

Festive Liebs really does try to say something, she does. Only a bit of a strangled squeak comes out.

Feliz Navidad Arodang murmurs a prayer-bound, “Hope so…” as she peers up at Wesker, then giggles and looks at the others in the outpost. “T-there's never anyone h-here when I come around. Nice to see p-people out and about. Want to say h-hi?”

Justa nods slowly with a sympathetic look. Yes. Speaking can be difficult for her, too. “Um,” she says before adding, “You look, um. You look very nice, Liebs.” And, “And so do, um, you, Beeker.”

Beeker heads inside for an insult lesson, practicing as he goes. “Relegate my chimichangas, shiny-toes!” he suggests.

Beeker stops on his way into his lesson. “Oh, uh, I didn't mean you, uh, Justa. About the, uh, about the chimichangas.” He looks a little embarrassed.“Uh, hullo.”

Justa watches Beeker pass by with an approving nod before she turns back to Liebs. “Hallo,” she reiterates.

Classy Albert Wesker nods slowly. “Of course. Lead on.”

Festive Liebs immediately switches to option two. “OH LORD I AM SO SORRY,” she wails from somewhere around Justa's left ankle. Pause. Quietly,“Hullo Beeker. Hey Localnews.”

Rykar peers about. Looks in, looks around.

Feliz Navidad Arodang takes Wesker's hand and drags him towards the growing group with a wide grin. “Hi!” she squeaks happily.

Beeker waves to the other people all around. “It's busy here today,” he observes. He blinks as Liebs wails. “Uh, it's uh, are you all right, Liebs?”

Beeker returns Arodang's greeting, “Oh, uh, hullo. Are you all here for insult lessons, too? I've been practicing.”

Classy Albert Wesker lifts a hand to wave to the others. His fingers wriggle a bit before returning to his pocket.

Feliz Navidad Arodang shakes her head swiftly. “N-no! I was just… K-keeping away from most of the p-people. Y-y'see. Uhm. D-dan!” she offers cheerfully, alongside her hand. For shaking purposes, obviously.

Justa tilts her head at Beeker. “Whuh? Oh. Um, no, I wasn't, er, expecting. That. M . . .” The rest of the sentence is aborted in favor of giving Liebs a wild-eyed look of hiccuping panic. “H-huh?”

Justa glances around her. Is Liebs apologizing to someone else? Maybe something near her foot? She ducks her head down to inspect the area near her boots.

Festive Liebs's hair has clutched around Justa's ankles beseechingly. “I am so sorry I got fish all over your blankets and it made you so mad that you left us I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry–” Option 2B apparently reads, Regress to approximately 5 years of age.

Beeker waggles his fingers at Wesker in return. He looks down at Liebs, puzzled. “Uh, what?”

Rykar just sort of gawks. You'd think he'd be used to this sort of thing, but no.

A strand of red tinsel carefully crawls away from the joker's brunette mane to wind around Justa's ankle.

Justa's mouth is still agape. She closes it, opens it again and closes it once more, ever the most eloquent. “Er,” she says before she processes the rest of Liebs' words. “Wh – oh! Oh, um. That was . . . you?”

Justa picks at a fingernail. “Um. That wasn't – that important, um. Or why I left, but. Um. You're . . . forgiven?” She sends Beeker a meek look. Help?

Festive Liebs nods mutely. Her chin grazes Justa's toes.

Festive Liebs stops her mad nodding to peer up at her. Well, this is an awkward angle. “…it's uhm. it's not?”

Classy Albert Wesker glances to Rykar, then back to Dan, then to the others. He's just a spectator, don't mind him.

Beeker tentatively suggests, “Fishify my blankets, festi—” but Cuthbert pokes his head out of the door of his shop to scold Beeker. “You're not going to confuse anyone with that!” he points out, scornfully, before going back inside.

Rykar creeps over to the trio- er, pair now, of DICErs, wonder what the heck has been happening. And why Liebs is prostrate. And why there's tinsel.

Justa says, not unkindly, “N-no. Not, um, not at all.” She pauses, mind still reeling over her friend's distress. “Would you like a sandwich.”

Feliz Navidad Arodang mumbles something and shrugs at the ground, turning 'round to peer up at her uncle. “Hi!”

Beeker scratches an ear, looking confused. Localnews cuddles up to Liebs, who is conveniently at puppy level.

Justa offers Beeker an encouraging smile over Liebs' hair and makes a hand-wagging motion towards the corgi pup that clearly means less of a hello and more of a please come here, we require that you are petted.

Festive Liebs blinks at sudden corgi. Not moving, “Thanks, uhm, I'm good.” Grrrrmble. “Maybe.”

Classy Albert Wesker glances back down to Dan to smile, then proceeds to polish his shades. He's a bit unfamiliar with the other contestants, so he'll keep quiet.

Festive Liebs straightens so that she's in more of a sitting position. Her – well, it's hard to call it hair when so little of it is visible – sparkly mane of holiday cheer sticks up on the side previously pressed to the streets of Pleasantville.

Festive Liebs, contrite after this completely unnecessary display of emotion, reaches out a bony hand to pat Localnews on the head.

Rykar looks down. A tentative hand goes towards Liebs' shoulder- “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Clearly, someone's not been here for the last half-hour, before springing back as she sits up.

Feliz Navidad Arodang knows not the others either. She sighs quietly, dropping to the ground and leaning against Wesker's leg while she plays with her tail, watching the others talk.

Festive Liebs, dry, “I'm fine, uhm, may need a dignity graft though.”

Classy Albert Wesker glances down to Dan, then shoves his shades back onto his nose and hums quietly. His arms go across his chest.

Rykar goes rummaging about in his backpack, for a moment. Then realizes that he's almost out of dignity himself. “I've got a little bit in a jar, would you like the last bit?”

Festive Liebs remembers her manners. “Hi, Rykar.” His hand may have hovered close enough to her shoulder for just long enough, however, that a bit of green tinsel might've snaked around his wrist when he wasn't looking.

Justa, with her particularly advanced hunger-radar, fishes in her backpack for a sandwich anyway. Roast beef and something like . . . celery? Who knows, but it smells edible and is edible (so we hope) and if it looks like a sandwich . . . well.

Beeker is curious. “Where did, uh, where did you get it? Was it in a crate?” He indicates Rykar's dignity-jar.

Justa takes great care not to hover the food offering near Localnews' snout. An unvoiced apology is given to the corgi pup before she turns her attentions back to Liebs and says, “Um. Would you like to sit here?” She pats at the empty spot on her bench.

Feliz Navidad Arodang giggles at the funny conversation the people are having. They're silly!

Festive Liebs hoists herself to her feet to plop on the bench next to her, an audible breath oofing its way out of her lungs. “Thanks, uhm.” She blinks at Rykar. “Wait, do you actually have some, I mean I was just being, uhhh.”

Rykar notices a bit of tinsel on his wrist, making a sort of bracelet, before presenting the jar to Beeker. It's green, and sloshes nicely. “Nope! No idea, really. You can have it if Liebs doesn't want it… I'm not really much for the dignified stuff.”

Justa catches the giggle from the Christmas-colored kittymorph. She glances up, clears her throat gently and adds, “Um. I don't, er, have any other sandwiches, but there's, um, cookies if you'd like any.” If you don't mind the strange coloring.

Beeker peers at the jar, then backs up a little. “Oh, uh, it looks a funny, uh, color.”

Justa helpfully places the sandwich in Liebs' lap and gives the tinsel-festooned joker an expectant look.

Feliz Navidad Arodang ooooohs. “I like cookies!” she gasps breathily, rummaging about in her pack to offer Justa a jar of honey in return for said cookies.

Festive Liebs murmurs a, “You would,” to Rykar, before swiveling slightly in her seat to size up the joker next to her. Oh and now there is a sandwich in her lap. “Thanks,” she repeats. “How've you uhm. How're you - what happened to your thumb?”

Rykar nods, giving Beeker the kind of look you'd give someone who said that the sky was orange. Someone off the island, that is. “Did you never learn that dignity is green?”

Beeker shakes his head. The beads in his mane rattle a little as he does so, and a few bits of fluff detach themselves from his fur and float to land on Wesker's coat. “Oh, uh, sorry,” Beeker says, apologetically.

Justa comments absently, “Is it really?” as she sorts through the jungled terrain that is her backpack and pulls out a dented tin box. She pops open the lid with no small amount of effort and offers the box towards Dan.

Justa shoots Localnews another apologetic look. “Um. Sorry, Localnews. Chocolate isn't, um. Good for puppies.”

Rykar grins and nods, before sliding sideways and scooting onto the back of the bench. How precarious! How thrilling! How… yeah, he's not going to fall off.

Festive Liebs tears out a bit of roast beef, though, and tosses it down for the puppy to snatch up.

Justa extends the cookie offering to Wesker with a small shake of her cookie-container-holding hand. “Um. Would you like some as well . . . ?” The pause hanging on the end of her words fish for a name.

Localnews gazes up at Justa expectantly, with possibly a hint of… is that reproach? Surely not, she is a puppy. It is not reproach, it must be love. Spotting the roast beef, she eagerly pounces on it.

Justa hiccups.

Feliz Navidad Arodang makes the tradeoff with a furtive look, taking the offered tin and placing the jar of golden honey. Two or three cookies vanish to a pocket hidden somewhere before she returns it to Justa's possession. “Thank you!”

The tinsel wrapped around Justa's ankle and Rykar's wrist, respectively, may have begun to wiggle, just a little, just enough to be noticeable.

Justa's gaze stutters at the jar of honey with a double-take. “Whuh? Oh! Oh, no, it's, um. It's okay! You don't need to . . . b-but thank you?” Tongue-tied, she sets the jar down on her lap and rests her hand there. Her ankle itches. She glances down.

Rykar blinks, and looks down at his wrist. Then at Liebs' hair. “Hey, uh, Liebs. You've got… tinsel on you. And you've got tinsel on me, I think.”

Justa says, “Uwaugh,” and kicks up her tinsel-ensnared foot. Is that a worm, no a snake, what is it what is it what is it!

Classy Albert Wesker blinks at Justa. Very much belatedly. “Er.” Fortunately, he's saved by the tinsel, and makes no reply.

Classy Albert Wesker frowns at a typo gremlin and picks an extra letter off his coat.

Festive Liebs mutters, “I know, I was being stupid and found this thing in the jungle that opened and exploded it all over me and – oh.” She looks from Rykar to Justa, back to Rykar. Blink blink. Lightly, “Can you uhm. Does it come off.”

Beeker says, “I'm not sure where that tinsel is coming from. Or this fluff.” He brushes with his furry hand at the fluffies in his fur. Unfortunately, this just gets fluffies on his hands.

Justa's voice is a high-pitched squeak. “Monster guts, wait, these are monster guts?!”

Beeker says, “I, uh, I think I had better brush this off.” He bends down and picks up Localnews.

Feliz Navidad Arodang wraps her arms around Wesker's leg and nuzzling it, tail twitching. “UncaWesker, I's kinda seepies…”

Justa is showered with fluff and festivity! She is becoming more and more holiday-spirited by the minute! “Oh, um, it's tinsel. Ha ha. Ha.” She glances over at Rykar and expects confirmation.

Beeker says, “I, uh, I ought to go for a brushing, I'm uh, I'm sorry I didn't have time to talk with everyone very long.” He looks around at the assorted company. “Or even to meet some of you properly.”

Festive Liebs says, far too cheerily, “Yes! Tinsel! Not monster guts. There were uhm. No monsters around where I found it. So.”

Rykar tugs at the tinsel, which comes off. It's just tinsel, after all. This does mean his other hand gets tinsel-tangled, though. “Um. Sort of?”

Rykar grins at Beeker. “Sure didn't. I don't even know who you are.”

Classy Albert Wesker looks down to Dan. “Why don't I accompany you home? You do seem like you could use a rest.” He smiles a bit.

Justa repeats unconvincingly, “Ha,” before hastening to add, “Oh, um. Bye, Beeker. Good luck with your brushing.”

The tinsel wiggles a bit more, and then – pop. A green strand is added to Justa's ankle; a red one to Rykar's tangled hand.

Festive Liebs smiles at Beeker. “Bye. Have a good brushing.”

Justa, to Rykar, adds, “Beeker is, um. Well, that's Beeker,” she points out. “And Localnews,” Her finger points downwards. “And this is Liebs,” a gesture sideways, “And I'm Justa and that's Rykar and – oh.”

Justa pauses in her runaway set of introductions. “You're, ah, you're leaving?” she asks, blinking towards Wesker and Dan.

Beeker agrees, “Not proper introductions at all. I'm, uh, I'm Beeker, and we'll meet properly one of these days.” He brushes at a fluffy in his fur, but the fluffy sticks fast.

Feliz Navidad Arodang nods and snuggles against his leg with a yawn.

Beeker waves, and wanders off, evidently for a brushing.

Feliz Navidad Arodang rests her head on Wesker's leg and smiles weakly at Justa. “T-tired… Too many, peoplepersonhappenings. C-can't keepup?”

Justa uncrooks a wave goodbye in the direction of the departing kittymorph and corgi pup before she suddenly realizes another strand of tinsel innocuously appearing on her ankle. Her brow frowns. Wasn't there just one before . . . ?

Classy Albert Wesker nods. “Of course. It's a bit late, I suppose. He–she'll need her sleep.” He gently prods Dan's shoulder and lifts him up by an arm. “Come one, let's get you to bed.”

Rykar stares at his hand. “Ooooh! It's multiplying! Or additioning. Can't ever remember which.”

Feliz Navidad Arodang makes a quiet noise of distress as she's pulled to her feet, leaning heavily on Wesker. “Ninights,” she mumbles to the others.

Festive Liebs's hair puffs, just slightly off her shoulders, as if to ask its sparkly parasites, Oh now what.

Justa echoes softly, “G'night,” as she watches kittymorph and human depart. She glances back at her ankle upon Rykar's observation and, with wary fingers, plucks up the first strand to inspect it.

It shimmers in the sunlight innocently.

Yilip skitters from the jungle's claws through a dug-hole against a wall. She pants as she scoots for the alley shadows, her red fur fluffed and fuzzied. The jungle is wrong. Wrong jungle.

Classy Albert Wesker smiles politely to the other three, then leads Dan out of the gates. He takes care to avoid any tinsel on his way out.

Rykar takes a more comfortable seat, on the bench now. He looks at Liebs hair, also asking that question, as well as You too, eh mate?

Justa narrows her eyes on it. She'd say I'm onto you if it wasn't a cliche. Or a sign of insanity for someone to be talking to a piece of tinsel. She refocuses her gaze away from the tinsel to the flash of rust-colored fur beyond the strand, Yilipwards.

Yilip's dark eyes peer innocently from the shade, her tail foofing, twitching nervously. Her paws shift weight as she sniffitysniffs scents. There is shinies out there by strange-folks and she edges, curiosity wiggling.

Justa's eyebrows rise at the stray. “Oh, um. Hello over there?” She half-expects a vocalized response. This, she observes defeatedly, is the mark of someone who's been on the Island for far too long.

Festive Liebs says mildly, “I uh, I haven't done enough data collection to have any idea of what's going to happen next.”

Rykar blinks, and looks at Liebs. “So… what happened to your hair?”

Justa returns the tinsel to Liebs' hair. “You're – studying this?” She waggles her fingers at the assortment of glitter. Thinks better of it and withdraws her hand away from the tinsel.

Yilip sniiiiffs. No trusting peoples because peoples throw sticks and stones and yell sometimes. The sun warms the cinnamon coat as she stutters from shadows, her nose still wriggling.

Festive Liebs admits sheepishly, “Well, I mean, I found this thing and it exploded this stuff all over my hair so I figured why not.” So far, she has determined: Shiny. Won't come off. Likes my hair.

Justa, in her distracted state, fails to notice the vines of holiday spirit insinuating itself across her calf in twinkling bands of color.

Festive Liebs, despite herself, leans forward and down to watch it replicate with no little fascination. “Never seen it do that before,” she murmurs.

Justa swipes at her nose with the back of her hand. “Ah. I, um. I see.” She trails her gaze back over to Yilip and tries for a reassuring smile. “Hello,” she repeats. She wonders if she has any random pieces of roast beef left in her pack.

Rykar picks at Liebs' hair. Or rather, the tinsel. It's far less dangerous.

Yilip is greatly put off by the shinies…and yet deeply intrigued. Sometimes shinies taste good, yes? Well, yes.

Several more strands hop across the divide to wrap tightly around Rykar's hand. Oh dear, it looks like he's wearing a rather sparkly and festive glove, doesn't it.

Justa picks up Liebs' distracted airs. “Huh? Do wh-what is it doing.”

Rykar flexes his fingers, finding them mostly unimpaired. “This is. Um. What.” He's suddenly having terrifying visions of being enveloped and consumed.

Festive Liebs squeaks, “Nothing,” and straightens. A long, painful beat. “Okay, uhm, maybe it is spreading, I don't know. uhm.”

Justa makes rabbit noises as she swipes gamely at the impromptu pinstriped cast on her right leg. “Liebs, Liebs, what is it doing, Liebs!”

Festive Liebs says, a helpless whine raising the pitch of her speech, “I don't know, I have no clue how it got there, it kind of did a dividing sort of –” She flaps a skeletal hand.

Yilip sits. And scratches behind one of her great, big ears. Maybe those shinies are not so tasty.

Justa keens, “Well, tell it to stop, I don't know, is it going to eat me, these are monster guts, I knew it a-and –” Glitter and tinsel sloughs prettily off of her calf, only to latch onto her spastic arms and tape themselves there.

Justa hiccups, “Eek.”

Rykar tries, helpfully, to get the tinsel off with a betinseled hand. It is, needless to say, ineffective at best.

Festive Liebs has begun to say, “Well, it's probably not so bad because it hasn't really spread past my hair and face–” when she looks up. She swallows audibly.

Yilip yiiiiiiisips. Those are not tasty shinies. They are monsters. Her bushy tail tucks as her tuckus backs toward the safety of a wall.

A gaggle of ducks enter the outpost from the north quacking amongst themselves and causing a general ruckus. One of them is carrying a tray containing a motley assortment of items and is looking rather pleased with himself.

Justa catches the tail-end (ha) of Yilip's retreat. She waves a hand as she stammers out a “W-wait! We're not really – ohgodit'sundermyhat,” she says in scandalized tones.

Festive Liebs's voice cracks as she says, “I don't think it will eat you?”

Rykar yelps and tries to swat it off. “Getitoffffff! I don't want to be eaten! Lieeeeeeebs!”

Festive Liebs's hair shakes out happily; it appears the tinsel has taken over host motility. Is that the sound of bells jingling?

Festive Liebs claps her hands over her ears and shouts, “It won't eat you!”

Rykar freezes. “But…. why not? I'm tasty!” He looks almost crestfallen, like someone's told him that he's not pretty, or something.

Justa hears bells. “I hear bells,” she croaks in the bleak notes of the doomed and realizes that that's because her hair is braided in Christmas cheer, the ends sprouting twinkling bells.

Justa's shoulders slump in helpless confusion. “Huh?”

Yilip's ears twitter-flick, back-forth, back-forth. Bangles, fat ones is the sound.

Festive Liebs, before she can stop herself, gushes, “Oh my god it's mutated that is so cool,” and reaches to grab the end of a braid. In response, her hand sprouts several lovely bells from the knuckles, as if she is wearing a studded glove.

Justa, in her moment of stupor, manages to catch the sudden influx of water fowl. She pushes the explosion of tinsel out of her eyes to squint at the ducks. “Save yourselves!” she calls out. Pause. Can tinsel migrate?

Justa amends hastily, “A-actually, you should, um, come here. Yes. Hello, duckies.”

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama comes in on the heels of the ducks with yet another perched on his shoulder. “Good haul today, eh, buddy?”“Quack!” It's about now that they notice three large…balls of tinsel. “Wha…?!”

Rykar is starting to get a hold of himself. And by get a hold of himself, we mean fall prey to “Ooooh, it can? I wonder why, and if mine will.”

Justa wheels at Liebs' exclamation. Her hair jingles merrily as it flops over. “What mutated? And – why do you sound so excited?”

Festive Liebs makes a face and shakes her hand. Jingle jingle jingle. “Uhh. I just mean it uhm. Couldn't do that before.” Her eyes flit, worried, to Rykar's hand.

Rykar stares at his hand. Come on, do something. Nothing happens, not even when he shakes his hand and it lights up like little- “Whoah!”

Justa struggles to get to her feet, legs entangled in jingling bells and greenredwhitegold ribbons of revelry as she wades towards Llama and flags the ducks down with a peppermint-patterned hand. “Um!”

Festive Liebs instinctively jumps backward, and then, spotting llama, holds out a hand - clang! - “Uh. Stay there. Uhm. Just, because. Yeah. Justa, what,” she hisses.

Yilip slinks against the wall quickly before whooshing to a bench where she stares. She likes the jingles, sounds like home where the ladies wear tinkling-jingles and vibrant colors. Birds are tasty, though, certainly.

The ducks however, are not taken in by the joker's antics. One of the bigger ones takes one look at her and quacks, “QUA-ACK!” (That's “Stranger Danger!” for those of you following along at home) and the lot run for the QQQ Clan Halls.

Justa drops her hand. It sounds like sleigh bells ringing. “Okay, right, how – how are we, um. Should we?” She gestures ineffectually at the bundle of ribbons unfurling out to form a convivial wreath around her hips.

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama looks to the bell and tinsel monster approaching and the other one jumping back and does what he does best: be horribly, utterly confused. “Umm…”

Rykar just stares at the lighted tinsel on his hand. “This is so cool.”

Festive Liebs waves at llama - janglejangleclangdingle! - and plasters an unconvincingly strained smile on her face that tightens just a titch more when she sees what's happening to Justa.

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama squints and peers at the waving, jangling decoration-thingy, a look of recognition spreading over his features, “Liebs?”

Justa twists her head towards Rykar. “Wait? Are they mutating again?” Something twinkles on her periphery. She glances down at her chest and sees it garnished with mini Christmas lights of various color.

Yilip is now, simply, confused. She sits. And scratches behind her big ears, nose wiggling curiously.

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama turns to face the other one, “Justa?” He takes on the look of someone trying to pass a stone. Or push his brains out of his ears.

Festive Liebs says nonchalantly, “Oh, hello.”

Rykar nods to the person who he does not recognize. “Who're you?” Casual wave with a lighted, festive, possibly parasitic mass of tinsel.

Festive Liebs's hair suddenly begins to stretch upward in two very high pigtails.

Justa tries for similarly cool indifference. “Yeees?” Fwooph! goes her hat as a fur-trimmed red hood flops over the joker's face. “Uh!”

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama engages his Stage Two Bewilderment Protocol and begins blinking furiously.

Festive Liebs winces as the bunches of hair tug on her scalp. Then they begin to… branch? And the bit of tinsel on the tip of her nose suddenly begins to expand into a large, shiny, red, disk.

Festive Liebs says, flat, “Fuck me.”

Rykar gasps, and turns to Liebs. “You're turning into a reindeer!”

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama feels much better after all the blinking. “Uhhh…feeling festive, you lot?”

Festive Liebs looks down, panicked, to check her feet and hands. Oh, they're fine. Except for those bells studding the knuckles of her right hand, but you know, everything in perspective.

Justa struggles with the sudden existence of fur smothering the upper portion of her face. “What are you –” she begins and blindly staggers in the direction of the gasp, one hand outstretched, her splinted thumb decorated with a blinking light.

Justa's fingers flail towards Llama and like wakening weevils, the tinsel swarms outwards and towards the untouched host.

Festive Liebs tries weakly, “Merry Christmas? If it is uhm, even Christmas, I dunno.”

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama's eyes go wide at the approach of the brightly colored evil. He grabs ahold of the duck on his shoulder and tosses him towards the gates and way from all the shiny-sparkly stuff, “RUN, BUDDY!” Then the tinsel latches on to his back. “Balls.”

Justa says mournfully, “Is it even merry? There is something extremely n-nonconsensual about all of this, uhm!” A peek at the blipping nose on Liebs' face. “What, um. What a sh-shiny nose. You have.”

Rykar watches as said balls form, rapt with fascination. Well, strictly speaking they're ornaments, but still. They're round.

Festive Liebs is cross-eyed trying to look at her new shiny red nose. Her eyes flit up just in time to see Llama get – “oh. Uh.”

Justa's laughter is a feeble, short-lived thing. It evolves into a squawk of indignation when she feels her vest tighten against her back, suddenly sagging under the weight of . . .

Yilip is suddenly very interested in such a gleaming nose. Fun. She prowls foward, belly low, slinking over the cobbles. The bushing tail twitches high, balancing.

Festive Liebs very, very subtly reaches into her backpack to fetch a notebook. She begins to scribble furiously.

Justa fights against the tangle of Christmas lights and tinsel to unbutton her vest and bend over. All manner of nuts spill from the garland of Christmas cheer.

Justa looks disgusted. “Oh, that's – that's very clever, isn't it.”

Piff! A cozy, little fire sprouts up from the fallen pile of nuts.

Festive Liebs pokes her antlered head up from her book enough to ask, “Uhm, Justa. Have you been, uhm, sick recently. Or do you have any known immunodeficiencies.” Taking pleasure in the plight of others – for science!

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama can't bring himself to look at his back to see what else is going on. But he clamps his hand to his mouth when the puns start spilling free.

Yilip skitters to a side, startled from her stalking as the nuts scatter. And fire! Back to the bench the tucked tail flashes. Completely safe.

Festive Liebs hops up from the bench to dart behind it – “Uhh. Maybe we should put that out–” Snf. “Or not.”

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama jumps forward and grabs hold of Justa's arm, yanking her away from the fire. And gaining some christmas lights in the process. “Perfect.”

Justa says, deadpan, “I'm sprouting n-nuts from my bosom, Liebs.”

Festive Liebs is about to open her mouth to explain something about greater viral load in more compromised hosts, but considering Justa is a walking Christmas tree spewing nuts, she doesn't.

Justa spins as she's yanked back. And because this little virus has a sense of (god forbid) humor, a fishing rod shoots up from the shadows behind Justa's neck, dangling high from the mouth of her hood.

Pip! goes the mistletoe, hung where you can see.

Rykar is feeling rather glad that he's only caught a light case of Christmas lights on the hand. Er, both hands. Though he does playfully approach Justa.

Justa whines, “Why am I sprouting foliage?”

Rykar beams, and leans forward, then back. “Because it's mistletoe.” He can barely keep a straight face.

Festive Liebs skitters backward very, very quickly.

Rykar grins wickedly at Liebs. “Oh, come on Liebs. Tradition calls…”

Festive Liebs looks horrified.

Justa's face glows just as brightly as the Christmas lights adorning her neck. She bends over abruptly, the fishing pole and mistletoe (and holly, now. There's holly) swinging down like the vengeful fist of Father Christmas.

Festive Liebs says quickly, “oh, Llama! Look at your arm! It's so festive.” Her nose is glowing gently. She sees the approaching greenery and ducks out of the way.

Rykar bats at the holly, rather amused at this whole ordeal. Less so when it adheres to him.

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama, now sporting a fashionable multicolored armband and a bunch of….round ornaments on his back, gapes at the only lightly affected fellow having altogether too good a time with this.

Justa attempts to worm out of her holiday decor. “C'mon, c'mon, c'mon,” she mumbles, voice muffled as she shoves against the layers of bells, tinfoil, chestnuts, evergreen pine and is that a –

Justa's shriek is deadened by all the Christmas decor. Good thing for all parties involved, hm?

Save for, of course, the partridge. It springs out of the mouth of her hood with an indignant squabble and dashes through the Outpost, stray feathers sailing behind it.

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama glances down at his arm then back at Liebs, “Ah…er…yes, I…ummm…suppose it–” And then he's smacked in the face with boughs of holly. Fa-la-la-la-laaaa…

Rykar snags the Santa hat from her, donning it himself. It's the least he can do, to ease her troubles. And bonus, it came with the mistletoe!

Festive Liebs murmurs through her hands, “W-what have I done…”

Justa thrusts the rest of the decoration off of her with a wheeze of finality. She topples down, hair in disarray, stares down at herself and plucks at the long, red underwear sticking to her chest.

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama spits out a mouthful of holly and sighs, “Well at least you don't have ornaments for hands, yeah?”

Justa gives Liebs a frazzled look. “Liebs, can you – do you know how to . . . ?”

Festive Liebs blinks. “I. uhm.”

Rykar approaches Justa, with greenery-laden hat. “Hey, how'd you get that stuff off?”

Justa twitches. She sticks her hand down the unbuttoned collar of her long johns and pulls out a pear. She gives it an unimpressed look before biting into it.

Festive Liebs tugs at her shiny red nose to no avail.

Justa glances up, one cheek puffed out with a bite of fruit. She chews hurriedly, swallows, answers with a “I, um. Just . . . took it off?”

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama wonders aloud, “Maybe you just need a bit of…anti-cheer? Like…um…a grinch?”

Justa twists her lip to the side in consternation. She opens her mouth to speak, only to have her reply cut short by a rumble in the distance. Tiny pebbles and fallen pieces of tinfoil tremble alongside the grumbling ground.

Festive Liebs tries, “Well, uhm. I opened the box in the first place when I said, 'Ho ho ho!' So maybe if you do that a–hrk.” She jerks suddenly backward, as if someone has just tugged on invisible reins slung around her chest.

Rykar is intentionally ignoring the fact that he's got a big bunch of “tradition” swinging in front of his face. “Hmm- oh no, Liebs! You're not a reindeer, you can't be!”

Festive Liebs starts hopping from foot to foot, the bells on her right hand jingling in time. Is she…prancing? “I dunnoooo I cannot control this,” she says, panicked. Her nose begins to glow brightly.

Rykar dashes over and hangs on to her. “Noooo! I can't lose you to this!” Then, out of the blue, a thought comes to him. He's got the hat, already…

Festive Liebs starts to gently rise into the air.

Chancellor Badass thewonderllama belts out a panicked, “BAH HUMBUG!”

And then there's an explosion of pipes and drums as dancing ladies and hopping lords burst through the gates, preluding a band of drummers and flautists that march into the Outpost, instruments ablaze with riotous song.

Festive Liebs keeps gaining altitude, her nose a beacon in the sky. She cranes her head to look down. “Oh nooo,” she murmurs, but it's inaudible over the joyous jingling.

Rykar panics, himself, and tries flicking invisible reins, hoping to follow after.

Festive Liebs hurks again and lurches forward in a sudden burst of speed.

Justa yelps as the Christmas parade shakes and stamps their way. A passing Joker woman grabs Justa's hand and hoists her to her feet with a cheeky smile. The joker yelps out in protest before she swept up by another.

Rykar feels a hell of a jerk, and gets lifted off of his feet. “Oh nooooooooo o ho ho ho!”

Justa, without further ado, pirouettes up and out of the Outpost with the rest of the cavorting ladies and gents, drummers and pipers. Glitter and tinsel litter their wake.

Festive Liebs's cry of “Save yourseeeeelves” dims as she disappears over the horizon, yanking Rykar along with her.

Long after she is out of sight, a red light winks over the treetops until it, too, fades and dims.

Rykar's voice is barely heard, ringing out as he adopts his new role. “And to all, an improbable niiiiiiight…”

Parade and everyone else now gone, Llama is alone in the outpost. He looks down at his armband and over his shoulder at his back. “Balls.” And heads toward the gates grumbling.