route_1065 | We Survived the Snowmageddon

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We Survived the Snowmageddon

Who: Albert Rosenfield (

worktodo) and whoever is congregating at the Justice Farm for the Christmas holiday!
Where: El Rancho del Justicia, aka Albert's house in Saffron City
When: Anytime between Monday the 24th and Wednesday the 26th!
Summary: A lot has changed in a month, but some things never do. Losers getting together to fail their way through the holiday season is one of them.
Rating: Individual threads may vary, but let's go with G overall and warn otherwise!
Log:

Despite generally doing a very excellent Grinch impression, Albert doesn't actually hate Christmas. Granted, it's not one of his favorite holidays the way that Thanksgiving is — it's a little too overdone, a little too commercial, lacking in some of the spirit of togetherness in favor of the spirit of consumerism — but it is decidedly a holiday, and once again Johto has presented him with a situation where he is forced to make a choice. For the second time this year (by Albert's reckoning), Johto appears to have done everything in its power to prevent them from putting on a holiday, including but not limited to summoning up the actual apocalypse. The question that begs to be asked, therefore, is simply: is Albert willing to surrender Christmas in the face of all these apparent attempts to ruin it?

The answer, naturally, is: oh, hell no.

It is, however, an undeniably different atmosphere from the one that filled the house on Thanksgiving. Most of the occupants of the house are worse off now than they were then, be it emotionally or physically — some from spooky encounters, some from harsh truths, and some from going out in the apocalyptic snow like the damn fools they are — so if there's slightly less pep and enthusiasm saturating the grounds, that could certainly be why. Any decorations applied to the outside of the house have been battered at best and outright wrecked at worst. But as the slightly paraphrased song lyric goes, "Though the weather outside is frightful, by the fire it's so delightful", and the interior of the house is a thankfully different story.

On Monday, Albert will be spending the Eve of Christmas largely in the kitchen, having allotted the whole day for getting all the components of Christmas dinner prepared and readied in advance; on Thanksgiving, it's a fundamental part of the holiday tradition to run around the kitchen like a madman trying to get dinner to the table on time, but for Christmas, he'd rather everything just go smoothly. Early arrivals are welcome to hang out in the cozy parts of the house, grab some cocoa, and carefully avoid him; otherwise, they might get drafted into menial labor like shoveling out the front walk or putting the finishing touches on the interior decor before the party officially kicks off.

By Tuesday, it's all Christmas all the time; there is no victory quite so sweet as the one that comes hard-won, and as far as Albert is concerned, the most effective "screw you" to Johto's Snowmageddon is putting on an occasion that is positively bursting with holly and jolly anyway. Somewhere near the kitchen, Zack the Porygon2 is contributing by blasting from his Gear's speakers a concert of every Christmas song he knows (of which there are three: "Feliz Navidad", "Grandma Got Run Over By A ~~Stantler~~ Reindeer", and the Weather Girls' "It's Raining Men"). A stately (albeit slightly lopsided) Christmas tree that is probably the Johto equivalent of a Douglas fir is set up in a corner of the living room near the fireplace — which is burning merrily — and its branches are decorated with makeshift ornaments like Pokeballs and paper throwing stars along with the standard colored bauble variety. Stuff your presents below; there'll be time for opening them later, but for now they're part of the decor. There's holly on the piano and fake candles in the windows, and you better believe at least half of those doorways have mistletoe strategically placed near them. Don't get caught! (Or do, if that's what you're here for.)

The one new and interesting addition to the house can be found in a corner of the living room, where a little space has been carved out for a small end table topped with coasters, a chair, and a tripod apparatus just the right size for holding a standard Pokegear. Got someone to call and wish a Merry Christmas? Do it from the comfort of this corner like it's Masterpiece Theater.

But however Tuesday is spent, there's sure to be a lot of love, gifting, and good Christmas cheer. Or else.

When Wednesday comes along, it'll be the standard post-Christmas wind-down — leftovers aplenty in the kitchen, trash bags of crumpled wrapping paper tucked into the corners, and a nice low-pressure environment in which to interact, gush over gifts, and enjoy the spirit of the season a little longer before getting right back to work on Important Business. For some, that might mean playing in the snow or having a snowball fight; for others, that might mean coordinating federal agent business for the future. But either way, it's another Christmas survived, and that's what really matters, right?

[OOC: Just like last time, this is an open log for everybody coming to Albert's for Christmas! Feel free to start your own threads as you please — open them to everybody, close them to specific people, whatever works for you. Just make a note in the header of what day it's taking place on and who all's invited, and have fun, everybody! Also, for people who aren't physically present at the Farm on Christmas, feel free to use the designated Skype Thread™ to chat with them over video anyway!]

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Christmas cheer.

Yeah, everybody could use a little of that lately. A LOT of that, in fact.

Which is why Heather, who truth be told has not been in the mood to celebrate at ALL, knows that she has to drag the family away from their quiet hotel rooms and off to the edge of town to immerse themselves in absolute holiday chaos again. It's the only way.

So around 11 AM on Christmas Eve's morning, Heather, oxymoronically clad in a leather coat as black as a Hot Topic broom closet and .... um.... this, shows up at the door with her ragtag family band behind her, bearing baskets of cookies as a sort of pre-planned peace offering for the havoc they'll surely wreak. Considering their arrival had been preceded by a big orange barking juggernaut plowing up the snowy path ahead of them and promptly slamming into a bush outside the house and probably making the living room wall rattle inside, this was probably a good plan.

After depositing a few gifts under the tree (intended for the more permanent residents of the ranch to open the following morning), Heather can be found for the rest of the day around the house, generally trying to soak in the holiday cheer as much as possible and avoid being spotted by Albert*. Whether or not she's spotted casually hanging out in the cozy spots or blatantly sneaking around may vary.

_{*Fortunately, the mistakes from last time will apparently not be repeated leaving room for entirely new ones. She apparently decided to remedy the problem of an escape-artist, havoc-wreaking Murkrow by tying Wren to a balloon. With her wings pinned to her sides and no real control over what direction she floats in, anyone in the house may witness a black bird roughly the size of a football floating past them down the hall, suspended from a bright orange balloon and cheerfully emitting a stream of profanity as she passes.}

Ziva smiled as another person arrived, and swept toward the door. "Hello, Merry Christmas!" Though she didn't celebrate the holiday, she could appreciate the celebration. "May I take your coat for you?" Making herself useful and all.

"Hey! Uh-- ... nah, the coat's fine, but if you could--um-- augh, JEEZ, CUJO!"

She had been in the midst of attempting to hand the giant basket in her arms to Ziva, only to be forced to make a frantic bid at staying upright as her monster of a Growlithe barrelled his way past her and into the house, skidding to a halt in the parlor and shaking snow from himself wildly.

Ziva laughs as she plucks the basket from Heather's hands and moves to deposit it on a table hopefully out of reach of the hordes of Pokemon underfoot. And overhead. And generally everywhere.

"It is alright, surely there will be more mess before the celebration is over." Shit's probably gonna get broken, y'know how it goes.

"Yeah, but-- still. Bad dog!"

Completely unaffected by the scolding, the Growlithe merely whips around and comes gallumphing back over to them, snuffling around Ziva's knees.

"Anyway-- uh-- I don't think we've met before... name's Heather."

They actually had spoken on several occasions, but... it's been a rough year. Faces fade.

"He is very enthusiastic. As dogs often are." She's kinda fond of the trait, actually, finds it endearing.

And, well, considering Ziva has no recollection of those meetings, it's a fresh start for her. You have the luck to have a second chance at a first impression, Heather.

"I am Ziva."

A second chance that thankfully-- HOPEFULLY-- should not be wasted. Heather ... is hardly in the best of shape right now, but she's far from being swept up in the emotional maelstrom she'd been whirling in last February.

Pulling a glove off of one hand, she offers it to shake.

"Heather. I'm, uh, a friend of Cooper's."

Because it was sort of custom to clarify who your connection to the house was.

"... And the enthusigasm-machine down there is Cujo."

She gestured to the Growlithe, who was now licking a pair of discarded shoes.

Ziva nods and takes Heather's offered hand--she has a firm handshake, but not overly so.

"And I am a friend of Albert and Hiccup." Only fair that she respond in kind. "Though in Albert's case, I may be giving our relationship a bit more...credit than it is worth. It is hard to tell with him." She doesn't look concerned about that, in fact, she says it with a smile. Gibbs is just as prickly to first glance, and he's practically her father.

After the handshake, she bends down to offer a hand to Cujo as well, and speaks to him directly. "You should find my Abby, I am sure she would like to play."

Heather's handshake is normally one of those painfully-tight ones-- the handshake of a teenager who's got something to prove. Today, though, it's normal. It's been a long, long month. She's too tired to make a point.

"Albert, huh?" She says it in a way that makes it clear she knows what Ziva's talking about. She had run into the wrong end of Albert's temper during Thanksgiving. "To be honest, I'm not even sure how COOP is friends with him."

The difference between the grouchy forensics specialist and the cheerful, eccentric special agent is big enough to be seen from space.

Cujo's head tilts to the side as he's spoken to, his floppy ears standing upright.

He doesn't know who Abby is... but he heard the 'p' word! THAT BODES WELL.

Wriggling, he lets out a deep, enthusiastic bark.

WHERE CAN HE FIND THIS... ABBY?

She can appreciate that--her handshake was the same way, once.

"Yes. He is rather prickly, but it seems federal agents are doomed to strange friendships. I have many of them." And had in the past. It was much the same in Mossad, though she didn't count many of them friends anymore.

And obviously Cujo is just as good at understanding as her own team. Ziva smiles. "I believe that she is in the living room."

Heather raises a brow.

"Are you in the FBI, too?"

The thought doesn't surprise her, at this point-- Cooper's one, Albert's one, Gordon's one-- it makes sense that they'd all congregate here. Fortunately for all of them, the once powerful disdain she held for more or less anything with a badge has dwindled over the past year and a half. Cooper himself had had a lot to do with that, and it had mostly been tempered down to a bit of wary bitterness that she made sure to keep in check during these visits.

Cujo, meanwhile, promptly turns tail and goes galloping off.

... Past the living room.

His sense of understanding misfires sometimes.

DON'T WORRY HE'LL FIND HIS WAY THERE EVENTUALLY.

"NCIS. I have worked with the FBI at times, but we are a separate agency." Still, it was a sort of comraderie, and Ziva was glad for it. But she would probably even understand Heather's caution if it came to light--she'd also been on the run from them before, falsely accused. Or, well, framed--but it was the same thing in the end.

Cujo's darting off gets another laugh out of her. It must be entertaining having him around all the time.

"Oh! Uh, cool then!"

In Heather's case, it had been a little less about being on the run and a little more about having watched cops manhandle her father after he'd shot a home invader in defense of her-- at a super young age. Combine that with a rebellious chip-on-the-shoulder teen attitude and you have a recipe for FUQ DA POPO.

But all the same, she smiles at Ziva's clear amusement.

"He's... a little special." Leaning to the side, she calls down the hall after him. "YOU RAN STRAIGHT PAST IT, GOOBER."

That would be a good reason too. She'd just be glad that Heather was realizing that not all police--or agents, in their case--were bad people to be around.

She lets out a whistle, and Abby, her own Growlithe, pokes her head out from the archway to see what all the noise is about. Maybe now Cujo can find her easier.

"He must be a handful."

It was an ongoing process, but thankfully, she was. It was hard to hold grudges against the delightfully eccentric bunch associated with Cooper, really.

Cujo's shaggy head comes popping back around the corner at the sound of the whistle as well, and at the sight of Abby, he comes bounding over in an entirely renewed explosion of enthusiasm, practically skidding to a halt in front of her and snuffling intently.

"Yeah, he's... it's always interesting living with him, I'll put it that way."

Overcoming her fear of dogs had been less of a goal and more of a NECESSITY when she was being woken up every morning via A) a sloppy tongue in her ear, B) scratchy mane hair up her nose, C) a cold nose burrowing under the blankets in search of ticklish spots to nudge, or D) all of the above. In quick succession.

[WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT NOISE JUST NOW oh okay, looking out the window he can see that it was a giant dog. That made sense. Off the window seat and down the stairs he goes! It would probably be rude to spend any more of the morning upstairs reading, after all.]

Hi, Heather! [Hiccup's good on the 'cheer' front, even after his rough patch with poison and the bad memories of ~NO DRAGONS~ that comes with the holiday season, if his tone is anything to go by.] Need any help with anything?

_{[CUJO IS THE THING THAT GOES BUMP IN THE NIGHT BROAD DAYLIGHT.]

[Hiccup arrives presumably after Ziva's helped Heather with some of the load, perhaps taking the coats from the rest of the party. Heather's kicking her boots off when the young Viking's greeting strikes her ear. She looks up with a grin-- a tired grin, but still a cheerful one.]}

Hey, Hiccup! Feeling any better?

_{[She assumes 'yes', and without even waiting for a reply, hands him one of the cookie-baskets, which was just brought in by a lumbering Croconaw in a scarf.]}

Here, I promise THESE ones won't make you sick. Henry and I tested 'em.

_{[Neither of them had died and Henry only got sick because he ate seven of them in two minutes, so they figure they're good. :Ib]}

[He'll just go ahead and confirm that 'yes' with a nod even while taking the basket from her. He might be giving it a bit of a wary eye, though he grins again at her statement.]

Thanks. [Hiccup cautiously reaches out to pat the Croconaw on the head. You never knew, with this sharp-toothed creatures.] If Key had been carrying these, they would all be eaten by now--she's my Feraligatr.

Yeah? They can be total jerks sometimes, can't they?

_{[She reaches out to pat him on the head as well, though-- he had stopped and given Hiccup an almost hesitant look, unsure how to react.]}

Zilla's shaped up a lot, though. He's a good boy, he knows better. Right, Zilla?

_{[The Croconaw promptly shuffles a clawed foot, looking away bashfully. He and Heather BOTH know that in his Totodile days, he'd have eaten every crumb and been completely unrepentant about it.]}

Maybe I should have let Key grow up a little before she turned into something with the appetite of seven vikings. [He offers Zilla a smile.] Looks like she could take a leaf out of your book, huh, bud?

[Doop da doo, time to set these cookies down in the kitchen... If Albert didn't want them there, he would deal with it with his usual cheeriness.]

You guys're all coming back tomorrow, too, right?

HAH, yeah, that, uh... might've been a good idea. _{[She plops her hand down on Godzilla's head and rocks him back and forth slightly (not that she's actually... strong enough to tilt a Croconaw back and forth, he's just moving with the motion obligingly-- while shooting Hiccup the crocodile's equivalent of a bashful smile in return).]} I waited with this guy... or more accurately, I guess HE waited. Dunno why, but it turned out for the best.

Anyway, yeah-- should be! I don't think we'll be spending the night... but I'll at least stop by tomorrow. If only to make sure all the presents got opened.

_{[She knows a couple people who might need reminders...]}

Heh... If everyone spent the night, I think people might end up in the basement...

[The house was big, but wow, there were even more people than there were at Thanksgiving.]

Why wouldn't they all get opened?

'Zactly.

Plus, my roomies can only take so much socializing at once.

_{[Her father is shy, and the weird hermity photographer they adopted is even shyer. It's honestly amazing she was even able to drag them here in the first place.]}

And ehhh... a few of them've just had other things on their mind. Wouldn't put it past them to forget.

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We Survived the Snowmageddon

OPEN! Monday all day and Tueday, late afternoon!

Monday!

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Monday~

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