Logs:The Spirit of Christmas
| The Spirit of Christmas | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-12-24 Mormon meets Polar Bear trying to catch customers for Definitely Not Suspicious Store |
| Location
<NYC> Unspecified Side Street - Lower East Side | |
<NYC> Unspecified Side Street - Lower East Side A recent thaw has turned last night’s snow into a grey wet sludge, making the streets treacherous. As if the wind has a will of its own, occasionally it will pick up, knocking any unprepared pedestrian off their feet. On the Lower East Side of New York the main streets are still crowded, people rushing past getting their last minute errands done. But right here it is quiet, the rumbling of people simply a faint background noise. At the entrance of what seems like the kind of side-street people get murdered in, stands a polar bear. The polar-bear is vaguely reminiscent of the ones you see in coca-cola commercials, with a festive santa hat on its head, but that is also where all similarities end. As mascot heads tend to do, the head looks too big for the person it's on, wobbling every time they move, yet somehow -- as if by a miracle -- never falling off. It’s wearing a festive sweater, white and red and both very clearly home-made and far too large for the person wearing it. Their pants are pinkish --as if someone took the pants of a regular Santa-costume and washed it at far too high a temperature-- with the legs being duct-taped to a pair of combat boots. Around its neck the polar bear wears a neon-green scarf covered in sequins, constantly looking as if it’s about to be blown away. The person in the costume is holding a sign, in vaguely threatening hand-writing, decorated with anatomically correct hearts, it says: > Shop at Doctor Griby’s (PhD) > We Have Santa Trudging through the slush and muck is one very cheerfully bright figure. He looks -- unusual, to say the least. Not ominous-mascot-polarbear unusual but eyecatching all the same, a strange chimera of a person -- vivid red feathers crowning his head, a strong contrast with the soft white-with-black-eye-patches fur around his oddly insectoid compound eyes. The bright red-and-green striped henley shirt he's wearing (no further outerwear, despite the cold), thick-waled brown corduroys, comfortable winter hiking shoes, covers up most of the rest of him, but the jet-black-skinned too-long-fingered hands at at the ends of his sleeves seem more simian than most humans'. He's got several mesh shopping bags on the crook of one arm and has, at first, walked straight past this side street in the vague haste of Someone With Errands To Do. The errands aren't important enough to keep him from doubling-back, doing a quick double-take. He's taking out his phone to focus its camera over on a bird of prey sitting up on a nearby rooftop, and only when he turns to the costumed person to ask "-- hey, do you think that bird --" does he stop. Do a second double-take, head turning to one side. A moment later he's smiling bright, waving his hand (phone still in it). "Hi! What's the Ph.D in?" “Folklore, I think.” The Polar Bear cocks its head as it looks at him, inside the mask Cyan is stretching his head into awkward positions in an attempt to get a good view. “To be honest I didn’t understand the explanation, but it had something to do with fairy tales, or maybe fairy tails, or fears of tails...” he trails off, looking up at the bird before remembering he’s Doing Important Work. “Would you be interested in meeting Santa? Maybe locally sourced wool? Or paint? Doctor Griby’s-” there’s a sharp intake of air as he mutters the words “-PhD-”, and then his voice continues as normal “-got whatever you’re looking for provided we have it!” He does his best to sound jolly, it’s not the worst job he’s had, but so far all his attempts to get people to take a look have failed miserably. At least this one seems unlikely to scream. "Oh-h-h. I have a friend who loves fairytales so much I should probably check it out, she's very hard to shop for." Bryce is contemplating the sign with a small scrunch of his furry face. He holds his bags a little closer to his chest, and something in the string of what the polar bear is saying draws a small laugh out of him. "I don't think Santa's coming for me this year but I think it's cool that he's started thinking local. Although that's probably a weird question for him --" The scrunch of his face is deepening as he tries to think this through. "-- wait if you're working for Santa shouldn't you be like, an elf. Not that I'm criticizing," he's quick to add, though he did sound a little bit critical when he said it. “The elf costume is taken, it was either this or a giraffe.” There’s nothing in Cyan's voice but absolute earnestness. “And I don’t work for Santa, I work with Santa, and he’s coming for everyone.” He’s not joking, the guy Doctor Griby (PhD) hired as Santa has been a menace today, with his incessant insisting on hugging and being nice. “If your friend loves fairytales Doctor Griby’s -- PhD -- has got you covered, we’ve got the standard ones, the non-standard ones and a whole bookshelf of unique ones you’ll never find anywhere else..” He smiles, forgetting for a moment that he’s got a whole mascot mask covering his face, the unique ones are certainly an unforgettable read. “Uhm, so like, are you looking for anything in particular?” "Just doing some very last minute shopping, there's a lot of people to shop for this year. And Iiii don't know," says Bryce, with a kind of aw-shucks sheepishness of someone who is absolutely too old to believe in Santa but enjoys all this fuss and nonsense anyway; he's still smiling warm at the polar bear even as his head shakes. "Like, I was supposed to go home for Christmas and I didn't and I think that puts me straight on the naughty list even if he could find me." For all his cheer there's just a little melancholy there, but it's dissolving under his brightly hopeful: "Does Santa come for polar bears?" “Hmm...yes, if you mean it as 'do polar bears get presents', then definitely this year I got a great one. “ Sure, they’ll have to find a new place to live in less than two weeks, but comparing life before and after the polar bear suit, it's definitely taken an upturn. “How is it naughty to not go home for Christmas?” His voice takes on a concerned tone, “I haven’t been home for Christmas in over six years, should I be worried?” "Oh, good. Christmas should be for everyone, but --" Bryce shrugs one shoulder; the feathers on his head press a little flatter against his skull. "Sometimes people get a little discriminatey, I'm glad it's not against -- um, polar bears." He goes quiet after this, and thankfully his buggy eyes cannot widen, because the inhuman composition of his face goes far to hide his brief but intense flare of flusterment at this trap of his own making. "Wellll," he stalls, rather than tell this stranger that they are Definitely Naughty, "it's just that my family was expecting me, and..." He trails off, his head cocking a little to one side. "Why -- haven't you been home?" There’s a deep sigh as the polar bear’s shoulders sag, how’s he supposed to respond? Even he recognizes that ‘my mom put me in a lab, then pretended I don’t exist’ probably isn’t the greatest way to attract customers. “My mom doesn’t really want me around-” he hesitates, “-she doesn’t like polar bears very much.” A thought occurs, “so I’ve found the best way to save her from being naughty, “ he chuckles, describing the Queen Bitch as naughty might just be the funniest thing he’s ever heard, “is to do us both a favor and stay away.” Then, a little conspiratorically, he adds "Doctor Griby -- PhD -- on the other hand very much enjoys the company of polar bears and other non-humans." "Oh-h." Bryce nods knowingly here, and seems a little relieved to reply: "In that case I don't think you're the naughty one, it's different if -- well. I'm really sorry. That's tough." He wrings a little at the handles of his shopping bags where they sit on his shoulder, now. "My parents say they want me around but I think they wanted me around a lot more when I looked like a person, so." There's a new excitement blossoming in his voice now: "If you don't have anywhere to go for Christmas, I know a great place for polar bears and weirdos. At least, they've been great to me. And nobody should have to be alone for Christmas, I think." “Look, last night I saw two people turn into human-human Centaurs, and this morning I saw a guy smosh his fingers together like they were pudding-” Cyan demonstrates by extending his arms then pushing his gloved palms together, “-I think in comparison you look very much like a person. I mean...” he looks Bryce up and down, “...you even seem downright jolly, which I think is what any parent should want for their kid.” “But hey, it’s not my business.” He puts his hands out in a typical New York-shrug, “I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not very good with people and I don't want to make anything awkward, I’m just a polar bear begging you to please put your head in the door so my boss can see that hiring me wasn’t a bad move.” "You saw what? Were you dreaming?" Bryce sounds like he's about to laugh all over again, until, maybe, he attempts picturing what this human-human centaur might look like and instead pulls a small grimace. "You've been good with me! And Heavenly Father doesn't care if you're good with people, he just cares if you're -- good. Which we try to help each other be!" He says this with an uptick of excitement that very much implies this should be a compelling selling point. He's digging through one of his bags and then another, until finally he pulls out a pocket-sized Book of Mormon, with a small glossy pamplet tucked into the front cover. It's advertising some -- church? Community center? It doesn't really specify -- called The Refuge, promising a welcoming home for those in need of one. There's a certain Vibe about all the very earnestly smiling people in the pamphlet that makes it feel like they ought to all be wearing identical white clothes, even though they are in fact dressed pretty boringly normally. Bryce is offering this out like it is somehow in itself a gift. "If you're lonely tomorrow, we have great food and fun things going on all day. I'm gonna go check out your folklores and tell your boss that the nicest Polar Bear inspired the Christmas Spirit in me, okay?" Very carefully Cyan accepts the pamphlet, trying to avoid accidentally touching the youngster. If there ever was anyone not in need of an accidental high, he thinks, it’s this guy. There’s something about the smiling faces that reminds him a little too much of Kansas, and he can feel a chill run down his spine. Still, he does his best to hide it, feigning a crooked smile completely hidden by his mascot mask. “I’ll think about it.” He does his best to sound like he means it. “It’s right in there-” he points down the Murder Side Street, “-the red door. Don’t pet the cat, it’ll bite you.” He’s got at least sixteen pictures of the fluff demon on his phone. “And uh, Merry Christmas and all, I hope you find what you need.” "I hope you do, too. God bless." Bryce waves, and -- okay, there's a little hitch in his step as he starts down the creepy side street, but he gets over it and soldiers on. Santa is waiting, after all. | |
