stateofdecay | 🧟 Prescott's Winter Holiday Party

🎄 Prescott is all dressed up for the holidays, with fairy lights and garlands up around the fire station and the field hospital. In the parking lot in the northwest corner, the Christmas tree has been set up for anyone to decorate however they see fit. In the center of the main intersection, they’ve built a bonfire which burns all night.

🎄 Mulled wine, hot cocoa, spiced cider, and various small hors d'oeuvres are being served out of the fire station kitchen.

🎄 The fire trucks have been moved out of the apparatus bay and replaced with spare chairs and sofas which usually live in storage. They’re arranged into a handful of small circles, creating a space for conversation. 

🎄 Secret Santa gift exchange happens in the apparatus bay at about 6pm. 

🎄 On the outside wall of the radio station, adjacent to the community garden, there’s a new mural of Celia Wallace painted by Whitney Resident Amy McBride (who attended high school with her). The corresponding inside wall has been covered in cork board. There are index cards in various colors and pens available for anyone to write out a note in remembrance of someone they’ve lost, and there are pushpins available to put up these notes or photographs of loved ones. 

🎄 It’ll be a pretty early evening, with festivities ending around 10pm.

♡

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Ares emerges from the radio station to a dead party, honestly just the way he'd planned it. The radio is back to playing a selection of Christmas carols on autopilot, no more of Dylan's favorite Pearl Jam songs mixed in, which is probably an improvement but leaves him feeling empty and alone again all the same.

It's automatic, then, that the next step is looking for Reggie. Who isn't anywhere. Asking around reveals only that she went to do inventory on the ambulances. Alone, with the wrong clipboards. He finds the right ones, and with that excuse knocks on the door of the first ambulance. "It's me." He clarifies so this door would be opened at all.

There's a quiet "fuck" from the other side of the door before it's unlatched and pushed open just enough to give Ares the okay to enter. It's not that she doesn't want to see Ares, or that she'd ever deny him admission to a good ol' Christmas cry. She just doesn't have a plan, or any idea what she's even doing in here, and here comes the only person who could ever notice that.

Well, the only person these days.

"Here to count Band-Aids with me?" she asks by way of greeting, and clears her throat of any lingering emotion clogging up her airway right now.

A six-inch-tall figure of a dalmatian standing guard, carved out of solid wood and painted white with black spots. The dog wears a collar of stitched red velvet fabric with a tiny buckle. A bit of lacquer has been applied to the dog's eyes so they appear bright and alert.

An unusual violin-shaped bottle, very slightly scuffed but in good condition. Whatever spirit was originally in the bottle has long since been drunk, but it's been refilled with Container Fort grain liquor (a curse more than a gift).

A straw basket filled with artisan spa products from Whitney: lavender soap, hand lotion, minty face mask, beard oil, foot soak salt, a floral candle. Also included is a whiskey-infused dark chocolate bar (pre-outbreak) and a small box of gingerbread cookies (recently baked).

Carter's seen her big black hats, so she thought she might like a black tulle veil for them, and black satin opera gloves to go along. They're designer and very expensive in the old world, not that this means much now. She gives her one of the raven skull hairpins she'd made for the dance as well, in case she'd like to complete the entire aesthetic.

He climbs into the rig before saying anything, mostly because he hasn't planned out what he could possibly say to be helpful. But the silence is weird and unwelcome; he hadn't been in it all evening, and now that it's right there he hates it. So he holds out the correct clipboards. "If you want me to. But, just. You forgot these."

Reggie takes the clipboards and drops them on the stretcher next to her with a little clack, barely even throwing them a glance.

"Well that sure fucked up my excuse, didn't it?" she says, and there's a little catch in her usual wry tone of voice. "You don't have to count anything, just—" She takes a breath, deep and only a little shaky, to correct that mistake. "No more Pearl Jam. I fucking hate Pearl Jam."

That's kind of what he'd thought was happening. Not that this takes a huge stretch of mental effort. But Ares sinks on to the stretcher, tossing aside the clipboards one more place. He nods, and stares at his knees. "I also hate Pearl Jam." He confides. "But...had to a little. Today." She knew why.

Reggie nods and stares down at her own knees. She doesn't trust herself to talk right now, not even in front of Ares, so she just keeps nodding and gripping the stretcher under her so tight it feels like her fingers are about to snap. Either her fingernails, or her.

"I hate him," she finally says, her voice low and her teeth clenched.

Ares is faintly aware once again that he should probably be feeling similar emotions. The anger that makes her knuckles white is not dead in him, just buried under about a thousand reasons it's not acceptable. Easier to smile sadly, and touch her shoulder, gently. "...For dying?" He doesn't sound judgmental. Just a little confused.

"Obviously." She tries to laugh but it comes out sounding more like a tense hiccup. "I mean, I didn't give him permission to do that, and now I have to listen to Pearl Jam without bitching." Reggie swallows and there's that tingly feeling she gets in her throat when she feels like she's about to throw up or cry and—fuck.

"I hate him for leaving us. And not even leaving any room for denial."

Actually, there'd been a lot of room for denial in Ares' world around Dylan. He'd just now diverted it all into the idea that he didn't have anything left to feel around this loss. If he just pressed the button to play a Pearl Jam song, he was doing the honoring part, without any of the messy feelings around it. But tears have a contagion about them, and hearing the catch in Reggie's voice brings down all that wall. It feels like there's something stuck in his throat, too. He stares at his hands.

"Yeah. I just hate that I still can't hate him."

"You have any idea how many memories he ruined pulling this bullshit? Fire academy, high school, fucking kindergarten?" Her voice is sharp and insistent, like she's trying to convince herself and Ares that she really is angry at him, that they both should be angry at him. Anger is an easier emotion for her to handle; you punch something, you yell at someone, you clean up the mess, and you either move on or carry a grudge. It's a well-worn path for Reggie. Especially when work fails to distract her.

"It all just... hurts now." She puts one hand on Ares', but her eyes stay on her own knees.

"Yeah, it does." He takes her hand in his and squeezes it maybe a little more tightly than he would've normally. This is why he tried not to remember more than he had to. "But. You know. Just because something hurts doesn't mean it's bad."

"That sounds patently unmedical." The laugh comes out a little easier now, but it feels wildly uncontrolled and dangerously close to a sob. She grips Ares' hand hard enough to break it just to get her words out. "And like Dylan getting me ready for the academy."

Reggie squeezes her eyes shut and presses her face to Ares' shoulder. If there's any tears, they're safely lost in his coat.

"I was always a little sad I missed that." Because that's a much easier thing to be sad about right now. Ares holds her around her shoulders, close, and leans his head on hers. "I bet you looked really stupid." Is choked with something between a chuckle and a sob of his very own.

"Put my ass through football drills." Reggie grabs onto the back of Ares' coat and holds on like she's afraid of being torn away. But not even a feral cougar could do that, not as long as she's ready for it. Dylan made sure she was strong as fuck. "He was so fucking good at this stupid job. It's bullshit that—"

The end of her sentence comes out in a wordless grunt, muffled by Ares' shoulder.

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🧟 Prescott's Winter Holiday Party

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

GIFT EXCHANGE: For Arlo

GIFT EXCHANGE: For Nat

GIFT EXCHANGE: For Roswell

GIFT: For Maggie

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares

END OF THE NIGHT: Reggie & Ares