TruthHurts

World of Light: the Endless Now (The Ultimate Videogame Crossover)

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Level: 5
EXP: 17 / 50
Location: The Midnight Walk - Cave of the Forlorn

Luckily, for Professor Layton if no one else, the climb up the mountain thus far had been lax. It gave him time to sift through the thoughts he was having, the weight of this venture, and where his place in it might be. Fighting against a supposed god that had enslaved whole worlds was a bit loftier than what he usually dealt with. Though that might be true for his companions as well.

Maybe there'll be a time to swap stories later.

It wouldn't be today at least. The further up the Midnight Walk they got the colder and darker the environment grew. Soon it was too cold to travel, and they had to find refuge in a cave, where spirits weren't so high after the climb and the worsening conditions. Layton had started a pot of tea by the fire, but by that point most everyone else retired for the night. They'd been up for quite a while he supposed. Perhaps he was just used to late nights.

Layton left the kettle of tea on the fireplace in case anyone decided to have some during the night and retired to his own tent. After the day's events, a nice quiet sleep would be good for them all...

He only really woke up when he was already falling.

The immense cracking of the cavern jolted him out of his rest, but the Professor's faculties didn't truly return until there was no more ground beneath him. Now scrambling in freefall, Layton shimmied most of what he could manage out of his sleeping bag - he didn't chance a safe fall from this height, so in the chaos he snatched his collapsed tent from around himself, knotted the ends around one of its posts, and had rigged himself a makeshift parachute. The fabric caught on the air of a warm vent he'd managed to tumble over, turning Layton's plummet into a much slower drift.

"Everyone, get to higher ground!" He shouted as the bugs started pouring through holes, threatening to surround the Seekers in their disarray. Well, not on his watch, if he could help it. Layton angled himself towards a part of the horde on the fringes, kicking his sleeping bag the rest of the way off, and followed suit not long after, dropping onto the back of one such beast. A swing of his arm draped the tent over the bug's head, a tug to get it stuck on the thing's mandibles, and a dig of his toe into one of its spinal ridges; now the Professor was practically rearing it like a horse. It bucked and tossed, trying to get itself free, which is what Layton wanted as its furious thrashing knocked into its fellow insects.

Anything to level the playing field.

In the midst of it Layton spied a couple stalactites that looked unsecured from the rest of the ice formation. Waiting for a lull in the monster's movements, he threw the tent spike still in his hand as hard as he could (-1 ◉), landing true. The spike pinged off one and into the other, cracking both with enough force to send them both hurtling down into the crowd. Whether they crashed on any of the bugs or broke and shattered, surely it would be disruptive enough to give everyone an edge.

---

Word Count: 555
EXP Gained: +1

World of Light: the Endless Now (The Ultimate Videogame Crossover)

◉ ◉ ◉
Level: 5
EXP: 16 / 50
Location: The Midnight Walk - Christmas Village

A good portion of his new allies - The Seekers, as he should perhaps be calling them - may have anticipated a fight on first instinct, and perhaps even the few that joined in on the Professor's impromptu parley had prepared for things to go south as a backup plan. Layton, however, didn't doubt this move's effectiveness. The smile he gave the Ice King was genuine. It was all honest, unlike the little white lies Sandalphon and Maeve came up with. If he'd known there was a name left off the list they'd been given earlier, he would have done his very best to bridge the gap and offer a place to be for the holidays.

Better late than never, as they say.

He left the plate of food where the Ice King indicated and stepped aside so the Christmas village-goers could take over in making him feel welcome. Layton remained close to the bridge that continued the Midnight Walk, surveying the road ahead, as dark as it was. Obviously there was no 'Christmas miracle' that would've changed the course of nature. Layton was sure the meaning was always symbolic. And here they were, having used the spirit of the holiday to calm the storm... by warming the heart of he who controlled it.

Mystery solved.

And now that the way forward was clear, there was little doubt that the Seekers would take advantage of the King's distraction to move on. If what Ramattra said was true, then they had all the reason to push ahead. The fate of the world was a lofty weight on one's shoulder.

Partly to satisfy his own curiosity, and partly to avoid making problems moving forward, Layton was quick to collect his things and make his way to their stagecoach, once Sandalphon called on them to gather. He boarded the vehicle - after taking a moment to observe its exterior, with Heismay's tent perched atop - and went to find Sandalphon, traveling case still in hand.

"It's been quite an eventful day," he said in greeting, "and it seems we'll be in for an equally eventful night. I wanted to thank you again for allowing me to join you on your journey." Layton waited for her response, placing his trunk on the floor beside him, now taking in the vast space the stagecoach had inside. He soon continued, "if I may, I had something else I wished to ask of you."

He reached for his chin, holding his elbow in the palm of his other hand, a classic pose for any thinker. "Some of your group had informed me that you're known as 'The Seekers', and that you're traveling to Moon Mountain in pursuit of what they call a threat to the region. I understand if you can't tell me more than that, but I wonder... this isn't the only 'threat' you've sought, is it?" Layton let his arms fall to his side. He wasn't trying to confront Sandalphon, but he had to make his point clear.

"Your group is very familiar with one another and acts in tandem despite how different you all are; you've clearly been together for quite some time. Taking that into account, I believe whatever threat you think you'll find at Moon Mountain is not the first of its kind. Yet I've heard of nothing that'd spark such concern, even though I live relatively close to this region, in Edinburgh, nor have I learned of anything similar occurring elsewhere in the world."

Layton fixed Sandalphon with a steady gaze, as if gauging her next action. "I merely wish to know two things: where did you learn of this threat, and what do you intend to do about it?"

---

Word Count: 640
EXP Gained: +1

(Don't) Look Outside - small-scale survival horror in a mutagenic apocalypse

I'll post what I have of my character so far - an old, blind jazz artist, well past his prime but keeping his spirits up through the modern magic of podcasting. Confirmed with Lug that he is, effectively, immune to what's happening, though I'm sure hanging around outside long enough is bound to make something happen to 'im.

And while there's no sheet for it now, he DOES have a guide dog, who definitely HAS looked outside...

Hider

Name: Julien Roy
State: Coward
Personality: A reserved man in his old age, Julien tends to keep his thoughts to himself, preferring that if anything needed saying, his actions would make it clear. What he does talk about is usually matter-of-fact, with few opinions, clear and direct and curt, nothing but facts if he can help it. He keeps others at a similar arm’s length, trying to maintain a wide emotional gulf between him and the world, though he can’t not listen to people - and for all his curmudgeoness, when he hears someone in need, his first instinct is to help. He just won’t make it obvious that there’s a part of him that cares and prefers if you didn’t bring it up yourself. The one thing that always gets him rambling, however, is music, jazz especially. Old habits.
Appearance: Like so. Approximately 5’9”, not particularly tall, but broad shouldered and heavyset. Near entirely bald. Behind his glasses, his eyes are murky white, the skin around them and across the bridge of his nose warped with ancient scars.
Biography: Julien is Louisianan born-and-raised, growing up in the bayous of New Orleans. His childhood was uneventful; the main thing to take from it is that he grew to have a huge interest and appreciation in music.
Talents:

World of Light: the Endless Now (The Ultimate Videogame Crossover)

◉ ◉ ◉
Level: 5
EXP: 15 / 50
Location: The Midnight Walk - Christmas Village

Now that he had ingratiated himself in with this colorful group, Layton's spirits were quite high. Whatever goals they had might still be a mystery, one that he was interested in figuring out, but mostly he was looking forward to their eventual arrive at Moon Mountain. The books at Gressenheller talked only briefly on the area, predominantly regarding folk stories of its connection to the sun - his archaeological intuition had him curious. Answers were sure to come eventually, though, so for now the Professor enjoyed his time with the festival. A serving of roast, some festive pudding, and a Christmas-y tea were his foods of choice for the evening.

And, ah yes, there was a gift for him under the tree. A small box wrapped in a tasteful shimmery paper, one that only needed to be uncovered instead of unwrapped. And inside...

Gift for Layton

Scooter Badge
While equipped, enables the user to summon a rideable scooter while sprinting. The scooter persists until the user stops using it, takes damage, or hits an environmental effect (ie, landing on a jump pad). It also comes with a horn!

"Delightful," Layton said to himself, turning the badge over in his hand. He didn't accessorize such as that, but he figured it was keeping in the holiday spirit, so he carefully attached it to the band of his tophat. Hopefully whoever gave it to him would appreciate that.

There was a part of him that was a little... off. Wishful thinking, perhaps, in the hope that his earlier wish would somehow come true. It was impossible from a logical standpoint that anyone in the village could procure a letter from someone they never met on such short notice. Maybe he got swept up in the festive atmosphere, enough to give him that shred of belief. Layton's dinner turned melancholy after that realization, stuck thinking about his young apprentice.

Luke would've really enjoyed himself here.

Layton's mix of reverie and reflection was, same as everyone else, cut short at the arrival of an unplanned guest and his entourage through the blizzard. Layton noted that the storm subsided to allow the group to exit. "It appears we have discovered the source of the storm," the Professor noted. This "Ice King", no doubt the leader of this collection of armed soldiers, was very irate about this festival. Threatening to devour everyone for it, though? Now that was a bit too far.

Layton considered the circumstances: this King held himself in high esteem, whether his title carried the proper role or was self-granted. And he treated this village as if he had some amount of control over it, enough to claim things occurring without his "say-so". Had the noise of their celebration truly breached the boundary of the blizzard to annoy the King?

Perhaps. But Layton figured the answer to this was much simpler than that.

While everyone stood in shock, anticipation, anger, fear, a bevy of emotions in response to the Ice King's appearance, the Professor went over to the buffet and collected a new plate of fresh food. Then he made his approach, walking up to where the tiger-formed King stood, not paying much mind to the icy guards flanking him.

"Please forgive us, sir Ice King," he said aloud, "if we had known that you resided beyond that blizzard we would have made more of an effort to reach you. It's our mistake that you were left without invitation to this Christmas party."

When he was close enough - not too close to anger him or the soldiers, of course - he held up the plate of food he made, laden with a good helping of fried fish and a mostly rare slice of haunch. "Fortunately, we're still in the middle of celebrating, so you've arrived at a perfect time to join. If you wish, that is."

---

Word Count: 677
EXP Gained: +1

(Don't) Look Outside - small-scale survival horror in a mutagenic apocalypse

Ditto for me! Think I got a character concept finalized now.

Masks & Magic: The Awakening

Ditto for me! I'll get a post out in the next few days, hopefully.

Persona: Black Crown

Sorry for the radio silence - between holidays and getting Big Sick I didn't have much mental space to contemplate roleplaying. But! I'm back and will be responding in the week!

World of Light: the Endless Now (The Ultimate Videogame Crossover)

Christmas Village - Culinary Cheffervescence

Heismay, Ramattra, and Professor Layton
Setting: Cloudy Thursday Afternoon
Wordcount:] 3208 (+4)

With some assistance from Mokou, Sandalphon, and some helpful passers-by, Heismay got the fish transferred from the sleds outside to an icebox in one corner of the kitchen. All but the bubbling char, of course, which he tossed beneath the stove after pulling open the squeaky metal hatch. With it being so much warmer in here than outside, the eugief loosened his new costume and pulled off his hood, allowing his ears to unfurl for the first time that morning as he looked around the room. While not the best-equipped kitchen he’d ever seen, this did have all the basic amenities one might need to prepare a good meal. He wasn’t sure if its output could feed the entire village, but it was a start.

Heismay began a more thorough search of the kitchen, including its cupboards and drawers, climbing up onto the cabinets when necessary.

Ramattra tried his best to make his presence easily known to avoid startling the alert Eugief, his metallic legs clacking against the tiled floors of the bare kitchen. If a frown could be painted over Ramattra’s metallic face, it would stretch over its entirety, the open-design outfit from Sectonia and her helpers now donned on his person for the remainder of the evening. “I look ridiculous.” He complained to the scout, the large antlers on his forehead slanting lazily to the side. It didn’t look bad on him, but of course he wasn’t going to admit that.

The Omnic took a couple of steps around the kitchen, inspecting the inventory available, same as Heismay, to inspect what was available to their use. “So, I imagine you have some ideas for the dinner? I must be honest, I don’t have a lick of cooking experience. Perhaps you could direct me through so I may help?” Ramattra was trying his hardest to be polite, though he felt as though he was inserting himself into a task he was inexperienced at. The large coat adorning his body and concealing the dead flesh fell off his body slowly as he removed it, hanging it on a nearby chair.

“Help?” Heismay looked over from the cupboard he was rummaging through. Out of all of the Seekers on this wintry expedition through the Highlands, Ramattra was one of the last he would have expected to offer a helping hand. Appearances could be deceiving, though, as monstrous as the omnic now looked. “Twould be my pleasure to oblige. I’m impressed that you’d volunteer yourself for such a big task. You must have a real heart for people, as they say.” He turned back to his task, carefully pushing aside pots, jars, and other kitchenware. When he found an open sack, he peered inside to find a powdered flea instead of flour. It popped out of the bag, shook itself off, and flew away with a playful awoo. Heismay watched it go, amused, then got back to his task. “As for me, I was just…aha!”

With a little effort, the hermit pulled a big bag of flour from pantry, which he rested on the ground. “Today, I shall be cooking with dough! Dough is a most delicate ingredient, and those who lack experience often go afoul of it. But fear not, for I was raised in the grain belt, and our dough shall rise to my standards!” He pointed Ramattra toward a large black pot. “First, we need some water. Luckily, there is plenty outside. May I ask you to take that outside and collect fresh, untouched snow for melting?”

“Ha.” Ramattra coughed a weak laugh. “It looked like everybody else was being more… festive than I am willing to play along with. I won’t be a Scrooge, however, games and fun are not quite my… taste.” This was where he would be most cooperative, especially now that he knew how he could assist Heismay. With a polite nod, the Omnic stepped outside, looking for a clear patch of snow that would be perfect for boiling. Most of the snow, of course, was on the ground, but was contaminated since it was on top of soil and frequently treaded, but many patches of medium-sized brushes of tree leaves held what Ramattra thought would be ideal snow.

Setting the pot underneath the tree and giving it a light shake in Nemesis form filled it to the brim, though now, a large pile of snow had plopped down on the Omnic’s head, a blank-slated grumpy face metaphorically etched across his head. “Great.” Shaking the snow off his head, Ramattra returned to the kitchen with the cleanest snow he could think of finding. The boiling, at the very least, will remove any other contamination. “Here you are, friend.” Snow-filled container in hand, Ramattra set it down on the burner for Heismay to boil before turning towards another pair of footsteps approaching.

In the middle of the pair discussing their plan for dough, another cook-to-be entered the kitchen, one Professor Layton, wearing the outfit the Seekers prepared for him as well. He looked to see where he’d be of most use, though as soon as he spotted Ramattra over the heads of others he made his way towards them.

”Pardon me, you two were accompanying Miss Sandalphon and Roxas before, were you not?” He asked, addressing them as best one could, swapping eye contact between a much shorter and a much taller person. ”I’m Hershel Layton. We collected the letters to Santa Claus together, so I was hoping to thank whoever of your group made these outfits.” He adjusted his festive tophat to make his point. ”It’s a pleasant surprise that I was included.”

Heismay turned from the bowl he was carefully pouring flour into, trying not to kick up wasteful clouds of white powder. “Twas certainly hospitable of them. I think you have Sectonia, Blazermate, and Ace Cadet to thank for that, if I remember them correctly.” His ruby-red eyes narrowed for a brief moment as he scrutinized the professor. “Perhaps as thanks you could assist us in meal preparation. All those fish we caught are certainly not going to cook themselves!” The eugief said it in a joking manner, but if Layton took him up on the offer, he certainly wouldn’t object.

Immediately, Ramattra eyed the newcomer from a distance, lucky that his sensors acted as a poker face for his bias. Layton certainly didn’t look like any human from the Omnic’s world, but was, without a doubt, of the same race. At least the man seemed composed and intelligent, something that Ramattra valued even in humans. “Ah. Hello there. I am the Omnic Ramattra, at your service.” He gave a polite bow, somewhat surprised that his horrific appearance did not deter Layton from introducing himself. Of course, Ramattra was capable of assisting Heismay with minor tasks, setting aside whatever sparse spices for the bread he could find in an isolated cabinet a little higher than the Eugief’s reach.

Layton reciprocated Ramattra’s bow with a tip of his hat. ”Very nice to meet you both.” He watched as they prepared to bake, not wanting to intrude in what they’d already begun. ”I had come here to assist in dinner preparations, as it happens,” Layton said, ”so I’d be happy to help. I may not be adept at culinary arts, but I know a few things from when I was younger, helping my parents in our kitchen. And I’m willing to learn in places I lack.”

Ice melted quickly over fire, so in very little time Heismay had plenty of water. Animated by an excited energy, he combined yeast, flour, and water with salt fetched by Ramattra. Once he had the mixture suitably consistent, he plopped the dough out on an empty counter, gingerly laid a spare cloth atop it, then slipped off his heavy boots and climbed up. “Watch closely, as I demonstrate the proper technique. Take this! And that! Hah” So saying, he began to knead the dough by stamping upon it with his feet in an odd but very deliberate dance. After a moment he glanced quizzically at Layton and Ramattra, as if what he was doing was totally normal. “Why do you idle? Show me your conviction! Hah!”

Layton couldn’t help but chuckle at Heismay’s technique. No doubt effective, though not one he’s seen in all his travels. ”I’ll use my hands if that’s quite alright,” he said, stepping up to collect a pile of dough that was left un-stomped. He started kneading it much like how his mother would, a fairly simple push-and-spread motion. Watching Heismay continue to work, however, he decided to change tact, trying to match the eugief’s erratic stamping with the heels of his hands. It probably wouldn’t produce the same results - the difference in angle, shape, and power - but Layton was doing his best to learn.

Heismay nodded in approval. “There you have it! But do not just stamp randomly. We must stretch the dough just right. With proper technique, our bread will be as soft and luxurious as a goose-down pillow.” So saying, he continued to dance atop his dough, swinging his winged arms to maintain his balance. Despite appearances, there was indeed a method to his madness, a sequence of movements passed down through generations of eugief breadmakers. It was all to achieve perfect consistency.

Ramattra, however, was less of an instrument of precision and more well-tuned for calculated brutality. He tried his best to knead the bread with care, technique, and strength, pressing it firmly into the flour bed, coating the counter's surface. “You must have made quite a bakery’s worth in your days.” The Omnic teased the Eugief’s more artisanal side, his dough now malleable against his cold hands. It took him a minute to get used to the kneading motion with only one hand.

“Of course, since I don’t need substance to survive, I’ve never so much as had an interest in cooking or baking. My home, there used to be Omnic’s who dedicated their lives to culinary arts, despite never being able to taste.” It was ironic that now Ramattra found himself in their boots, over-analyzing every movement he made against the now softened dough he continued folding into itself.

A somewhat forlorn sigh escaped Heismay as his dance came to an end, the dough beneath his feet satisfactorily springy. “Tis woefully rare that I get the chance, in truth. Perhaps in another life I could have been a baker, but it was not to be.” After inspecting an empty oven to bring it up to the ideal heat, he began to tear off globs of kneaded dough to transfer them to a baking sheet. “Rather than a rolling pin, I took up the sword. Eventually won myself a position among the royal knights.” He chuckled ruefully. “Well…in the ‘shadowguard’, that is. An order not of decorated defenders, but discreet enforcers, relegated to ‘necessary evils’ in back alleys and moonless nights. No captain would be caught dead with a eugief in shining armor.” He shook his head. “And in exile, I had neither grain nor grindstone, no oven for baking nor kitchen to bake with. Tis a small miracle I remember the teachings of my childhood at all…”

The Professor, having matched Heismay’s movements to the best of his ability, prepared a sheet of his own, dividing the dough into equal portions. This, at least, was something he was more familiar with. ”You’ve lived a hard life, it seems,” he commented to Heismay. ”Whatever circumstances brought you to where you are today, I’m glad you managed to keep true to a part of yourself.” He gestured to the rolls of unbaked dough on the counter. ”The holiday this festival is in service to is partly a time of thankfulness, recognizing all that we’re grateful for in our lives. So I’d like to give you my thanks for allowing me to learn such a technique from you.” Layton finished with a small bow of his head and a tip of his hat. Hopefully not too forward for having just met.

Actually… that last point brought something to Layton’s mind.

“You’re welcome.” After putting the dough-laden sheet into the oven, Heismay let out a deep breath. “Though my sweat tells of a battle hard fought, the final trial yet awaits. With anything less than perfect timing, the bread will either fall flat or fail to rise at all. I must calm my mind and strike like an eagle in flight.”

Not wanting to interrupt Heismay’s focus, Layton moved to Ramattra, wiping his hands clean of dough and flour. ”If I may ask, what brings your group to this festival? Your companion, Sandalphon, seemed unfamiliar with Christmas and its traditions, as had a number of you as well - apologies for eavesdropping, I was simply reading the task board while you all were gathered there.”

Layton crossed his arms in thought. ”I assume your true destination lies beyond the blizzard, on the Midnight Walk?”

The Omnic froze for a moment, almost hesitating to answer the professor’s question. Ramattra looked to Heismay for his opinion, but after sizing Layton as mostly harmless to their mission, it seemed only fair to fill him in since he had gotten stuck here with his original caravan. “Our final destination is Moon Mountain. We’ve decided to… rest here until the blizzard passes.” Though it seemed partaking in Christmas magic was the only way to remove the obstacle, Ramattra was not going to admit something so unbelievable to a stranger.

Ramattra grabbed a separate pan for his Omnic-handled dough. Though not perfect in the slightest, the Omnic felt a small amount of accomplishment in having prepared the dough. Much of the work and guidance would be credited to Heismay, whose odd technique had convinced Ramattra that the Eugief’s loaf would turn out the best.

”Moon Mountain…” The Professor has heard tales of Moon Mountain before. From what he could gather it was a very fraught, desolate, dark place, with only folktales as to what may be at its peak. His professional curiosity was getting the better of him, but he decided not to ask further - not now, at least.

”Then I hope the blizzard subsides sooner instead of later, for your sake.”

As the bread baked, the trio helped prepare other foods for the feast, including the haul from the fishing hole. With only so many ovens available, they cast a broad net by pan-frying, grilling, and even smoking the different fish. Whatever herbs they found in the pantry’s cupboards went toward spicing these different fish recipes up. Not every attempt was a success, but as the minutes turned to hours more and more sizzling fish dishes piled up, ready to be devoured that evening. At one point, Heismay reached into the icebox and removed not a fish, but a soccer ball-sized flea, shivering as it sneezed again and again, going more achoo than awoo.

Heismay seated the poor flea by the fire to warm up, then returned his attention to the bread oven. Throughout his preparations he’d kept one eye on his main project at all times, very pleases as he watched the dough rise. Finally, the hour had come. “There!” He popped open the oven, paused just long enough to avoid a faceful of hot steam, and snatched the sheet tray from inside the furnace. When the steam cleared, the others could admire the fluffiest-looking bread they’d ever seen. “Behold, a taste of my homeland: Benevolent Bread,” Heismay declared.

Without the need for oven mitts, Ramattra reached into the oven after Heismay showcased his product, clutching onto the baking sheet that had been rising his loaf. Though the bread would surely taste similarly to Heismay, the fluffiness of the specially-cooked bread was unbeatable, as Ramattra’s bread was more crusty- with a mild burn on the exterior. “Ah. I suppose for my first time, that wasn’t the worst I could do.” He examined the loaf over, almost curious to sample its taste if it were possible.

While the others attended to their own tasks, Heismay took stock of the kitchen. He hadn’t really been paying attention to anyone outside of himself, Ramattra, and Layton, but the other cooks hard at work in the kitchen had made plenty of progress, too. A couple crock pots were in the process of slow-cooking roast meat, ensuring that when the time came it would be so tender that it’d practically fall off the bone. Casseroles were much in evidence, and the smell of baked potatoes delighted him almost as much as the bread. There was only one thing that perturbed him: the sight of a rock floating in a bowl of broth. After rubbing his eyes, Heismay trotted over to get a better lock, and yep…it sure was rock soup. Baffled, he turned to the tired-looking elf responsible for the concoction. “What, pray tell, is this?”

The elf shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that emphasized the fact that he had no arms connecting them to his free-floating hands. “I call it ‘Loud Soup’,” he answered in a lazy drawl. “A magical brew that, when imbibed, will allow you to project your voice across the whole area. It’s to help Miss Maeve make announcements, more than anything.” He stirred the soup, causing the rock to clack against the bowl. “If you’re curious, feel free to sample some, but be warned that everyone will be able to hear you for thirty seconds at least. Don’t blame me if people get annoyed.”

Heismay blinked at him. “I think I’ll pass.”

Ramattra seemed almost offended at the offer. His eyes scanned the stew with some curiosity before the Omnic, surprisingly, walked closer. “I’d like to try some, but would it be alright if I stored some in a bottle for later, rather?” If this stew could amplify the speaker's voice, maybe it could serve some niche purpose later in their adventure. “A hearty serving, please. It does look quite… good?” The Omnic lied through his metaphorical mouth, hoping that the elf would fail to realize that a robot would have no use with such a liquid.

”I would like to save some for later as well,” Layton added. The elf raised an eyebrow but decided against questioning a save-for-later sample, and spooned a portion of the remaining broth into two mason jars, adding the requisite stone to each before handing them off to the two. Layton didn’t have any grand ambitions for the soup, of course, he just wanted to give it a proper try when he wouldn’t be an inconvenience.

Having spent a good while here, and done their part toward preparing an excellent feast, the three then took the chance to move on and see what else the village had in store for them.

Persona: Black Crown

I'll update sometime in the next couple days, been busy this month!

World of Light: the Endless Now (The Ultimate Videogame Crossover)

Christmas Village - Letters for Santa

Setting: Snowy Thursday morning
Word Count: 3260 (+4)

The flea caravan had gone quite some time away from civilization, so Layton was pleased when it finally arrived at such a lively settlement. One that was already in the beginning hours of its famed festival, at that. Layton disembarked from his carriage a little early, he didn’t want to bother everyone as they went to get settled amidst the flurry of elves, workers, and guests, and took a small tour around the village, eventually circling around to its center. He’d familiarized himself with the Christmas festival before he left - the gathering of Christmas Spirit to be precise - though he was surprised at the presence of the blizzard that blocked further progress on the Midnight Walk.

Curious. Layton was interested to see if the festival could truly stifle a storm like that.

Eventually the Professor ended up near the To-Do list, mingling near a group of fellow arrivals and catching the conversation they had with Maeve. As their attention was drawn to the list Layton approached the pixie.

”If you have no-one else to do so, I’d be happy to take up the task of collecting letters,” he said. ”I’ve an interest in finding the missing fleas as well, so I’ll be exploring the village already. All the better if I can assist in preparations at the same time.”

At the head of the other group of newcomers stood a slightly tall white-haired woman with an authoritatively stiff posture. Though she wore a parka like many of her teammates, the three-ringed halo that floated above her head shone with a warm white glow, like many of the Christmas lights strung throughout the village. While the others chatted about the activities, tentatively planning out who would do what while they waited for the blizzard to subside, this lady simply stared at the to-do board in silence as if lost in thought. When Layton approached, she turned her head to examine him, her expression blank and her strange, symbol-ridden eyes oddly unblinking.

“I’m curious about these letters,” she told Maeve after a moment. “This settlement is small, so the use of a mail system strikes me as odd. Not to mention inefficient.”

Maeve tittered as if the archangel had just said something quite foolish. “Oh, silly! The letters aren’t for anyone here! They’re for Santa!”

The unfamiliar name somehow changed the power symbols within the woman’s pupils into question marks as she tilted her head. “Santa? I am not acquainted with this individual.”

This time, the pixie raised a questioning eyebrow as she wondered if her new helper was being deliberately obtuse. Then she wearily launched into a quick explanation. “Santa Claus, of course. Kris Kringle? The reason for the season! People send him letters so he knows what they want for Christmas, hoping those gifts will come wrapped under the tree on Christmas morning!”

“Oh.” The archangel’s pupils became targeting reticles. “If it’s a simple matter of determining what people throughout the village wish to obtain, I can help with that. Gathering and agglomerating information is a skill of mine.” Her eyes turned toward Layton. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

”Not at all,” Layton replied with a friendly smile, ”though I don’t foresee us needing that particular skillset. Writing letters to Santa Claus is part of the holiday tradition. We would only be collecting these letters from everyone and delivering them. To a post box, perhaps.”

Layton rubbed his chin, looked at the taskboard again, and returned his attention to Maeve. ”Are these two names on the board singled out for a particular reason? This Iorveth and Vanessa?”

The pixie gave a nervous laugh. “W-well…Vanessa’s scary, and she doesn’t ever come out of her haunted mansion. And Iorveth doesn’t really like humans. To, um, put it mildly…” She scratched her neck as she snuck a look at the surly elf viciously chopping firewood with a well-kept axe. Each log had a face drawn on it with conspicuous rounded ears.

“Fortunate that I am not human, then,” Sandalphon remarked as she turned to head Iorveth’s way.

Maeve flew in front of her, waving her hands. “Well, uh! I mean, even if you look human, he’s gonna be pretty sour. When it comes to discriminating he doesn’t…um, discriminate?” She shrugged. “Just saying, unless you’re an elf, he probably hates your guts.”

After thinking for a second, Sandalphon brushed her hair back. “And what if I look like an elf?” Beneath her hair, she had pointed ears. Short ones, barely any longer than a human’s, but pointed nonetheless.

“Oh!” Maeve blinked at her. “Well, give it a try I guess!”

With a nod, the archangel headed over toward where the woodsman was working. He saw her coming, and before she even got near him the one-eyed elf was wearing a scowl. When Sandalphon pulled her hair back again to show off her ears, his expression changed briefly to confusion, then suspicion. “...What do you want?”

The archangel attempted to give him a polite smile, to mixed results. “Do you have any letters for Santa Claus?”

Iorveth scoffed. “Of course not. And even if I did go to the hassle of writing them, what good would they be in the hands of a human?”

It didn’t take Sandalphon long to change her tact. “I understand. In a broader sense then, perhaps, is there anything you might want?”

The elf chuckled dryly as his baleful gaze swept the village’s visitors. “Maybe a nice, firm shortbow and a couple hundred arrows.”

“I see. Thank you.” Only too eager to be rid of the others, Iorveth resumed his work, and Sandalphon turned to Layton as she stepped away. “It’s true that writing letters is impractical. For the sake of expedience, I can compose the letters myself using common denominators. We need only inquire about what gifts the people here would like to receive.”

Layton nodded and pulled his journal out from his jacket. ”That does seem the best course of action. I’ll keep track of the specifics.” He jotted down what they had managed to get out of Iorveth - shortbow and arrows - even though he seemed to desire it for malicious reasons. Maybe there’d be time to deliberate on it later.

“Oh, allow me.” With a wave of her hand Sandalphon summoned a light screen, and the same words inscribed themselves in a bullet-pointed list upon it. Then the screen minimized into a mote of light that floated up to the archangel’s halo. “It’s no trouble.”

Suddenly they heard a bark and saw a certain yellow-and-black dog bounding toward them. Its owner, a blond-haired boy wearing mostly blue, was chasing after it, ”Wait for me, Scamp!” He called, heaving breaths when he finally caught up to his hound. As for Scamp, the dog Pokemon was sniffing curiously at the gentleman’s shoes before barking with a wag of his tail.

”Sorry about him.” Roxas said to the man apologetically, ”He gets… excitable sometimes, but he’s harmless, I promise.” He turned his gaze toward the archangel and rubbed his neck sheepishly, ”I… guess I’ll help you with the letters since I’m here, Sandalphon?”

”I certainly don’t mind,” Layton offered, ”the more the merrier, which is particularly apt today.” Closing his journal, Layton took a small step aside from the two and tipped his hat to them. ”Ah, I forgot to introduce myself earlier. My name is Professor Hershel Layton. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

Recognizing his good manners and polite gesture, Sandalphon offered him something akin to a curtsey, using her longcoat in lieu of a dress. “The pleasure is mine, professor. I am Sandalphon, and this is Roxas.” She glanced at the boy and his hound. “You both are welcome to join us. Currently, I plan to generate the letters after the fact, so we can focus on simply finding out what everyone wishes for.” Her eyes briefly turned to carets as she regarded the others. “First things first, then. What is it that you two want for Christmas?”

”What I want for Christmas…” Layton pondered the question. The obvious answer was something small, easily procured by the denizens of this settlement, if the intention was for the gifts to be delivered; a set of books, a new hatbox, some blends of tea he hadn’t tried before. He was accustomed to such gifts, so it wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. If they were to adhere to the spirit of, well, the Christmas Spirit the act should generate, then…

”I suppose what I’d like is a letter of my own,” Layton answered. ”One from a friend of mine whom I haven’t heard from in a while. I’m sure he’s safe, though the silence has me worried.” He let the wish linger, then cleared his throat, awkwardly straightening his hat. ”Not to air my concerns with you both. I’m simply trying to match the festivities, as I understand them.”

Sandalphon’s gaze did not waver. “That sounds like a perfectly reasonable wish to me.”

Roxas could certainly sympathize, nodding in agreement. ”I’m looking for some friends, too.” He said, fairly certain he had already told Sandalphon about the missing Xion and Axel. ”One of the reasons I left Twilight Town was so that I could look for them. Still haven’t had any luck, yet.” Scamp gave a little whine of empathy and the Nobody scratched the Boltund’s ears appreciatively.

“...Noted,” the archangel confirmed.

The three had a long task ahead of them, so it was time they got on with it. There were plenty of people in the village to collect letters for, they could simply pick a direction to walk to encounter someone to talk to, which is exactly what they did. The next elf they ran into was thankfully less hostile towards them, a young lad in green clothing that was rooted to the spot, conspicuously in the middle of the road.

Layton began, ”Excuse me sir, do you have a moment? We’re collecting letters to Santa Claus, so if you have one, or a wish for Christmas, we’d be happy to take it for you.”

“Me? A Christmas wish? Oh, I’m not so sure…” The elf rocked on his feet as he thought, muttering under his breath before answering, “oh yes, I know! I would want nothing more than to visit the Arena, in Cyrodiil! I hear the Gray Prince has been defeated, and I want to witness the new Grand Champion in action!”

Sandalphon’s pupils became inverted triangles as she processed his response. “Your wish is to go somewhere? Understood.” She inscribed the elven boy’s desire on her light screen, giving an aside to the others as she did. “Such a request may be impractical in terms of fulfillment, but since our task is merely to log it, it’s no trouble.” Her pupils returned to normal as she gave a grateful nod of her head to the lad. “Thank you. Carry on.”

Just then, a well-built man in a thick, fur-lined red suit, complete with a trapper hat and goggles, trudged past with a wrapped present under his arm. That gift caught Sandalphon’s eyes first, but she quickly remembered what she needed to do. “Pardon me, sir. What is your name? And is there anything you might like for Christmas?”

The man stopped, the serious look on his hard face becoming a genial smile. “Victor. Well, if you’re asking, I guess I’d like Uprooting One’s Mask Fragments. Need thirty of ‘em if I’m gonna get my Chimeratech Fugue here upgraded into a Fangtian Huaji.” He showed the couriers a purple axe that already looked pretty impressive as a weapon, its fantastical purple hue balanced by the vicious edge and serrations. “Of course, they’re awful hard to come by, but this is Santa we’re talkin’ about, eh?” Sandalphon nodded and recorded his response.

As he watched the exchanges, Roxas spotted a winter-dressed Pokemon Trainer a short distance away feeding and grooming her Piplup. So he waved and jogged over to her, Scamp bounding beside him. ”Hi there!” He said, ”We’re collecting letters for Santa. Is there anything you want to ask for for Christmas?”

“For Christmas?” asked the girl, humming thoughtfully. “My Pokemon do love the stickers I decorate their Poke Balls with, so… maybe a new set to make their Balls even prettier?” she then answered with a bright smile. Roxas tilted his curiously at first. He’d never even considered the idea of decorating Poke Balls before, and wondered if that was something he should try some time. But for now he had to focus on the task at hand.

”New stickers for your Poke Balls, got it!” Roxas said with a grin, turning back toward Sandalphon, ”Did you get that down?”

She nodded. “Of course.” Now Sandalphon’s list had six entries on it, but there were a lot more people around here to talk to. Sticking together made this task feel more communal, but it was hardly ideal for efficiency. “I think it would be beneficial to split up,” she suggested. “You both could relay your findings to me remotely. Or I could just listen in.” Since Layton wasn’t connected yet, she demonstrated by holding two fingers up to the side of her face, which manifested a yellow and blue sigil. “I can connect you to my network if you’ve no objections, Professor. It will allow us to communicate from afar.”

”Certainly,” Layton replied, mimicking the gesture. He’d normally be skeptical of such unconnected communication, but his Gleaming state made him simply accept it. ”I’ll head for the cabins and igloos. I’m sure Maeve wouldn’t want to leave out guests such as us.”

”I’ll keep looking for anyone still outside.” Roxas offered as he and his Boltund scampered off.

Sandalphon turned to look around. “Alright. Let’s reunite in an hour and verify our progress. Please ensure that you obtain names from everyone you solicit, both so we know who wants what, and to avoid repeat inquiries.”

Layton, as he stated, made his way for the igloos and guest cabins. He wasn’t sure if guests were included in the ‘letters to Santa’ tradition of this festival, though he decided to ask what some would want regardless; Fleamaster Mooshka was easy enough, the safety of the caravan, while other guests were trickier to get an answer out of. Obviously none of them had prepared letters for Santa before arriving, and some were not yet inundated in the spirit of Christmas to so readily divulge a wish to a stranger. The Professor’s patience and amenable demeanor did open up even the grouchiest of visitors, whether they realized it or not, and soon he had relayed the majority of guests’ wishes to Sandalphon - some obvious presents, others intuited desires.

Then he went to the igloos. Denizens of the village, most of them elves as well, were busy preparing for the festival, so this area was not as populated as others. There were some Christmas celebrators around, of course, taking a break from the work or otherwise uninvolved in the tasks that Layton chose to engage with. Most of them had already written out letters in full. Layton collected them despite their change in methods, reasoning that a letter spared now would ease the burden of writing them out later. He didn’t dare open them, so their contents, the wishes made, would remain a mystery to the trio.

Roxas made a couple of laps around the village outdoors. He encountered another Pokemon Trainer - a hiker named Ronald - whose Christmas wish was a new pickaxe for digging up fossils and other buried treasures alongside his two Drillbur. Then he encountered a pair of kids - Tyler and Becky - who wished for a new sled to go down hills on. The kids in particular almost all already had their letters written so all Roxas had to do on that front was to collect them.

It was the adults who mostly hadn’t made up their minds yet. In addition to Ronald the Hiker, there was also a high elf woodcutter whose only wish was that Maeve would send him more help from time to time to get the wood gathered. That, and he also wanted a new set of woodcutting axes since his old ones were getting more and more rusted. There was even a case or two where the villager handed him the letter but chose not to disclose what the wish was. Roxas naturally didn’t try to pry and instead just politely accepted the letter and promisedpromised not to peek at them.

Meanwhile, Sandalphon perused the worksites for Christmas wishers, including the main lodge. Several of the elves in charge of the reindeer wished for more agreeable, less obstinate beasts, though most were more interested in things for their families. A common denominator among the crafters laboring away in the village’s workshop was better tools, or repairs to old favorites, though in practice everyone’s wishes varied wildly and could not be extrapolated based on profession or appearance. Not that the archangel would have resorted to such a tactic to save time. Sandalphon logged every request dutifully, often without the people she solicited even being aware of her doing so. Although her task was simple, there were a lot of people and personalities to dig through, so the hour flew by with surprising speed.

The trio reconvened where they started, back in front of the village’s workshop by the to-do board. In addition to verbal feedback that Sandalphon stored in her mental database, all three had collected a number of real letters that could be delivered as-is, saving the archangel time. Maeve fluttered over just after the three dropped off their letters in a rusty blue mailbox. “Hey! How’d it go?”

“Satisfactory,” Sandalphon replied. For the sake of the pixie’s tenuous sanity, she decided not to tell her that a good two thirds of the wishes they’d received had yet to be put to paper. “I have some extra work to do, so if there are no objections I will retire to the workshop to accomplish it.” She glanced between Layton and Roxas. “It occurs to me that we did not seek out Vanessa to ask what she wanted for Christmas yet. You could both look into that if desired.”

Maeve nodded. “That’d be great! I know she’s a little, uh, scary, but I’m sure she’s got some Christmas spirit buried deep down! Somewhere?”

Layton nodded. ”Yes, it would be a shame to leave someone out of the festivities because of our own superstitions.”

After glancing at the other two with her brows slightly raised, Sandalphon entered the workshop. Soon she was seated at a worktable in a clean, well-lit corner with a pile of stationary close at hand and an ink pen squeezed between her delicate fingers, writing away with such mechanical regularity that one could reasonably mistake her letters as being mass-printed.

With the two left to their own devices, Layton addressed Roxas. ”Well then, shall we go visit this haunted house?”