tl;dr: a small christmas party out by the beach. there’s numerous dishes that marco sorta stole, like a turkey dinner, pudding, fruitcake, mince pie, and roasted chestnuts. also, there’s hot chocolate, eggnog, grøgg (a danish mulled red wine, spiced and sugared with raisins and almonds in it). and be sure to check out the music, and the mistletoe.

Not even a single breath had been exhaled in the public’s presence for the month’s entirety, and ironically so, considering that December could be examined as his month.

Whether the Typhoon’s populace appreciated it or not, these celebrations of Yule and Christmastime were of religious production, as was Marco. Most Christmas carols such as ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!” and “Silent Night” possessed at least a noticeable holy undertone, and the insanely popular custom of gift-giving hailed from perhaps the most biblical tale of all, Christ’s birth. In this season, it was not uncommon to spot decorations depicting stars, ribbon-wrapped parcels - and angels. However, there was one angel in particular had become a rather rare sight to behold. In spite of all the hubbub practically praising his existence, the lynx kept to his own devices lately. Not a single paw was lent in the process of setting up decorations, and signing up for the secret santa event was not in his itinerary. Instead, his hours were dedicated to garnishing his own place up for the holidays, fronted by a boastfully decorative wreath.

When he wasn’t adorning the home to give the impression that everything was merry, Marco pondered, losing himself to inescapable bouts of worry and doubt. Mainly, it was worry for his brother, who had been less talkative than hoped during his past visit to Tanglewood. The sole reason why he had this feline form was Beck; and it seemed as though memories of their relationship seeped out of the feline’s mentality. His sibling was not the prime subject when it came to his worrying thoughts, though. Marco had qualms for himself, too. Sure, the kind-ish folks here in the Typhoon took him in, but what did he provide in return? Absolutely nothing, that’s what. While new faces came and old faces vanished, the holy warrior simply sat back with a bowl of popcorn. Not even a change in leadership could smack him with a dose of common sense, and lure him out of seclusion and into the community.

Out of the blue, last evening, ‘twas an epiphany or another cliche plot structure that induced a metamorphosis in his behaviour. Suddenly, it was not in his desires to hide. He wanted to be out there, active in community affairs, undeterred by just how unwelcoming some of the familiar faces were.

The best way to celebrate was via food, as the Romanian understood from decades of experience. Thus, he brought it upon himself to nab every edible seasonal item he could find while on a trek outside of the island - only the stuff that wouldn’t be missed though, like a third turkey dinner from a rich family, or the typical eggnog left unused in a fridge. It was not truly stealing if his actions were benefiting those around him, and not affecting those victim to his pilfering.

The total ensemble was arranged on a long table. On it lay an aforementioned turkey, with its specific desirable parts like heart and neck plunked into separate dishes; also present was stuffing for the turkey, puddings, fruitcake, mince pie, and roasted chestnuts. To drink, served warm was the typical hot chocolate, as well as a lavish gløgg, a sugared and spiced-up mulled red wine completed with raisins and chopped almonds - this was seized from some wealthy Danish household, and he had no idea what it was, but it smelled utterly divine. And of course, what Christmas feast would be complete without eggnog? The classic chilly beverage was served in two varieties, one alcohol-free, and another with a tad bit of hooch. To set the mood, a sprig or two of mistletoe had been set up in a corner somewhere, and vibrant potted poinsettias were placed in convenient places. Coloured lights had also found a new home around a nearby palm tree.

Just in case not enough attention had been attracted by the whole ‘setting up’ process, Marco fetched a personal possession of his; a record player. The quality of the machine had withered over the years, but it still had enough kick to play the classic Christmas tunes.

It didn’t look like too much, but that was because it was only him in on it, and he wanted it to be a total surprise. By the time he finished, the sun had just gone down, and Marco had not even broken a sweat (as it was biologically impossible for him to, duh).