12-05-2018, 08:50 PM
tl;dr: wreath making, with complimentary hot chocolate, eggnog, and trifle
There was a chill in the air. It was not one of spontaneity, nor was it one caused by a calamitous matter. The chill spoke in whispers, the whispers themselves in a festive hymn. Christmas was drawing near. That’s right - the one time of year when one was formally allowed to consume eggnog, where striped peppermint-flavoured canes ran rampant due to tradition, and of course, the time period in which giving gifts was expected of someone. It was a shame that the act of bequeathing another a present only seemed to take off during the holiday season (and sometimes on birthdays, those too), as the world was in deep need of generosity and kindness nowadays. And, sadly enough, Wendell could foresee a future in which emotions that had been enlightened by the holidays immediately returning to their prior gloomy state, likely as soon as the last bells had rang their last chimes. That was the future. This was the now. Let fate worry about fate, and let the present worry about the present.
Whilst he and his tribemates cleaned up the flood’s wreckage, an epiphany had occurred to cast itself unto the wolverine. Everything that was happening right now could be compared to to a healing process Hey . The wound? The hardship that lingered from the disastrous flooding, only being multiplied by Marina’s sudden leave. An open wound, one may call it, and the cut was beginning to become infected with grimy distress. However, the doctors tending to the wound were doing an okay job at treating it; erasing the remnants of the flood had been the cotton balls, and Bucky taking the helm and at short notice softening the clan’s intense relations with the Ascendants was the rubbing alcohol. This was not enough. These methods of forced recovery only brushed off the dirt from the surface, and did not dig deep enough into the gash to totally cleanse it. It didn’t take a medical professional to deduce that what was necessary was a bandage; something to take the bad feelings, throw them under a rug, and promise to check on them later.
Knowing from experience, nothing at all fixed up the mind like merry decorations.
The plan was brilliant, really. In the wake of all the chaos and destruction, spicing up the surrounding area surely would not furrow a few eyebrows.
He had initially embarked by taking a table-desk that lay abandoned in a ditch as one of the flood’s casualties, and hauling it towards the town’s perimeter. On it lay mugs of hot chocolate, glasses of eggnog, and a hearty bowl homemade trifle. On the topic of the latter dish, a lot of effort went into its construction. First came finding the willpower to do so, making food for others; cooking and baking was a secret passion, and for the sake of modesty and other people’s well-being, it was sworn that the wolverine would never prepare a dish for another. Obviously, that vow was broken. On another note, finding the necessary ingredients was a hassle in itself. Glassware untouched by the recent weather’s violence was a rarity, along with fresh fruits (which proved edible for every animal’s palette) and flour, a place to make it, and- perhaps it would be best not to delve into the confounded treat’s origin story, as it was a completely different story. All that was required of notice was that a heap of effort went into making the creamy dessert, and it would be a white lie in saying that his feelings weren’t hurt in the slightest if someone were to gag.
The table’s provisions acted as a reward to those who took part in the activity. Nope, the tasty foods were not the keynote.
Scrambled in front of him was an array of twigs, sticks, and red ribbons, the components necessary for a good wreath. An abundance of material was present, so the worry of running out was practically hypothetical. Wendell knew not a whole lot about wreath making, but he could recall from some old comic (perhaps Charlie Brown) that something did not have to be beautiful for it to be Christmas-y.
"Come, make yourself something for th’ holidays!" he’d call, hoping that all of this ended not in vain.
There was a chill in the air. It was not one of spontaneity, nor was it one caused by a calamitous matter. The chill spoke in whispers, the whispers themselves in a festive hymn. Christmas was drawing near. That’s right - the one time of year when one was formally allowed to consume eggnog, where striped peppermint-flavoured canes ran rampant due to tradition, and of course, the time period in which giving gifts was expected of someone. It was a shame that the act of bequeathing another a present only seemed to take off during the holiday season (and sometimes on birthdays, those too), as the world was in deep need of generosity and kindness nowadays. And, sadly enough, Wendell could foresee a future in which emotions that had been enlightened by the holidays immediately returning to their prior gloomy state, likely as soon as the last bells had rang their last chimes. That was the future. This was the now. Let fate worry about fate, and let the present worry about the present.
Whilst he and his tribemates cleaned up the flood’s wreckage, an epiphany had occurred to cast itself unto the wolverine. Everything that was happening right now could be compared to to a healing process Hey . The wound? The hardship that lingered from the disastrous flooding, only being multiplied by Marina’s sudden leave. An open wound, one may call it, and the cut was beginning to become infected with grimy distress. However, the doctors tending to the wound were doing an okay job at treating it; erasing the remnants of the flood had been the cotton balls, and Bucky taking the helm and at short notice softening the clan’s intense relations with the Ascendants was the rubbing alcohol. This was not enough. These methods of forced recovery only brushed off the dirt from the surface, and did not dig deep enough into the gash to totally cleanse it. It didn’t take a medical professional to deduce that what was necessary was a bandage; something to take the bad feelings, throw them under a rug, and promise to check on them later.
Knowing from experience, nothing at all fixed up the mind like merry decorations.
The plan was brilliant, really. In the wake of all the chaos and destruction, spicing up the surrounding area surely would not furrow a few eyebrows.
He had initially embarked by taking a table-desk that lay abandoned in a ditch as one of the flood’s casualties, and hauling it towards the town’s perimeter. On it lay mugs of hot chocolate, glasses of eggnog, and a hearty bowl homemade trifle. On the topic of the latter dish, a lot of effort went into its construction. First came finding the willpower to do so, making food for others; cooking and baking was a secret passion, and for the sake of modesty and other people’s well-being, it was sworn that the wolverine would never prepare a dish for another. Obviously, that vow was broken. On another note, finding the necessary ingredients was a hassle in itself. Glassware untouched by the recent weather’s violence was a rarity, along with fresh fruits (which proved edible for every animal’s palette) and flour, a place to make it, and- perhaps it would be best not to delve into the confounded treat’s origin story, as it was a completely different story. All that was required of notice was that a heap of effort went into making the creamy dessert, and it would be a white lie in saying that his feelings weren’t hurt in the slightest if someone were to gag.
The table’s provisions acted as a reward to those who took part in the activity. Nope, the tasty foods were not the keynote.
Scrambled in front of him was an array of twigs, sticks, and red ribbons, the components necessary for a good wreath. An abundance of material was present, so the worry of running out was practically hypothetical. Wendell knew not a whole lot about wreath making, but he could recall from some old comic (perhaps Charlie Brown) that something did not have to be beautiful for it to be Christmas-y.
"Come, make yourself something for th’ holidays!" he’d call, hoping that all of this ended not in vain.
![[Image: 83qo1IU.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/83qo1IU.gif)
![[Image: 85329628_M8F18uG2Cg02Jz6.gif]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/85329628_M8F18uG2Cg02Jz6.gif)
![[Image: 79302221_p0ULkMvNveTHm01.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/79302221_p0ULkMvNveTHm01.png)
![[Image: LXDR5da.png]](https://i.imgur.com/LXDR5da.png)