theianights | ❆ 1st Present ❆ [public video post] [BACKDATED to September 2]

[Have a young man in a monocle and top hat, complete with a sprig of mistletoe decorating the band, (which seems to be nothing but a belt wrapped around it) squinting dubiously into the mirror.]

She said this is some kind of..... magical intelligent telegraph, right.....? You just talk to it?

[It's a little hard to use, even after Fumiko had showed him the basics, but he's working on it--and his uncertainty is quickly covered with an irritated, impatient look.]

Right, then. Anyone who can see this, listen up! I'm looking for a reindeer with a red nose or a tall guy with long silver hair! They--he answers to Rudolph. You can probably get the idiot's attention with candy or cakes, okay? He belongs with me, and he's going to be in big trouble if he's here but hasn't tried to find me yet. You hear me, Rudolph? You'd better have a good explanation, or I'm cutting you off from sweets for a whole week!

.....Now, how do I make it go.....?

[There's a long beat of silence between his message and his realization that he's not sure how to send it. Noël's scowl softens a little in confusion as he starts poking at the mirror with a gloved hand; a few seconds later, the message ends.]

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So, are we gonna be going by what we are here or what we think we know in our other realities? Because if we're going by our perceived realities then technically, I'm like, three years old? Or eternally thirteen, depending on how you look at it, but here I'm going on seventeen physical-wise.

[He shrugs, making a vague gesture with his hands.]

Insert lame joke here to cover up a deep seeded existential crisis or whatever.

[Okay, that actually earns a laugh, even if he's understandably a little confused.]

What makes here and your perceived reality so different?

Because here, I'm real.

[As if to convince himself of that, a hand fists in his shirt, probably a little too tightly but he's still trying to get used to this whole being human again thing.]

And in the other reality, I'm nothing but a fucking artificial intelligence trapped inside a shitty pair of shades. I was a copy of a thirteen year old self obsessed prick's mind trapped in sunglasses and being told by everyone at every god damn turn that they wish they were talking to the real Dirk instead of some stupid fucking shades "programmed" to be a replica of his personality.

[Wow, fuck. He did not mean to get that emotional over it. He really needs to get to work on this whole keeping his shit in check thing.]

[.....What? Someone who isn't real? He looks real to him. He sounds real. He's obviously intelligent, and interacting with the world around him. All he knows about "programs" is the occasional public notice posted around the city, and Hal clearly isn't just some..... some slip of paper, copied down uncountable times. Even if he were a twin, he'd still be his own person.

He doesn't really understand the particulars of what Hal's talking about, but he understands enough. Being a person magically trapped inside a pair of glasses and constantly berated for not being someone else is..... horrible, unthinkable. He's really not good at comforting people, but Noël winces, expression sobering.

If their memories might be wrong, after all, then maybe that's wrong, too. Maybe that miserable existence was just some kind of..... nightmare, or something? In the end, all he can think to do is spread his hands.]

If we can't prove things one way or another, then all we can do is work with what we have. No matter which you decide to believe in, you're probably young enough to be on my list, anyway.

[Yeah, Hal's not all that great with emotions and such either, so he's gonna pretend like he didn't just have a crisis breakdown on fucking Santa Clause and call it a day.]

Sweet. Does that mean I get presents? Cause I'd kill for an unbreakable katana right about now. All the swords I've found are frankly cheap pieces of shit and can't hone my awesome skills without a reliable weapon.

Eh..... Well, I don't know if I could give you something unbreakable..... I've never been able to make a magical weapon before. What's a "katana"?

[You can pretty much hear the quotes as he tries out a word he's clearly never said before. Different Santa Clauses having different territories means you might have better luck asking whichever Santa covers Asia, dude. But you ended up with a European one instead, so if you want a foreign weapon, you're going to have to do your homework.]

[Well, shit. A photographic memory does jack fucking shit when you can't share images-oh fuck hold up. If this really is modeled after his and Dirk's ideal room-

Yeah, give him a sec while he sets his mirror down to dig through the back of his closet and-]

Fuck yes.

[And see him emerge from the depths of his closet with a katana to proudly present.]

It looks like this, only this one's a piece of shit replica that's absolute garbage when it comes to using it in real life battles. It's like, a cheap thousand something dollar collectible or something.

.....Hmmm.

[Interesting design for a sword..... it looks lighter and more agile than a broadsword, for sure. Noël rubs his chin thoughtfully as he studies it. Rudolph would probably be able to tell him something like this, but he's not really a melee fighter, himself--at best, he occasionally turns his cane into a spear, in a pinch.]

What's the difference between a good one and a poor imitation?

A poor imitation is easily broken and has a dull blade. It needs to be made with folded steel for the real deal and sharp enough to cut through anything it touches.

[The one he's displaying gets tossed carelessly over his shoulder to a resounding clang in the closet behind him. Don't mind the shitty sword collection in an unusual location.]

I probably shouldn't be giving kids weapons..... but in a place like this, I think it's okay to make an exception. You'll have to be the judge on its quality, though.

[He's pretty sure he understands well enough to make a decent one, at least. Noël pulls a messenger bag decorated with a snowflake up into his lap, opening it up and reaching in; he pulls out a long, slim present a moment later, wrapped in candy cane-striped paper and tied with a bright green ribbon. He gives it an experimental heft before nodding to himself; the weight, at least, feels about right.]

[Holy shit. He wasn't actually expecting it but his face lights up at the sight of the present.]

Dude, you are the absolute fucking best Santa ever. Where are you? Can I have it now?

It's months until Christmas, I'm not holding onto it for that long. I'm at 1007 Main Street.

❆ 1st Present ❆ [public video post] [BACKDATED to September 2]

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