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[She's not Padmé Amidala. Nor is she Jane Foster. It's just Ariadne, sitting on the wooden floor of her home, in front of an enormous, four-poster bed with a canopy of sheer, white fabric. Splashes of color occasionally hit her face and the background, as her homemade mobiles, flitting with broken pieces of colorful glass, catch whatever sunlight there is. Her long, long, long brown hair is hanging loose over her left shoulder, crinkled to show that it's just come undone from its braid.]

I...I've noticed that a lot of important holidays seem to be in the middle of the winter. And I guess it makes sense. The days are short, the nights are long, and everyone is cold and missing fresh fruits and vegetables. It raises the spirit to have something to celebrate and people to celebrate it with.

[There's a small smile. A memory or two from her days in Valeria.]

Back home, the New Year was the most important holiday. There would be parties and feasts and masked balls. Presents. Lots of music...

[And she misses that music. But Ariadne won't let herself stay sentimental for long.]

Last year, I learned about an Earth holiday. The one where the fat man breaks into people homes and leaves them gifts, instead of stealing stuff. Christmas!

[Makes no sense, but it's a lovely sentiment.]

I was hoping to maybe learn about some other holidays from this time of year. What do your cultures celebrate? Maybe we can find a way to all celebrate together. I'm still convinced that togetherness is the only way we're going to survive this place. And I...I know I'm not alone, feeling that way.

[A small shrug.]

So let's talk to each other more. When there isn't an emergency. Talk about some of the happy things, maybe. Tell me about the good stuff.

[Ariadne doesn't really know where to go from here, so she shrugs again.]

Anyway, that's all. Sorry to interrupt anything.

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[He sits back down and reclines a little.]

Does that answer your question?

Edited 2021-12-05 03:44 (UTC)

[She averts her eyes, more out of habit than anything else.]

You could have just said.

[He shrugs.]

Meh.

[Don't look at it, don't look at it, don't look at it.

But she keeps peering out of the corner of her eye.]

Sam, is this acceptable social behavior in your culture?

Sometimes, sure.

[Chill your dickfingers woman, he put it away.]

I see.

[Not that she necessarily believes him. But that goes back to the whole soul thing.]

Well, no. My fingers are not...like that.

[She holds up a hand. Just normal fingers.]

[Ah yes, the soul thing. The soul made specifically for Sam. Sam's soul.

Still at large.

And no one has said anything about it yet except Dean who posed it as a potential theory once and hasn't again after their following punch up in Earworm.]

You said they're your baby makers. Same goes, so. Technically.

Well. Only once an Alastrian female is old enough to take a mate.

[This is pointless, of course.

Might as well try the upfront approach.]

Sam, are you all right?

Me? I'm fine.

How old is old enough.. in earth years.

Um...I suppose somewhere around sixteen, Alastrians start thinking about that sort of thing.

[Yes, at the ripe old age of twenty, she's a bit of a late bloomer.]

My parents bonded at seventeen, although they didn't have a litter until years later. And I'm pretty sure it was an accident. Or unexpected, anyway.

Huh.. yeah, it happens.

And how old are you?

Twenty.

[The question doesn't bother her. But she's a little concerned about where he's going with this.]

[No, no. Sam isn't going there. He was just making she she isn't like, an actual child. Underage women are more Dean's thing.

So he just nods and absently chews his bottom lip as he watches her through the camera.]

Well. Duty calls. I should let you go.

Duty. Yes.

[What the heck does that even mean?]

Perhaps I'll see you for the fat-man holiday.

[A laugh! Oh yeah.. Christmas. What this whole post was about. Kinda.]

Will you be setting out milk and cookies for him?

Is that tradition?

[She's heard a little about it, but not much.]

It is. Legend goes you leave an offering as a thank you for bringing you gifts and to give him energy to carry on. He delivers to every house on the planet, after all.

Well, that's fun!

[She smiles an actual smile.]

I'll have to see if I can find cookies.

If anyone can, it's you.

Have you heard the story about his flying reindeer?

...reindeer can't fly.

Santa's can. How do you think he gets all over the world in one night?

I assumed it was either a myth or metaphor, to be honest...

[She shrugs.]

The only other logical explanation would be time travel or magic. Or both, I suppose.

Well there are two schools of thought. People who believe and people who don't like fun.

And I assume you believe?

No way, [scoff] It's all total bull. Maybe hundreds of years ago there might have been some truth but these days it's all just capitalism and Christians stomping all over pagan solstice rituals.

Take Jesus for example. December 25th, Christmas, being "Christ's" birthday is ridiculous. Scholars have said- if Jesus Christ was even real- that the supporting information from the bible and associated texts would place his actual birthday some time around summer. So having it at the winter solstice is strategic to absorb and stop the pagan rituals that fall over the same time period, thus eliminating the opportunity for people to worship anyone else. Usually under pain of death.

Christmas trees? Think about it- what would a decorated evergreen have to do with a guy born in Bethlehem? It doesn't. But pagans would bring a tree inside for forest spirits to inhabit during the cold winters.

And get this: Santa Claus is an Americanized, warped, commercialized retelling of St. Nicholas - a Turkish monk from the third century who became the patron saint of children and sailors. His day of remembrance is the 6th of December.

It's all just messy, cobbled together lies.

(no subject)

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