ph_logs | December Event - Candlelight Revelry

December Event - Candlelight Revelry

Candlelight Revelry

The Longest Nights

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: grief, especially in a winter/December context, exclusive to Mourner's Night. All others should be mostly cw free! }

It is always interesting to consider that across many cultures, and indeed across many universes, there is something that is shared across numerous groups of people from many, many different backgrounds, and that is the concept of winter holidays. Not every culture has them, of course, and they vary in importance, involvement, reason, and length pretty wildly. But it's fun to think about the fact that all kinds of humanoids all across time and space looked at that bleak stretch of time between the end of November to the beginning of March and thought to themselves, "we should put some kind of party in there so we don't all lose our minds." The people of the Emerald Isles, of which Marrow Isle is one, are much the same in this regard.

Since its inception, Pumpkin Hollow has celebrated the two main winter holidays common among the various nations across Northern Leviathan, which are Mourner's Night and Givingstide. Additionally, it's become a bit of a new tradition in Pumpkin Hollow to join in offworlder celebrations, such as Hanukkah, Solstice, and Christmas--- often with more being added each year as newcomers arrive with their own traditions! And somehow, each year, it seems as though for a few weeks all of the evils take a rest as well. Is it because this time of year is simply too sacred for them to create trouble and pain? Or is it because the weavers of this world are too busy booking family dinners, plane flights, and road trips to subject their little toys to more horrors? It is one of the great mysteries of the universe, isn't it?

Anyway, here's wishing you a cozy, restful, blissful holiday season, regardless of your traditions. May this next year be just as full of adventure and fun, with far less trials and tribulations. (For the players. The characters should continue to endure the torment nexus, of course.)

Local Customs

MOURNER'S NIGHT | December 10th

Nightfall comes early this time of year, so it isn't too long of a wait for the sky to grow fully dark. Dressed in mourning clothes and warm coats, the people of the town gather in little clusters in the streets, in near silence. Lanternbearers dressed like undertakers carry tall posts with blazing lanterns hanging from them, faces painted like skulls. There hasn't been a true and final death in Pumpkin Hollow for years now, but that doesn't stop the people here from holding their annual vigil for those that were lost before the barrier.

The lanternbearers guide the groups through town, converging on Main Street, where they are awaited by a long-bodied black carriage drawn by black horses with white skeleton-markings painted on them. A hearse. In the driver's seat, a woman in a tight black dress and a mistletoe-patterned black veil, which gives only the smallest glimpses of her pale hair. It's Fever, acting in the role of Mortanne.

Very few words are exchanged as this procession makes its way through the cold to Fall's Promise Cemetery, where by the light of candles and lanterns alone, Reverend Clayton retells the story of Mortanne's final kindness. Those who pass away are met where they find their end by a horse-drawn hearse, where they ride with Death and recount their life until they reach their destination--- the afterlife they've earned. A mournful hymn is sung that seems to make the sky itself ache, and then…

Silence.

Stay at the candle light vigil for as long as you want. Remember those who you lost back home, honor those who passed away before you arrived but whose influence you still feel every day, or simply pay respects to yourself. You died to be here, after all. And then, when the cold starts biting too much to bear, part ways, and find your way home with a candle in hand. You will surely be left with much to think about.

Those who gravitate towards the outskirts, however, or linger after most have gone, may spy another woman in a black dress and veil. For a moment, it would be easy to mistake her as Fever--- the resemblance is striking. But then you see much longer, stark white hair spilling out of the bottom of the veil, and feel a gaze meet yours that feels like it's calling you home.

GIVINGSTIDE | December 22nd

Ah, Givingstide! After the somber observance of Mourner's Night, you only have to wait eleven days to have some proper winter-themed fun!

Held on the day after the longest night of the year, this holiday is a "thank goodness, we made it" tradition that celebrates the beginning of the sun's return and the first step in the journey towards spring. All across numerous countries in Concorde's Northern Hemisphere, communities gather in large communal spaces to eat, drink, and be warm together while exchanging gifts. And for Pumpkin Hollow, that takes place in the Oak & Iron, the beloved tavern where most spend their first nights on the island.

A massive feast is held, where the tavern itself, local restaurants, and amateur chefs collaborate to create a menu of warming, hearty dishes. Soups and stews, pasta, roasted meat, bread, root vegetable dishes, and sweets galore are served alongside hot cider, cocoa, coffee, tea, mulled wine, and mead. Paper horses and snowflakes line the walls, and boughs of pine and holly create beds for skulls on tables and above the fireplace. A miniature sleigh is set up in the center of the room, piled high with gifts that everyone placed in it upon their arrival. Once everyone has gotten their food, the mayor and Dahlia take turns plucking parcels from the pile and reading off who they are for so as to hand them out. Although some do prefer to give the gifts directly. (The mayor, for once, looks relaxed.)

With all the gifts passed out, songs are sung and instruments played in groups while others dance or sit by the fire. Some will go out to play in the snow, and by the end of the night, more than a dozen snowmen will have popped up outside the tavern. Others still will remain inside, basking in the warmth of being among their community. Children play with toys, adults laugh, desserts are overindulged in, and all is well.

OFFWORLD TRADITIONS

Winter Holidays from Around the Universe

The interfaith space within the Temple of Sacred Roots stays busy this time of year! Since most local traditions are celebrated outside the temple, many of the main areas are offered to the pursuit of offworld religious observances for much of December.

Hanukkah is up first among the larger celebrations, running from December 14th through the 22nd this year. The island's Jewish population consists primarily of Anzu, Lev/Lyubov, and Zivia, though they'll warmly invite friends and family to join in on the festivities.

Christmas, of course, is on December 25th, though the preceding evening is also a busy time. Despite being a Pumpkin Hollow native, Dahlia Leeds has partners who observe the holiday, as well as a gaggle of young housemates and a television who are all very enthusiastic about Christmas. As such, she's made the decision to host a fairly well-appointed and cozy Christmas Eve party in her home (though she largely allows Radar and the teenagers to select the guest list). Dress in your Christmas best and have dinner at Leeds Estate before proceeding to the Temple for midnight mass! Non-partygoers are invited to attend the ceremony by candlelight as well, as usual. Christmas Day celebrations vary by household!

But for those who don't have anything in particular to do on the afternoon of the 25th, a recent town addition is also hosting a celebration for the Feast of the Winter Star from her own home world. Those who signed up can participate in the "secret gift exchange" organized by Haley. But you don't need to be in the exchange to come and have fun! Light and decorate a holiday tree in the snow, enjoy a potluck with friends new and old, and enjoy some stargazing afterwards--- it's a perfect way to cap off the day, whether you're incorporating it into your own holiday or just there to have a nice time.

Other holidays celebrated throughout the month are:

Saturnalia on the 17th, celebrated by Gaeta
Winter's Crest on the 20th, celebrated by Cassandra
Dongzhi on the 21st, celebrated by Shen Qingqiu alongside his found family
Mittvinter on the 21st, celebrated by Hector, Capochin, Godpoke, Patty, and their found family and close friends
The Birth of Hathor on the 23rd, celebrated by Marik
The Winter Solstice celebration on the 25th, celebrated by Sorceress and Wizard
and Gyftmas on the 25th, celebrated by Mettaton and Papyrus

And of course there's New Years Eve on the 31st, celebrated by both locals and a majority of offworlders! Share some holiday cheer with your friends from all across the multiverse and take some time to get to know how your neighbor spends the season this year, and cap this year off with a wonderful, festive bang!

Happy Holidays!

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Lev repeats companion, apparently caught on the word, and a rosy sort of flush comes over Mulcahy’s ears. He hasn’t quite dispelled it by the time they sit down.

There’s a reason he’s asking Lev in specific. Kelaiah is a valuable source of guidance and comfort, but their faith isn’t at odds with this. He’s already spoken to Darcy and sorted out some feelings, but young and troubled as she is, her insight only goes so far. Lev has mileage on him in both age and experience.

He hesitates, looking away. His gaze finds the steam rising from their drinks.

It’s like being the first one to deliver bad news. Until you say it, you live in a different world than everyone else. There’s no taking this back once he’s starts talking. In all cases, it would be easy to just let the matter lie; if he backed off nothing would change. It would do him and everyone else no harm to live the same way he’s lived for almost fifty years. He’s gotten this far, so why stop now? It couldn’t possibly cost him anything he didn’t already lose.

The only problem is he’d already made a promise, and the proof of his vow is sitting on his finger in a pink and orange ring.

“The. Ah. Er.”

Mulcahy clasps his hands together to try and stop them from trembling. “If it isn’t too much trouble… I’d like to ask you about the… the part where—um. Where perhaps you found that you were ill-suited to being a man.”

Lev tries to keep the surprise out of his face. But after a moment's thinking, no, it isn't that surprising a request.

Unless he's wrong, and Mulcahy's asking on behalf of the companion, or something. Or maybe just doing his part to understand those around him better.

Best not to try and guess why Mulcahy's asking, Lev decides. The risks inherent in guessing wrong aren't exactly trivial.

He considers the question itself carefully, and says, "I mean ... I was pretty young, all things considered. But like, back home, it was something I'd been told about as a possibility, nu? I just thought it applied not to me, for a long time. I think I must've been in my late teens or so? Shortly before, um. Like. Shortly before I was due to marry, actually."

He pauses, trying to remember exactly when all the little incongruences and doubts began to crystalise into self-knowledge of some kind.

"I never wanted to be copper, exactly, nu? Or ... no, that's like. Not exactly true, either. I never wanted anything straightforward. I knew I was a rose. I felt funny about the idea of being a copper rose, but not like, totally averse. But I hated the idea of being a straight woman."

There's this tension to Mulcahy, much different than the fear or terror that Lev's seen on him, but nervous all the same. As Lev keeps talking, his clasped hands start to wring.

"I think I... may need some clarification here. I can't say I've had much opportunity to familiarize myself with these terms."

(He's not even very familiar with straight as Lev's using it; that didn't enter American parlance as such until about the 60s. He's heard it here and there since leaving Earth, but.)

Lev cocks his head to one side, studying Mulcahy while he thinks his answer over. He's gotten pretty good at explaining the terminology he uses back home, but something tells him that this time, he really needs to get the nuances right. He can see how tense Mulcahy is.

It's important he gets this right.

She gets it right? Maybe a little early to tell for sure.

"Copper is like ... nu, Daisy," he says, finally, reaching for the most obvious and illustrative example at hand. "'S not like, precisely equivalent to woman, since only queers can be copper or iron. And iron is like, nu. North, I guess? Or mine husband. I am an amalgam. 'S alchemical terms, since in the Occident and in Vsemlada, alchemists were the ones what wrote down the old folk remedies for ... nu. Think they called it asymmetry, back then. But one need not transmute to use the terms. One just like, needs to be queer."

He drums his fingers on the table, staring off to one side. The next part's the tricky one.

"The horticultural terms are, like, harder?" he says, hesitantly. "Like. Feh. But like, simplest way I can put it is ... Darcy's probably a violet and will always be a violet, no matter what else we call him or what they call themself. And I'm a rose, and so's Nyura. And were I to be copper full-time, one day, we'd both still be roses and not like, for historical reasons, nu? It's ... a subculture as much as anything. A way of existing. But like, the thing is ..."

Thank g-d she's talked to South about all of this just recently, and knows just how different Mir is.

"Where I come from, if one wanted to transmute, that's never no issue, nu? I mean like, okay, it is an issue, but no more an issue than like, epilepsy or something."

There's a pause, and then, suddenly seeing the implications of what he's said, he hastens to add, "By them. By the heters?"

He pauses again, just for a moment or two, now carefully transferring his gaze to look at Mulcahy.

"Had I, at fourteen or fifteen or sixteen, gone to Tatty Velvl and asked him like, if I had to be obligated to men's mitzves, he would've like, taken me to Widow Pushkina or to another medical necromancer? And that would've like, been that. When I got to be closer to twenty, he'd have sought a match for me amongst men, and I'd likely have married a young widower with little children. I would've been allowed continue my studies ... nu. Maybe. Like ... I would have been. Someone considered less ... uh. Nu. Promising? Maybe not.

"It was not like, the sex change that was the problem. 'S that I'm a rose, and not a heter woman. 'S also that I'm an amalgam, nu? And like. Eli, my shvegerin, uh. Nyura's twin? She and Nyura told their parents early, but later on, she and Nyura both pretended to be heter. 'S one thing when one's transmuted and heterosexual and a whole other when one's ... nu. Transmuted to be a hothouse flower."

He smiles, a little apologetically.

"Thou may'st ask more, nu? 'S ... nu. 'S a culture like any other. And being on the inside of it, what is and is not clear is ... feh. Opaque by me?"

Edited 2026-01-22 11:16 (UTC)

It takes time for all the new terms to properly settle in, which makes keeping up with Lev something of a frantic task, but he thinks… he’s getting it? Maybe? It helps that he’d been to some of those “Pride” events and already had some of the nuances explained to him in other terms, but still.

That Lev’s world is on friendlier terms with… queerness, comes as a surprise, though not very. It makes sense. He wonders for just how many here this is the case.

“I, ah… well, I’m starting from a very elementary level here, to be honest. Where I come from, just the word for, er—symmetrical attraction… for the copper and iron alike… is both a dictionary’s term as well as an insult and criminal accusation. It’s… frightening. People lose their jobs and their lives over it. There are laws forbidding it. Not that many haven’t disagreed or found their way around those laws, but the general hostility remains. And the flowers aren’t treated any better. Worse, perhaps.”

Mulcahy grew up watching films where the only men like him were the effeminate implied homosexuals. They were not always kind images, but they were benign presences, well-liked enough to be on the screen. One day the Hays Code went into effect and they simply all winked out. Even in the showings of older films, every trace they ever existed was cut away. He’s never seen any of those scenes again.

“The opportunities throughout my life to learn more about all this beyond the very basics, or lies, has been… very, very few.”

"Ah, I mean, like ... nu ..." Lev bites his lip. "Thou'rt not seeing the, nu. Complication, nu? If I were a woman, as long as I was straight, it was not no problem. Me being gay, being a rose, that was the problem. Tatty might've disowned me. Might've sat shiva for me. At least like, I felt like he would've. Took me leaving for him to change his mind, nu? He would've been happy with a chymical daughter. Nyura's parents had had no problem with chymical twins. They'd had one of each anyway. But ... but ..."

He sighs, and buries his face in his hands. The old terror is back suddenly, its ghost as vivid as its living countenance. He shudders, shoulders twitching, and hopes that the shock's not so bad, that it won't trigger no fit.

"Feh."

He pulls himself together, reminding himself that he's not here to fall apart, he's not here to relitigate what might have been, when it never was.

"That's like, the real difference. Why sometimes conversations I have about this go sideways, nu? Because by us, back home, to transmute, to change sex, that's at worst an illness had and fixed, at best a difference to grow into and put aside once thou'rt had the right puberty. But. But. To be ... to be a faggot is a delusion, a perversion, an insistence on breaking the covenant. A treachery to one's people, to oneself, to the Infinite. And if it is harmless, if they grant it is harmless, it is still ... disgusting."

He pauses, and looks at Mulcahy again. He seems to have regained some measure of control.

"But I suppose, nu. I suppose the difference between mine world and thine is that by thee, all like the both of us are damned, and the heter transmuters escape not."

He takes a deep breath, aware he'd brief lost his grip, but strangely relieved to have put words to a terror he cannot forget. And it's a work of several moments before he realises what he'd said to finish her speech off, and realises that she's not taking that back, that she's right.

She claps her hands over her mouth, both hands, staring at Mulcahy.

"I'm sorry," Lyubov says, through her long, intertwined fingers. "I think not before speaking. Never—"

Edited 2026-01-22 19:32 (UTC)

Overlapping, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

She stops short to let Lyubov speak, and now both of them are silent.

Francis pauses. Turns, craning her neck to check if anyone’s listening. No one is, but as she looks around the room she’s reminded of where they are, what day it is. There’s food on the table; there’s a warm glow in the windowsill.

She turns back to Lyubov and takes a deep breath. “It’s… it’s alright. You’re not the first to suspect.”

King. And Kelaiah, probably. Maybe even all the children who picked on her when she was young. Not that they would’ve thought of this, but she always seemed singled out, seen as different in some fundamental way. Sometimes she wonders if she’s got this all wrong; if the only reason she feels this way is because she never felt 'manly,' and this is all just some shallow way to justify it all. But the memory of King is a lodestone, a leading star, the answer to every doubt.

And, well. If Lyubov of all people thinks so, then.

Her hands press together tightly. “Forgive me for my imprecisions. I… well, you understand me well enough. Ha.” The sound is faint. “It’s times like this I find myself grateful for being the only clergy of my faith on the island. I can’t be excommunicated if there’s no one to do it. But there’s still the… my… Hawkeye, and Radar, and…”

She looks away.

Edited 2026-01-24 06:35 (UTC)

Lyubov clasps Mulcahy's arm.

"I think ... nu ... I think they might've known. Maybe like ... maybe not by name."

Not like it is back home. Not like it would've been among the first things raised behind Mulcahy's back, a suggestion nobody wants to make, but one that nobody will reject once it enters the conversation.

No, for Mulcahy there was never a good ending one way or another, not even the narrow heterosexual prison that had been Lyubov's other option. Mulcahy had always been doomed to accept a manhood that would not fit, and even the priesthood had given her but shabby shelter.

"But ... nu. If thou takest not no steps to address this, they ... they will always, for sure, know only the man thou could'st never be. They'll ... they'll never have even a chance of knowing thee."

"Is that so bad?" The words come before she even stops to think about them. "I've gone this long already the way I am. If I stayed like this, I'd lose nothing, but—Rabbi, I went to war with them. It was them at my side when I endured the shellings and deluges. I stood shoulder to shoulder with them over the operating tables. Losing them is just... not a price that I can pay."

(And she can feel the silence quietly corroding her, but what's one more point of pain on the pile?)

Lyubov is briefly taken aback, and startled into silence. A minute passes, two. She drums her fingers on the table, her shoulders slumped.

At length, she says,

"They like ... they deserve to know thee, nu? Or at least a mask thou'rt proud of. Not one thou wear'st under duress."

What does she say that doesn't keep arguing this in circles? I can't lose them is the one thing that keeps ringing in her mind over and over, like an alarm, or a prayer.

Again, her fingers find the enamel ring on her thumb, so often these days a constant reassurance. The memories it has are a source of strength, and she keeps on finding herself twisting it, running the pads of her fingers along its edges, feeling its ridges with her fingernails. And a reminder: you made a promise. To herself. The one who never really got a chance to live.

(She could, if...)

Francis puts her face in her hands and makes a sound that comes out a lot more aggrieved than she expected it to. She heaves a deep breath, then drags them down, folding them underneath her chin.

"I don't know how to even begin to tell them."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

December Event - Candlelight Revelry

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cn: some old-fashioned terminology relating to trans matters

cw more outdated language, discussion of homophobia & transphobia

above cws continue + Lev/Lyubov uses a slur they usually use positively, to illustrate their point

cws continue

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