2019-12-05 - I've had it with this motherfucking elf in this motherfucking attic!

When it's all open and populated, Addington House is... okay, well, it's not NOT-creepy, but it's not REALLY creepy. After hours, it's definitely REALLY creepy. And this hunting expedition has been arranged for after hours, 9:30 PM on a night that can best be called dreary, all that mist that creeps around the exterior of the house, being clammy and looking like fingers. It doesn't help that most of the exterior lights are off, just one dim door light that barely extends beyond the porch.

There are a few lights on inside, showing through the curtains. And Patrick's last instruction was to 'let yourself in,' because he is busy rummaging through a supply closet just off the main entrance. Cleaning supplies have been rudely shoved out of the way and are starting to trickle into the foyer, but ah-hah! A flashlight starts to shine around inside the closet (now just wait for him to realize there are emergency flashlights throughout the building).

Anne is prompt, thus at precisely 9:30 PM, she's coming through the mist on approach for the front door. Dressed down in jeggings and a long sweater, she's got her hair pulled back tonight and is woefully unprepared for any shenanigans. All she brought with her was her phone. There's a quick tap of knuckles on the door before she lets herself in as instructed, peeking through the doorway before she steps into the foyer proper. "Patrick?" she raises her voice so that it carries, echoing subtly in the expansive room. "You do realize it's not Halloween anymore, right? The creep factor could be dialed down a notch or twelve."

Alexander has hired an Uber, for once, because he's bringing supplies. And an assistant. He's got a couple of traps meant for small animals slung over his back, and a collapsable net for his part, and he's made sure Bennie is well-supplied with a top flight first aid kit, along with whatever else she wants to bring along. He steps inside, and hesitates. " Miss Washburn. Hello." His voice rises. "Addington? I brought an assistant. Bennie Oakes."

So this is a bit of a pity mission, Bennie acknowledges that. Alexander using it to distract the Blonde from certain life events that would otherwise manifest in some destructive way or another. That doesn't mean she's not going to take it seriously. If by serious that means dressing in the brightest ugliest Christmas sweater that the swap shop had available in garish amounts of red green and gold with a battery powered LED Rudolph nose and actual jingle bells around the knit collar of the reindeer focal point. All this, of course, wouldn't be complete without the Santa hat capping her stick straight hair. All the supplies Alexander loaded her with are tucked into a backpack, leaving her hands free to munch on a candy cane as they enter the house. At the introduction, she curtsies. "Merry ho ho, you guys."

Patrick bangs the flashlight on his palm a few times while he exits the supply closet, foot-nudging stuff out of his way. He nods a greeting to Anne and gives her question a moment's thought, casting the flashlight around the room - which is already lit, so the flashlight doesn't add anything. "Dialing down the creep factor would be a monumental undertaking. You'll cope," he decides, looking beyond her to the door. No nodded greeting to Alexander, just, "Excellent," that he brought an assistant. Said assistant gets a quick once-over, and everyone is free to read it on his face that he wishes to retract his earlier statement; this is not excellent. "Right. I threw it in a cedar chest in the attic this morning." He points to the well-lit staircase to the very dimly-lit second floor.

There's no look of surprise on Anne's features when Alexander comes sauntering in - it would seem he, at the very least, was expected. "Hello Alexander," she says pleasantly enough, fitting a small smile onto her lips that erupts into a full-fledged dimpled grin at the sight of Bennie and her sweater. "That is an amazing sweater. Very festive!" she compliments, before her eyes swing to Patrick. She lingers a look there for just a moment, sweeping down from his face to his flashlight, and then raising brows when she looks back up to his eyes again. "In the attic? Of course," she clears her throat, folding her arms there at her belly as she takes a half-step towards the Addington. "And we're absolutely certain this isn't just a very clever doll?" Because she might take frequent dangerous trips into the Veil, but that doesn't mean she can't rule out the non-weird explanations first.

"Excellent," Alexander says, deadpan, in response to Patrick's 'excellent'. He has a hard time keeping everything off his face, so when the Addington's expression changes at the sight of Bennie, he grins with unreserved satisfaction. Not that he's dressed any better. His ugly sweater is a faded purple with green snowflakes. "The attic. That'll be interesting. Has it shown any ability to chew through wood, thus far?" His smile to Anne is more warm and less laughter-at-her-expense than the expression he showed Patrick. "Then it'll be a fast job, and we'll all be happy. And no one will be garroted with a piano wire. Probably."

Bennie beams a smile of pearly whites, chiming a happy, "Thanks!" To Annie. "It has pockets!" Because of course it does, and thereby having pockets obligates the wearer to draw attention to them by hands being shoved into the folds and twisting back and forth to show off said accoutrements. "Ooh, or have our achilles tendons cut, like that one movie!" Bennie adds helpfully to Alexander's list of things that probably won't happen. "Soooo, not that I'm complaining because we're going to get paid and everything, but if you had hands on it already, why didn't you just shove it down the garbage disposal or something instead of locking it up?"

In the attic. Of course. "Next time, I'll use the basement." Patrick hands the flashlight off to Anne with a dull smile. "Just for you." There's a negative shake of his index finger at Alexander's question about wood-chewing, and then he's taking the stairs to the second floor landing. "You say that," about the garroting, while he peels down the collar of his boring button-down to show the narrow bruise on the side of his neck. Which segues nicely into his answer to Bennie. "Because I had the house full of people, and it was trying to choke me to death with piano wire." He sounds irritated, like she should already know this, for crying out loud.

Come along, they have more stairs to climb. Please ignore any family portraits that appear to be following their passage with GLARING eyes.

Garroted with a piano wire. Anne mouths back Alexander's words with widening eyes, and while the pockets of Bennie's sweater are absolutely delightful, she has lost all focus on Christmas fashion. "I don't think I was fully informed.." she begins, lifting a hand to idly rub at her throat while taking the offered flashlight in her other hand. There might be more to this, but Patrick was showing off his newly won bruises, and all thoughts of having missed an important memo go out the window. Her lips bend into a frown as she follows closely along, moving a hand to touch Patrick on his elbow. "Are you okay?" The question comes in a low murmur, before she looks to the others. "I suppose it's good we have such a large group." After all, the elf can't choke them to death with piano wires all at once!

"Basements do have the advantage of being more secure, and less likely to have their prisoners climbing down the outside of the house to the rest of the house." Alexander remarks on this with what passes for good cheer in him, and follows Patrick up the stairs. He looks around with interest; he's been a regular visitor to the Museum, but has certainly never been invited higher than the public rooms before. Portraits are side-eyed uneasily. He gives Bennie a wink and a smile, and adds, "Bennie is a paramedic, so if any important tendons are cut, we at least have someone qualified on hand." This reassurance seems aimed more at Anne than Patrick.

At least no one has to look back to make sure Bennie is following, her jingle bells work as good as good as collaring a cat. As she climbs along with the rest of the group, she says quite aside to Alexander at the wink. "I see what you mean." It could be regarding any number of things, but seeming how her eyes are square on Patrick's back as he turns to take another flight, at least Clayton should be able to guess. But! She's supposed to be the merry buffer between the two men. "Always keep your hands at the level of your eyes.." Bennie sing song quotes Phantom of the Opera because it seems apropos. "Yup!" She confirms about being a medic. "I brought the Christmas Tree bandaids just for the occasion."

To answer for his okayness, Patrick points out, "I'm not the one that wound up in the wooden box. So." Hand-weighing motions, and then he's fitting the attic key into the attic door and holding a dull look on Alexander. "You should really take a tour of the basement someday." He'll just push open that door and stay at the bottom of the stairs for now, letting them have free access to the narrow staircase leading up to the completely dark attic. "Fun," he tells Bennie in a tone that's the opposite of the word, then sweeps a hand for her to head up those stairs.

In case anyone gets brave enough to do it straight away... the attic is floored but unfinished, high with just one window and the kinds of beams overhead that lend to stories of hangings. There's a hanging bulb that can be turned on at the top of the steps, happy to shine light on dim shapes: boxes, trunks, intriguing masses covered in drop-cloths and sheets, and a cedar chest pulled roughly toward the middle of the mess.

An OPEN cedar chest.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that you're.." Anne begins in whispered retort to Patrick, before Alexander's reassurance about Bennie's profession reminds her that they are not the only two people in this creepy house at the moment. She clears her throat, puts her personal drama aside, and drops her hand from Patrick's elbow. "Well! That's.. very good thinking, bringing her along. Isn't it, Patrick?" She makes eyebrows at the Addington, and it looks like Bennie's not the only person tasked with being the adult in the room tonight. She stops at the bottom of the stairs, looks from Patrick to Bennie to Alexander, and then starts up the stairs without thinking, charging ahead of the pack.

Or, well, not so much charging but definitely steadily climbing. Which means she gets to see the cedar chest in the middle of the mess .. and the fact that it's open. "Uhhh.. Patrick? Is there more than one chest in here?"

Alexander laughs, softly, at Bennie's remark. "Christmas Tree bandaids have extra healing. Everyone knows that." It's so solemn that he might not even be joking. Another amused look at Anne's back as she charges forward; since he's carrying stuff, he doesn't rush. But, then, nor does he look terribly surprised when Anne calls down. He moves up so that he can get a look at the open chest. "Resourceful little fellow. Watch your necks." He moves off to one side so others can come up, and carefully lowers the stuff, except for the net, which is telescoped open. "Did it express any preferences or desires before locking you away? Aside from wanting to strangle you."

Bennie has charged stairs before, been the first in the pack before. That hasn't worked out well, and everyone knows you put the medic in the back! So she's all to ready to file in behind Alexander. "It's the sparkles." She comments distractedly around her candy cane as to the effectiveness of her bandaids, her Santa hatted head peering around Alexander's shoulders. "That's the problem with dolls. Opposable thumbs." When did shit like this become normal? She then skitters forward and pulls the red-striped treat out of her mouth with a noisy suckle, placing it down into one of those traps and if anyone looks at her sideways about it, she just offers, "Bait!"

Origami ninja stars spin down from the rafters. With paper-clips stuck in the folds. So they're stabby! Fwiz fwiz fwiz, they dive from the high shadows toward the three that have come into the attic. Not that they'll do a ton of damage if they hit, but it won't feel good, that's for sure! Briefly silhouetted by that lone window, there's the elf, cart-wheeling down the narrow plank and glass Christmas bulbs off nails in the wood, ready to lob those down next.

Patrick has elected to stay about halfway up the stairs, so he's still cool to answer questions instead of dodging super dangerous shuriken. "I'm sure there are a great many chests up there. Are you taking inventory or...?" Then one of the glass bulbs hits the floor near Bennie's baited trap, making a loud pop noise. He tenses, exhales, tells Alexander, "No, we never quite moved beyond the murder-thing."

"What?! No, I'm not taking inventory, I'm -- WATCH OUT!" The snippy comeback to the man who opts to stand out of harm's way is put on hold when the paper ninja stars go fwiz fwiz fwiz from the shadows. Anne is not an athletic or graceful creature, which is why when she tries to jump out of the way? She smacks her toe into the corner of the chest and ends up sprawling out onto the floor. The paper-clip-ninja-star gets her right in the calf, causing her to grunt out in pain. "It's there by the damn window!" she winces, trying to pull the clip out of her leg.

"Miss Washburn!" Alexander skitters out of the way of the stars by instinct, cursing under his breath as the woman falls. "Bennie, help her," he says, and moves towards the window, attempting to stalk the elf, his net at the ready. "Come here, you little bastard," he mutters, trying to get close enough so that he can lunge and scoop the thing up.

Bennie gives a little YIP! of a noise as she jerks out of the way of one of those origami stars, staring at it transfixed for a moment as it sticks into the furry flesh of a long forgotten teddy bear only to be startled from that by the exploding bulb. "Look little dude! I get that it's upsetting to be hyper commercialized by Hallmark to instill paranoia in children, but can we Not?" She's unslinging her backpack on the way to Anne, ensuring, "On it!"

Pop pop pop, Christmas bulbs explode noisily in tiny shards of metallic green-and-red glass. One of them bounces off Alexander's face when he closes in, and the ninja-elf does a crafty back-flip to land in the windowsill. There, it raises its elbow as if to suggest it will smash this glass and flee to safety, don't try it! But surely Alexander could just climb onto the conveniently placed crates below the window and snatch the little asshole and end this right now.

"Stop throwing - " No. No, Patrick is not going to talk to the doll. He's just not. But he does add at Bennie, "And could you tell it to stop throwing Christmas ornaments? These are irreplaceable antiques." Anne taking a clip to the leg at least prompts him to climb the rest of the stairs, head ducked, to look right in her eyes and ask, "How's your leg?" He gets hit on the side of the head with an ornament, yelps gracelessly, you're all welcome.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Anne says stubbornly, hissing sharply through her teeth as she rips the paperclip out of her leg. "It's just a flesh wound, just - duck!" There's nothing that goes quack; she just grabs Bennie by the collar of her pretty, jingly sweater to pull her out of harms way from a flying ornament. There's a glare overtop of the blonde's head to Patrick. "This isn't Lord of the Rings, she doesn't speak Christmas elvish. Throw something at it! We need a distraction," she pat-pats Bennie on the shoulder and eases herself up using the useless chest, half-limp-hopping over to the nearest box from which she fishes out .. little cherubs? As if the Addingtons were angelic! "These'll work. Here!" she shoves a few at Patrick, at Bennie, and then starts flinging angels at the elf.

"Ow!" Alexander flinches back as a beautiful glass ornament bounces off his nose, then falls to shatter on the attic floor. "Look," he tells the elf, eyeing its elbow and the glass, "let's be reasonable about this, Elf. Do you really want to be dangling over a cold windowsill in December? It's not the way to spend any time on the holidays. Just calm down, and we'll find you a nice shelf where you can sit and stare at people and creep them out. It'll be fun." He's lying. He's not even a good liar. He's just trying to buy enough time to assess those convenient crates, then lunge forward to try and jump up on them and grab the elf before it can cause more damage. Never mind that now his erstwhile allies are throwing angels at his back.

"You heard the man!" Bennie calls to the Elf on the Shelf at Patrick's urging, because clearly she has no dignity when it comes to speaking to objects inanimate or not. Just ask the bears at the Grizzly. "You are damaging his calm!" She pulls out a bandaid from the side pocket of her backpack. She wasn't lying about the motif printed on them. "I can also kiss it and make it better, but you'll need to sign a waiver first." She grins at Anne before ripping open the package with her teeth. It's a paperclip stab wound, this ought to cover it but before she gets to apply it she's being pulled to the side with an, "Oop!" And then cradles her hands to accept the angels. "Aw but look at their little chubby faces..." The Blonde seems reticent to throw them. "Don't you want to play with them? C'mere Elfie-elfie-elfie..."

Patrick grabs as many of the little angels as he can, ripping them out of Anne's hands and cradling them against his abdomen. "Do you speak Christmas Elvish or did you somehow not hear me say to stop throwing ornaments!" He's obviously very concerned about her leg. "Stop!" he repeats, like sixteen more times, liberally sharing the directive between Anne and Bennie both.

Meanwhile, two things happen very closely together: One of them is that Alexander lunges and the boxes drop away, falling through a crudely-cut hole in the floor. The elf dances an annoying jig and leaps up and over, grabbing a rope made out of sewing string and cartwheeling off toward where it has kerosene lamps lined up along the rafters. And a silver Zippo ("That little shit!" <-- Patrick). But that's not the second I was talking about.

The second thing that happens is that one of the thrown cherubs beans Alexander in the back of the head, suddenly spreads open its wings with a little silvery bell sound, and flutters around to deliver a quick kiss to the end of Alexander's nose. A little puff of snowflakes bursts from where it had been a moment ago, the thing disappears, and - as Alexander is about to fall through the trap door - he gets a sudden second chance to NOT fall, and his fingers grip the sill of the window, juuuuuust keeping him from disappearing into the dark hole beneath him.

"If you even ever watched Lord of the Rings you'd know I was being sarcastic because there's NO SUCH THING as Christmas Elvish! Give me the damn angels," Anne and Patrick are about to throw down right now over these stupid cherub ornaments, and she stubbornly grabs hold of one in particular, tugging it back towards her as Patrick tries to greedily cradle them to his belly. "They aren't priceless, I can buy them on Etsy, GIVE THEM TO ME, PATRICK!" These two are great communicators.

But in all the yelling and the cherub tug-of-warring, Anne manages to not miss Alexander almost fall through the hole in the floor. Or the fact that he's suddenly touched by an angel. It steals the heat out of her fight, hands going limp (but fingers still around the angel), staring wide-eyed. "What the hell was that? Oh my God, these things are alive!" Which is why her next move is to leap back, holding her hands up in front of her. Nope, not touching the random angels. She should probably help Alexander, but she's not thinking straight.

"AUGH!" It's not exactly elegant, but Alexander's just had the floor fall out from under him - literally - and all he can really do is scream and flail as he falls...or doesn't. There's a BANG against the back of his head that has him seeing stars, and then there's a tiny angel kiss, and now he's dangling from the side of the hole. Even for Crazy Clayton, this requires a moment to process. "...okay," he says, at last, "your attic is more interesting than mine. And where did the elf even get the goddamned saw in the first place?" Now, he starts to try and climb back up, because if the little bastard has found gardening shears, Alexander's day might get eeeven worse.

At the CRASH of the crates, Bennie starts scrambling forward in case she needs to do the dramatic hand thrusting over the edge of the cliff to barely clasp the fingers of her friend thing. But then one of the angels sprouts wings! And kisses Alexander on the nose! "Awww." See, she knew she shouldn't have lobbed those chubby little cheeks. "Wait, you can buy live flying angels on Etsy?!" Wait. Focus Bennie. That little shit is going to light this place up, "That's it, Mister Jingles. Cease and desist or I will pop every little stitch in your cute little anatomy!" This yelled as she's grabbing for Alexander's clothing to help haul him back up to safety.

Serious question: "Why in God's name would I watch Lord of the Rings?" But this isn't the time for this argument, guys, and Patrick continues grabbing the angels even when one of them comes to life. "I don't know. Why don't you catch it like I'm paying you to do, and then you can ask it where it got the saw."

From the rafters, the Zippo sparks to life, and the glass shield atop one of the lanterns goes sailing down toward Bennie, all set to smash right onto the top of her head. Maybe SHE can get a reroll, too!

From the floor, Patrick is now insisting, "No no no, no fires, tell it to stop that." While he bobbles all the angel-baubles he's hugging to himself. Instead of throwing at Bennie. So she can also get a lucky break. (he's rly selfish)

Serous answer to Patrick's serious question: "Because it's one of my favorite movies!" Anne practically bursts that at him, whether or not it's time for an argument. But seriously, it wasn't time for this argument, guys, which is why the next words out of her mouth are: "Bennie! WATCH OUT!" And also: "Throw one of those angels at her, Patrick! PATRICK! GIVE ME THOSE!" and now they are gonna 'rastle, 'cuz Anne tries to grab one of the angels to fling it at Bennie and winds up tripping over her own shoes, landing on top of Patrick and the baubles.

And it was completely unintentional, but in all this flailing, one cherub does get dislodged. It skips across the floor to Bennie's feet, where it suddenly comes to life in a spark of giggles! It flies up to Bennie, kisses her on the nose, and bursts into a flurry of snowflakes, giving her just enough agility to dodge that lantern.

"Working on it," Alexander bites out towards Patrick. With Bennie's help, he hauls himself up out of the hole, and murmurs a thank you to her...then just sort of blinks a couple of times as the angel falls and rescues her, too. There's a shake of his head, before he turns around and eyes the elf. "All right, you. I am on the edge of getting really irritated. It would be best for all concerned if you get your ass down here." But, since it probably won't, he looks around until he can find a handhold, and then starts climbing up into the rafters. After the elf. Because this will not end in tears at all.

It's a good thing the Cherub came along or Bennie'd be left seeing a whole host of imaginary ones flittering around her head. As the globe crashes harmlessly next to her hip, she scrambles up to her feet after Alexander, stopping just shy of joining him on his literal monkey maneuver. "Don't fall or we'll be spending all our paycheck on the hospital bill!" Helpful. She starts to shimmy under Alexander, either with the bright idea to catch an elf or break the man's possible fall.

Something something Patrick got swept off his feet by Anne, and now there are little baby angels all spread out on the floor around them. It'd be a nice moment if not for elves with fire and that one chick with the ugly light-up sweater and Alexander Clayton. So, instead of looking starrily into her eyes, he just grinds out, "Stop. Throwing. Things." Flailing to reach the angels before Anne does ensues; it's not a pretty show, so please keep your eyes on the fire-bombing elf.

The elf puts the lighter to the wick of the kerosene lamp, and then it reaches with its palm to start tiiiiipping it off the beam. Where Bennie is down there, meaning to catch Alexander but about to get lit on fire instead. It smiles its vapid, soulless smile at Alexander the whole time, those painted-on blue eyes mischievously bright. Then it winks and tips the thing off the edge.

Under any other circumstance, Anne might've enjoyed rolling around on the floor with Patrick Addington. But there was a murder elf and holes in floors and a lantern tipping precariously on the edge of the rafter, not to mention the angels all over the floor which are probably reminding Anne about how enjoying this would make her a sinny sinny sinner or something. Anyway! That lantern's falling. "Stop!" she pushes her hand in Patrick's face to keep his head down on the ground, or to use him as leverage to sit up; either way, she sits up and holds her free hand out in a 'stop' motion. The lantern freezes in mid-fall, and Anne slooooowly drags her hand down through the air. The lantern slooooowwwllly eases its way down to the ground. Bennie and Alexander aren't going to get blown up this round!

"Oh no, you don't," Alexander mutters with alarm, as the elf stares at him with those souless eyes. Not that he can DO much about it. But he creeps along the rafter, trusting the others to handle the falling firebomb, while he attempts to grab the elf and tear it apart with his bare hands. I mean, yes, he could try and mind control the thing or blast it with lightning, but let's face it - rending it limb from limb is going to be way more satisfying.

With wide eyes, Bennie watches the lantern tip over the edge of the rafter. She's really had enough of being burnt to a crisp lately, thank you very much. But thanks to Anne, it floats harmlessly away and she won't be deep fried any time soon. That's it. That's enough. That was the tipping point. She's had TOO much going on lately to be taken out by that little turd, "Not today, Satan!" Bennie's hand juts out much the same as Anne's but instead of trying to direct an object, her fist is closing and twisting. Hopefully that elf isn't an heirloom too, because it's about to lose any value on the Antiques Road Show.

Patrick bites Anne's hand. Yes, you read that correctly. He bites her palm till she moves it, just some full-on slobbery gnawing, then flops over and army-crawls (he's really bad at it) over to where the kerosene lantern was meant to land and burst into flame, like his plan had been to...? Thankfully for him, Anne solved that problem, and he can just push himself to sit upright on the floor and turn down the dial on the lantern, extinguishing the flame completely. "Thank - "

Overhead, the elf makes obscene gestures down at Anne, crossing one arm into the crooked elbow of the other, and dances around among Alexander's reaching hands. He still has the Zippo, and he's burning hair off Alexander's knuckles when he suddenly contorts into himself. All the soft parts of his body twist up, tighter and tighter till the seams of his stupid red jumper pop. The plastic bit - his head - deforms when it smooshes inward. Then there's a resounding RIP and a spray of polyester stuffing and torn red fabric floats down to the trio on the floor. The head manages to land on the beam, slowly unwarping back to its original shape. It wobbles, wobbles, then stills and is - of course - looking directly into Alexander's eyes. But at least now it's dead. (OR IS IT?!)

" - you," Patrick finishes. Some of that itchy stuffing shit just went down the back of his collar, hence the sudden squirming fit.

Anne manages to not slap Patrick on his stupid bitey mouth, instead whipping her hand back with a look of disgust crinkling her nose. "Ew," she remarks, smearing the slobber on his cheek before she rolls off of him and onto the floor with a thump, catching sight of the elf and his rude gesture. She snorts, gives him a one fingered salute of her own, and was about to reach for something else to throw at the elf when it starts to get all twisted up. She watches with wide-eye fascination until the seams rip and the polyester bursts out, scrambling back to put her back to the useless chest just in case something else tries to explode. "Is it dead?" she asks the others, "Are there any more?!"

Okay. That? That's kind of horrifying, even if it's just happening to a stuffed toy. A homicidal stuffed version of holiday MacGuyver. Alexander flails the hand that is being set on fire, but then shudders when the elf contorts into pieces. He reaches out and takes the elf's head between two careful fingers, keeping them away from its mouth. "Well. That...seemed to have worked a treat." He squishes the elf's head. Squish. SQUISH. "And I don't know. Patrick, were there any more of these tiny horrors?" He starts working his way back down, still squishing the elf head. Squish. Squish.

It's sort of relaxing.

Wait. That worked? It WORKED. Bennie's hands thrust above her head and there is a full out victory dance from the Blonde complete with the jingling of her little bells and the rhythmic flashing of Rudolph's nose amidst the falling stuffing. "Take that you little demented Santa's Helper! That's what you get for being on the naughty list." Oh man, these Christmas themed slurs just write themselves. She looks up with a beaming smile to Alexander and his new little stress ball. "I do good boss?" Even if she denied him the satisfaction of ripping off little fluffy filled limbs.

Death throe: the elf-head does to Alexander's hand what Patrick did to Anne's, lickybiteyslobbergnaw. But then seriously it's done.

Patrick sits on the floor, looking up at the rafters where the elf was and trying to reach the fluff that went down the back of his shirt. Up to the rafters where there are still a half-dozen carefully arranged kerosene lanterns and god knows what other booby traps. "That was the only one," he answers distractedly, gears already turning behind his eyes. Remember how he rolled earlier about throwing money at the problem? "There's an extra [amount of money that is higher than it has to be but not obscene] in it for you if you'll defuse the attic before we open in the morning." He makes himself look at Bennie and her dumb sweater. "Both of you." To Anne: "None for you, though."

Anne winces as the elf head goes squish, but there's relief when Patrick says it is the only one in the attic. "It's a Christmas miracle," she murmurs before she casts an eye to the cherubs scattered all over the floor. "What about these?" she reaches out to pull one over, taking a closer look at the object. "Huh. It's not an angel. It's a fairy," she comments idly, putting the fairy carefully on top of the chest. And she's totally about to help with the lanterns and the remaining traps when Patrick makes his snotty comment, and she rolls her eyes at him. "You know, if it wasn't for me, this whole place would've gone up in smoke," she points out to him, before she pulls herself to her feet. "But I don't want your money, Patrick," she folds her arms over her chest. Hmph. "I'm going to get a nice big glass of wine."

And Anne's totally going to crush that bottle, too.

"Oh my god, I think it licked me." Alexander's face contorts with disgust, but he doesn't drop the head. Instead, he gets to a good place and drops the rest of the way down, landing with a grunt on the attic floor. He glances at Anne, and smiles. "I mean. If Addington's going to be churlish, I'll pay for your assistance, as it was greatly appreciated." Let's face it - he will pay her with Patrick's money, just at once remove, but he sounds mostly teasing, anyway. He keeps squishing the elf head, though. Because it IS soothing. And nods to Patrick. "Sure. Sounds like a fun way to spend the evening." He...he sounds serious. Actually serious. "You in, Bennie? You don't have to. I'll call you an Uber. It's all going on the bill anyway."

With a little shrug, Bennie tells Alexander distractedly, "It's either that or I'm gonna call up the Chinese food place and work my way through all the delivery guys in this town systematically." She starts nudging aside pieces of broken glass into a little pile with her foot. Spying an old wardrobe that looks like a prime hiding spot for more shenanigans, the Blonde reaches out a hand to wrench it open, only to draw it back with a hiss as she touches the burning hot knob. "Found one!" She declares, with fingers flicking ruefully.

Patrick's teeth are on edge the second Anne's picking up more of the fairycherubwhatevers. "When will you stop just messing with things that you clearly don't understand." Delicately, he collects the ones from the floor nearest himself and - since this shirt is officially ruined - piling them into the front of his shirt, using it as a basket. While doing this, he sends a dark look between Alexander and Anne, and can be heard mumble to himself about how his money spends just fucking fine at the liquor store and the bar, but "suddenly she's on the high-road and doesn't want your money, Patrick." He trails off and gets his feet under him, snatches the angel off the chest and deposits it with the others. "So you two have this under control?" he asks immediately after Bennie burns the shit out of her hand. "Good. I'll leave you to it."

Aside from that he will be coming up here every four minutes to make sure they aren't burning or breaking anything. Micromanaging is fun for all ages!

"No, no. It's all right. Didn't you know?" Anne asks Alexander, before she turns her focus to Patrick, her smirk wry with amusement as he mumbles under his breath about her. "Churlish is Patrick's middle name. Besides," she dusts her slobbery palm off on the back of her pants and looks back to Alexander, wagging her brows playfully. "I know where he keeps all the expensive wines." And there's a certain brightness to her when she takes off, using Patrick's distraction with the fairies to make it down the stairs before he realizes what she's up to.

"Bennie, care--" Too late. Alexander hisses in sympathy, and pockets the elf head. Although not without squishing it one more time. Squiiiish. "I think we have this under control, Patrick. You, uh, enjoy your evening." His lips twitch as Anne heads downstairs on a mission. "I expect it will be just as interesting as ours. In its own way." Vaya con Dios, winesnatcher. He gives Bennie a more serious look. "All right. We'll be systemic about this, since this little asshole clearly had enough time to set up a variety of traps. Divide the attic into sections, go carefully. And," a look up at the rafters, "I'll...get those."

"It's Thomas, actually." Patrick's middle name. The Addingtons are not a creative family. Then he has to go stop Anne from drinking all the wine (by drinking some himself). He leaves a bunch of money in the foyer for Alexander and Bennie. \o/