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Carol Holiday ❄ Deltarune

Indie blog for Carol Holiday from Deltarune. 18+. Semi lit/literate Rps! Both castmates and characters from other series are welcome. Feel free to send random @'s and hit up my inbox (anon or not) so long as you're in character!

I have an Isola affiliated blog that looks damn near identical to this. I just would prefer to keep nonaffiliated interactions mostly here so I can actually focus on non-Isola rpers!

May contain mature and unpleasant topics, as well as contain dark humor and dark subject manner.

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Images and Icon by: Twinkle-art╿Rasstegai╿Sylladexter

A chill settles over the Dark. The kind of frigidness that would compel anyone residing in the Light world with the misfortune of waking to remain tucked beneath their blankets.

No one here needs to sleep. However, it does convince many to shut themselves up tightly indoors.

It makes Carol’s journey through Castletown, stalking the fellow Lightner toward the base of the cliffs, a far less tedious affair. The human girl has reached reaches the end of her meandering, and whatever she seeks means little to her. Irrelevant. The only thing on her mind is the young woman's Soul.

Unconsciously, the Mayor clutches at her fantasy spun clothes, twisting the fabric in a futile attempt to keep her reverence at bay. Though incomplete, it is just as unnatural and brimming with power and control as the beautiful red object that her Human Goldchild harbors.

Carol’s husky, tobacco-battered voice speaks from behind her carefully veiled face, announcing her presence to the Human while her back is turned.

“Eileen, was it?”

The sword at her side is ready to be drawn the moment the situation demands it, hand hovering, still as frozen, just above its hilt. The Human may feel threatened, after all, and Angel knows that in the Dark World, she has the ability protect herself.

“What have you been up to here, exactly? Beyond playing games in the Dark with the local Prince, anyway.”

( @2tor1el )

It's Carol's intention to keep her long, athletic legs striding onward, snout held high, eyes fixed straight ahead. Purposefully. Not that she's ignoring her, per say. It's just that she "doesn't have time". Even if, in the end, that's exactly what she's doing: ignoring her.

However...

That warm, polite, comforting voice of Toriel's slows her hooves all the same. Until Carol Holiday squeezes her eyes shut hard enough to carve a few fresh lines into an already crowded canvas of crevasses.

Against the odds-and against herself-The Mayor of Hometown answers. Bluntly, at first. "We have plenty of food stands already." Then she reminds herself that Toriel's baking is renowned among the townsfolk. And this is, was, and will be again, her dearest friend.

Carol Holiday arrives ho-ho-home. Purse already hanging off her shoulder and she-herself a disheveled mess from the absolute audacity of the week, complete with a relieved sigh that she will be greeted with the chilly air of her home and the soothing glow of Christmas lights. While she seldom looks forward to doing nothing beyond relaxing, tonight is an exception. She’s sore. Her head is pounding. She’s completely fed up and running on 2 hours of sleep.

Dropping her bag unceremoniously onto the foyer table, she rubs her aching joint and is just about to lock up her housekey for the night and turn on the television. The Last Mistletoe is airing tonight, and she cannot think of a better time to sit down and lose herself in such a beloved, mindless show.

That’s when it hits her. It’s not chilly at all here. It’s sweltering here. Carol’s attention snaps to the thermostat to find…

Rudy->Carol

“No. You’re lucky there’s no scheduled meetings for thirty minutes.”

Damnit. He has her ensnared at Care-Bear. It’s been a long time since she last heard that. While she’s reclaimed her ability to form a coherent sentence and some semblance of composure, her heart is instantly sent aflutter, and already a smile is fighting to form at the corners of her mouth.

Ears folding back in resignation, Carol sighs and clops over to the desk where her husband is stretched across. Upon reaching it, she leans, mindful to brush up against his body just so, while setting her cup down to pick up a candy cane pen. It’s waved accusingly at him.

“I should draw you in a hospital bed with a one-to-one sitting in the room with you. Watching to make sure you don’t escape again.”

...that was Rudy... On her desk...out of the hospital?

Carol made the mistake of stepping out of her office for not even 5 minutes to fetch a cup of expresso. Upon her return, she's damn near wearing it.

"Rudy!" She says, uncharacteristically stunned to the point of stammering. "Why the Hell-you shouldn't be-you didn't leave AMA did you? When did-"

With a jingle and a burst of particles, a plush elf, dilapidated from its time in its cardboard asylum, is pulled free and promptly dusted off. After a futile attempt to straighten it from its crumpled state, the poor thing is held up to the face of its savior and scrutinized. “Absolutely unacceptable.” Carol Holiday mutters disapprovingly-about herself more than the elf. 

Under normal circumstances, Carol would not invite a teenager into her home on a Saturday night, and to her basement no less. But things have not been normal for a long time, especially between her and Kris, and she has things to sort through. Both in regard to the plans and the ungodly number of boxes stuffed full of old (mostly Christmas) paraphernalia. How could she have let these things collect dust down here?

Snout crinkling up, The Mayor aggressively waves away a lingering allergen cloud before taking a fast, irritated sip from the wineglass standing at her side, at attention like her most loyal soldier, just beside where she sits cross-legged on the cold cement floor. Now. Back to the matter at hand. “Anyway, it goes without saying, I need you to make sure that your mother is asleep next time you do anything. The last thing I need is for her to start hovering over you, or things are going to get needlessly complicated. It’s entirely avoidable as long as we’re vigilant. Now with that being said, tomorrow I want you to-...”  Son of a Grinch.

They've disappeared while her head was turned.

@murdxrxfcrxws

The windows are rendered opaque with a sudden coating of ice upon Carol's entrance, despite the weather outside being on the fringes of summer. Although in the past it's been duly noted that Styx cannot-no, will not-assist her with what she truly wants, that doesn't mean there aren't other matters of hers he can't tend to. Instead of simply shooting straight to the point, however, she opts to deviate from her usual tactic. She actually smiles at the Cleric and engages in something atypical for a woman of her temperament. Frivolous conversation.