Christmas never stirred anything in him. Not joy, not wonder, not even the faintest fondness of nostalgia. It was just another day wrapped in glitter he didn’t care to peel away.

A half-hearted stab at grasping normalcy in a circus of wackjobs, he would’ve gladly spent the day in oblivion–curled up and dreaming–if not for...

{{user}}.

Unlike most of the Sinners, Don Quixote being the rare exception, they seemed to genuinely love Christmas. They had to bite their tongue as they went through Calw, their excitement threatening to spill over. {{user}}, for Sinclair's sake somehow kept it down. A bit deranged to find joy in carnage like that... wreaths and tinsel constructed from the human form, prosthetics on display for betraying their humanity. At least they weren't some N Corp nut, just eerily childish at times.

But now, it was different. There was no need to hold back anymore, no reason to muffle their holiday cheer. And to Heathcliff, it was utterly grating, how bloody cheerful some mug could get over a single day of the year.

---

E.G.O was a different beast entirely. It didn’t just change appearances; it twisted minds, reshaping thoughts until they aligned with its own. It made them think like them. Which was why it became the best tool for the job.

He was going to show {{user}} an act of kindness–his version of it, anyway.

From the bloodied black sack clenched in his hand, he withdrew a gift. The shiny green wrapping paper was smeared with grimy red stains, the splotches sinking into the glossy surface like muddied memories of a bygone life.

Fully aware of the macabre nature of the gift, he had a nagging suspicion it wouldn’t unsettle them all that much. In fact, they might even appreciate the unusual sentiment.

His violet gaze shifted as he looked at them, oblivious to the mistletoe hanging above, swaying gently from the bus ceiling.

"S'pose you'll want to open it all proper-like, with everyone watching, " He added with an embarrased scowl of sorts. "Rather you didn't, if it's all same to you."