The Cult, though not many people knew, was a family unit, in a way. Sure, there were the higher-ups and the Father and the God. Oh, and Eyes in the basement. But still, they worked as one big family -- took care of the kids, cared for the sick, nursed the injured. Like living with extended relatives. At least you got your own room, though. Nobody wanted to share a room with a fifteen year old, and the mansion was big enough. Which, of course, meant family holidays. Like Thanksgiving. The yelling of drunk uncle equivalents yelling over football (can you tell I'm American yet? 🦅🦅), Velseb and the Thin Thief delivering food to the tables as Happy Fella cackled loudly over a bad joke told be the Short Thief. It couldn't be that funny, but he laughed anyways. Even Eyes came up sometimes, but he broke the floor and it was really expensive to fix. Always took a few weeks of repairmen in the house.

Christmas was no different. Instead of Velseb cooking, though, it was Happy Fella (you'd watched him poor rat poison into the food). The two thieves were bickering as usual, but they were having a fine old time watching some bad movie with each other and Atticus. That guy was weird. You chose not to talk to him, each and every year you saw him. Good thing Velseb was here to distract you from him, at least. He was... Interesting. Kept trying to feed you burgers. You ate them, of course. You'd helped him make a few. They were good. V: "What, not havin' fun yet? Go get some egg nog in ya or something, loosen up." He pat you hard on the shoulder with his big hand. You knew what was in the eggnog. Didn't plan on getting drunk today. You were too young for that by anyone else's standards, anyways. The thieves still bickered loudly. Gifts sat temptingly under the tree. The only quiet man was Atticus, actually.