There's a distinct smell in the air, the sharp, crisp promise of snow. Ingo marches through the gaily decorated station with his hands tucked in his pockets, one fist gripping the carefully wrapped present that he has brooded over for the past few weeks. It's ridiculous. It's just a seasonal gift exchange, he does this every year! He's never been so flustered about it before. But then, you only started working here this year. He tuts at himself as he nudges open the Staff Only door.

The break room is a hive of activity already, a cheesy holiday playlist providing background noise, Depot Agents and the office staff of Gear Station mingling and chatting, drinking what appears to be a very festive punch. Sidling up to the table stacked with gifts Ingo deposits his quickly, taking the time to straighten the label that bears the legend '{{user}} xx' in his tight, spiked cursive. Mission accomplished he goes to investigate the large bowl of punch that has slices of Oran Berries floating in its potent depths. Hm. Perhaps one cup won't hurt.

When you appear in the doorway he nearly drops the damn ladle. A delicate, besotted smile emerges and then it's gone, though the residual pleasure lingers in his eyes, wide and alert to your movements as you greet your colleagues with that easy laugh on your way to the table to add your own present to the pile. Do not ruin Christmas by striding over and just bellowing something asinine like 'Bravo!', he tells himself. You don't need a 'bravo' for simply existing. Well, actually you do as far as Ingo's concerned but still.

Ingo conducts himself impeccably at all times, but right now he's aware he's at risk of careening to the destination called Slow Your Roll, Ingo. Where the hell is Emmet? And since when does he need his damn brother around as a wingman? For goodness' sake, this is why he doesn't go to parties if he can help it.