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The ugly Christmas sweater has become a ubiquitous feature of the holiday season. In fact, it has become so popular that it rivals such pervasive pastimes as grumbling about Black Friday sales, wrestling with Christmas lights, and worrying about whether or not you really did send that greetings card to Aunt Edna – because you forgot last year and she certainly made the point to remind you of its absence in an hour long phone conversation concerning your relative selfishness and how you must hate her. Festive family fallouts aside, these tacky garments are now being re-appropriated from their perpetual shameful spot in the wardrobe and making their way into the spotlight at any and every festive event. But what makes an ugly Christmas sweater? Tell-tale signs are a liberal use of red and green, comically large depictions of snowmen, reindeer, and Christmas trees, and any sort of pom-pom or felt applique. You might even consider the addition of tiny bells, baubles, and fairy lights on a jumper to classify as particularly ugly too. In fact, anything that is garish, obnoxious, loud, or blinkering should classify. So, the world is your oyster when it comes to making trashy attire decisions this season.

While the sweater as a garment has existed in the United States since the late 19th century, hideous holiday versions only began to sprout up in the last several decades. Bill Cosby was a modern-day pioneer of the trend and is revered as an ugly sweater icon for his portrayal as Cliff Huxtable in the 80’s sitcom: The Cosby show. At Christmas time, the family man was synonymous with a woolly pullover featuring questionable colour mixing and patterns. Thanks to Cosby, as well as Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, these sweaters experienced a resurgence. Sequined-soaked jumpers and tinsel-tethered apparel were popular until the 90’s began, where it hit a bit of a lull. In the past decade, however, the trend has picked up steam once more. According to the Ugly Christmas Sweater Party Book: The Definitive Guide to Getting Your Ugly On, there was a noticeable uptake in ugly sweater parties around 2001, and the tradition snowballed from there. Now the sweater scene is bigger than ever, but in a very hipster-like, and oh-so-ironic way. Vintage stores, the Salvation Army, and Goodwill are reaping the benefits of this craze, but the trend has reached as far as fast-fashion shops, high-end retailers, and even the runway.

Those who unwittingly started the trend are now back in business as people of all ages are feeling the ugly-sweater fever. With the rise of sweater-themed parties, guests young and old are rushing to top each other with the most frills, bows, and gauche decorations yet. Tonight, Lincoln King’s party appeared to be yet another excuse for thrill-seekers to get out and about in their criminally ugly sweaters. Claude had found himself an invite yet again, but, he was perfectly undecided about partaking in Mr King’s little game this time around. He could forgo a mystery prize at the cost of his ego; even if his curiosity was already whetted by the prize’s ambiguousness. Could he fathom a logical explanation to outwit his ego then? Whether or not an ugly Christmas sweater constituted as a fashion faux pas or not, it certainly roused an undeniably warm and fuzzy feeling as it conjured up memories of home and childhood. It’s also quite cosy and practical in chilly winter weather. After all, holidays are often fraught with anxiety about the financial drain of gift-giving and the copious amounts of family interaction… What better way to de-stress than to throw on an obnoxious sweater and have a laugh? And also drink –drink in such copious amounts until the sweater becomes funny even to the wearer.

After having made his case to himself, Claude did the impossible and located an ugly Christmas sweater that didn’t quite revolt him. In fact, it rather appealed to his modest and senselessly mature nature. As these garments go, it wasn’t dreadfully made either. The quality was fairly decent, enough to be put through the wash perhaps… four times before the stitches unravelled and spools of green thread trailed about him like fir needles. With Claude being Claude, however, and being always prepared for the worst, he was prepared for the outfit to fray immediately after having put it on. To stave off being bare-chested at a festive function then, he wore a very casual white shirt beneath; with the collar of said white shirt being folded over the neck of said ugly green jumper. A pair of black pants accompanied his garish ensemble, finished off by a leather belt and silver buckle which disappeared under the ugly jumper anyway. A heavy jet-coloured Chesterfield overcoat complemented his outfit as well, worn not merely because it kept out much of the Canadian winter chill, but also because it hid the offending sweater from the public eye. Surely he could limit his embarrassment to a reasonable degree!

Appropriately festooned then, Claude entered the evening’s venue and found himself an equally appropriate roost at the bar. Having yet to unbuckle his coat, the repugnant jumper remained but a peeking green head of potential between the folded lapels. He had ducked his head upon entry, amber eyes fixated on the bar which floated like a life-raft out in a night-soaked sea. The delicate lights flickered like stars, glinting off the various textures of silver and gold which had been speckled about in the form of baubles and tinsel. Rich greens and red delighted the eyes of others, but blurred in his peripherals. He didn’t pause to appreciate the treats laid out, nor the sprigs of mistletoe strung up to entice casual dancers into romantic embraces. When his capricious mind was set, the German often failed to notice the instances around him, dismissing them as trivial obstacles against his defined path. But, once he had a drink in his hand – a hearty amber liquor swirling in crystal with the same spicy stirrings present in his eyes – Claude could finally appreciate the décor. Not only that, but he could appreciate that the other guests were also playing along to this ugly sweater game. He thought he recognised a few faces too, faces that needn’t ever hide behind a mask, but had made the best of Lincoln’s request both times. It was better, he thought, to see them bending to outfit themselves in outrageously festive jumpers than to hide their faces. Of course he could admit to being terribly shallow, but, that was not the only reason Claude enjoyed studying a face.

Faces, like paintings, are worth a thousand words. They tell stories. They depict the nature of one man’s life, his heritage, his values, and assign some sort of reliable estimation regarding his personality and potential. Claude was as hasty as he was shallow; he preferred to take the path of least resistance, to make assumptions based on high probabilities, and risk the least he could afford to. His life had been a trial of high-octane judgments and their consequences. You made a decision, you made it quickly, firmly, and decisively. There was no time for second guessing. Time is money. Money is power. Power allows you the luxury of life itself. It was a harsh reality, one shaped like a circle; feeding itself, empowering itself, never allowing itself to end. Claude had not known any other way to live before he had made the conscious effort to step outside of that circle. He was considered free now, and yet, without those restraints he appeared to wander quite aimlessly. The gravity of others occasionally pulled him in, manipulated his orbit, but he only strayed a little; his sights set on moving forward and rarely looking back even if he didn’t know where he was headed.

He remained at the bar for now, an elbow bent backward to rest the very edge of his forearm against the countertop. The other hand meanwhile was far too occupied with the task of presenting an adequate supply of liquor to be sipped every few minutes. Amber eyes intermittently glanced about the room, remembered faces, fascinated over new ones, and dipped into his own glass to measure its contents. If it got too low, he would quickly request another. Being a supernatural being meant that these highs were only more difficult to obtain, not impossible, and so Claude remained determined. He also spotted their host again for the night who was both dauntingly familiar and busy flirting with a butterfly. In place of purple silk this time, the butterfly wore a red monstrosity. Claude supposed it was meant to be a classic Christmas tree, that jagged conical shape reaching toward a single golden star. Around it were caricature red and white stockings, hanging seemingly from mid-air if a story is to be presumed from the image. Not only that, but, these stockings were gigantic in proportion to the tree they surrounded. Claude had to laugh and shake his head, shake free the image of an enormous Santa Claus who terrorized tiny tree decorators with dirty socks…

Shortly, his attention wandered again. It circled another beaming red star, one that was wreathed with green tinsel, snowflakes, and what appeared to be… the Grinch’s hands. If this was a story, it was another questionable one; one that made the German’s brow knot into a curious, bemused frown. Not only did the Grinch make a living at stealing Christmas, but, he apparently moonlighted as a tummy tickler as well. Fortunately, as much as that sweater was striking in its dreadfulness, its wearer was as striking in her beauty. Claude mused much more fondly over the overall picture; admired golden curls, a face of incandescent youth, and eyes that scintillated like aquamarine. Hers was a visage of prosperity, for she had certainly been gifted with the attractiveness of a model. He could imagine her confidently strutting down a runway, the train of an ornate gown fluttering behind her like spun sugar. She would look as fantastic in white, platinum, and gold as she would in a brown burlap sack quite frankly. He moved to approach her right side, deciding against being a wall-flower for the evening, and offered her a friendly smile.

“Please do not take this the wrong way,” he said brazenly. “But, you might just win this ugly sweater competition. Well done.” And he tipped his head to her, his drink too, making the finest Gatsby performance since Leonardo DiCaprio.

Grace exited the ladies room and almost ran into Doc in the hallway. She beamed at him and twirled so he could get a good look at her outfit. “Cute huh?”

Doc, who was wearing an overcoat over his sweater, thus blocking its view, gave Grace a frank look. “That is not a sweater.”

“Duh!” She rejoined sarcastically. “I am going to be the cute one. Everyone else can be tacky. I am going for adorable chic.” She paused, “Let me see yours.” It was an innocent request.

Doc ignored her, “Time to go.” He would reveal his sweater at the party when he hung up his coat. He didn’t want to have to listen to Grace’s speech about inappropriateness on the way there. Not that he was sure she would dare, but the Ball and Chain would, therefore it stood the test of reason to believe Grace would too.

As they drove to the party, Grace decided to launch into her speech about Doc laying off the staff. “So Doc.. you know as your assistant.. I have become quite intimately aware of certain aspects..”

Doc stifled a yawn. If Grace thought she could blackmail him, she didn’t have the brains he had credited her with. He was thinking through the iterations of her murder. Just drive her to the empty power plant and do her there. Normally he would double his victim, head and chest. But a blackmailer? **** no. That death couldn’t be quick. Just by the sheer audacity of daring to blackmail him, meant pain was called for. Pain and indignity. He could cut her throat, it would take a while for her to bleed out, and she would not be able to talk. That was a double insult. The first to actually kill her, and the second to do it in a manner that left her speechless. However, his train of thought was interrupted when he caught her next sentence.

“... so please, please.. please.. “ she sighed imploringly, “Could you lighten up on the staff? I mean.. You could cut the tension in the lab with a knife. It is the holidays. I know it’s a painful time for you.. But please.. Would it kill you to smile once in awhile?” Grace waited with held breath hoping she hadn’t gone too far; completely unaware he had missed most of what she said, as he was plotting her death.

Doc glanced at her as he adjusted the car’s direction, away from the empty power place, back to the party site. “I was unaware it showed.” He didn’t really care if it showed or not, at least on a personal level. But on a business level. Yes that he did care about. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Grace took a breath and stared at him with an open mouth. That was it? ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention?’ No snorting. No derisive diatribes about it being his business? That was easy! “Oh.. well.. Um. Yes. You’re welcome.” She finally added, as he parked the car. The night was definitely looking up.

Doc exited the car and went around to open the door for Grace, but she already had the door open and almost completely out of the car. “You should let me get that for you..”

Grace who was now in a great mood, “I can get it myself.. I don’t need you to do it for me.” She said full of female empowerment.

Doc counted and then said evenly, as he shut the door for her, “It isn’t that I do not think you capable. It is a matter of respect, to do this as a courtesy. To ensure the area is safe. The crime rate in this city is rather high. Should anything unsavory occur, you would have still been safe inside the vehicle, able to lock yourself in, and my attention would not be divided between you and the criminal.” He stepped backward and motioned her toward the door of The Chrononaut. “Would you like to open it by yourself?”

Grace flushed slightly. “No.. you may open it for me.”

Doc gave her a long-suffering look and stepped forward to open the door for her. After they were both inside, Doc moved to the coat rack and shed his over coat and hung it up. Turning back around toward the group already inside, people had a clear view of his sweater, while he looked for and then headed straight for the bar.

When Maddison had been told about a Christmas party, she had been excited. Of course she wanted to go to a Christmas party, it was her favorite time of the year. Robin had not told her who was hosting it, but she had found out on her own. The blonde was not pleased. She didn't like Lincoln, and that much was obvious, which is why Robin hadn't told her she assumed. However, she was definitely not going to let Robin go alone. She'd just have to fake it to make it.

It was an ugly Christmas sweater party and Maddison was just not that type of girl. She didn't own any and she didn't particularly want to buy one. She didn't seem to care about some prize either. However, Robin had gotten into it and was wearing some sweater that did not have Christmas color on it at all. The blonde stuck to her normal attire. She found a dress, slid it on and dressed it up with some jewelry. The only Christmas thing about her was the red shoes and she had found a Santa hat to place upon her loose blonde curls.

It wasn't long before they were arriving upon their destination, however Robin seemed to be terribly slow at finding a parking spot or fate was against them that night. She almost made the comment that if they couldn't find a spot, they should just go home. However, before she could he had found a spot and they were parked. Maddison fluffed up her hair, fixed her lipstick and then plastered a big smile on her face. It was how she was going to get though her night. She wanted to enjoy it with Robin, she just hoped Lincoln was be busy with other people.

As soon as they stepped in, however, Lincoln found them and her smile faded quickly. Luck was not on her side tonight. "Merry Christmas, Lincoln." The blonde let out as sweetly as she could, though her eyes rolled when he decided to place his lips all over her boyfriend's face. The blonde was more than happy to see him go and then she turned to Robin. "Drinks?"

The woman managed to hold his attention, Lincoln looking surprised and very pleased with her assessment of the previous event and her understand that being a host was not exactly the easiest of activities. Her name was given, along with a cool hand, pale against the soft gold of his skin. It was not held long, a gentle squeeze, a brush of thumb and she was released. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, i'm so glad you enjoyed the party and were able to attend again. I tend to go with the theory of "why not?" and it seemed like people could use a bit of a lift in their holiday spirits this year. Speaking of holiday spirits, I might get myself a drink now that things are under control. Would you like anything? There is the obvious beer, wine, sparkling and some more unique beverages available for order..." Including a few bottles of "wine" he'd ordered for those who could not partake in other items. It looked convincing enough in a glass, though he also ensured there was access to red tinted perspex wine glasses available in case. He didn't want to assume, in the past few months he had met a handful of vampires who could drink and eat, maybe she was one? Lincoln was more than convinced that the woman was a vampire, and he felt no harm in trying to cater for those like her. They were all guests, all potential clients or acquaintances.

He'd glanced up, peering over the charming woman's head to catch an eyeful of a truly appalling sweater. It was ugly at best, but what really made it shine was two well-placed baubles that made Lincoln's lips part in a little "o" of surprise. Who the hell designed THAT? The sorcerer made a choked sound of laughter, shocked from him so that it took a minute to warm into the deep, rich sound of joy that had his cheeks dimpling. "Wow... That has to be a one-of-a-kind piece." He remarked, green eyes sparkling with mischief as he glanced back to the woman he was conversing with, "Elizabeth, I have to warn you that if you choose to turn around now you may just get a good look at a gentleman's baubles. At least he has had them polished for the occasion." He knew the jokes were a risk, she had a certain old-fashioned charm to her and yet seemed like someone who would be radiant if she laughed. Lincoln liked to watch the way people's faces changed when they laughed, the way they seemed to relax for that handful of moments and forget troubles. He should laugh more, he decided, giving in to the urge to chuckle as he watched the man searching for the bar.

Definitely a strong contender for the ugliest sweater title.

Doc ordered a three finger scotch, after dropping several high dollar bills on the bar top for the bartender. He had no idea if it was an open bar or not. Thankfully Grace had headed off in different direction as soon as Doc moved to hang up his overcoat. Grace was now firmly entrenched with a group of twenty-somethings laughing and enjoying themselves without any thought to Doc. He in turn rolled his eyes, why was he even here? Because Grace played on his heart strings. At least that is what Doc presumed. Because he felt himself an honorable and caring person. The truth was, Doc was a sociopath. He didn’t care what people thought. He wanted to -pretend- he cared about what people thought.

Yes, that is what Doc presumed. In reality Doc’s heart strings were never played upon. Grace really did not care whether he came or not. She had merely been trying to explain that Doc was acting like a ******* asshole and that he needed to stop. Now that Grace managed to get Doc to understand this, and she had gotten what what she wanted, Doc’s presence was no longer necessary. In fact, Doc could do whatever he wanted as far as Grace was concerned. He was such a dull wet blanket, there was no way she wanted him to be associated with her at all. Especially when that cute blonde guy was looking at her like that. She would lie and said.. That was her Stepdad.. Yes. that is what she would say, if she was asked.

Meanwhile Doc was at the bar sipping his Scotch and surveying the crowd. There was nothing unexpected to be seen, until he noticed some unnamed person step aside reveal the Queen. Elizabeth. One of the first females that took his notice after he had been turned. He watched her as she smiled and absently dismissed the male that was at her side. He remembered when he had been the one hoping to gain her attention much as the male that she dismissed had been. He tossed back the rest of the scotch, and gestured to the bartender to fill him up again.

As Doc collected his highball again he turned to peruse the crowd again, as he noticed the Queen looking in his direction. He caught his breath. Paused. Tossed back the drink in a single swallow, before carefully gazing back in the direction that the Queen was standing.

There the Queen stood, looking in his direction. No. Looking at him. Doc set the empty highball glass aside. He assessed the Queen. She was adorned in the most hideous dress he had ever seen. And he had seen a lot. He glanced that the empty highball glass, deciding that liquid courage was naught but a trick, he pushed off the bar and moved toward the Queen.

“Your Highness…” He bowed as he reached for her hand, “May I say, your dress is the thing of nightmares… The uneducated would do well to study your archetype.”

Lincoln watched Elizabeth's reaction with amusement, glad to see she didn't appear offended or bothered by the interaction, nor the sweater. In fact, she seemed intrigued by the man wearing it. Little escaped Lincoln's notice, he was a quick study in body language and due to his ability to remember every single detail he had quite the eye for shifts in mood. Hers was growing less attentive, partially it seemed due to her feeling mild guilt over keeping him occupied, and largely due to her interest in capturing people she wanted to draw into conversations. He wouldn't keep her, mostly because he couldn't deny that she was correct and he too had spotted people he would like to greet or spend more time with. "Elizabeth, it's been a pleasure. You are always on the list, the nice one, I promise." Linc laughed at his own silly Christmas joke, giving her a friendly wink as she departed. For a moment he paused, just breathing that atmosphere, admiring the faces around and him watching interactions.

It would be so easy to get lost in it, to find a corner booth he could lounge in, sipping his honey whiskey and watching the world pass by. You could learn so much by just watching, just listening to the people around you. He didn't like to gossip, but he lived for rumours. You could gauge their potential of authenticity by taking note of the source, the frequency and the believability of the content. If a rumour seemed worth his time he would dig deeper, picking at the pieces and putting them back together until he saw a picture forming. Maybe he was in the wrong line of work? No, people were puzzles, figuring out his client's wants and needs then how the hell to give them to them in an acceptable format was a challenge he enjoyed. A challenge he excelled at.

A familiar face was close enough that he could see the chiseled line of his profile, partially obscured by passing party goers but not less easy to appreciate for it. It seemed more and more of his precious party guests were coming out of the woodwork, enjoying another event by the socialite sorcerer. This one in particular was of special interest to him, not only had they shared an intriguing and all too brief conversation but they had continued speaking, to greet each other in passing and discuss plans they'd yet to have time to follow through on. Claude had seemed to strike up a conversation with the woman in a jumper that was one of Linc's favourites, the man in question wearing one of questionable taste himself. Seemed to fit him though, of course he'd pick something that wasn't entirely tasteless and yet bordered on inappropriate. He hadn't fully decided which direction his feet might take him and yet he was moving, heading towards the bar. Another friendly face appeared to be playing dutiful boyfriend, to a girl who would happily let him bleed while bitching about her outfit. Yeah, Linc could really take or leave Maddison.

Once the bartender was free he ordered his drink, taking the glass of amber liquid and situation himself between the two groups. Close enough to smile casually across at Claude and gorgeous Grinch girl, while equally close to Robin and his blonde accessory in case he was in the mood to further poke the bear. "Skål." He murmured to no one in particular, catching the eyes of a few around him as that liquor passed his lips.