Only a few hours had passed before some of the slower tabloids began publishing special editions, filled with reports about last night's "fireworks" and the "Medium's" battle against the "Wintertide Monster."
And a drunken fellow had even turned up in a little tavern-
"I'm telling you, I saw His Excellency Credos, the Medium, perform last night's blessing with my own eyes!
That monster was invisible at first, but as the fireworks went up, one after another, it started to appear!
And those strings of exploding firecrackers sent it fleeing in panic!"
A drunken fellow sat there, shouting at the top of his lungs.
During South Los's Wintertide Festival, people in every line of work took a long holiday.
Except for taverns.
Taverns were the only places that never closed for the holidays, and the only places guaranteed to be packed. The little taverns in residential neighborhoods were especially crowded.
Whether they lived in working-class or middle-class districts, everyone took this rare opportunity to give themselves a break.
The new year was almost here. Surely they could order a drink to treat themselves?
Even the stingiest person would spend around three Los today on a glass of the cheapest wheat beer, sit down, and soak up the festive atmosphere.
The fellow doing all the shouting, however, clearly wasn't one of them.
He reeked of alcohol and had plainly drunk too much the night before.
As a result, nobody believed him. Instead, everyone burst out laughing.
It was a holiday, after all. They treated him as entertainment.
The tavern waiter came over, though-a holiday was a holiday, but people still had to pay. He had no desire to have his wages docked by the owner during the festivities.
Just as smiles never disappeared into thin air, but merely moved to someone else's