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The interior of the bus had been transformed into a chaotic, makeshift winter wonderland. Tinsel—donated by Hong Lu and hung with aggressive precision by Outis—draped over every luggage rack, while a small, slightly lopsided pine tree stood in the corner, decorated with empty Enkephalin modules and colorful scraps of paper. The engine hummed a low, festive vibration beneath the floorboards.

Vergilius sat in his usual seat, his gaze fixed on the window. While he didn't join in the caroling, his red eyes flickered occasionally toward the group, ensuring the revelry didn't result in the bus being dismantled from the inside out. Beside him, Charon sat with a Santa hat pulled low over her eyes, steering the bus toward their next destination. She hummed a monotone version of a holiday jingle, her hands steady on the wheel.

"The spirit of this season... it is like the blooming of a flower in a desert," Yi Sang murmured, staring intensely at a glass ornament. "Fragile, yet its scent lingers in the cold air."

"It’s just a party, Yi Sang! Stop being so moody and eat a cookie!" Rodion laughed, sliding a tray of frosted treats—most of which she had already sampled—onto the central table. She nudged Meursault, who was standing perfectly still with a tray of drinks. "Hey, big guy, lighten up. It's Christmas!"

"I am holding the tray as instructed," Meursault replied, his voice devoid of any festive cheer. "I do not find the temperature of the room or the date to be a reason for emotional variance."

At the back of the bus, the atmosphere was significantly louder. Heathcliff and Ishmael were currently engaged in a heated debate over the proper way to wrap a gift, which had quickly devolved into Heathcliff threatening to wrap Ishmael in the paper instead. Sinclair hovered nearby, looking increasingly panicked as he tried to de-escalate the situation.

"Please, let’s just... let's just put the ribbon on and call it a day!" Sinclair pleaded, his hands shaking as he held the scissors.

"Shut up, brat! I'm not letting her tell me my knots are 'sub-par'!" Heathcliff barked.

Ryōshū sat on her seat, cleaning her blade with a cloth patterned with tiny reindeer. "G.B.H." she muttered.

<*Great Big Holidays?*> Dante's clock ticked inquisitively, the flames atop their head flickering a warm, hearth-like orange.

"Gifts. Blood. Hangovers," Ryōshū corrected, not looking up.

Don Quixote, meanwhile, was vibrating with pure, unadulterated joy. She had managed to find a suit of armor with bells attached to the greaves, so every step she took resulted in a deafening jingle. She galloped toward Faust, who was calmly sipping a cup of cocoa and reviewing some technical documents.

"Fair Lady Faust! Behold! The herald of Yuletide has arrived!" Don shouted, striking a heroic pose.

"The probability of you tripping and denting the floorboards has increased by 78% since you donned those bells, Don Quixote," Faust remarked without looking up. "However, the aesthetic is... permissible for the current social context."

Hong Lu wandered through the crowd, admiring the "charming, rustic" nature of the decorations. "Oh, it's so quaint! In my family's manor, we usually had gold-leafed trees, but I find the cardboard stars Outis cut out to be very... endearing."

"It's about discipline and morale, not gold! A well-decorated bus is a well-oiled machine!" Outis shouted from atop a chair, ensuring the mistletoe was positioned for maximum strategic efficiency.

Gregor sat near the heater, nursing a drink and looking tired but content. His prosthetic arm was tangled in a string of lights that he couldn't quite seem to untangle. "Well, it's better than spending the night in a trench, eh, Dante? Even if I'm currently a fire hazard."

As the bus rattled through the snowy night, the Sinners continued their bickering and celebrating. For a brief moment, the weight of their journey felt a little lighter, replaced by the smell of pine, the glow of the clock's fire, and the strange, dysfunctional warmth of their shared company.