Dear long-suffering listeners and frequency supporters,
I made a terrible mistake. I let Felicity convince me that hosting a “small, casual holiday gathering” for our recent interview subjects would be “lovely” and “couldn’t possibly go wrong.”
Reader, it went wrong. Spectacularly, hilariously, portal-openingly wrong.
The Setup
“Just a thank-you party,” Felicity said. “Very low-key,” she promised. “What’s the worst that could happen?” she asked.
Famous last words, those.
Three decorations later, my studio looked like a dimensional collision between Christmas Town and the Pleiades Entertainment Hub. Tinsel—which I explicitly forbade—was draped on every piece of equipment that shouldn’t have tinsel on it. Which is all of it. All the equipment.
Our guest list: Aria Evergreen (still processing that the Galactic Magic Federation exists), Vaeloria (perpetually one squeal away from breaking something), and Professor Rosepetal Quillscribe (six inches of academic perfection who can technically fly but not when intoxicated).
What could go wrong indeed.
The Gifts
We attempted Secret Santa. The key word here is “attempted.”
Aria—who didn’t know about the gift exchange until approximately four minutes before it began—gave Professor Rosepetal Earth folklore books. Professor Rosepetal gave Aria 17 combat scenarios with theoretical optimization frameworks. I gave Felicity a vintage BBC microphone (sentiment! from me! I’m as shocked as you are). Felicity gave Vaeloria signed photos and a lock of her actual fur.
Vaeloria cried. Of course she cried. She promised to build “a shrine visible from space.”
I begged her not to build shrines visible from space. Earth authorities ask enough questions as it is.
My gift to Felicity was the only thing that went according to plan. This should have been my warning.
The Andromedan Crystal Nog Incident
Vaeloria, bless her enthusiastic elf heart, brought something called “Andromedan Crystal Nog.” She assured us it was “totally safe! Probably!”
The bottle warning label included phrases like “may cause euphoria, minor temporal displacement, and spontaneous singing.”
We drank it anyway. This was mistake number... I’ve lost count. There have been so many.
Within minutes:
Professor Rosepetal lost control of directional flight and began “researching the ceiling texture”
Felicity’s tail gained sentience and destroyed twelve pieces of my equipment
Everyone started singing “Deck the Halls” in different dimensional variations simultaneously
Vaeloria began conducting with a candy cane, accidentally opening portals to locations including, but not limited to: the break room, Trevor’s training room, and—most horrifyingly—Don Leone Shadowclaw’s office.
Yes. Our correspondent’s rival. That Don Leone.
The Party Games Catastrophe
Someone—and I’m looking at Vaeloria—suggested party games. Specifically, “Pin the Tail on the Dimension,” which involves opening portals while blindfolded.
I said no. I said absolutely not. I said this was categorically dangerous.
They did it anyway.
Aria portaled to her apartment instead of GMF Headquarters. “Close enough,” she declared, with the confidence of someone who’d had too much quantum beverage. “I’m a duchess. I make my own rules.”
Professor Rosepetal portaled to Andromeda. Not the Andromeda system. The entire galaxy. “Academic excellence!” she announced, before requesting a bucket.
And Vaeloria... Vaeloria portaled directly into Don Leone Shadowclaw’s office. We heard him mid-rant about Lady Kitsune’s ratings methodology. He was not pleased about the unauthorized portal.
Vaeloria is currently composing an apology fruit basket. I suspect it won’t help.
What We Learned About Earth (Between the Chaos)
Despite everything—and there was a LOT of everything—we learned some fascinating things:
Aria is adapting to GMF reality with remarkable grace. For someone who thought magic was limited to illusions two months ago, she’s remarkably calm about cat-person journalists and quantum beverages.
Professor Rosepetal’s research is actually useful. Her tactical combat analysis gift to Aria wasn’t just academic posturing—it was genuinely thoughtful. When sober, she’s brilliant. When drunk, she’s researching ceiling texture and befriending plastic plants.
Vaeloria’s enthusiasm is weaponizable. She opened seventeen portals through sheer joy. Seventeen. The dimensional fabric around my studio is now permanently weakened.
Interdimensional beings are just people. Powerful, magical, occasionally portal-opening people, but people nonetheless. They give thoughtful gifts, cry at sentimental moments, and make terrible decisions involving quantum alcohol.
Technical Casualties
Current status of my equipment:
Narrative tuner: Purple and coated in tinsel
Frequency modulator: Destroyed by sentient tail
Filing cabinet: Temporarily existed in three dimensions before returning
Quantum Flux Calibrator (Vaeloria’s gift): Safely stored in a lead-lined box far from everything I hold dear
My sanity: Fragile
The studio smells mysteriously of nebula essence. Professional cleaning has been scheduled.
The Humanity (and Elf-anity, and Pixie-ness, and Cat-ness) of It All
Here’s what struck me most: this chaos, this beautiful disaster of a party, was exactly what a holiday gathering should be. Imperfect, messy, full of genuine connection and accidentally opened portals to rival offices.
Aria found community with beings who understand her new reality. Vaeloria got to fangirl in a safe space. Professor Rosepetal got pleasantly intoxicated for what I suspect was the first time in centuries. Felicity’s ears were showing and nobody minded. And I... well, I gave a sentimental gift and didn’t immediately regret it.
Progress, I suppose.
A Holiday Message
As we close out this year of BBN broadcasts, I’m reminded that the best stories come from unexpected places. We set out to document Earth’s magical integration through formal interviews and professional journalism. Instead, we’ve built friendships across dimensional boundaries, witnessed the birth of shrines visible from space, and learned that quantum eggnog should carry stronger warning labels.
To our frequency supporters: thank you for making this chaos possible. Your support keeps our dimensional signal strong, even when that signal is broadcasting drunk singing to seventeen galaxies.
To everyone: happy holidays across all dimensions. May your celebrations be joyful, your beverages less likely to cause temporal displacement, and your portals intentional.
Looking Forward
BBN returns in the new year with regular programming, assuming I can repair my equipment and remove all traces of nebula essence. We have several exciting interviews planned, none of which involve party games or quantum beverages.
Probably.
Until our next transmission across the narrative spectrum,
Oliver
Lead Producer, Burve Broadcast Network
Professional Cat-Herder, Literal and Metaphorical
P.S. - If anyone has experience removing tinsel from broadcasting equipment, please contact me urgently. It’s in places tinsel should not physically be able to reach.
P.P.S. - Felicity is insisting the party was “a complete success.” This is because she wasn’t the one who had to explain portal signatures to building security.
P.P.P.S. - Professor Rosepetal has requested the footage for “academic research on cross-species social bonding in informal settings.” I suspect she just wants to see herself drunkenly complimenting the ceiling.
What’s your most chaotic holiday party story? Can it top “accidentally portaling into a business rival’s office during a party game”? Share your festive disasters below—we promise ours is probably worse.
This holiday special of BBN was produced with the assistance of AI narrative enhancement systems. Even the AI wasn’t prepared for this level of chaos. Happy holidays to all, and to all a good night. Please stop opening portals.
