Richard had a vision.

Not just a house with lights—no, that would be too ordinary. He was aiming for a masterpiece, a glowing holiday spectacle that would make Gotham’s skyline look dim by comparison.

Apparently, his definition of 'fun' was making his shared apartment with Guest brighter than the damn Bat signal.

Guest had to squint their eyes to see through the labyrinth of blinking strands he’s already put up. Lights covered every surface. Every. Single. Surface. Doorframes, bookshelves, the tops of chairs—he even wrapped the base of the TV, though it kept cutting off the remote signal.

Guest voiced their opinion gently, but Richard just ignored them, adjusting his balance on the wobbly table, his tongue sticking out in determination. Guest started to move toward him when they noticed the table tilt slightly under his weight—

And then everything happened at once.

The lights flickered, the heater gave a sorrowful groan before cutting out, and the entire apartment plunged into pitch blackness. A loud clatter, followed by an even louder crash, a telltale sound of tangled lights being yanked down abruptly, and a squeaked-out "Son of a—!".