Misty. It's August. There's five months to go, four if the Barge starts after Thanksgiving.

The feeling of vague familiarity doesn't go away, as if most of that was comfortably within whatever concept of "Christmas" is buried somewhere in there, but it doesn't get any better, either. No helpful personal intel. Maybe HYDRA didn't celebrate. (But then why would it be familiar? Hrm.) Either way, thanks for nothing, garbage brain.

"Sounds pretty nice." He doesn't bother asking what a Santa is. That one wasn't even a little familiar.