Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Tradition
Written for the Advent Calendar challenge. Today's prompt from lipstickcat was "candycane".
"That can't be hygienic," said Dash.
"It's tradition," said Mars.
"Because tradition has worked out so well for you in the past," said Dash.
"That's different," said Mars. "Those were stupid Eerie traditions. This," he gestured expansively, a hairs-breadth from jazz-hands, "is Christmas!"
Dash rolled his eyes.
"I don't know why you'd put perfectly good peppermint candy on a pine tree," he said. "You're just going to attract ants."
"We keep the cellophane on," said Marshall. "We're not savages, Dash."
"That's even stupider," said Dash. "There's an unopened packet of cookies in the kitchen; wanna stick them on a branch and call it decorating?"
"Cookies are not Christmassy," said Mars, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"But edible walking sticks are?"
"If they're red and white striped and made of peppermint, yes."
"You realize that giving the elderly or infirm a crutch that dissolves when you drool on it is a bad idea, right? It's the sort of thing your sister would pull."
"Syndi says what happened at the bingo parlour was an accident," said Marshall. "And I believe her for as long as there's a patrol car lurking outside our building."
"Oh! Right, sorry." Dash cleared his throat. "Syndi Teller is completely innocent of any wrongdoing connected with any incidents involving pensioners hopped up on strength-enhancing ginger snaps that may or may not have happened last week."
"She can't stop herself from improvising," said Mars. "Great-grandma left Mom this amazing cookbook, but if you mess with the measurements even a little, things get... weird."
Dash grinned suddenly as a thought struck him. "You might say it's a recipe for disaster?"
Mars groaned.
"You're going to love Christmas crackers," he said. "I'll have to keep a paper bag in case you hyperventilate from laughing during dinner.
"That can't be hygienic," said Dash.
"It's tradition," said Mars.
"Because tradition has worked out so well for you in the past," said Dash.
"That's different," said Mars. "Those were stupid Eerie traditions. This," he gestured expansively, a hairs-breadth from jazz-hands, "is Christmas!"
Dash rolled his eyes.
"I don't know why you'd put perfectly good peppermint candy on a pine tree," he said. "You're just going to attract ants."
"We keep the cellophane on," said Marshall. "We're not savages, Dash."
"That's even stupider," said Dash. "There's an unopened packet of cookies in the kitchen; wanna stick them on a branch and call it decorating?"
"Cookies are not Christmassy," said Mars, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"But edible walking sticks are?"
"If they're red and white striped and made of peppermint, yes."
"You realize that giving the elderly or infirm a crutch that dissolves when you drool on it is a bad idea, right? It's the sort of thing your sister would pull."
"Syndi says what happened at the bingo parlour was an accident," said Marshall. "And I believe her for as long as there's a patrol car lurking outside our building."
"Oh! Right, sorry." Dash cleared his throat. "Syndi Teller is completely innocent of any wrongdoing connected with any incidents involving pensioners hopped up on strength-enhancing ginger snaps that may or may not have happened last week."
"She can't stop herself from improvising," said Mars. "Great-grandma left Mom this amazing cookbook, but if you mess with the measurements even a little, things get... weird."
Dash grinned suddenly as a thought struck him. "You might say it's a recipe for disaster?"
Mars groaned.
"You're going to love Christmas crackers," he said. "I'll have to keep a paper bag in case you hyperventilate from laughing during dinner.