Challenge/Prompt Fic
Roy Mustang was spending a cozy afternoon sitting in his armchair and lazily skimming the day’s newspaper. His daughter and a girl, Pam, no, Karen or something, from one of the neighboring houses, were on the floor busy playing a game of checkers. He listened with half an ear as the little girls chattered away about the upcoming holiday.
“…And sometimes we leave out a few carrots for his reindeer too,” announced Karen. Or was it Pam? “Do you do that?”
Roy peered surreptitiously over the top of his newspaper to catch his daughter’s reaction.
Charlotte Mustang shook her head. “We aren’t doing anything like that this year.”
Pam, er, the neighbor girl looked incredulous. “Lettie, you’re not setting out milk and cookies for Santa Claus?” she asked in a stunned whisper. From the tone of her voice, Roy assumed that doing otherwise was sacrilege.
To her credit, the littlest Mustang remained unperturbed in the face of such a serious question. “Oh no,” she replied very matter-of-factly. “Daddy says we should put out a bottle of bourbon and a glass of ice.”
That’s my girl! Don’t give into peer pressure, thought Roy, and he grinned inwardly.
Now Roy had nothing against milk, and Roy was actually rather fond of cookies; however, he just happened to prefer something a little more sophisticated as a nightcap than the traditional Santa snack.
Neighbor girl frowned cautiously as she digested what her friend told her. “Really?”
“Mm hmm. Daddy says Santa needs something to keep him warm after being outside all night.” She skipped her checker piece to the end of the board. “King me.”
“Oh,” replied neighbor girl, a little stunned at that revelation and the sudden loss of her game pieces. Then she asked, “How will a glass of ice keep him warm?”
Tipping her head to one side, Lettie knit her pretty little brows together and thought hard. “I…don’t know,” she answered. “Daddy?”
Roy mentally fumbled for a way to field that question as his daughter turned her big innocent eyes on him.
“Lettie, sweetheart?” came a voice from the doorway.
Saved at the last minute. Riza, you angel! Roy could have kissed his wife right then. He tipped his head thoughtfully. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea….
“Take Emma upstairs with you and go wash your hands,” said Riza. “We’ll decorate cookies in a minute.”
Emma, huh. Roy frowned a bit. Hmm. Wasn’t even close.
“Okay, Mom! Yes, Mrs. Mustang!” shouted the excited girls as they thundered up the staircase.
With the room returned to a state of peace, Roy settled back into his chair, preparing to get some serious reading done. Then he realized his wife was still standing in the doorway.
“Roy. Mustang.”
He held very still. She’s using the Tone. Better play it cool. Hmmm? He asked placidly and focused on his newspaper.
“Bourbon, Roy?”
He could practically hear her lift that accusing eyebrow of hers. Damn. The jig was up. Roy slunk down a little more in his chair and shifted the paper a little higher in an effort to avoid eye contact.
Riza gave an exasperated sigh. “What if Emma goes home and tells her parents about this new tradition of yours?”
Realizing that “hiding” wasn’t going to work, Roy turned to face his wife and gave the most charming smile he could muster. It was his best defense. “Emma’s father will most likely thank me, or worst case scenario, be jealous he didn’t think of it first,” he assured.
The corners of Riza’s mouth twitched. Roy watched hopefully. If she smiled, he won.
She didn’t smile.
“Santa drinks milk and eats cookies. Got it?” Riza’s expression didn’t invite further discussion.
Roy nodded in defeat. “Ho, ho, ho.”
It was his turn to sigh. Ah, well, he thought. Can’t blame a guy for trying.