FIC: Ho, Ho, Ho! Winner Residence [Gundam Wing, Instructor H & Quatre & Dorothy & Lots of Kids]
Title: Ho Ho Ho!
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: K+
Genre: General, Humor, a titbit of Action/Adventure and Mystery.
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: No serious requirements, but let’s just make it everything, so you’ll be able to enjoy the more subtle references and won’t be confused by the Denial.
Warnings: AU, Denial (i.e., characters who are supposed to be dead are still alive). But actually not, for this fanfiction follows the best of Gundam traditions. If you don’t stick to a dead (wo)man all the way from the moment they draw their dying breath to the moment they get staked to their coffin, they’ll come back from the grave! Alive! Muahahahaha!
Pairings: Quatre Winner x Dorothy Catalonia, hints of Heero Yuy x Relena Peacecraft.
Disclaimer: Out of proper Christmas Spirit, could we skip this? No? Bleh. All right then, I hold no rights to Gundam Wing, this story is not meant for commercial gain.
Summary: DADDY! A fat burglar in a funny red disguise just fell down the chimney! - Well, thank you dear, happy Christmas to you to. Now would you be so kind, my ass is getting scorched. - Serves you right, Instructor, for swearing.
Author’s Note: A little early, but then again, this thing is almost two years old. ^_^;
Ho Ho Ho!
Chapter; Winner Residence
Huf-puf, huf-puf, huf-puf. Cough, cough.
Master Winner, clean your ventilation shafts once in a while!
Shuffleshuffle.
Is this it?
Clink-clink, scrunch, scrunch, scrunch, ting, CRASH!
Oopsy... guess not.
Quick shuffleshuffle. Click. Crinkle-crunch.
What use is a map when the house doesn’t stick to it? If you gave me the wrong blueprints, you’re paying for the dry-cleaning, mister!
That was the kitchen, so the main living room must be... Unless they don’t have it there... No, don’t go making it any more complicated here. Just do it, you don’t have all night. Still got the Sank Palace to go. Yuy territory.
Shudder.
Hey-ho, let’s go.
Shuffleshuffle, huf-puf, huf-puf.
Ah, finally... And a-one, and a-two, and a-three, TIMBER!
Woooooossssshhhhh-RIP.
Uh oh.
Rrr-rrr-ri-CRASH!
“Oooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuccccchhhhhhh...”
“Freeze, mister!”
Eh... That’ll be a bit hard, lassie. Someone forgot to put the fire out here.
He looked up from his painfully distorted position in the fireplace into the pale moonlight. Two young, fair haired girls in nightgowns stared at him wide-eyed. One of them held a poker as if wielding a sword.
“Daddy, daddy!” the other started yelling in a shrill, piercing voice. “Daddy, a fat burglar in a funny red disguise just fell down the chimney!”
A third blond - for that was all the girls’ hair colour, the burglar knew - girl stormed in from the direction of the kitchen, brandishing a skewer and a wooden spoon. Her pointed eyebrows were drawn together in a spiky ‘V’ shape across her pale, determined face.
“DADDYYYYY!” the second girl screeched.
And of course, footsteps came thundering down the stairs right away, and Quatre Winner appeared, a gun pointed unwaveringly at the fat burglar in the funny disguise’s face. Dorothy followed one step behind, silk nightgown giving a much better illustration of the family’s wealth than Quatre’s plain old shirt and boxers, though her firearm was much the same as her spouse’s; simple and effective.
And pointed unwaveringly at the fat burglar in the funny disguise’s face.
The Winner patriarch assessed the situation in less than a glance and flicked on the lights, his stance relaxing. He stalked over to the incapacitated burglar while he soothed his daughter.
“No need to worry, Dritten. This man wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Like hell I would, with those things pointed at me!
Quatre mussed the girl’s hair in passing. “Go to your mother. Twey, put that back where it came from. Prima, drop the cutlery! And what did I tell you about trying to catch Santa Claus?”
“Don’t even try?”
“Not gonna work?”
“We have school in the morning?”
“The security system will go haywire if we fool around with it?”
“Mother won’t be pleased when she finds out we’re using her handcuffs?”
“Like we care?”
“Remind me not to let you play with Solo and Hell’s Twins anymore.”
The three eldest Winner daughters exchanged smirks. Go right ahead and try, Daddy, these expressions said. It’s mostly Triton Bloom Jr. teaching us, anyway.
The ex-Gundam pilot, as he was known and would be known to those who knew to damn eternity, exchanged looks with the intruder and raked a hand through his blond hair, which hid the silver of premature age so well. He heaved an amused sigh turned yawn and wisely decided not to react.
“So sir, were you trying to play Santa again?” he asked, mildly chiding, while he stuffed the gun in his waistband.
The intruder flashed a broad grin, causing a small cloud of white powder to rise from his moustache. “You obviously still haven’t lost your marbles, my boy. Too bad, I had a new set for you, right - er, somewhere around here, at least. So much for my attempt at Santa Clausery...” he mumbled, looking at all the presents strewn around him, then up to where the gunny bag dangled from a protuberant metal edge. By now, a small horde of young blond, blue-eyed girls, some sporting their mother’s tweezer-like eyebrows, had appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sanna!” one toothless specimen exclaimed enthusiastically. The whole bundle of limbs, pigtails and nightgowns came tumbling into the living room area squealing and cheering, and Dorothy was only barely able to hold them all back.
Wow, she won’t let them trample me. How considerate of her. The burglar Santa laughed and patted his red-clad belly. “Hullo girls, long time no see. Octavia, is that you, dear? My, I almost didn’t recognize you, that’s how much you’ve grown!”
The young mob gawked. “Uncle/Unca/Unc/Uncie/Aunt H?” it chorused.
“Merry Christmas!” H said cheerily, waving a mittened hand at an awkward angle. He was well aware of how he must look, clad in a soot sprinkled red Santa Claus suit, his greying moustache powdered to a pure white, fake beard sagging, hat askew - not to mention lying virtually upside down in a position a Galactic Games gymnast would have envied him for, if not for the smouldering embers underneath him. No wonder the girls’ jaws unanimously went slack. “Would you help me up now, Quatre? My ass is beginning to get quite scorched.”
One of the girls congregated around Dorothy, whose gun had miraculously disappeared around the time her younger children had arrived, gasped and whispered in shock - or was that awe: “He said bad word! He said assss!”
“Old loons saying it doesn’t make it okay for you to say it, Quinty.” Dorothy reprimanded mechanically, not bothering to suppress a yawn. No action? Then Dorothy Winner-Catalonia would like to resume her beauty sleep, thank you.
“Serves you right, sir, for swearing in front of the children.” Quatre said, while his old instructor grabbed his outstretched hand.
“Thank you, my boy.” H beat the smouldering patch on his behind feverishly.
“When will you stop calling me boy, sir? I’m getting as grey as you are by now. By the way, how did you get the blueprints and codes for the house?”
“What blueprints?” H asked innocently.
“These.” Quatre held up the crumpled papers, grinning like a Maxwell. “It was doctor J, wasn’t it? And he stole them from Heero.”
H chuckled. “I’ll admit J has enough wiring in him - the amount in his brains alone would put that Christmas tree of yours to shame - to keep him sharp for another couple of decades. But no. It was young Odin. Who by the way is waiting for me as we speak, so if I’d just...” H poked his hat and soot-covered head in the chimney canal, careful not to step on the newly blazing embers again. The aging but seemingly indestructible scientist continued speaking with a hollow, metallic echo. “- get this rot- er, perfectly ordinary thing down, I’ll be on my way. I already covered the Changs and the Blooms and the Maxwells. Those last were tricky, I tell you. Someone - I won’t automatically blame the kids for something their parents could have just as easily done - decided it was funny to booby-trap the milk and cookies. Well have I ever! A fisher’s net on my head, now that’s what I call -”
Quatre and Dorothy exchanged amused glances. Some of the girls were beginning to nod off where they stood, others, though silent as of yet, looked confused or seemed to be on their way to a bawl or tantrum. Quatre motioned for his wife to take them back to bed while he helped H collect his things, accepted the Gundam developers’ gifts and got the older man off to safety and a well earned rest. While he bent down to pick up the scattered presents, however, he failed to notice the sly grin forming on Dorothy’s face.
“- I’m saving the Yuys for last.” H said presently. “That’ll be one helluva job, even with Odin’s help, and I’d rather have my sack - come down here, you dam- damsel thing - I’d rather have my sack light when I venture that terrain.”
“Mister H, I must say I think it’s a wonderful thing you and the other oldies do every year,” Dorothy cut in as H took a deep breath and pulled with all his might. Quatre froze in his crouched position. That sounded too polite and respectful to be true. “but do you realise Santa Claus almost passed us over last year because you had used his chimney?”
Now the entire scene froze. Quatre held his breath.
“What?” one of girls around Dorothy said menacingly.
All blond heads turned to H, who slowly removed himself from the hearth, careful to avoid any sudden movements. Something predatory sparked in the young eyes. H tried his special moustache-twitching grin. No dice.
“Get him!” a girl cried, and a wave of small blonds washed over the poor, fat burglar Santa in his funny red disguise. Quatre was only barely able to dive out of the way.
“Argh!” H managed to break free, only to have the troupe chasing after him into the dining room. “Ho, ho, ho! No girls, stop, I -”
Quatre scrambled up and started after them, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“Dorothy, I must help him! They’ll tear the poor man apart!“Not until I have a picture of this scene. We’re going to send out the best home-made Christmas cards ever, this year!”
PSAN: *hums Christmas songs*
Legend
Prima - Italian, female form of ‘first’.
Twey - This is how the Dutch word for ‘two’, twee, would be pronounced in English.
Dritten - Drei is German for three, dritte is ‘third’.
Quinty - Derived from the Latin word for ‘five’.
Octavia - Derived from the Latin word for ‘eight’.
(Yeah, Quatre and Dorothy only produced daughters here. Ironic, ain’t it? And off the record, so did Wufei with Sally. Evil Authoress, teehee.)
Solo - Duo and Hilde’s first born son.
Hell’s Twins - Helen and Helga Maxwell, Solo’s younger sisters (twins).
‘Young’ Odin - Heero and Relena’s firstborn son.
Triton Bloom Jr. - Do I even need to explain? Trowa’s first born son, whether it be with Middie Une, Lady Une or someone else entirely. You decide which thought you like best.
Ho, Ho, Ho!
Winner Residence
Hilde's Scrapyard and the Maxwell Maze
Sank Royal Palace
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: K+
Genre: General, Humor, a titbit of Action/Adventure and Mystery.
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: No serious requirements, but let’s just make it everything, so you’ll be able to enjoy the more subtle references and won’t be confused by the Denial.
Warnings: AU, Denial (i.e., characters who are supposed to be dead are still alive). But actually not, for this fanfiction follows the best of Gundam traditions. If you don’t stick to a dead (wo)man all the way from the moment they draw their dying breath to the moment they get staked to their coffin, they’ll come back from the grave! Alive! Muahahahaha!
Pairings: Quatre Winner x Dorothy Catalonia, hints of Heero Yuy x Relena Peacecraft.
Disclaimer: Out of proper Christmas Spirit, could we skip this? No? Bleh. All right then, I hold no rights to Gundam Wing, this story is not meant for commercial gain.
Summary: DADDY! A fat burglar in a funny red disguise just fell down the chimney! - Well, thank you dear, happy Christmas to you to. Now would you be so kind, my ass is getting scorched. - Serves you right, Instructor, for swearing.
Author’s Note: A little early, but then again, this thing is almost two years old. ^_^;
Ho Ho Ho!
Chapter; Winner Residence
Huf-puf, huf-puf, huf-puf. Cough, cough.
Master Winner, clean your ventilation shafts once in a while!
Shuffleshuffle.
Is this it?
Clink-clink, scrunch, scrunch, scrunch, ting, CRASH!
Oopsy... guess not.
Quick shuffleshuffle. Click. Crinkle-crunch.
What use is a map when the house doesn’t stick to it? If you gave me the wrong blueprints, you’re paying for the dry-cleaning, mister!
That was the kitchen, so the main living room must be... Unless they don’t have it there... No, don’t go making it any more complicated here. Just do it, you don’t have all night. Still got the Sank Palace to go. Yuy territory.
Shudder.
Hey-ho, let’s go.
Shuffleshuffle, huf-puf, huf-puf.
Ah, finally... And a-one, and a-two, and a-three, TIMBER!
Woooooossssshhhhh-RIP.
Uh oh.
Rrr-rrr-ri-CRASH!
“Oooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuccccchhhhhhh...”
“Freeze, mister!”
Eh... That’ll be a bit hard, lassie. Someone forgot to put the fire out here.
He looked up from his painfully distorted position in the fireplace into the pale moonlight. Two young, fair haired girls in nightgowns stared at him wide-eyed. One of them held a poker as if wielding a sword.
“Daddy, daddy!” the other started yelling in a shrill, piercing voice. “Daddy, a fat burglar in a funny red disguise just fell down the chimney!”
A third blond - for that was all the girls’ hair colour, the burglar knew - girl stormed in from the direction of the kitchen, brandishing a skewer and a wooden spoon. Her pointed eyebrows were drawn together in a spiky ‘V’ shape across her pale, determined face.
“DADDYYYYY!” the second girl screeched.
And of course, footsteps came thundering down the stairs right away, and Quatre Winner appeared, a gun pointed unwaveringly at the fat burglar in the funny disguise’s face. Dorothy followed one step behind, silk nightgown giving a much better illustration of the family’s wealth than Quatre’s plain old shirt and boxers, though her firearm was much the same as her spouse’s; simple and effective.
And pointed unwaveringly at the fat burglar in the funny disguise’s face.
The Winner patriarch assessed the situation in less than a glance and flicked on the lights, his stance relaxing. He stalked over to the incapacitated burglar while he soothed his daughter.
“No need to worry, Dritten. This man wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Like hell I would, with those things pointed at me!
Quatre mussed the girl’s hair in passing. “Go to your mother. Twey, put that back where it came from. Prima, drop the cutlery! And what did I tell you about trying to catch Santa Claus?”
“Don’t even try?”
“Not gonna work?”
“We have school in the morning?”
“The security system will go haywire if we fool around with it?”
“Mother won’t be pleased when she finds out we’re using her handcuffs?”
“Like we care?”
“Remind me not to let you play with Solo and Hell’s Twins anymore.”
The three eldest Winner daughters exchanged smirks. Go right ahead and try, Daddy, these expressions said. It’s mostly Triton Bloom Jr. teaching us, anyway.
The ex-Gundam pilot, as he was known and would be known to those who knew to damn eternity, exchanged looks with the intruder and raked a hand through his blond hair, which hid the silver of premature age so well. He heaved an amused sigh turned yawn and wisely decided not to react.
“So sir, were you trying to play Santa again?” he asked, mildly chiding, while he stuffed the gun in his waistband.
The intruder flashed a broad grin, causing a small cloud of white powder to rise from his moustache. “You obviously still haven’t lost your marbles, my boy. Too bad, I had a new set for you, right - er, somewhere around here, at least. So much for my attempt at Santa Clausery...” he mumbled, looking at all the presents strewn around him, then up to where the gunny bag dangled from a protuberant metal edge. By now, a small horde of young blond, blue-eyed girls, some sporting their mother’s tweezer-like eyebrows, had appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sanna!” one toothless specimen exclaimed enthusiastically. The whole bundle of limbs, pigtails and nightgowns came tumbling into the living room area squealing and cheering, and Dorothy was only barely able to hold them all back.
Wow, she won’t let them trample me. How considerate of her. The burglar Santa laughed and patted his red-clad belly. “Hullo girls, long time no see. Octavia, is that you, dear? My, I almost didn’t recognize you, that’s how much you’ve grown!”
The young mob gawked. “Uncle/Unca/Unc/Uncie/Aunt H?” it chorused.
“Merry Christmas!” H said cheerily, waving a mittened hand at an awkward angle. He was well aware of how he must look, clad in a soot sprinkled red Santa Claus suit, his greying moustache powdered to a pure white, fake beard sagging, hat askew - not to mention lying virtually upside down in a position a Galactic Games gymnast would have envied him for, if not for the smouldering embers underneath him. No wonder the girls’ jaws unanimously went slack. “Would you help me up now, Quatre? My ass is beginning to get quite scorched.”
One of the girls congregated around Dorothy, whose gun had miraculously disappeared around the time her younger children had arrived, gasped and whispered in shock - or was that awe: “He said bad word! He said assss!”
“Old loons saying it doesn’t make it okay for you to say it, Quinty.” Dorothy reprimanded mechanically, not bothering to suppress a yawn. No action? Then Dorothy Winner-Catalonia would like to resume her beauty sleep, thank you.
“Serves you right, sir, for swearing in front of the children.” Quatre said, while his old instructor grabbed his outstretched hand.
“Thank you, my boy.” H beat the smouldering patch on his behind feverishly.
“When will you stop calling me boy, sir? I’m getting as grey as you are by now. By the way, how did you get the blueprints and codes for the house?”
“What blueprints?” H asked innocently.
“These.” Quatre held up the crumpled papers, grinning like a Maxwell. “It was doctor J, wasn’t it? And he stole them from Heero.”
H chuckled. “I’ll admit J has enough wiring in him - the amount in his brains alone would put that Christmas tree of yours to shame - to keep him sharp for another couple of decades. But no. It was young Odin. Who by the way is waiting for me as we speak, so if I’d just...” H poked his hat and soot-covered head in the chimney canal, careful not to step on the newly blazing embers again. The aging but seemingly indestructible scientist continued speaking with a hollow, metallic echo. “- get this rot- er, perfectly ordinary thing down, I’ll be on my way. I already covered the Changs and the Blooms and the Maxwells. Those last were tricky, I tell you. Someone - I won’t automatically blame the kids for something their parents could have just as easily done - decided it was funny to booby-trap the milk and cookies. Well have I ever! A fisher’s net on my head, now that’s what I call -”
Quatre and Dorothy exchanged amused glances. Some of the girls were beginning to nod off where they stood, others, though silent as of yet, looked confused or seemed to be on their way to a bawl or tantrum. Quatre motioned for his wife to take them back to bed while he helped H collect his things, accepted the Gundam developers’ gifts and got the older man off to safety and a well earned rest. While he bent down to pick up the scattered presents, however, he failed to notice the sly grin forming on Dorothy’s face.
“- I’m saving the Yuys for last.” H said presently. “That’ll be one helluva job, even with Odin’s help, and I’d rather have my sack - come down here, you dam- damsel thing - I’d rather have my sack light when I venture that terrain.”
“Mister H, I must say I think it’s a wonderful thing you and the other oldies do every year,” Dorothy cut in as H took a deep breath and pulled with all his might. Quatre froze in his crouched position. That sounded too polite and respectful to be true. “but do you realise Santa Claus almost passed us over last year because you had used his chimney?”
Now the entire scene froze. Quatre held his breath.
“What?” one of girls around Dorothy said menacingly.
All blond heads turned to H, who slowly removed himself from the hearth, careful to avoid any sudden movements. Something predatory sparked in the young eyes. H tried his special moustache-twitching grin. No dice.
“Get him!” a girl cried, and a wave of small blonds washed over the poor, fat burglar Santa in his funny red disguise. Quatre was only barely able to dive out of the way.
“Argh!” H managed to break free, only to have the troupe chasing after him into the dining room. “Ho, ho, ho! No girls, stop, I -”
Quatre scrambled up and started after them, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“Dorothy, I must help him! They’ll tear the poor man apart!“Not until I have a picture of this scene. We’re going to send out the best home-made Christmas cards ever, this year!”
PSAN: *hums Christmas songs*
Legend
Prima - Italian, female form of ‘first’.
Twey - This is how the Dutch word for ‘two’, twee, would be pronounced in English.
Dritten - Drei is German for three, dritte is ‘third’.
Quinty - Derived from the Latin word for ‘five’.
Octavia - Derived from the Latin word for ‘eight’.
(Yeah, Quatre and Dorothy only produced daughters here. Ironic, ain’t it? And off the record, so did Wufei with Sally. Evil Authoress, teehee.)
Solo - Duo and Hilde’s first born son.
Hell’s Twins - Helen and Helga Maxwell, Solo’s younger sisters (twins).
‘Young’ Odin - Heero and Relena’s firstborn son.
Triton Bloom Jr. - Do I even need to explain? Trowa’s first born son, whether it be with Middie Une, Lady Une or someone else entirely. You decide which thought you like best.
Ho, Ho, Ho!
Winner Residence
Hilde's Scrapyard and the Maxwell Maze
Sank Royal Palace