Rube's Dear Santa
Dear Santa,
I never wrote to you as a kid. Honestly, my parents never did the whole Santa Claus thing - didn't have the money. We tried to do it for Rosie. You know, with small things, like some penny candy or this time we got her a little fifty cent doll. Nevermind.
So what I'm saying is, I never believed in you, but being here in this fucking place, I've got this urge to write a letter to you. It works like that, I guess. So here's the letter.
For Christmas this year, things are different for me. I guess I've got a kind of family, you know what I mean? I've got this kid, JD, and it's more like having a teenaged son than an inmate. There's Claire, who's this apple pie all-American girl. I've got Henry West and...well, he's not bad, for an inmate, you know?
Then there's Morgan. I don't know what the fuck I'm thinking, but it's looking like we're what you'd call an item. I dunno. It's all just a fucking muddle.
What the hell am I doing? You're not a therapist. You're a fat fuck who brings gifts.
For JD: a paint set. A nice one, with some canvas, paint brushes, and acrylics.
For Henry: a bottle of Cockburn's tawny port. The 20-year, not the 10.
For Claire: Tiffany's had this silver bracelet with a snowflake hanging from it a few years back. Can you get one of those? Give it a shot. I think she'd like it.
For each of the kitchen staff, Tony, Sylar, Namor, and Billy: a bottle of Moët & Chandon.
For Morgan: Look, help me out here. A necklace? I dunno. She likes the ocean. Something with pearls, maybe. But not that modern crap with the whale tails or the turtles. Not a string, either. I never liked those. Simple, elegant.
For me? I'd like to get off this fucking boat for a day or two and not have something bad happen.
-Rube
[OOC: This is what he wants for Claire.
Moët & Chandon is a very nice bottle of champagne.
This is what Morgan's getting.