The Happiest Day of the Year [Inception fanfic]
Title: The Happiest Day of the Year
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur's birthday party.
Notes: Descriptions of party-related things are taken from the Pooh Party Book.
It was to be Arthur’s first venture into the world of birthday parties.
At six years old he was a fairly serious child who came to school wearing carefully-ironed shirts and shoes so shiny that one had to wonder if he took time to polish them every day before leaving for the bus. Even the bows appeared to be perfect: two little, similarly-sized loops and a knot that never seemed to come undone.
Yes, Arthur was a very well put-together six year old, and this six year old wanted a party.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” his mother said as she glanced over a pile of Very Important Documents (which Arthur was never to touch no matter how much they looked like connect-the-dots), “it sounds messy.”
Arthur crossed his arms and stared up at her. “S’not-“
“It’s not.”
He let out his breath in an irritated huff. “It’s not gonn-- going to be messy,” he whined.
His mother finally looked down at him, a perfectly-tweezed eyebrow raised as she regarded her son. “Let’s see how you do on the spelling test, hm?”
Arthur walked away from the conversation feeling pleased; he never failed to pass a spelling test, and this would be no exception. However, just to make sure, he studied his word list for longer than he usually did and even went so far as to write each word down ten times. Just in case.
When Arthur brought home a perfect test his mother gave him a choice of buying or making his invitations.
They were carefully addressed to every child in his class, the names as perfectly centered as a six year old boy could hope for them to be, and each with a funny little bumble bee sticker in the upper right-hand corner. When Arthur sat back to survey his work he couldn’t stop the little bubble of pride that rose inside of him.
He distributed them at school before any of the other children came in. Little, pale yellow envelopes sitting smack-dab in the center of each desk. Inside the envelopes sat an equally small, red card with ‘Come give Many Happy Returns of the Day to Arthur’ which arched over a balloon. The information was in the center of the right-hand page, printed as legibly as Arthur could make them, followed by the message ’Please come help me celebrate my birthday!’.
Arthur had forgone the suggestion of a red balloon as a present, because he was not sure if had a Very Useful Pot in which to put them.
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The tablecloth was checkered red and white, cut-outs of Eeyore pasted with care along the edge. In the center was an arrangement of red balloons, sticking up like flowers out of a crystal vase.
Arthur hurried around the table as fast as his legs would carry him. He set out the little honey nut bread sandwiches, the pitchers for pink honey lemonade and the makings for the thistle snow ice cream soda. His mother made last-minute adjustments to the cake; a reddish-pink creation in the shape of a rather crude balloon. Every few moments she would put a candle into a specific spot on the surface, only to decide that it didn’t quite work. With every withdrawal of a candle she would smooth the thick icing over the small hole, as if hoping it would mask the imperfection.
The little clock in the kitchen beeped; three high-pitched tones that signaled to whoever was inside the house that it was three o’clock in the afternoon. Two and a half hours past the arrival time.
Arthur pressed his nose against the glass of the front window, hands splayed out on either side of his head, as if he was trying to push through to the outside. As if, by doing this, the guests would come. His mother sat at the kitchen table and watched her son.
“Arthur, baby,” she said softly, “are you sure you gave out the invitations to absolutely everyone?” A misplaced invitation could result in disaster and accusations of exclusion among children.
Arthur nodded, but didn’t turn to look at her.
Six beeps later, and the light had begun to slide across the kitchen, the various decorations casting shadows on the wall. The ice had melted in the pink honey lemonade, the ice cream had been placed in the freezer to stop it from melting. The balloons bobbed against one another, moved by the ceiling fan that continued to rotate slowly. The candles, little red and white striped things, sat perfectly arranged in the center of the crudely-cut balloon cake.
They formed a six.
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur's birthday party.
Notes: Descriptions of party-related things are taken from the Pooh Party Book.
It was to be Arthur’s first venture into the world of birthday parties.
At six years old he was a fairly serious child who came to school wearing carefully-ironed shirts and shoes so shiny that one had to wonder if he took time to polish them every day before leaving for the bus. Even the bows appeared to be perfect: two little, similarly-sized loops and a knot that never seemed to come undone.
Yes, Arthur was a very well put-together six year old, and this six year old wanted a party.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” his mother said as she glanced over a pile of Very Important Documents (which Arthur was never to touch no matter how much they looked like connect-the-dots), “it sounds messy.”
Arthur crossed his arms and stared up at her. “S’not-“
“It’s not.”
He let out his breath in an irritated huff. “It’s not gonn-- going to be messy,” he whined.
His mother finally looked down at him, a perfectly-tweezed eyebrow raised as she regarded her son. “Let’s see how you do on the spelling test, hm?”
Arthur walked away from the conversation feeling pleased; he never failed to pass a spelling test, and this would be no exception. However, just to make sure, he studied his word list for longer than he usually did and even went so far as to write each word down ten times. Just in case.
When Arthur brought home a perfect test his mother gave him a choice of buying or making his invitations.
They were carefully addressed to every child in his class, the names as perfectly centered as a six year old boy could hope for them to be, and each with a funny little bumble bee sticker in the upper right-hand corner. When Arthur sat back to survey his work he couldn’t stop the little bubble of pride that rose inside of him.
He distributed them at school before any of the other children came in. Little, pale yellow envelopes sitting smack-dab in the center of each desk. Inside the envelopes sat an equally small, red card with ‘Come give Many Happy Returns of the Day to Arthur’ which arched over a balloon. The information was in the center of the right-hand page, printed as legibly as Arthur could make them, followed by the message ’Please come help me celebrate my birthday!’.
Arthur had forgone the suggestion of a red balloon as a present, because he was not sure if had a Very Useful Pot in which to put them.
----------------------------------
The tablecloth was checkered red and white, cut-outs of Eeyore pasted with care along the edge. In the center was an arrangement of red balloons, sticking up like flowers out of a crystal vase.
Arthur hurried around the table as fast as his legs would carry him. He set out the little honey nut bread sandwiches, the pitchers for pink honey lemonade and the makings for the thistle snow ice cream soda. His mother made last-minute adjustments to the cake; a reddish-pink creation in the shape of a rather crude balloon. Every few moments she would put a candle into a specific spot on the surface, only to decide that it didn’t quite work. With every withdrawal of a candle she would smooth the thick icing over the small hole, as if hoping it would mask the imperfection.
The little clock in the kitchen beeped; three high-pitched tones that signaled to whoever was inside the house that it was three o’clock in the afternoon. Two and a half hours past the arrival time.
Arthur pressed his nose against the glass of the front window, hands splayed out on either side of his head, as if he was trying to push through to the outside. As if, by doing this, the guests would come. His mother sat at the kitchen table and watched her son.
“Arthur, baby,” she said softly, “are you sure you gave out the invitations to absolutely everyone?” A misplaced invitation could result in disaster and accusations of exclusion among children.
Arthur nodded, but didn’t turn to look at her.
Six beeps later, and the light had begun to slide across the kitchen, the various decorations casting shadows on the wall. The ice had melted in the pink honey lemonade, the ice cream had been placed in the freezer to stop it from melting. The balloons bobbed against one another, moved by the ceiling fan that continued to rotate slowly. The candles, little red and white striped things, sat perfectly arranged in the center of the crudely-cut balloon cake.
They formed a six.