CHRISTMAS AT THE CABIN: PREVIEW
Rating: M to be safe. lol
Disclaimer: all characters belong to respective owners.
Basically, this is Chapter 1 of my "Christmas" story: "Christmas at the Cabin", featuring the following mental characters and myself: Slade, Jareth, Lilac, Slashera, and me (Trikk). Be prepared for hilarity, slight insanity, hopefully an enjoyable read, and, of course, Male vs. Male hostility. This is loosely based on "The 12 Pains of Christmas". For info on Lilac, please go to this page: http://trikki-v.livejournal.com/33386.html
I plan to update this story each day until christmas, with Christmas day being my final post for the story. I also plan to update "Slashera" during that time. In regards to the "Christmas at the Cabin" sory, this is sort of like the preview. PLEASE Comment!
Slade smiled as he worked over the stove, gazing at all the pans and pots on top. There was bacon, both regular and Canadian, sizzling and popping. Some eggs were cooking in another pan. In the big pot on the stove were grits. Everything was coming together just perfectly! The man grinned, clapped his hands together, and then leaned down, opening the huge oven door. He gazed in with a warm smile at the dozen biscuits cooking inside, all of the same size, made exactly right. “Perfect,” he smirked, and turning, walked to the fridge. Pulling out a drawer near the bottom of the fridge, the man took out two pineapples, a bunch of grapes, a bunch of bananas, three apples, three oranges, and two kiwis. Standing, he moved back to the counter, pulled out his wooden chopping board and a long knife, and set to work pealing and chopping up the fruit and putting the pieces in a large glass bowl he took down from a cabinet up above where he was working, humming as he worked.
Once he was done peeling and cutting the fruit, the man took the bowl, put his hands into the mixture, and began to move the fruit around in it, mixing the various kinds up. Lifting his hands out of it, he turned to the sink and quickly washed the juice off. Once he’d dried off his hands using a towel he’d already had out, he turned and took the bowl to the table and set it in the middle of the wooden piece of furniture. Leaning back, he clapped his hands, gazing at the table top he’d already wiped down which already had five different place settings on it, with one place setting across the table, two place settings on the long side he was standing at, and one place setting at each of the heads of the table. Each place setting had a red cloth placemat, a white plate, a napkin, and silverware placed perf . . . he frowned, and leaning across the table, moved the fork at opposite place setting from him, which had had its teeth turned a half of a centimeter to the right. He smiled. Yep. Everything was placed just perfectly . . . turning, the man walked over and moved some bacon off of its pan on the stove and replaced it with fresh strips of bacon ready to be cooked. Slade didn’t care how domestic the acts of cooking and setting a table were. It was something he took pride in. And also a way for him to calm down and think. A nice, quiet activity . . .
As the man stirred the scrambled eggs he was working on, he heard some birds in his forest perched on a tree near the window over his sink. The frame of the window was pushed up, so there was only the screen between him and the beautiful soothing bird song. He sighed, closed his eye, and leaned over the counter, head craned back, wearing a red muscle shirt, blue jean pants, and red socks. He let the cool air whip in and whisk over him as it blew into the kitchen, moving his hair just a little bit. He was at peace, lost in the scents of his forest. . .the cool serenity of the environment he had surrounded himself in . . . he stood like that, calmly taking it all in, slowing down to enjoy the simpler things in li . . . then the door to his cabin slammed open.
Slade jerked his head down, frowning, and turning on his heel marched over to the doorway leading from his muck room to his living room, glaring at the intruders, “Could you open the door any louder?!” he snapped, irritated that the door handle had hit the wall. Trikk frowned around the huge plastic tub she was struggling with, wearing a black long sleeve shirt, her black letterman jacket, a black scarf, a black beanie, black gloves, blue jeans, and her black and blue Nike shoes. She shifted the tub a little in her arms, blinking at him, “I don’t think so, but I could try again if you want me too. . .” He glared at her, “You know what I mean. You should know better than to slam a door open. You’re not a child. . .”
“So I might have made a small scuff mark on your wall. Didn’t know you were such a housewife. I’ll be sure to get you a nice apron with nice pink frills and hearts on it for Christmas for you to wear. That way I’ll remember. Maybe I should get you a door stopper for Christmas as well? Since you, Mr. Mad-Genius-Super-Villain-Assassin-Mercenary failed to think to put one in here? ” she shot back, rolling her eyes. Slade snarled, narrowing his eye at her, “You get me an apron like that and I’ll burn it before I wear it. And besides, you created this form of my character,” he pointed an accusing finger at her, “So technically, it was you who was too stupid to remember a door stopper. So there.” She smirked, “Now who’s being a child? Pointing the blame at someone else . . . tsk tsk, Slade. I thought you were at least above that. . .”
He just glared at her, “You’re letting the cold air in.” “Actually, I’m bringing Lilac in with me, and Slashera. So I’m not the only reason,” Trikk said with a knowing smirk. Slade glared, “Then hurry inside. Seriously, are you waiting for an invitation to come in further?” Trikk rolled her eyes, “Well, if someone didn’t decide to throw a hissy fit about me just slamming their door open, I wouldn’t be having an argument with said someone, and I’d be inside.” “Well, I think we all know that if a certain someone hadn’t slammed the door open, I wouldn’t have gotten mad about . . .” “ENOUGH!” Lilac called from outside, “This argument is getting us nowhere! Just go inside, please!”
Trikk frowned, and Slade smirked, and she rolled her eyes, “She wasn’t agreeing with you, you know. She just wanted us to stop arguing . . . it was probably upsetting Slashera.” She walked in and past him, and just as she was passing him, she narrowed her eyes at him and gave the tub a little lift, nodding her head at it, “And as for slamming the door open, my hands are kinda full. Thanks for the help.” she muttered.
He frowned, and stood off to the side with his back against the wall as she hobbled into the living room and slammed the tub onto the coffee table, his crystal blue eye watching her every move, his hands shoved into his pockets, “You shouldn’t do that with your knee in its current condition.” Trikk turned around, frowning at him, her hands on her hips, “Lilac put a spell on it that makes it more mobile and more able to sustain weight and pressure. And besides, if you were so worried, why didn’t you try to help?” He frowned, and walked over to blink down at her, “Still, we don’t need to push it. . .” he turned, and held up a hand to the box, “What’s in that damn thing anyway?” he muttered, clearly avoiding her question.
She rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to answer him . . . “its Christmas ornaments, decorations, and stockings I brought for us to use to decorate,” Lilac’s voice sailed into the room. His eye narrowed further at Trikk, then he frowned and turned to face the hallway again, “Christmas stuff? You brought Christmas stuff to my cabin?” Lilac walked in, frowning at him, wearing a long purple coat, blue jeans, purple ear-muffs, boots, and purple gloves. Her purple eyes gleamed as she frowned at Slade, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, the two tubs she had brought in addition to Trikk’s floating behind her and into the room to land on the coffee table as well, “Well, of course. It is Christmas time after all . . . kinda why we’re all here. . .” Slade had to admit. That was true. . .
Slade had had two mobile homes parked behind his cabin, so that Lilac and . . . Jareth could stay at his cabin for the holidays, since Lilac had a bad Cornish Pixie problem at her house, and Jareth . . . the other bundle of male testosterone that took residence in Trikk’s mind . . . wouldn’t let Trikk be with Slade, who certainly was also full of testosterone without the Goblin King being close by. Not out of romantic reasons, of course, but neither male wanted to share their author with the other, much less leave the other male with the author for an entire holiday without the other being present somehow. So, while Slade had moved two twin beds into his bedroom at the cabin and moved the bed he regularly kept in that bedroom to the warehouse for temporary storage so that Trikk could stay with him in the cabin, the man had reluctantly moved the motor homes for Lilac and Jareth behind his cabin near the smokehouse. He supposed he could have had the Fae and witch in the cabin, but for one, he wouldn’t let Jareth into his house for anything but eating meals and sitting in the living room or on the porch, and for another, Lilac preferred the solitude the mobile home offered.
At that moment, Slashera rushed in, carrying a relatively small handbag in her hand, grinning at him, wearing black earmuffs and a black long coat with black gloves over her jumpsuit, “FATHER SLADE! I GOT TO HELP!” He tilted is head back, frowning, arms crossed before him, “But have you closed the door little one? We don’t need to let the snow in . . .” she gasped, and turning, rushed back to close the door. Slade turned to Trikk, looking her square in the face, “No.” Trikk frowned right back, just as stubborn as the villain, and put her hands on her hips, nostrils flaring, “You don’t even know what I’m going to do . . .” “You’re planning on turning my cabin into a lit up, tinsel covered nightmare. But if you think that I’m going to let you do that, you have lost your mind,” Slade muttered, and turning on his heel, marched into the kitchen to put more bacon on the stove. She followed, growling, “Okay, so I want to decorate. What’s the big deal with that?” she snarled, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside the table. As Lilac suddenly had an urge to ask Slashera to go see the girl’s hunting trophies in the child’s bedroom.
“The big deal is that I’m not going to spend the next 13 days with my house full of gaudy blinking lights, annoying gets-everywhere tinsel, and dolls and statues of fat men in red suits,” Slade muttered, and leaning down, opened the oven door, checking on the biscuits. Noting that they were done, he took the pan out, set it on a potholder on the counter, and going to the fridge, got out some butter, real butter, not margarine. If he was going to make biscuits, they were going to use the really good stuff. Walking back to the biscuit pan, he grabbed a plate from a cabinet and a knife from a drawer. Trikk shrugged, “That last part’s alright, because we also have. . .” “And no reindeer, and no snowmen, and no penguins, or any other decorations you might have running around in that little head of yours,” he muttered, picking up the first biscuit, despite it being piping hot, and slicing into it before buttering it. “AND WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST CHRISTMAS, MR. GRINCH?!” she snarled. He sighed, set the second biscuit he was buttering down on the plate, and turned, leaning against the counter, folding his arms, glaring at her, “Christmas is a useless holiday. The only things it does is make people spend ridiculous amounts of money in stores, run up their electric bills for no good reason, cut down trees that are just gonna die anyway, and bring families and friends together to eat until they’re so full they don’t want to ever get up again. And with the exception of perhaps that last part, I refuse to take part.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “They should cast you as Scrooge in the next Christmas Carol movie.” “Ba-humbug,” he deadpanned, rolling his eye and turning around to butter another biscuit. He set that on a plate, and she shot up, “Oh come on Slade!” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips, as he stirred the grits, ignoring her. Huffing, she marched over to stand behind him, glaring at the back of his head. He still didn’t turn around. . . “Doesn’t the idea of getting a free gun or two intrigue you at all?! You don’t even have to pay for it!” “Yeah, but you would have to. Or someone else, anyway,” he muttered, and turned around, frowning at her, re-crossing his arms across his chest, “Besides, I could just have William ship one over to me in an instant for free. So why would I need to ask for it as a present?” She rolled her eyes then glared at him, giving an exasperated sigh, “OKAY! SO MAYBE YOU COULD! BUT IT’S THE THOUGHT AND FEELING BEHIND IT THAT COUNTS! CHRISTMAS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A TIME OF GIVING AND TOGETHERNESS! A TIME SET APART FROM ALL THE OTHER TIMES OF THE YEAR! TO SHOW KINDNESS AND LOVE!” “But I’ve already done that last part, I thought. . .” Slade tilted his head to the side, frowning at her.
She frowned, “What do you. . .” “I’m letting that glitter covered poofy haired Fae freak within 100 yards of my cabin without putting a bullet through his brain, aren’t I? Isn’t that kind of me?” as she narrowed her eyes at him, Slade turned around and faced the stove again, “No decorations. That’s final.” “SLADE!” she whined, glaring at him, “COME ON!” “I’ll tell you like I have to tell Slashera sometimes. ‘No’ means ‘no’. End of story. And nothing you say will change that,” he muttered, and began to turn off burners, both types of bacon stacked high on their plates. As he started to take the egg pan off the stove and empty it into a bowl, he felt her slide up behind him. He frowned, and froze in his actions as he felt her lean up against his back, pressing her front against him, reaching up and putting her hands on his shoulder blades and massaging that area a little, her warm breath on his ear making his skin tingle, her closeness making his breathing quick. He stared dead ahead, as his entire forest seemed to quiet, the pan and spoon he was using to empty the eggs into the bowl beginning to shake a little as she began to run her hands back and forth along his shoulders, “W-what are you. . .”
“I know something that will make you change your mind,” she slurred into his ear, grinning at the shiver that ran through the man at her tone of voice. Slade seemed to snap out of his frozen state of mind, and putting the pan down along with the spoon, reached up, gripped her wrists, and turned around, facing her, crossing her arms as he did so, frowning down at her as she smiled calmly back up at him. He leaned forward, gazing intently into her face, “What the hell are you talking about Trikk?” he snarled into her face, fury rising in him. The way she was acting was completely inappropriate for two reasons. First, she KNEW he was asexual. She’d designed him that way! And second, no one should ever make him uncomfortable like that. No one. Not even his author. She smirked, and leaned forward, licking her lips, gazing into his blue eye, her nose inches from his nose, her lips inches from his lips, drinking in the hidden anger behind his gaze. Knowing he was debating throwing her across the room for her actions, but deciding against it, for his sake as a part of her literary work, “Why, I’m talking about my final proposal, Slade. What were YOU thinking I was talking about, you bad boy?” she slurred. His pupil dilated, and he pulled back a bit. “Nuh uh, not so fast,” she said with a grin, then fluttered her eyes closed, and twisting her hands, gripped his arms and pulled him forward before she leaned forward and whispered into his ear her proposal, her warm breath hitting his lobe again. Slade’s grip on her wrists tightened a little, and he set his jaw tight, eye closed, as she flicked her tongue out and struck his ear a little, chuckling as she felt him shiver all over. She was of course just playing with him and he knew it (at least she thought he knew it), but she couldn’t resist making him feel uncomfortable. That was just a part of the twisted relationship between author and villain, she supposed. And it was especially fun when that villain was a big, masculine, buff, essentially meta-human guy who just happened to be asexual.
She pulled back and smiled at the man, “Seem fair?” He opened his eye, and blinked at her for a few minutes, then whispered in a low, husky, almost animalistic voice, his eye filling with desire which was quickly battling his anti-yuletide sentiments, “You’re serious? This Christmas? In this cabin? You’d really do that? For me? You’d sell that part of yourself for just some lame as hell decorations?” She smirked, “Seeing your cabin decorated like that will be so worth it, and besides, it’s not like I’m not going to enjoy it,” she murmured, already knowing the victory was coming. He smirked, and Lilac stared as she walked into the room, staring at how close the two were to kissing it seemed. And Slade was smiling . . . that couldn’t be good. . . turning, she moved Slashera further into the hall, gritting her teeth, sweat dropping. . . luckily, the author and villain hadn’t seemed to notice. . .
Slade smirked, “I’ll be looking forward to those two additional chapters of Slashera’s story, little author. And remember. By Christmas.” He let go, leaned back up, and dturned to the counter. Trikk squealed in delight, jumping up and punching the air. Slade snarled, not even looking back at her, “Watch that knee.” Trikk rolled her eyes, chuckling, tehn turned and darted into the hallway, grinning at Lilac, who was surprised to say the least. She’d thought for sure. Trikk grinned even wider, “THE DECORATING IS ON!” Slashera squealed, clapping her hands.
“Yeah, yeah, you lot come in here and fix your drinks,” he muttered, and the three girls walked into the kitchen and set to work. Trikk frowned suddenly and turned to Lilac, “Hey, go see what Jareth wants, alright?” Lilac walked out, nodding, but Trikk didn’t miss the low growl from Slade at the mention of the other male. She frowned and turned to him as she picked up the bowl of grits and he began to shred some cheese, “Be nice,” she muttered under her breath.
Since Slade had first come into her mind after his brief . . . retirement, he had been furious to find the other male settling in. And as far as Jareth was concerned, the feeling was mutual. Since then, they engaged in arguments upon meeting that seemed to make her and Slade’s fights mere child’s play. But still, Trikk acted as mediator, threatening to kick the males out if they continued to fight. So the two men stayed relatively away from one another. Until now. . .
“I thought I was,” Slade snarled, and picking up the bowl of grated cheese, angrily walked back to the table and slammed it onto the table top, though still careful not to break the bowl. Slashera jumped, watching the two from the couch. “Go to wash your hands, little one,” he said gently, smiling at the girl. Slashera frowned, nodded hesitantly, and left. Turning to Trikk, he frowned, continuing, “I left most of my guns and weapons in the warehouse, after all.” Trikk sighed, gazing at him, leaning against the counter, still holding the bowl of grits. “You know, you’re not helping Slashera by letting your anger towards Jareth show.”
Slade rolled his eye and marched over, gripping the bowl and turning the man took it from her and to the table, setting it down, “Well, there is one way to stop that. . .” he turned, and smirked at her, “You could always kick his Fae butt out.” She narrowed her eyes at him, “In your dreams, Slade. I have enough room in my mind for more than one fantasy male character.” She jerked her head over, glaring at the wall, “Besides, you know the other way to stop the current situation. Be nice to him. At least with Slashera present.” “I could spend an hour explaining to you the biological influences underwork here, and why I couldn’t possibly do that,” Slade murmured, smirking at her, leaning against the table a little, hands in his pockets, “But I’m not going to do that. I don’t have the time.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “You have some voluntary control over your actions, and you know it. And don’t think I didn’t catch what you said. Most of your weapons? Weren’t you supposed to get all of them to the warehouse?” He smirked, “Now don’t you go thinking that that poofy haired Fae is some little goody two shoes who didn’t bring a magical weapon or curse up his outdated, totally 80’s sleeve to use on me just in case he feels he needs to and that I’m just some big bad bully,” he sauntered over and smirked down at her, “I’m just keeping a few around here for self-defense.”
“You better only be using them for that, if you use them at all,” Trikk muttered, frowning up at him, “I won’t have you battling him . . . not with weapons like that, anyway. This is supposed to be a happy, cheerful time of the year, you know. And if you do, I won’t be writing those chapters.” He smirked, “Then we won’t decorate.”
“No, we’ll still decorate. That’ll be additional payback for battling him like that when I’ve specifically told you not to,” she muttered. Slade chuckled, shaking his head, eye closed, “You just think you’re the boss around here, don’t you?” “Only because I am. You’re just so narcissistic that you have a mental block against that fact,” she murmured with a shrug. And moved around him and to the hallway to go wash up herself. Slade turned and watched her go, and she paused halfway down the hallway and turned around, “And wash your hands before you eat, too. And be sure to be on your BEST behavior. Really, Slade. Prove you’re a man and at least try to do that. It is Christmas, after all. Even if he misbehaves, prove to him that you’re the better man that way.” Turning, she marched on and took a left to go to his room and, by default, his bathroom, to wash up. He chuckled and nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, “Yes ma’am.” He saluted her, then turned and shook his head, laughing a little as he cleaned his hands. When she put it like that . . . well, he supposed he could take the Fae. At least for now . .
Just so you know, this story is not necessarily canon to the "Slashera" story.
Disclaimer: all characters belong to respective owners.
Basically, this is Chapter 1 of my "Christmas" story: "Christmas at the Cabin", featuring the following mental characters and myself: Slade, Jareth, Lilac, Slashera, and me (Trikk). Be prepared for hilarity, slight insanity, hopefully an enjoyable read, and, of course, Male vs. Male hostility. This is loosely based on "The 12 Pains of Christmas". For info on Lilac, please go to this page: http://trikki-v.livejournal.com/33386.html
I plan to update this story each day until christmas, with Christmas day being my final post for the story. I also plan to update "Slashera" during that time. In regards to the "Christmas at the Cabin" sory, this is sort of like the preview. PLEASE Comment!
Slade smiled as he worked over the stove, gazing at all the pans and pots on top. There was bacon, both regular and Canadian, sizzling and popping. Some eggs were cooking in another pan. In the big pot on the stove were grits. Everything was coming together just perfectly! The man grinned, clapped his hands together, and then leaned down, opening the huge oven door. He gazed in with a warm smile at the dozen biscuits cooking inside, all of the same size, made exactly right. “Perfect,” he smirked, and turning, walked to the fridge. Pulling out a drawer near the bottom of the fridge, the man took out two pineapples, a bunch of grapes, a bunch of bananas, three apples, three oranges, and two kiwis. Standing, he moved back to the counter, pulled out his wooden chopping board and a long knife, and set to work pealing and chopping up the fruit and putting the pieces in a large glass bowl he took down from a cabinet up above where he was working, humming as he worked.
Once he was done peeling and cutting the fruit, the man took the bowl, put his hands into the mixture, and began to move the fruit around in it, mixing the various kinds up. Lifting his hands out of it, he turned to the sink and quickly washed the juice off. Once he’d dried off his hands using a towel he’d already had out, he turned and took the bowl to the table and set it in the middle of the wooden piece of furniture. Leaning back, he clapped his hands, gazing at the table top he’d already wiped down which already had five different place settings on it, with one place setting across the table, two place settings on the long side he was standing at, and one place setting at each of the heads of the table. Each place setting had a red cloth placemat, a white plate, a napkin, and silverware placed perf . . . he frowned, and leaning across the table, moved the fork at opposite place setting from him, which had had its teeth turned a half of a centimeter to the right. He smiled. Yep. Everything was placed just perfectly . . . turning, the man walked over and moved some bacon off of its pan on the stove and replaced it with fresh strips of bacon ready to be cooked. Slade didn’t care how domestic the acts of cooking and setting a table were. It was something he took pride in. And also a way for him to calm down and think. A nice, quiet activity . . .
As the man stirred the scrambled eggs he was working on, he heard some birds in his forest perched on a tree near the window over his sink. The frame of the window was pushed up, so there was only the screen between him and the beautiful soothing bird song. He sighed, closed his eye, and leaned over the counter, head craned back, wearing a red muscle shirt, blue jean pants, and red socks. He let the cool air whip in and whisk over him as it blew into the kitchen, moving his hair just a little bit. He was at peace, lost in the scents of his forest. . .the cool serenity of the environment he had surrounded himself in . . . he stood like that, calmly taking it all in, slowing down to enjoy the simpler things in li . . . then the door to his cabin slammed open.
Slade jerked his head down, frowning, and turning on his heel marched over to the doorway leading from his muck room to his living room, glaring at the intruders, “Could you open the door any louder?!” he snapped, irritated that the door handle had hit the wall. Trikk frowned around the huge plastic tub she was struggling with, wearing a black long sleeve shirt, her black letterman jacket, a black scarf, a black beanie, black gloves, blue jeans, and her black and blue Nike shoes. She shifted the tub a little in her arms, blinking at him, “I don’t think so, but I could try again if you want me too. . .” He glared at her, “You know what I mean. You should know better than to slam a door open. You’re not a child. . .”
“So I might have made a small scuff mark on your wall. Didn’t know you were such a housewife. I’ll be sure to get you a nice apron with nice pink frills and hearts on it for Christmas for you to wear. That way I’ll remember. Maybe I should get you a door stopper for Christmas as well? Since you, Mr. Mad-Genius-Super-Villain-Assassin-Mercenary failed to think to put one in here? ” she shot back, rolling her eyes. Slade snarled, narrowing his eye at her, “You get me an apron like that and I’ll burn it before I wear it. And besides, you created this form of my character,” he pointed an accusing finger at her, “So technically, it was you who was too stupid to remember a door stopper. So there.” She smirked, “Now who’s being a child? Pointing the blame at someone else . . . tsk tsk, Slade. I thought you were at least above that. . .”
He just glared at her, “You’re letting the cold air in.” “Actually, I’m bringing Lilac in with me, and Slashera. So I’m not the only reason,” Trikk said with a knowing smirk. Slade glared, “Then hurry inside. Seriously, are you waiting for an invitation to come in further?” Trikk rolled her eyes, “Well, if someone didn’t decide to throw a hissy fit about me just slamming their door open, I wouldn’t be having an argument with said someone, and I’d be inside.” “Well, I think we all know that if a certain someone hadn’t slammed the door open, I wouldn’t have gotten mad about . . .” “ENOUGH!” Lilac called from outside, “This argument is getting us nowhere! Just go inside, please!”
Trikk frowned, and Slade smirked, and she rolled her eyes, “She wasn’t agreeing with you, you know. She just wanted us to stop arguing . . . it was probably upsetting Slashera.” She walked in and past him, and just as she was passing him, she narrowed her eyes at him and gave the tub a little lift, nodding her head at it, “And as for slamming the door open, my hands are kinda full. Thanks for the help.” she muttered.
He frowned, and stood off to the side with his back against the wall as she hobbled into the living room and slammed the tub onto the coffee table, his crystal blue eye watching her every move, his hands shoved into his pockets, “You shouldn’t do that with your knee in its current condition.” Trikk turned around, frowning at him, her hands on her hips, “Lilac put a spell on it that makes it more mobile and more able to sustain weight and pressure. And besides, if you were so worried, why didn’t you try to help?” He frowned, and walked over to blink down at her, “Still, we don’t need to push it. . .” he turned, and held up a hand to the box, “What’s in that damn thing anyway?” he muttered, clearly avoiding her question.
She rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to answer him . . . “its Christmas ornaments, decorations, and stockings I brought for us to use to decorate,” Lilac’s voice sailed into the room. His eye narrowed further at Trikk, then he frowned and turned to face the hallway again, “Christmas stuff? You brought Christmas stuff to my cabin?” Lilac walked in, frowning at him, wearing a long purple coat, blue jeans, purple ear-muffs, boots, and purple gloves. Her purple eyes gleamed as she frowned at Slade, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, the two tubs she had brought in addition to Trikk’s floating behind her and into the room to land on the coffee table as well, “Well, of course. It is Christmas time after all . . . kinda why we’re all here. . .” Slade had to admit. That was true. . .
Slade had had two mobile homes parked behind his cabin, so that Lilac and . . . Jareth could stay at his cabin for the holidays, since Lilac had a bad Cornish Pixie problem at her house, and Jareth . . . the other bundle of male testosterone that took residence in Trikk’s mind . . . wouldn’t let Trikk be with Slade, who certainly was also full of testosterone without the Goblin King being close by. Not out of romantic reasons, of course, but neither male wanted to share their author with the other, much less leave the other male with the author for an entire holiday without the other being present somehow. So, while Slade had moved two twin beds into his bedroom at the cabin and moved the bed he regularly kept in that bedroom to the warehouse for temporary storage so that Trikk could stay with him in the cabin, the man had reluctantly moved the motor homes for Lilac and Jareth behind his cabin near the smokehouse. He supposed he could have had the Fae and witch in the cabin, but for one, he wouldn’t let Jareth into his house for anything but eating meals and sitting in the living room or on the porch, and for another, Lilac preferred the solitude the mobile home offered.
At that moment, Slashera rushed in, carrying a relatively small handbag in her hand, grinning at him, wearing black earmuffs and a black long coat with black gloves over her jumpsuit, “FATHER SLADE! I GOT TO HELP!” He tilted is head back, frowning, arms crossed before him, “But have you closed the door little one? We don’t need to let the snow in . . .” she gasped, and turning, rushed back to close the door. Slade turned to Trikk, looking her square in the face, “No.” Trikk frowned right back, just as stubborn as the villain, and put her hands on her hips, nostrils flaring, “You don’t even know what I’m going to do . . .” “You’re planning on turning my cabin into a lit up, tinsel covered nightmare. But if you think that I’m going to let you do that, you have lost your mind,” Slade muttered, and turning on his heel, marched into the kitchen to put more bacon on the stove. She followed, growling, “Okay, so I want to decorate. What’s the big deal with that?” she snarled, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside the table. As Lilac suddenly had an urge to ask Slashera to go see the girl’s hunting trophies in the child’s bedroom.
“The big deal is that I’m not going to spend the next 13 days with my house full of gaudy blinking lights, annoying gets-everywhere tinsel, and dolls and statues of fat men in red suits,” Slade muttered, and leaning down, opened the oven door, checking on the biscuits. Noting that they were done, he took the pan out, set it on a potholder on the counter, and going to the fridge, got out some butter, real butter, not margarine. If he was going to make biscuits, they were going to use the really good stuff. Walking back to the biscuit pan, he grabbed a plate from a cabinet and a knife from a drawer. Trikk shrugged, “That last part’s alright, because we also have. . .” “And no reindeer, and no snowmen, and no penguins, or any other decorations you might have running around in that little head of yours,” he muttered, picking up the first biscuit, despite it being piping hot, and slicing into it before buttering it. “AND WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST CHRISTMAS, MR. GRINCH?!” she snarled. He sighed, set the second biscuit he was buttering down on the plate, and turned, leaning against the counter, folding his arms, glaring at her, “Christmas is a useless holiday. The only things it does is make people spend ridiculous amounts of money in stores, run up their electric bills for no good reason, cut down trees that are just gonna die anyway, and bring families and friends together to eat until they’re so full they don’t want to ever get up again. And with the exception of perhaps that last part, I refuse to take part.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “They should cast you as Scrooge in the next Christmas Carol movie.” “Ba-humbug,” he deadpanned, rolling his eye and turning around to butter another biscuit. He set that on a plate, and she shot up, “Oh come on Slade!” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips, as he stirred the grits, ignoring her. Huffing, she marched over to stand behind him, glaring at the back of his head. He still didn’t turn around. . . “Doesn’t the idea of getting a free gun or two intrigue you at all?! You don’t even have to pay for it!” “Yeah, but you would have to. Or someone else, anyway,” he muttered, and turned around, frowning at her, re-crossing his arms across his chest, “Besides, I could just have William ship one over to me in an instant for free. So why would I need to ask for it as a present?” She rolled her eyes then glared at him, giving an exasperated sigh, “OKAY! SO MAYBE YOU COULD! BUT IT’S THE THOUGHT AND FEELING BEHIND IT THAT COUNTS! CHRISTMAS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A TIME OF GIVING AND TOGETHERNESS! A TIME SET APART FROM ALL THE OTHER TIMES OF THE YEAR! TO SHOW KINDNESS AND LOVE!” “But I’ve already done that last part, I thought. . .” Slade tilted his head to the side, frowning at her.
She frowned, “What do you. . .” “I’m letting that glitter covered poofy haired Fae freak within 100 yards of my cabin without putting a bullet through his brain, aren’t I? Isn’t that kind of me?” as she narrowed her eyes at him, Slade turned around and faced the stove again, “No decorations. That’s final.” “SLADE!” she whined, glaring at him, “COME ON!” “I’ll tell you like I have to tell Slashera sometimes. ‘No’ means ‘no’. End of story. And nothing you say will change that,” he muttered, and began to turn off burners, both types of bacon stacked high on their plates. As he started to take the egg pan off the stove and empty it into a bowl, he felt her slide up behind him. He frowned, and froze in his actions as he felt her lean up against his back, pressing her front against him, reaching up and putting her hands on his shoulder blades and massaging that area a little, her warm breath on his ear making his skin tingle, her closeness making his breathing quick. He stared dead ahead, as his entire forest seemed to quiet, the pan and spoon he was using to empty the eggs into the bowl beginning to shake a little as she began to run her hands back and forth along his shoulders, “W-what are you. . .”
“I know something that will make you change your mind,” she slurred into his ear, grinning at the shiver that ran through the man at her tone of voice. Slade seemed to snap out of his frozen state of mind, and putting the pan down along with the spoon, reached up, gripped her wrists, and turned around, facing her, crossing her arms as he did so, frowning down at her as she smiled calmly back up at him. He leaned forward, gazing intently into her face, “What the hell are you talking about Trikk?” he snarled into her face, fury rising in him. The way she was acting was completely inappropriate for two reasons. First, she KNEW he was asexual. She’d designed him that way! And second, no one should ever make him uncomfortable like that. No one. Not even his author. She smirked, and leaned forward, licking her lips, gazing into his blue eye, her nose inches from his nose, her lips inches from his lips, drinking in the hidden anger behind his gaze. Knowing he was debating throwing her across the room for her actions, but deciding against it, for his sake as a part of her literary work, “Why, I’m talking about my final proposal, Slade. What were YOU thinking I was talking about, you bad boy?” she slurred. His pupil dilated, and he pulled back a bit. “Nuh uh, not so fast,” she said with a grin, then fluttered her eyes closed, and twisting her hands, gripped his arms and pulled him forward before she leaned forward and whispered into his ear her proposal, her warm breath hitting his lobe again. Slade’s grip on her wrists tightened a little, and he set his jaw tight, eye closed, as she flicked her tongue out and struck his ear a little, chuckling as she felt him shiver all over. She was of course just playing with him and he knew it (at least she thought he knew it), but she couldn’t resist making him feel uncomfortable. That was just a part of the twisted relationship between author and villain, she supposed. And it was especially fun when that villain was a big, masculine, buff, essentially meta-human guy who just happened to be asexual.
She pulled back and smiled at the man, “Seem fair?” He opened his eye, and blinked at her for a few minutes, then whispered in a low, husky, almost animalistic voice, his eye filling with desire which was quickly battling his anti-yuletide sentiments, “You’re serious? This Christmas? In this cabin? You’d really do that? For me? You’d sell that part of yourself for just some lame as hell decorations?” She smirked, “Seeing your cabin decorated like that will be so worth it, and besides, it’s not like I’m not going to enjoy it,” she murmured, already knowing the victory was coming. He smirked, and Lilac stared as she walked into the room, staring at how close the two were to kissing it seemed. And Slade was smiling . . . that couldn’t be good. . . turning, she moved Slashera further into the hall, gritting her teeth, sweat dropping. . . luckily, the author and villain hadn’t seemed to notice. . .
Slade smirked, “I’ll be looking forward to those two additional chapters of Slashera’s story, little author. And remember. By Christmas.” He let go, leaned back up, and dturned to the counter. Trikk squealed in delight, jumping up and punching the air. Slade snarled, not even looking back at her, “Watch that knee.” Trikk rolled her eyes, chuckling, tehn turned and darted into the hallway, grinning at Lilac, who was surprised to say the least. She’d thought for sure. Trikk grinned even wider, “THE DECORATING IS ON!” Slashera squealed, clapping her hands.
“Yeah, yeah, you lot come in here and fix your drinks,” he muttered, and the three girls walked into the kitchen and set to work. Trikk frowned suddenly and turned to Lilac, “Hey, go see what Jareth wants, alright?” Lilac walked out, nodding, but Trikk didn’t miss the low growl from Slade at the mention of the other male. She frowned and turned to him as she picked up the bowl of grits and he began to shred some cheese, “Be nice,” she muttered under her breath.
Since Slade had first come into her mind after his brief . . . retirement, he had been furious to find the other male settling in. And as far as Jareth was concerned, the feeling was mutual. Since then, they engaged in arguments upon meeting that seemed to make her and Slade’s fights mere child’s play. But still, Trikk acted as mediator, threatening to kick the males out if they continued to fight. So the two men stayed relatively away from one another. Until now. . .
“I thought I was,” Slade snarled, and picking up the bowl of grated cheese, angrily walked back to the table and slammed it onto the table top, though still careful not to break the bowl. Slashera jumped, watching the two from the couch. “Go to wash your hands, little one,” he said gently, smiling at the girl. Slashera frowned, nodded hesitantly, and left. Turning to Trikk, he frowned, continuing, “I left most of my guns and weapons in the warehouse, after all.” Trikk sighed, gazing at him, leaning against the counter, still holding the bowl of grits. “You know, you’re not helping Slashera by letting your anger towards Jareth show.”
Slade rolled his eye and marched over, gripping the bowl and turning the man took it from her and to the table, setting it down, “Well, there is one way to stop that. . .” he turned, and smirked at her, “You could always kick his Fae butt out.” She narrowed her eyes at him, “In your dreams, Slade. I have enough room in my mind for more than one fantasy male character.” She jerked her head over, glaring at the wall, “Besides, you know the other way to stop the current situation. Be nice to him. At least with Slashera present.” “I could spend an hour explaining to you the biological influences underwork here, and why I couldn’t possibly do that,” Slade murmured, smirking at her, leaning against the table a little, hands in his pockets, “But I’m not going to do that. I don’t have the time.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “You have some voluntary control over your actions, and you know it. And don’t think I didn’t catch what you said. Most of your weapons? Weren’t you supposed to get all of them to the warehouse?” He smirked, “Now don’t you go thinking that that poofy haired Fae is some little goody two shoes who didn’t bring a magical weapon or curse up his outdated, totally 80’s sleeve to use on me just in case he feels he needs to and that I’m just some big bad bully,” he sauntered over and smirked down at her, “I’m just keeping a few around here for self-defense.”
“You better only be using them for that, if you use them at all,” Trikk muttered, frowning up at him, “I won’t have you battling him . . . not with weapons like that, anyway. This is supposed to be a happy, cheerful time of the year, you know. And if you do, I won’t be writing those chapters.” He smirked, “Then we won’t decorate.”
“No, we’ll still decorate. That’ll be additional payback for battling him like that when I’ve specifically told you not to,” she muttered. Slade chuckled, shaking his head, eye closed, “You just think you’re the boss around here, don’t you?” “Only because I am. You’re just so narcissistic that you have a mental block against that fact,” she murmured with a shrug. And moved around him and to the hallway to go wash up herself. Slade turned and watched her go, and she paused halfway down the hallway and turned around, “And wash your hands before you eat, too. And be sure to be on your BEST behavior. Really, Slade. Prove you’re a man and at least try to do that. It is Christmas, after all. Even if he misbehaves, prove to him that you’re the better man that way.” Turning, she marched on and took a left to go to his room and, by default, his bathroom, to wash up. He chuckled and nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, “Yes ma’am.” He saluted her, then turned and shook his head, laughing a little as he cleaned his hands. When she put it like that . . . well, he supposed he could take the Fae. At least for now . .
Just so you know, this story is not necessarily canon to the "Slashera" story.