The Turning of the Year 7/7
Last in the series ( the previous ficlet is here), and please forgive the outright fluff. Tis, after all, the season. Happy Christmas and other midwinter (and midsummer) festivals to you all!
December 25 2018: The Hunting of the Winged Roozel, A Demon of Unusual Size
Characters: Faith/Giles, Michael and Rosy
It was Mommy’s turn to cook the special Christmas dinner. Which meant it was going to be everyone’s favourite food from the freezer and sparklers on the cake. Dad was the only one who could cook, everyone knew that.
Since Mommy was not-cooking this holiday, it was Dad’s turn to be the Hunter. Which was okay.
When Mommy was the Hunter, she helped Mike and Rosy fight the Roozel for aaaages, and everyone ended up tired and hot and messy and laughing in Dad’s study or the playroom. That was fun. But Dad took it much more seriously. They went places in the castle Michael never usually saw, exploring and tracking the Winged Roozel all over the building. Sometimes they forgot to have the fight at all, because there was so much to discover.
But Dad always made sure Michael and Rosy both understood what they were doing on the Hunt. How to fight (“The nose is very tender. Bop it sharply and you’ll win”), how to choose your weapons (“My books say that fuzzy things terrify Roozels. Bring pompoms. Lots of pompoms.”), how to approach its lair without being seen (nose to the ground, trying not to sneeze). Sometimes he went on too long: Rosy got bored, and just threw the weapons at the Roozel before Dad had finished talking.
But mostly, Dad took the Roozel Hunt so seriously, Rosy got sucked in. Mike could see from the way she concentrated and scrunched up her nose when she thought. Sometimes, she even worried about hurting the Roozels, and Mike had to tell about how demons are bad and anyway it was just a pretend. Sisters are dumb, sometimes, and you have to be nice and explain stuff. That’s what big brothers are for, Dad said. Mommy said little sisters are for kicking big brothers’ butts, but then she told Mike not to say ‘butt’, and that wasn’t fair.
It was starting. Mike could feel the excitement growing. Dad held up his hand for attention. “Now, we have its scent. Our mission has begun. We must follow our quarry all the way to its lair,” said Dad, and when he said it like that, even Mike almost believed in Roozels.
***
December 25 2018: The Hunting of the Winged Roozel, A Demon of Unusual Size
Characters: Faith/Giles, Michael and Rosy
It was Mommy’s turn to cook the special Christmas dinner. Which meant it was going to be everyone’s favourite food from the freezer and sparklers on the cake. Dad was the only one who could cook, everyone knew that.
Since Mommy was not-cooking this holiday, it was Dad’s turn to be the Hunter. Which was okay.
When Mommy was the Hunter, she helped Mike and Rosy fight the Roozel for aaaages, and everyone ended up tired and hot and messy and laughing in Dad’s study or the playroom. That was fun. But Dad took it much more seriously. They went places in the castle Michael never usually saw, exploring and tracking the Winged Roozel all over the building. Sometimes they forgot to have the fight at all, because there was so much to discover.
But Dad always made sure Michael and Rosy both understood what they were doing on the Hunt. How to fight (“The nose is very tender. Bop it sharply and you’ll win”), how to choose your weapons (“My books say that fuzzy things terrify Roozels. Bring pompoms. Lots of pompoms.”), how to approach its lair without being seen (nose to the ground, trying not to sneeze). Sometimes he went on too long: Rosy got bored, and just threw the weapons at the Roozel before Dad had finished talking.
But mostly, Dad took the Roozel Hunt so seriously, Rosy got sucked in. Mike could see from the way she concentrated and scrunched up her nose when she thought. Sometimes, she even worried about hurting the Roozels, and Mike had to tell about how demons are bad and anyway it was just a pretend. Sisters are dumb, sometimes, and you have to be nice and explain stuff. That’s what big brothers are for, Dad said. Mommy said little sisters are for kicking big brothers’ butts, but then she told Mike not to say ‘butt’, and that wasn’t fair.
It was starting. Mike could feel the excitement growing. Dad held up his hand for attention. “Now, we have its scent. Our mission has begun. We must follow our quarry all the way to its lair,” said Dad, and when he said it like that, even Mike almost believed in Roozels.
***