Christmas ficlet for hobbituk
Here is the Christmas ficlet I wrote for hobbituk who wanted Spike and Agnes.
Celebrations
Agnes peered at the kitten calendar that hung on the back of the kitchen door. Yes, she thought she was right: there was a star by today’s date.
“But should I celebrate the day I was born or the day I was turned?” she muttered to herself. It was a tricky problem and not one she’d thought to ask Spike about until the other evening. He’d just looked at her as if she was from another planet and gone on folding paper napkins into swans - a talent she’d discovered he’d learnt at some stage of his life when he was living in Paris.
Still, there wasn’t any real reason to remember either date. Agnes’ birthday had never been a memorable occasion. Her father didn’t believe in children’s parties and because she’d never been able to return the invitations, she’d rarely gone to those she’d been asked to attend. And when she did she’d often sat in terror that she would be given blancmange to eat because it was so cold and wobbly.
And, of course, as you got older, you didn’t like to tell people it was your birthday in case they got embarrassed because they had forgotten, or thought you expected a card. But Agnes had always treated herself to a Nice Day Out. She’d kept a little memory book of those days, which she supposed was packed away somewhere in a box back in Winchester. Theatre tickets, postcards - Leamington Spa had been particularly nice - and menus from teashops she had visited.
Agnes sighed. It was difficult to have A Nice Day Out when you were a vampire. A Nice Night Out, she supposed, would be the alternative, but she’d been too busy surviving since being turned to celebrate and there didn’t seem to be anywhere in California like Leamington Spa.
“You’re getting maudlin, Agnes Kathleen Pringle,” she told herself. “Buck up and put the kettle on. A nice cup of tea with a drop of special ox blood! That will make the world seem a better place.”| But even as she got out her best cup and saucer, she wished there was just one person to wish her a happy day.
The scuffling noise made her jump, then she relaxed: it was only Spike coming up the stairs from the basement. Then she smiled; Dawn was with him. “How nice to see you, my dear. Very unexpected. Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Dawn ignored her. She was carrying something, very carefully, and with a flourish put it down in front of Agnes. The English vampire stared at - a cake!
“I thought it would be so nice today for you to have something you haven’t cooked for yourself! Mom always liked Buffy and me to make her a birthday treat. So Spike and me made you a cake. Well, Spike made it but I put the icing on the top and wrote the message. You do like it, don’t you?” The last words were said with an anxious expression.
Agnes stared down at the plate before her. She could see Spike trying not to laugh and struggled to keep a straight face herself. Which wasn’t difficult because tears were beginning to form in her eyes. In front of her was a rather misshapen cake, covered in what looked like extremely rough icing that had missed in places, showing a very burnt surface. But all that was nothing because in bright pink icing the message on the top read in wavering letters that got smaller and smaller as they reached the edges, Happy Birthday, Dear Agnes from Dawn and Spike.
Celebrations
Agnes peered at the kitten calendar that hung on the back of the kitchen door. Yes, she thought she was right: there was a star by today’s date.
“But should I celebrate the day I was born or the day I was turned?” she muttered to herself. It was a tricky problem and not one she’d thought to ask Spike about until the other evening. He’d just looked at her as if she was from another planet and gone on folding paper napkins into swans - a talent she’d discovered he’d learnt at some stage of his life when he was living in Paris.
Still, there wasn’t any real reason to remember either date. Agnes’ birthday had never been a memorable occasion. Her father didn’t believe in children’s parties and because she’d never been able to return the invitations, she’d rarely gone to those she’d been asked to attend. And when she did she’d often sat in terror that she would be given blancmange to eat because it was so cold and wobbly.
And, of course, as you got older, you didn’t like to tell people it was your birthday in case they got embarrassed because they had forgotten, or thought you expected a card. But Agnes had always treated herself to a Nice Day Out. She’d kept a little memory book of those days, which she supposed was packed away somewhere in a box back in Winchester. Theatre tickets, postcards - Leamington Spa had been particularly nice - and menus from teashops she had visited.
Agnes sighed. It was difficult to have A Nice Day Out when you were a vampire. A Nice Night Out, she supposed, would be the alternative, but she’d been too busy surviving since being turned to celebrate and there didn’t seem to be anywhere in California like Leamington Spa.
“You’re getting maudlin, Agnes Kathleen Pringle,” she told herself. “Buck up and put the kettle on. A nice cup of tea with a drop of special ox blood! That will make the world seem a better place.”| But even as she got out her best cup and saucer, she wished there was just one person to wish her a happy day.
The scuffling noise made her jump, then she relaxed: it was only Spike coming up the stairs from the basement. Then she smiled; Dawn was with him. “How nice to see you, my dear. Very unexpected. Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Dawn ignored her. She was carrying something, very carefully, and with a flourish put it down in front of Agnes. The English vampire stared at - a cake!
“I thought it would be so nice today for you to have something you haven’t cooked for yourself! Mom always liked Buffy and me to make her a birthday treat. So Spike and me made you a cake. Well, Spike made it but I put the icing on the top and wrote the message. You do like it, don’t you?” The last words were said with an anxious expression.
Agnes stared down at the plate before her. She could see Spike trying not to laugh and struggled to keep a straight face herself. Which wasn’t difficult because tears were beginning to form in her eyes. In front of her was a rather misshapen cake, covered in what looked like extremely rough icing that had missed in places, showing a very burnt surface. But all that was nothing because in bright pink icing the message on the top read in wavering letters that got smaller and smaller as they reached the edges, Happy Birthday, Dear Agnes from Dawn and Spike.