Hi, Society: Nothing to Dread; 1/1; PG
For Luci and Sue, Jenny and Patty, Chironian ... Everybody who loves this little universe. Wish it was more.
OXOX
~Hi, Society: Nothing to Dread~
December 24, 1939
~~~
“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there--”
“Why’s it say St. Nicholas when it means Santa Claus?” Holly piped up.
If Chris sighed, it was barely audible. “Because Santa Claus goes by different names in other parts of the world.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well what are some of the other names?
All right: that sigh was audible. “Like…” Chris cleared his throat, “Well, in England they call him Father Christmas, and my mother called him Babbo Natale--”
“Because she was from Italy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I heard of Kris Kringle,” Gary offered up.
A brief silence then, no doubt filled with Holly giving her a brother a look that advised him to butt out.
“What do they call him in France?” she asked.
“Pere Noel,” Chris answered.
“Well,” Holly said, pondering this fresh information, “I bet that just makes it harder for the mail man to deliver letters to Santa, people using all those different names.”
“Yeah,” Chris’ voice sounded dry and deadpan, “I bet that’s a real hardship.”
“You can go on now,” Holly said with an air of imperious magnanimity.
“Thank you,” Chris said, just the tiniest note of wry amusement in his voice. Clearing his throat again, and finding his place, he continued:
“The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief--”
“That’d be a pretty funny thing,” it was Gary opining now, “dancing sugar plums.”
An eye roll accompanied Chris’ sigh this time, it had to, as Holly informed her brother that was like in The Nutcracker show they had all gone to last night.
“Those were fairies,” Gary said.
“Fairies!” Harry crowed in affirmation.
“Sugar-plum fairies.”
“Well they didn’t look like any plum I ever saw.”
“That’s because they’re not plums, they’re fairies.”
“Tinkerbell!” That was Harry again, doing his part to contribute.
“Tinkerbell wasn’t a sugar-plum,” Gary said.
An ominous undertone in her voice, Holly said, “That’s because Tinkerbell’s in Peter Pan, not The Nutcracker.”
And if Chris muttered an, “Oh Christ,” under his breath, hardly anybody heard him -- except for Toby, lurking for all he was worth just outside the front room and debating whether or not to intervene.
Deciding to hold back, Toby risked a peek into the room. Chris was in one of the big armchairs over by the fireplace, Harry on his lap, with Holly and Gary on the floor. The kids were all in their pajamas, robes, and slippers, doing their best to put off the inevitable moment when they had to go upstairs to bed, so Santa -- or Babbo Natale, or Pere Noel, as the case might be -- could pay his yearly visit.
Possibly aware that it wasn’t too late to go down on the Naughty list, they all quieted down so Chris could continue, confining further interruptions to joining in like a chorus when the names of the reindeer were called out--
“Now, Dasher! Now Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
“On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!”
And if Chris’ ears were ringing after that, no doubt he would recover quickly enough.
With the end of the poem rapidly approaching, Toby hurried back down to the kitchen, making it back in time for:
“But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight--”
The children’s voices joined with Chris, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
“You read that pretty good,” Holly allowed.
“Much obliged.”
“But what if there’s no chimmy?” Harry wanted to know.
“I’m sure arrangements are made,” Toby said, entering the room with a tray full of hot chocolate and cookies.
“That where you been all this time,” Chris said, “down in the kitchen slaving away over cocoa and cookies?”
Toby handed him a mug, meeting his eyes over the chocolatety steam. “Umm hmm. Why,” he asked, the very picture of innocence, “was there a debate over fairies or something?”
“Something,” Chris said, the warmth of his smile putting the cocoa to shame.
“Not too traumatic, then?” Toby said, suddenly wanting to be the one sitting in Chris’ lap.
One brilliant blue eye winked at him. “Didn’t get a scratch.”
And if puzzled looks were exchanged by the small fry in the room the matter wasn’t of sufficient interest to be pursued -- not with the prospect of Christmas Day so very nearly here at last.
That was the next hurdle: getting them tucked into bed and making sure they stayed there, mission accomplished in just under an hour.
Back in the front room, turning off the lights so the only illumination came from the glow of the Christmas tree over in the window, Toby perched on the arm of the couch, contemplating everything that had to be done and ready by morning. It was going to be a long night, they always were, but he suspected the company this year would make a considerable difference.
That company sank down on the couch beside, legs stretched out and head tilted back against the cushions, exhaling a heartfelt sigh.
A infinitesimal flicker of worry crossing his mind, Toby asked, “Second thoughts?”
Genuine puzzlement in his voice, Chris said, “’Bout what?”
“So you’re not scared off?”
Long fingers stroked their way along Toby’s thigh. “Nope.”
“Sure?” Toby shivered as those fingers worked their way behind his knee.
“Pretty sure, yeah,” Chris said, shifting and maneuvering until Toby was, indeed, in his lap.
“There’s still a lot to do tonight,” Toby said as Chris’ lips whispered along his neck.
“Yeah?”
“There’s two bikes, and a tri,” the rest of the word was momentarily lost as Toby’s lips were kissed, “cycle to assemble.”
“Wow.” Chris murmured, kissed the word into his temple. “All that, huh?”
Well… Maybe a slight delay in plans wouldn’t wreak too much havoc, Toby decided as Chris slid further down on the couch.
“Don’t you want to open your present?”
A decidedly naughty note in his voice, Chris said, “Kinda thought that’s what I was doing.”
Oh.
“Merry Christmas, then.”
And to all a good night.
OXOX
~Hi, Society: Nothing to Dread~
December 24, 1939
~~~
“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there--”
“Why’s it say St. Nicholas when it means Santa Claus?” Holly piped up.
If Chris sighed, it was barely audible. “Because Santa Claus goes by different names in other parts of the world.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well what are some of the other names?
All right: that sigh was audible. “Like…” Chris cleared his throat, “Well, in England they call him Father Christmas, and my mother called him Babbo Natale--”
“Because she was from Italy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I heard of Kris Kringle,” Gary offered up.
A brief silence then, no doubt filled with Holly giving her a brother a look that advised him to butt out.
“What do they call him in France?” she asked.
“Pere Noel,” Chris answered.
“Well,” Holly said, pondering this fresh information, “I bet that just makes it harder for the mail man to deliver letters to Santa, people using all those different names.”
“Yeah,” Chris’ voice sounded dry and deadpan, “I bet that’s a real hardship.”
“You can go on now,” Holly said with an air of imperious magnanimity.
“Thank you,” Chris said, just the tiniest note of wry amusement in his voice. Clearing his throat again, and finding his place, he continued:
“The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief--”
“That’d be a pretty funny thing,” it was Gary opining now, “dancing sugar plums.”
An eye roll accompanied Chris’ sigh this time, it had to, as Holly informed her brother that was like in The Nutcracker show they had all gone to last night.
“Those were fairies,” Gary said.
“Fairies!” Harry crowed in affirmation.
“Sugar-plum fairies.”
“Well they didn’t look like any plum I ever saw.”
“That’s because they’re not plums, they’re fairies.”
“Tinkerbell!” That was Harry again, doing his part to contribute.
“Tinkerbell wasn’t a sugar-plum,” Gary said.
An ominous undertone in her voice, Holly said, “That’s because Tinkerbell’s in Peter Pan, not The Nutcracker.”
And if Chris muttered an, “Oh Christ,” under his breath, hardly anybody heard him -- except for Toby, lurking for all he was worth just outside the front room and debating whether or not to intervene.
Deciding to hold back, Toby risked a peek into the room. Chris was in one of the big armchairs over by the fireplace, Harry on his lap, with Holly and Gary on the floor. The kids were all in their pajamas, robes, and slippers, doing their best to put off the inevitable moment when they had to go upstairs to bed, so Santa -- or Babbo Natale, or Pere Noel, as the case might be -- could pay his yearly visit.
Possibly aware that it wasn’t too late to go down on the Naughty list, they all quieted down so Chris could continue, confining further interruptions to joining in like a chorus when the names of the reindeer were called out--
“Now, Dasher! Now Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
“On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!”
And if Chris’ ears were ringing after that, no doubt he would recover quickly enough.
With the end of the poem rapidly approaching, Toby hurried back down to the kitchen, making it back in time for:
“But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight--”
The children’s voices joined with Chris, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
“You read that pretty good,” Holly allowed.
“Much obliged.”
“But what if there’s no chimmy?” Harry wanted to know.
“I’m sure arrangements are made,” Toby said, entering the room with a tray full of hot chocolate and cookies.
“That where you been all this time,” Chris said, “down in the kitchen slaving away over cocoa and cookies?”
Toby handed him a mug, meeting his eyes over the chocolatety steam. “Umm hmm. Why,” he asked, the very picture of innocence, “was there a debate over fairies or something?”
“Something,” Chris said, the warmth of his smile putting the cocoa to shame.
“Not too traumatic, then?” Toby said, suddenly wanting to be the one sitting in Chris’ lap.
One brilliant blue eye winked at him. “Didn’t get a scratch.”
And if puzzled looks were exchanged by the small fry in the room the matter wasn’t of sufficient interest to be pursued -- not with the prospect of Christmas Day so very nearly here at last.
That was the next hurdle: getting them tucked into bed and making sure they stayed there, mission accomplished in just under an hour.
Back in the front room, turning off the lights so the only illumination came from the glow of the Christmas tree over in the window, Toby perched on the arm of the couch, contemplating everything that had to be done and ready by morning. It was going to be a long night, they always were, but he suspected the company this year would make a considerable difference.
That company sank down on the couch beside, legs stretched out and head tilted back against the cushions, exhaling a heartfelt sigh.
A infinitesimal flicker of worry crossing his mind, Toby asked, “Second thoughts?”
Genuine puzzlement in his voice, Chris said, “’Bout what?”
“So you’re not scared off?”
Long fingers stroked their way along Toby’s thigh. “Nope.”
“Sure?” Toby shivered as those fingers worked their way behind his knee.
“Pretty sure, yeah,” Chris said, shifting and maneuvering until Toby was, indeed, in his lap.
“There’s still a lot to do tonight,” Toby said as Chris’ lips whispered along his neck.
“Yeah?”
“There’s two bikes, and a tri,” the rest of the word was momentarily lost as Toby’s lips were kissed, “cycle to assemble.”
“Wow.” Chris murmured, kissed the word into his temple. “All that, huh?”
Well… Maybe a slight delay in plans wouldn’t wreak too much havoc, Toby decided as Chris slid further down on the couch.
“Don’t you want to open your present?”
A decidedly naughty note in his voice, Chris said, “Kinda thought that’s what I was doing.”
Oh.
“Merry Christmas, then.”
And to all a good night.