Happy Holidays! :-D
DSSS is finished and uploaded, Yuletide is just waiting the final edits and that means I am basically DONE with the holiday writing season! *preens a bit* I've never written this much before in such a short period of time, so I am pretty proud of myself! And as a reward to myself, I decided to drabble a bit with Slings and Arrows. Enjoy!
*note: Wasil is what my family calls spiced hard cider. It is served warm with cloves, cinnamon and a little bit of orange peal. I don't know what it is actually called, but that is what I mean*
The smell of wasil never failed to conjure up images of Christmas with his family. It was that unique mix of cinnamon, cloves, and hard apple cider - there was nothing else that quite had the same smell. Oliver actually had quite a happy childhood. Well, except for the Christmas he came out to his family. His Aunt Linda fainted and fell head first into the punch bowl and Uncle Fred attempted to storm out in protest, but tripped and fell headlong on the tricycle that his 3 year old cousin George was getting from Santa.
It wasn’t so much that his family disapproved of his being gay, although that was a small part of it. No, it was the fact that he decided that the best way to convey to his family that they needed to stop setting him up with eligible girls and start finding eligible boys was by inviting the 27 year old drama teacher from his high school over and making out under the mistletoe. After the hysterics stopped, Oliver calmly announced to the now silent room that he was going to Toronto to live in sin with the drama teacher’s ex and become the greatest actor to ever live.
But other than this isolated incident, his happy childhood was something he never ceased to complain bitterly about at every given opportunity. “How,” he would ask dramatically, cornering whoever happened to be closest at the time, “can I be expected to properly convey the sorrow of the world with happy childhood?” At this point, Oliver would usually pass out from having imbibed too much wasil, and he would be left in a corner until he woke up in the morning with a stiff neck and dragged himself home to sleep off his hangover. In the later years, after he became “Oliver Welles” instead of just another anonymous wanna-be, someone (usually Geoffrey) would be forced to drag him home, or risk his wrath in practice the next morning.
*note: Wasil is what my family calls spiced hard cider. It is served warm with cloves, cinnamon and a little bit of orange peal. I don't know what it is actually called, but that is what I mean*
The smell of wasil never failed to conjure up images of Christmas with his family. It was that unique mix of cinnamon, cloves, and hard apple cider - there was nothing else that quite had the same smell. Oliver actually had quite a happy childhood. Well, except for the Christmas he came out to his family. His Aunt Linda fainted and fell head first into the punch bowl and Uncle Fred attempted to storm out in protest, but tripped and fell headlong on the tricycle that his 3 year old cousin George was getting from Santa.
It wasn’t so much that his family disapproved of his being gay, although that was a small part of it. No, it was the fact that he decided that the best way to convey to his family that they needed to stop setting him up with eligible girls and start finding eligible boys was by inviting the 27 year old drama teacher from his high school over and making out under the mistletoe. After the hysterics stopped, Oliver calmly announced to the now silent room that he was going to Toronto to live in sin with the drama teacher’s ex and become the greatest actor to ever live.
But other than this isolated incident, his happy childhood was something he never ceased to complain bitterly about at every given opportunity. “How,” he would ask dramatically, cornering whoever happened to be closest at the time, “can I be expected to properly convey the sorrow of the world with happy childhood?” At this point, Oliver would usually pass out from having imbibed too much wasil, and he would be left in a corner until he woke up in the morning with a stiff neck and dragged himself home to sleep off his hangover. In the later years, after he became “Oliver Welles” instead of just another anonymous wanna-be, someone (usually Geoffrey) would be forced to drag him home, or risk his wrath in practice the next morning.