Advent Drabblender, Day 22
Part 22 of 24
Author: verisimilitude9
Prompt: Fruitcake
Characters: Jupiter, Zoisite
“What is this?”
Jupiter stared at the object in Zoisite’s hands with not a little bit of trepidation. When she’d first walked into the kitchen, only his legs and butt had been visible at all, his upper body deep in the reaches of the pantry as bags and boxes and jars were shifted and clattered around as he searched for something or another. Only the merry whistling emerging from deep within the pantry and the colour of the piping on his uniform gave his identity away, and when his curly head finally emerged from the pantry, he carried a strange-looking object covered in what looked to be damp linens and greeted Jupiter with a cordial smile and a glint in his eye that bespoke all sorts of mischief.
“You, my friend, are just in time for one of the finest Yuletide traditions,” he told her.
She didn’t know whether to be afraid or excited; Zoisite had far too many fine Yuletide traditions to count, and thus far all the ones he’d shared with her had been highly entertaining and enjoyable. However, there was still that glint in his eye and the strange object he’d unearthed from deep within the pantry. As a rule, anything shoved that far back into the pantry and lost for so long was not at its best.
So she simply watched as he brought the wrapped item to the counter, and now that it was closer, she noted that the linens smelled strongly of liquor. Raising an eyebrow, she watched as he carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal... a cake?
At least, it seemed to be some sort of cake, round and heavy-looking and dotted with what looked to be candied fruits and nuts. It smelled like sugar and alcohol. Zoisite, rather than putting it on a plate and slicing it, hefted it experimentally with one hand, then nodded in satisfaction.
“Perfect.”
“What is that?” Jupiter asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is that for eating? Are your hands clean?”
“It COULD be for eating, I suppose,” Zoisite wrinkled his delicate nose. “It’s a fruitcake. Last year’s fruitcake, to be precise. It’s made of fruits preserved in excessive amounts of sugar and the whole lot is soaked in brandy, so it’s actually entirely preserved. They can last for AGES and not go bad, but I don’t personally care for them.”
Curiously, Jupiter picked out a piece of candied fruit and took a nibble, then wrinkled her nose. “Too sweet.”
“Agreed,” Zoisite nodded firmly. “Anyway, large quantities of these get made every year, and passed out to those insane souls who actually like them around Christmastime. The ones that are left over get wrapped in whiskey-soaked cloths to keep them fresh and moist in case any more aforementioned insane souls wish to partake in them at a future time. And then whatever is left by the next Yule...” Here he grinned, green eyes bright as a boy’s, dimples winking in his cheeks, “We get to play broom ball with it!”
“Broom ball?” Jupiter gaped at him, but he had already flitted away from her to clear a single aisle down the length of the kitchen. Two stools were placed at each end, with a space in between about the width of a person. Blithely, Zoisite dropped the fruitcake on the floor, where it landed with a thump. Then, he quickly picked up two brooms that she had not noticed standing against one corner of the kitchen and handed one to her.
“You steer the fruitcake with your broom. The objective is to get it past the goal,” he told her, pointing at the stools. “Every goal is one point. You guard your end, I guard mine, we play until the fruitcake breaks.” The madcap grin widened. “Two years ago, Jadeite and I went at it for four hours before the thing gave up. The thing was practically a brick. The final score was 10:8. Naturally, I won.”
It was absolutely the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard of. But when Zoisite sent the colourful year-old fruitcake skidding across the floor towards her end, she blocked it by instinct, and there was something giddily hilarious about it all. A beam of competition entering her eye, she sent it flying back towards him with a swish of the broom.
Author: verisimilitude9
Prompt: Fruitcake
Characters: Jupiter, Zoisite
“What is this?”
Jupiter stared at the object in Zoisite’s hands with not a little bit of trepidation. When she’d first walked into the kitchen, only his legs and butt had been visible at all, his upper body deep in the reaches of the pantry as bags and boxes and jars were shifted and clattered around as he searched for something or another. Only the merry whistling emerging from deep within the pantry and the colour of the piping on his uniform gave his identity away, and when his curly head finally emerged from the pantry, he carried a strange-looking object covered in what looked to be damp linens and greeted Jupiter with a cordial smile and a glint in his eye that bespoke all sorts of mischief.
“You, my friend, are just in time for one of the finest Yuletide traditions,” he told her.
She didn’t know whether to be afraid or excited; Zoisite had far too many fine Yuletide traditions to count, and thus far all the ones he’d shared with her had been highly entertaining and enjoyable. However, there was still that glint in his eye and the strange object he’d unearthed from deep within the pantry. As a rule, anything shoved that far back into the pantry and lost for so long was not at its best.
So she simply watched as he brought the wrapped item to the counter, and now that it was closer, she noted that the linens smelled strongly of liquor. Raising an eyebrow, she watched as he carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal... a cake?
At least, it seemed to be some sort of cake, round and heavy-looking and dotted with what looked to be candied fruits and nuts. It smelled like sugar and alcohol. Zoisite, rather than putting it on a plate and slicing it, hefted it experimentally with one hand, then nodded in satisfaction.
“Perfect.”
“What is that?” Jupiter asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is that for eating? Are your hands clean?”
“It COULD be for eating, I suppose,” Zoisite wrinkled his delicate nose. “It’s a fruitcake. Last year’s fruitcake, to be precise. It’s made of fruits preserved in excessive amounts of sugar and the whole lot is soaked in brandy, so it’s actually entirely preserved. They can last for AGES and not go bad, but I don’t personally care for them.”
Curiously, Jupiter picked out a piece of candied fruit and took a nibble, then wrinkled her nose. “Too sweet.”
“Agreed,” Zoisite nodded firmly. “Anyway, large quantities of these get made every year, and passed out to those insane souls who actually like them around Christmastime. The ones that are left over get wrapped in whiskey-soaked cloths to keep them fresh and moist in case any more aforementioned insane souls wish to partake in them at a future time. And then whatever is left by the next Yule...” Here he grinned, green eyes bright as a boy’s, dimples winking in his cheeks, “We get to play broom ball with it!”
“Broom ball?” Jupiter gaped at him, but he had already flitted away from her to clear a single aisle down the length of the kitchen. Two stools were placed at each end, with a space in between about the width of a person. Blithely, Zoisite dropped the fruitcake on the floor, where it landed with a thump. Then, he quickly picked up two brooms that she had not noticed standing against one corner of the kitchen and handed one to her.
“You steer the fruitcake with your broom. The objective is to get it past the goal,” he told her, pointing at the stools. “Every goal is one point. You guard your end, I guard mine, we play until the fruitcake breaks.” The madcap grin widened. “Two years ago, Jadeite and I went at it for four hours before the thing gave up. The thing was practically a brick. The final score was 10:8. Naturally, I won.”
It was absolutely the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard of. But when Zoisite sent the colourful year-old fruitcake skidding across the floor towards her end, she blocked it by instinct, and there was something giddily hilarious about it all. A beam of competition entering her eye, she sent it flying back towards him with a swish of the broom.