you're too young & eager to love

My stepmother has switched all of the house-freshener scents to holiday smells. Our coffee creamers are even holiday flavored. As a result, I felt like writing some various fluffy holiday moment with a few characters. Except Henry and Penelope's is just fluff, but we'll assume it's set during the winter.

I'm too lazy for a cut.


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After the leaves change, the temperature drops dramatically.

Addison covers her neck in warm scarves, red berry-colored for the season. Each night Mischa has to unwrap her like a present till the stretch of her pale throat shows, the life vein sweetly taunting. She asks if she tastes like gingerbread and powdered sugar, peppermint mocha, or eggnog.

She asks him for a fire while winding candy-canes into the branches of an oversized tree. It barely fits in her apartment. When he searches for matches and kindling, Addison stares as though disappointed. “You can’t just make one?”

“… I am making one.”

“No, with your mind, I meant.”

Mischa’s voice breaks. “Where do you get these ideas from?”

“Anne Rice. True Blood.”

“Mortal fancy.” He teases while almost getting chimney soot all over the palms of his white hands. “You probably think I sparkle too.”


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Emere taps her foot against the floor. One hand dramatically on her hip and the other holding a martini, she stares at the stove.

“You have to turn it on. Preheat it.” Brando explains from his vantage point at the counter. Maine sits next to him, and she keeps hitting his ankle with her cold toes. She smells a little like pot and vodka and warm sugar cookies.

“Yes, thank you for the obvious statement.” Her hair has gotten too long, her brother notices. It falls far down her shoulders, scraping the middle of her spine. It’s almost as dark as the turtleneck she’s wearing, and he can tell that it’s cashmere without touching it.

Maine lights a cigarette. “C’mon hot stuff. I’m a hungry, hungry hippo.” She almost snorts from her own amusement; Emere hears it and snicker-scoffs, accidently swishing vodka from her glass when she turns to face her two guests.

“… Did any of us actually bring food to cook in the stove?”

Brando rubs his forehead, but Emere thinks she sees him grin. The tightness of his shoulders could be silent laughter. Maine hums with thought then shakes her head. “Nope, no ma’am. Not enough room for a turkey in my purse.”

“Right. I have uppers in my fridge. We don’t cook those.”

After a moment, Brando scoots his chair back and reaches for his cell phone. “How’s Chinese sound?”


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Katerina’s skin is frozen, but she turns her face up to the wild night sky. The deep blackness above that is dashing down snow. It gets caught in her thick hair, in the fur around her shoulders, melts against the fabric of her dress.

“You’re going to catch your death out here.” Cassius flips his collar up closer, suppressing the desire to shiver.

“Impossible. In Russia we would have been blanketed by snow already. Your American winters are as weak as your American blood.”

“With my blood being the exception, of course, darling.” He kisses her hair when he steps close, and she laughs, curling against his arm and sharing the heavy weight of her fur.


-


Penelope curls deeper into the warmth of the bed. It’s feather soft now that she made Henry change the mattress.

It’s hard to see much more than a tangle of blonde hair. The blankets are less of a problem, but three Great Danes have sprawled themselves around her, breathing loud and forming a visual blockade.

Henry rubs his jaw. He needs to shave. It’s not much of a concern at the moment though since he’s more focused on trying to reclaim his side of the bed. He whistles softly, snaps his fingers. One of the dogs lifts its head and wags its whip-strong tail. The other two glance but look at him unconcernedly.

He sighs. Those dogs used to really be something, a monument to his patience and dedication, as loyal and ready to serve as any hellhound could be. Until Penelope spoiled them with treats and too many afternoon naps. His wife. Ever the unexpected interruption of his structured life.


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