go_exchange | Happy Holidays, Kaliscoo! (Reply)

Happy Holidays, kaliscoo!

title: And Snowpeople
gift for:

kaliscoo
author/artist:

sadisticgrin
summary: On a cold winter's afternoon, the Them examine certain holiday traditions (an illustrated fic).
rating: G.

Paradise, The Pit, was covered in a thin layer of snow come Christmas Eve morning. Or, it had been up until the four children and a small terrier had descended down into it, scraping it from the overgrown grass and patches of dirt like scum from the bottom of a barrel. Only, to any respectable children, a relative bowl in the earth filled with snow could absolutely not be compared to crud in a barrel. That was the sort of metaphor grown-ups made. Children just saw the wonder of the snow, and the fact that they could build snow forts and go capering about the bottom of paradise without wandering forty yards this way and that to find enough snow to make something significant with.

So, over the past two hours, the snow at the bottom of Paradise had been stripped away layer by layer until it left more of a soggy mess that stained pant legs and got gloves dirty. In the blanket’s stead, two snowmen, one fort, and an igloo (that had collapsed in on itself by that time) had been erected, the shambles of the year’s first ice battle properly scattered between each of these seasonal structures. With the sun at its peak, the four children and the dog had retired from their battles and construction for a nice sit on a number of milk crates and a large rock they had uncovered in the process. The fat clouds overhead that blocked most of the sun, offered another flurry later in the day, promising more fun was to be had tomorrow.

Adam was pleased. They still had enough snow on one side of The Pit to last them a few more games, probably enough to sustain them until they had to drift home for lunch. He’d tried to explain to his mother than snow waited for no man, but she’d explained that neither did sandwiches, so if he didn’t want to eat snow for lunch, he was going to have to be home by one o’ clock for a decent meal. Adam had agreed, but only because he knew Dog would be highly disappointed if he didn’t get his share of turkey from a sandwich.

Adam sat on an upturned milk crate, his sharp angled boy legs poking out in front of him, the heels of his snow boots digging into the muck beneath them. He’d sacrificed his coat for Dog, because he didn’t want the pedigree mongrel to catch a cold by lying in the snow. Besides, Adam didn’t think he’d get cold or a sniffly nose. He wouldn’t. Dog had accepted the offering regally, folding himself up on the blue lined coat, promptly favoring the hobby of cleaning the snow from his back paws. Most human talk, Dog had decided long ago, wasn’t interesting. The creature kept one inside-out ear pricked for his Master’s words, though; those were sometimes important.

“—Look, your candles are beside the point, Wensley,” Pepper said from her seat on a tricycle with one back wheel missing. She twisted the handlebars, glaring at the small boy across from her.

Wensleydale hunched his shoulders. “Course they are,” he pressed back, features stormy. “Lighting a bunch of candles makes a lot more sense than a grandfather flying around the world with presents. It’s not possible, you know; haven’t you ever watched educational television?”

The three blank looks and the silence, broken only by Dog squirming on Adam’s upturned jacket, told Wensleydale in no uncertain terms that no, they had not watched educational television. At least, not unless forced, and everyone knows that when someone is forced to watch something they really would rather not, anything they might learn goes in one ear and directly out the other. Wensleydale hunched his shoulders farther.

“Alright, so supposing your Father Christmas is real and all that – how do his deer fly about?” He prodded further, casting a challenging glance about the circle.

On his mostly unsnowified rock, Brian thoughtfully tried to pick the snow out of his mittens. “’Dunno,” he said, cocking his head absently to the side, frowning at the ground with all the severity a small boy can feasibly muster after a pleasant romp in the outdoors.

Adam rocked forward on his milk carton, putting it on its front panel for a moment before it clunked back down to the snow on all fours. “They fly ‘cause that’s what they’re made for, of course. He breeds them, you know; like that lady breeds dogs that can swim for ages and ages and never get cold—“

“Newfunhounds?” Pepper interjected, willing her tricycle seat forward a few marks through the snow.

“Yeah, them. Anyway, he prolly makes ‘em that way. He prolly spent a few coupla years perfecting it, you know? So as to make sure that they pulled the sleigh properly and wouldn’t get too tired half way around the world. Because, that is a lot of rooftops. Heck, I bet he’s got a whole herd up there, makin’ baby reindeer and jinglin’ about with all their bells hanging off their antlers and such. Besides, everyone knows there’s magic. They’re obviously magically bred deer.”

“I bet those Newfunhounds are magic ‘uns,” Brian said, giving up on his gloves. “They have webbed toes! Like ducks; I saw ‘em.”

“Brian, would you stop yammering? Newfunhounds and their webbed toes aren’t going to help anyone believe in Saint Nick.”

“Alright, alright. I’m just sayin’…”

“Okay,” Wensleydale broke in, shifting slightly on his chosen ‘chair.’ “So what if the reindeer can fly, that still doesn’t account for Santa breaking into fifty billion houses. That’s illegal, you know. They fine people for doing that sort of thing. If he’s breaking into houses, he can’t really be that good of a grandfather. My Grandfather doesn’t break into our house.”

“Your grandfather is about a million years old, though. ‘Sides, I don’t think he could get that big air tank in through any windows,” Pepper pointed out from her mauled tricycle.

“Yeah, ‘sides, Saint Nick’s the good sort of grandfather,” Brian added, squirming around in the depths of his winter coat, trying to get the smell of moth balls out of his nose. “He has to be; the bad types give you socks ‘n stuff instead of neat stuff like that remote car you got last year.”

“That was Hanukkah, not Santa Claus!”

“Fine. So Hanukkah gave it to you, but it still wasn’t your old grandfather.”

Adam cast Dog a sidelong glance. Dog looked back to him, one ear cocked. Adam sighed, squinting against the snow glare to the faces of his friends, their bickering arching into a spectacular humm of irritation. Pepper looked as if she might abandon her tricycle seat in favor of knocking Wensleydale and his oily candle tradition off his crate.

“You’re right, Dog. They’re being awfully silly,” Adam remarked, tone carrying just enough to hover above the arguing. In the world of children, it was probably incredibly subtle.

Pepper, Brain, and Wensleydale glanced up. Pepper still wore a deep frown across her freckled face, the expression mirrored to a lesser extent by the other two boys. Their arguing had cut off at the prospect of being awfully silly, though – at least, there was a significant lull in the snapping; one that Adam could lounge comfortably in until the smoke cooled.

Dog squirmed on the upturned jacket, tail wagging slowly.

After a long moment of irritable shoulder hunches, a silence in which Adam shifted on his milk crate, scratched Dog behind the ears, and made a rut in the snow with his heel, the curly haired, unofficial ring leader glanced up and finally turned his attention to his dissenting comrades in arms.

“I don’t think it matters; not really anyway.”

“Of course it matters!” Pepper hissed, throwing up her arms in an exasperated flash of bright pink. Her mother had bought the atrocity of a coat. She’d tried to sneak out wearing her one from last year – it was a decent, respectable red color— but her mother had caught her at the door. “Saint Nick isn’t a robber, Adam.”

“Well, I know that,” Adam said with a roll of his eyes, propping one elbow on his knee and his chin in the upturned palm of his hand. “But I don’t think it matters that Wensleydale thinks it is. I mean, you think his candles are stupid, so who cares what he thinks. That’s like…that’s like arguing about which sort of ice cream is the best. I like chocolate and Dog likes strawberry; that doesn’t make us arch nemesises.”

“Nemesis,” Wensleydale muttered absently from his own milk crate, head bowed, picking the lint off his mittens.

“Right,” Adam said with a nod. “So, who cares if Wensley lights a bunch of candles and we believe in flyin’ deer and some grandfather who breaks into houses? It’s only one time of the year. We can all believe what we wan to. I believe in Saint Nick ‘n flyin’ reindeer, and that’s all I need.”

Pepper offered a last token frown before slouching in her tricycle, crossing her arms over the handlebars and jutting her chin out over one forearm. “Yeah, ‘lright.”

Brain nodded, casting Wensleydale a sidelong glance. “Alright, Wensley; y’can have yer candles and Hunakkah,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Adam nodded, cast a last glance around the circle and then stood up. “Besides, your lot’s arguing is wasting this snow. It’s only around so long, you know.”

Dog leapt up from Adam’s jacket, rump wriggling, ears pricked. Adam stooped and took up his jacket. He shook the snow and dirt off the back and then squirmed into it, his candy cane striped scarf poofing up around his neck as he did up the zipper. “Come on, let’s build more snowmen. We’ve already got a Pepper ‘n a Wensley.”

“I’m not that short!” Pepper remarked, pointing at the two small snowmen (and snowgirl, apparently) across the Pit.

“’Course your not,” said Adam. “That’s Wensley.”

Pepper wrinkled her red tipped nose, adjusting the collar of his flaming pink jacket. “Well, alright then. Brian and you start on the body. Wensley ‘n and me’ll get the head.”

Adam nodded, grinning. “Dog,” he said, glancing down to the mongrel terrier. “You go find us some sticks for arms.”

Dog yipped, turned on his tail, and disappeared over a low bank of snow in a matter of seconds. They watched him go a moment, and then moved off to their respective duties. All save for Brian, who paused a moment by his rock, absently scratching the back of his head.

“What the heck does a Hanakkuh look like, anyway?”

**+++**

A number of hours later, with children everywhere nestled in their beds, not excluding those in Lower Tadfield, and the moon hanging full in the sky, the presence of a distinct sound came flitting idly on the night breeze. It clinked and jiggled like bells on a sleigh as, house by house, stockings were stuffed and special gifts were laid beneath the boughs of trees. Christmas tree lights glittered through handfuls of windows, the monotony of Christmas broken by the occasional falter in décor. One window in Lower Tadfield, facing the street, reflected eight little candle flames.

All the while the noise rolled over the snowy hills, and then abruptly, a team of flying reindeer, all looking to be full grown but technically only half a day old, burst out across the sky. They hauled behind them one large sleigh, laden with both presents and a large bellied man who, up until a few hours ago, had been unhappily employed at a local department store. He didn’t much mind this sudden change in occupation. Besides, he had a feeling that when he woke up tomorrow morning, it would be because his son was jumping on his bed, and this whole mess with reindeer was all some elaborate dream. He laughed, absently stroking the long beard he couldn’t remember ever growing. Some dream.