Mistletoe Milkshake for Teeny!
Vanilla #7. Holiday with Milkshake and Malt
Rating : G-PG
Word Count : 211
I don't know where or how this fits in, but London has decided to share a little Christmas with his friends. Milkshakes are FUN! Sorry it's short. I hope I did okay!
“So this Santa fellow will bring you presents, just so long as you’ve been good?”
London looked up from the paper chain he was slowly weaving in his lap to the scowling Vulcan perched on the arm of the couch. “Pretty much,” he said.
Haytham’s frown deepend a moment in thought. “What sort of presents?” he asked.
London shrugged and slid another slender strip of green into place. “I don’t know. Anything.” He reached for the glue. “Whatever you ask for. What’s it matter, it’s just a kids’ stor-”
The Thurmaturge’s head shot up. Scissors froze, poised in midair around the paper that dangled from his grasp, as he cast such a grin at London that he couldn’t help but cringe. “Anything?” he said, eyes slowly glazing over.
The flat of Haytham’s hand connected with the back of Kyrie’s head. Kyrie’s jaw dropped and he spun round to glare at him. “He’s not bringing you a grift wrapped London, you perv.”
“He’s not really bringing you anything,” said London. “It’s just a kids’ story.”
Kyrie sighed, the scissors resuming their slow, steady snap across the paper. “Ah well,” he said, with a wistful look at London. “One can still dream.”
London buried his face in his glue crusted hand and groaned.
Rating : G-PG
Word Count : 211
I don't know where or how this fits in, but London has decided to share a little Christmas with his friends. Milkshakes are FUN! Sorry it's short. I hope I did okay!
“So this Santa fellow will bring you presents, just so long as you’ve been good?”
London looked up from the paper chain he was slowly weaving in his lap to the scowling Vulcan perched on the arm of the couch. “Pretty much,” he said.
Haytham’s frown deepend a moment in thought. “What sort of presents?” he asked.
London shrugged and slid another slender strip of green into place. “I don’t know. Anything.” He reached for the glue. “Whatever you ask for. What’s it matter, it’s just a kids’ stor-”
The Thurmaturge’s head shot up. Scissors froze, poised in midair around the paper that dangled from his grasp, as he cast such a grin at London that he couldn’t help but cringe. “Anything?” he said, eyes slowly glazing over.
The flat of Haytham’s hand connected with the back of Kyrie’s head. Kyrie’s jaw dropped and he spun round to glare at him. “He’s not bringing you a grift wrapped London, you perv.”
“He’s not really bringing you anything,” said London. “It’s just a kids’ story.”
Kyrie sighed, the scissors resuming their slow, steady snap across the paper. “Ah well,” he said, with a wistful look at London. “One can still dream.”
London buried his face in his glue crusted hand and groaned.