(no subject)
...(belated) merry christmas ♥...
Chitose
one seems to hear words of good cheer from everywhere filling the air
Annabelle's never met anyone as relentlessly happy as Chitose before, and she's pretty sure it's not just an act. Almost anything can set off bubbles of delight - this morning it was the way the snow drifted down to cover the fields and cabins with a perfect coat of pure white; now it's Christmas carols. She should've expected Christmas to make him happy, of course, since Christmas tends to make most people happy (the ones not stuck at boarding school or neverending summer camp, anyway), but this is above and beyond. Not even Santa's elves get this excited about Christmas, Annabelle's pretty sure.
And the other thing about Chitose is that once he gets enthusiastic about something, it's really hard to say no to him, even if he's suggesting she dress up as a Christmas angel and come around carolling with him. Annabelle's not totally down with the concept of singing in front of other people at the best of times, but wearing a skimpy outfit (and it will be skimpy; she knows Chitose and his taste in costumes) and a bobbing halo is definitely not the best of times. It might actually be the worst of times. She's still not quite sure how he managed to talk her into it.
At least she isn't alone. Chitose is dressed as an elf, and the skintight red-and-green candy-striped leggings are distracting most people from Annabelle's clinging white dress, assuming his dancing doesn't grab their attention even faster. And Warren, who had to be coerced into doing it as a favour to Annabelle, makes a fairly good reindeer despite his scowl. The stuffed antlers make him look vaguely terrifying, but the glowing red nose takes a little of the impact away. They've collected other campers as what Annabelle's starting to think of as Chitose's Magical Christmas Carol Parade has made its way past the cabins and mess hall and hospital, and little by little Annabelle and Warren are getting their playing to the point where the two guitars sound more like a duet and less like duelling banjos.
No matter how embarrassing it all is, though, it's kind of worth it just to see Chitose's face transformed by the glow of joy.
Daisuke
listen to what I say
Her breath puffs out into clouds of frosty air, dissipating quickly into the frozen night. Ivy's a little surprised that there's enough heat in her for even those faint wisps. The greenhouse roof has cracked, dumping heavy snow on two entire rows of pots where her vulnerable babies sleep. Ivy tried to dig them out, but she's only one small woman...and she's so tired. Winter saps her strength, talks to the plant genetics in her body and tells her it's time to go dormant and wait for spring.
Only she's still human enough not to sleep, still coherent enough to realize that letting herself lie down in the middle of a blizzard means she'll never get up again. She can't leave her sleeping babies, but she can't surrender to the peaceful cold like they do either. So she sits, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees, and stares into the swirling snow as ice crystals decorate her hair and eyelashes.
The sound of another pane of glass cracking ricochets around the greenhouse. Ivy winces, and huddles closer into her knees. It won't be so long now, she thinks. When the moogles bring her back, maybe she'll at least be warm enough to try to dig the plants out from under the snow...
"Ivy!"
It's a shout, and it's so unexpected that for a few moments Ivy's too surprised to respond. But it comes again, a note of desperation in the voice, and the little supervillain finds enough strength to raise her head and answer.
"Daisuke?"
She doesn't realize until he suddenly appears at her side that he must have been using Clock Up, bouncing around the greenhouse like a bee on speed to find her. He radiates heat, even through that ridiculous costume.
"Take it off," Ivy mutter, and closes her eyes. She's not going to talk to anyone in stupid suits, not right now.
When his hand touches her shoulder, it's bare skin and so warm it almost feels like it's burning. Ivy imagines steam rising, and shivers. She's too cold to even protest when he pulls her up, strong arms wrapping around her. Something warm and soft covers her back and shoulders - his coat, of course, Ivy realizes fuzzily. She snuggles into his chest, drinking in his heat.
"Ivy, what are you doing? You'll freeze." He sounds distressed. Ivy tries to shrug, decides it's too big a task.
"The plants," she explains, because even Daisuke must realize that's all the explanation required.
"Come inside, Ivy. Please. The plants will be fine. Please, Ivy."
He's fading.
"Ivy!"
Ivy thinks about it for a moment, and decides to listen. "All right," she agrees, and finally lets the world go dark as Daisuke cradles her in his arms.
Earth
the snow's coming down
There's only three people in all of camp that Ivy can really let herself relax with, knowing that even if they touch her nothing can possibly happen to them. It's an improvement on Gotham, where there was only Harley, and sometimes she wonders what she's going to do when she goes back to Gotham and Rayne and Earth aren't there any more.
She thinks of him as Earth, in the privacy of her own head, even though she says 'Kirigi' outside it. And even though she'd never thought of Earth as being male, or a teenager, when she sees him it seems strangely right. Ivy's found a kind of peace with the notion, enough of it that when she has the opportunity to sit with the boy in companionable silence she takes it. And when he held out his arms, it felt only right to move into them and let him wrap his warmth around her. After all, the snow's coming down outside the greenhouse walls, the same way it has been for days, and Earth might be the only person she can trust who understands the sheer bone-numbing cold that comes over the plants' world now, in the depths of winter. He feels it the same way she does, perhaps even more, because he feels the hibernating animals as well as the slumbering plants. Unlike Ivy, though, Earth still has the heat of the tropics and the southern hemisphere to warm him.
That's why it's so comfortable in his arms, Ivy thinks; they don't need to speak, because they're two of a kind, and words are superfluous when you can communicate through the unspoken language of the Green. He knows how cold she is, how cold all his children are right now, and while heat would be counterproductive for most of Earth's children, for Ivy it's desperately needed. It's not even humbling herself to let him hold her, as it would be if he were almost anyone else. It's safe.
Ivy can't remember how long it's been since she last felt safe in someone's arms. Once upon a time she must have known how good it was to be rocked until you fell asleep, but the memory has been lost for more years than she can think of. She yawns, and stretches, and lets herself start to dream in Earth's warm embrace.
Elphaba (Elphie)
sleep in heavenly peace
For all Elphie's snarky and grumpy and quick to bite while she's awake, Elphie asleep is one of the prettiest things Glinda's ever seen. And it doesn't matter that Elphie's not really pretty, not at all, certainly not the way Glinda is, because when she sleeps all the walls she's erected around herself drop away and for a little time the whole world can see what Glinda sees in her.
Or at least they could, if Elphie let herself sleep where other people could see. Glinda doesn't think that's happened since they set out for the Emerald City, four years ago (or just yesterday, if you look at it another way). Even in the cabin Elphie tends to pull all the blankets over her head, creating an impenetrable Elphie-lump in her bed. Sometimes, in the pitch black of the night, Liir sneaks in to curl up around her feet like a puppy. Glinda knows because she's almost sat on the boy twice now, and it's a good thing their matched squeaks of surprise didn't wake Elphie.
Because the thing is that while Elphie's asleep, she looks so peaceful Glinda can't stop watching her. Things no one would ever notice while she's awake are suddenly clear - the long dark eyelashes, the perfect curve of her mouth, the aristocratic angle of her cheekbones. And sometimes when Glinda touches Elphie's hand, Elphie reaches out to grab her and hold her like Glinda's the only thing that can keep her safe. Glinda's happy to stay there for hours, even though her hand cramps and sitting straight for so long is profoundly uncomfortable. It's all worth it to watch Elphie relax as she floats into dreams.
Elphaba (the Witch)
glory to the newborn king
It's been a few weeks now since she returned to normal, but Elphaba's still getting strange flashbacks, memories that she can't possibly have. She remembers a long, cold winter in a tiny attic room, the spice of intrigue and plots perfectly complemented by the warmth of her diamond-tattooed prince. She remembers, too, blood splattered across the floorboards, across the snow blowing in from the broken window.
What she doesn't remember, and is grateful she doesn't, is the blood and pain that must have come nine months later...
...she remembers the next winter, too, and the fluffy-headed child the maunts tried to place in her arms. He must have been three or four months old by then, dark eyes (just like his father's) starting to focus on the world around him, but to Elphie - to Fae - to Elphaba, he seemed newly born. In the strange not-memory, stirrings of love are buried under grief and anger and disbelief.
Here and now, though, Elphie looks down on her son's sleeping face, sees the baby he once was, and feels a surge of pride and protectiveness. Is it love? She's not sure, but the feeling makes her run gentle fingers through the boy's hair and smile as his head turns a little towards the touch. He's almost full-grown, but Elphie finds herself inspecting his features as if he were her newborn son. He has her hair, her nose, the same angularity of face, although tempered by Fiyero's long eyelashes and generous mouth.
The boy stirs, opening dark eyes to gaze up at her in surprised delight. "Mama?" he asks, and Elphie jerks in confusion. It connects to something so deep inside her that the words hurt. And she finds herself answering without thinking, without a chance to find a denial or reproach.
"I'm here, Liir," she says, and touches his cheek. "Sleep."
Her son smiles, and his eyes flutter closed. Elphie watches him, and feels tears begin to burn in her eyes. She doesn't dare move to wipe them away for fear of waking the boy again. He frowns as one falls onto his face, and reaches up blindly to her.
"Don't cry, Mama." His voice is blurry with sleep.
"Hush, Liir," she tells him, and waits until he starts to drift off, her mind full of memories of the boy's father.
Emma
fall on your knees
The costume is brilliant. Whatever else Harley's terrible at (stealth, clear thinking, the ability to not consider whoopee cushions the highest form of entertainment...), she at least makes up for it by being an excellent seamstress. Which, given how tight her suit is, is probably for the best. And she didn't complain once when Ivy requested a costume for Christmas. An angel.
Ivy looks very good in it, if she does say so herself. Her hair falls in loose curls over her bare shoulders, and the dress hugs her every curve. Inside, she can go barefoot, and smirk inwardly when campers and counselors alike can't help but follow the long smooth line from ankle to thigh with their eyes.
But it's not them she wants to drive crazy with unfulfilled desire, oh no. Ivy - as always - has a bigger target in mind. Since that infuriating Cyclops left, Ivy hasn't seen Emma around as much. She's not sure if it's because it's easier to hide grief when there's no one around to see you mourn, or whether it's because Ivy is...well, Ivy. Either way, she doesn't care. It's Christmas, and if she has to be jolly on a holiday involving the merciless slaughter of thousands of trees, Emma's going to be jolly whether she likes it or not.
There's no one in Emma's cabin when Ivy walks in, silent on bare feet. That's all right; she's prepared to wait. The little supervillain reaches into the sack she brought along and takes out the miniature - and living, naturally - pine she's crafted especially for Emma. Not that Emma will appreciate it, of course, but sometimes it's fun to have the high moral ground when you're a supervillain. Not being given a present, Ivy thinks, means she has the upper hand. As if she doesn't always have the upper hand anyway.
For good measure, she calls the mistletoe to curl through the rafters of the cabin. Then, her job temporarily done, the little villain settles down on her knees to wait.
It's a while before Emma returns, but Ivy's more than entertained by the antics of the mistletoe and by the wonderful thoughts of Emma's face when she does finally walk in. In the event, it's exactly what Ivy expected - a brief glimpse of surprise, hastily shut away behind haughty blankness. But there's a hint of amusement under there, Ivy's pretty sure, and maybe even pleasure.
"What are you doing in here?" The psychic's voice could freeze blood, but Ivy's glowing inwardly with delight and mischief and even the coldest tone can't dull her spirits.
"Waiting," she says, and carefully doesn't look upwards until Emma does. For a moment the blonde woman's face freezes, and then she rolls her eyes.
"Mistletoe. Really, Ivy."
Ivy doesn't respond, doesn't move, doesn't do anything but watch Emma, a smile slowly quirking the corners of her mouth. Mistletoe doesn't affect her, after all; she won't be drawn away from her position by the tiny tree. Nor, once commanded to stay, will the mistletoe leave - not even if Emma forces her to demand it goes away. She's thought it through. Not just for the pleasure of seeing Emma submit to her will, although that's plenty by itself, but - well, even Poison Ivy can want a kiss...
Eventually Emma steps towards her, reluctantly, and once she's taken the first step the second and third come much faster, until the blonde hero's kneeling in front of Ivy, close enough that all it will take is Ivy leaning forward -
"Merry Christmas," Ivy says, and kisses Emma's cheek, a gentle, chaste kiss that isn't what she wants but is what she knows Emma isn't expecting. At the flick of her hand, the mistletoe rustles away to annoy someone else. Emma's face is a picture of confusion. Ivy smiles, and stands, and walks towards the doorway. She blows the hero a kiss, and vanishes into the night.
Gon
a child sleeping in the night
"If you keep snatching them," Ivy hisses, "you're going to wake her up."
Daisuke spreads his hands in injured innocence, and ignores how closely Ivy's clutching the gift. Or at least he seems to. You can never entirely trust the stupid hero, in Ivy's opinion, especially - as it turns out - when he's trying to dictate exactly how Gon's presents should be arranged. Ivy knows how these things go, obviously; her view of the matter is far superior, obviously. And really, she should have expected Daisuke to interfere. You'd think the man had never heard of useful gifts before.
"You can't give her a carnivorous plant," he whispers. "Ivy-san, it's not safe."
"It's perfectly safe!"
He actually glares at her, and Ivy realizes belatedly her voice has risen above a murmur. She tries again, quieter this time.
"This is a tried and true modification," she points out, and chooses to pretend she doesn't see Daisuke glance in Herbie's direction. The damned plant is perched on the foot of Gon's bed, patiently nibbling his way through every stray piece of ribbon he can find on the gifts that are temporarily stacked by the bed. "He's normally very good," Ivy says defensively, and freezes as Gon stirs in her sleep.
"He tried to eat my makeup case."
"He thought there was a guitar inside! It's hardly his fault you can't keep things in the appropriate box." Ivy can't work out how anyone can be so obtuse.
"What? How does that make it better?"
"Guitars are made of wood."
"You are trying to give Gon a cannibal plant?!"
"Of course I am," Ivy says, her mouth moving faster than her brain can. She realizes, and recovers quickly. "It doesn't eat people, after all."
Daisuke's mouth opens and closes as though he's trying to think of a response, and Ivy takes the opportunity to put the gift back at the foot of Gon's bed. Daisuke reaches for it, just as the little girl in the bed rubs her eyes and yawns and sits up halfway.
"Daisuke?"
Ivy sticks her tongue out at the hero, and smirks triumphantly as Gon notices what he's holding in his hands.
"Is it morning already?"
"Yes," Ivy says, just as Daisuke tries to say "no". And, of course, 'yes' is the word Gon wants to hear, and so Ivy's voice is the one that wins out.
"Is it time to open presents?"
"Aa. Yes, Gon."
Daisuke shoots Ivy a despairing glance as he hands the gift to his charge. Ivy beams at him, and blows him a kiss.
Harley
on the first day of Christmas...
Ivy supposes she should have been expecting it. It is camp, after all, and she's always thought the Twelve Days of Christmas was tempting fate. It's just not a safe thing to sing in this place. But did Harley listen? Of course she didn't. She's Harley.
The worst of it is that Harley doesn't care. Harley thinks it's funny. Harley's talked one of the drummers into giving her his drum, and one of the pipers into giving her his pipe, and she's still singing. Ivy has the dreadful feeling that any minute now, there's going to be another poof of Christmas lights and tinsel and then a whole new set of animals and humans and things will appear, and then what is she going to do? They hardly fit into the greenhouse as it is. And Harley's raucous singing is really starting to get on her nerves.
It's just at this point that something wet and surprisingly heavy lands on her head. Ivy tries very hard not to guess what it is, an attempt that goes badly astray when the white liquid trickles down her face and onto her costume. Above her, the turtle doves coo happily to each other as the partridge hops angrily from branch to branch, irritated by the intrusion of other birds into its tree.
Ivy sighs, and wipes the birds' droppings off her face. Her costume's ruined, but at least leaves aren't hard to come by. Assuming the geese don't take them all for their nests, anyway, in the absence of reeds - is it reeds? She's not an ornithologist, she can't be expected to know these things. What she does know is that six geese honking non-stop is very, very annoying. Almost as annoying as ten lords and one clown-suited supervillain leaping over every damn thing they can find, including Ivy's lab bench, and - once - Ivy herself. She's pleased to see that that particular lord is not leaping anything like as high, and he does tend to wince in pain every time he leaps. That will teach him to leap around indiscriminately. Men need to be taught some manners.
The only thing stopping her from throwing every last one of them into a modified Venus flytrap is that Harley's so happy. That and the fact that the poor plant would have a terrible case of indigestion. But, this being Christmas, Ivy's trying very hard to believe that the first reason is really the thing stopping her.
Imoen
so be good, for goodness' sake
Glinda opens the door of her cabin and stops dead, confronted by a wall of presents. There's wrappings and tinsel and shiny ribbons from floor to ceiling, and even a cursory examination of the tags tends to indicate that not one of the presents is actually intended for anyone in the cabin. She sighs, and pushes her way through the squishiest-looking part of the wall.
Gargamel chirps at her from on top of his pile of loot - gold chocolate coins, discarded wrapping paper, and here and there what looks suspiciously like paste jewels. It's far too much for such a small pseudodragon, but he doesn't seem to mind, or even think that he might have trouble keeping it all. Gargamel always has been prone to biting off more than he can chew.
"You needn't worry, I've no desire for any of that," Glinda tells him sternly, and gets a quizzical head tilt in response. He settles himself down into a complicated curl over as much of his loot as he possibly can, and starts emitting tiny squeaky snores. The pink witch sighs, and forges onwards through the stacks of gifts.
Her fiancee's sitting in the centre of the cabin, just as expected, although - not as expected - she hasn't opened any of the presents at all. Not even the one specifically meant for her, the one Glinda spent ever so long picking out. She looks up at Glinda with a guilty expression, as though she didn't expect to get caught with an entire cabinful of presents. Glinda sighs again, and rubs her forehead. The worst of it is that this isn't the least bit unusual, and in fact she'd rather thought something of the sort might happen. Imoen's been remarkably good thus far when it comes to other people's gifts, which normally only means that she'll very soon be up to something.
"Darling," she says patiently, "while we both know quite well Lurline and Preenella, or Santa if you'd prefer, is entirely unlikely to come to us, the point remains that this is camp, and truly the oddest things do happen, and if they find out that you've stolen - "
"Haven't stolen 'em."
Glinda sighs again. "Very well, that you've temporarily appropriated every gift in this entire camp - I should think that that would put you on the naughty list. And quite possibly me, too, and I should quite like to get a present."
"I was going to give them back." Imoen actually sounds like she believes it. Maybe she even does. For a thief, she has a strange sense of honour.
"Well, then. There's rather a lot, and since it is Lurlinemas Eve, perhaps we ought to get started...?"
And the thing is, when properly directed, Imoen's mischievous ability to steal away just about anything can be transformed into putting it back right where it used to be. The only thing is that Glinda knows perfectly well that there's only one person expected to enter various cabins tonight, and it turns out that the reason no one ever wants to dress up as Santa Claus is that the stomach does tend to keep slipping and the beard itches dreadfully.
Jubilee
join the triumph of the skies
When she finds Jubilee, the girl's lying on her back in a clearing on top of one of the tallest of what pass for hills in this mostly-flat camp. Ivy hesitates for a long moment in the cover of the trees, watching the little hero sigh and shift and rest her head on her hands. Above her, the stars glitter in the frozen sky, bright and clear this far away from anything that could reasonably be called a city. Jubilee seems to be thinking, and if it were anyone else Ivy wouldn't hesitate to interrupt. But it isn't anyone else, that's the thing, and so she hangs back, waiting, until Jubilee sighs again and closes her eyes.
The grass crackles under even Ivy's feet as she walks away from the shelter of the trees, a stick snapping with a report loud enough to echo, and Jubilee bolts upright. Ivy holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender, and sees the little hero relax once she recognizes who's approaching. It's true that the zombies and gorillas don't really respect things like Christmas and peace and personal boundaries; she can't exactly blame Jubilee for her reaction. After all, in her position, Ivy would have done just the same - possibly with a little more terminal prejudice. She is a supervillain, after all. She's the one who can get away with murder.
"It's cold," Ivy comments, and settles down on the frozen grass. Jubilee sits down next to her, all gangly adolescent limbs, and shrugs herself deeper into her jacket. That's unusual; normally she's the most exuberant and talkative person Ivy knows. The supervillain tries again. "Is it about your friends?"
Another shrug. Ivy's always been good at carrying the conversation, but that's only if she gets to make veiled threats and slide innuendo into her words. But it's Jubilee, and she's not quite sure what Jubilee is to her, but it's not quite a child and not quite a responsibility and maybe it's the closest thing to a friend she has.
"There's someone I miss, too," Ivy tells her, voice as soft and fragile as the clouds of mist that come out every time she breathes. "Two someones. I won't see them again, either." It's coming out clumsy, but she has to keep trying. "Sometimes - the plants remind me."
She thinks about that. "It's strange. They had nothing to do with the plants. All right, except the mistletoe, but then everyone has something to do with the mistletoe..."
Jubilee seems to be listening.
"It's easier to talk to the plants about them."
This time, when she glances over, Jubilee's eyes are fixed on her.
"You could talk to the sky," Ivy offers, hoping the girl recognizes the meaning behind the words.
Jubilee smiles. Above their heads, there's a crackling, and the sky explodes with fireworks, rainbows of colour blazing glory across the night.
Luffy
joy and laughter every time we meet
Elphie's glaring - although, to be fair, she hasn't really stopped for the past ten minutes or so. Liir glances at Luffy, who grins back at him, and collapses into helpless giggles again. It hurts to laugh, now, and he clutches his stomach and rolls on the floor. That, of course, sets Luffy off, and the rubbery pirate falls on top of him and laughs until Liir starts fearing that the other boy might actually explode.
The problem is that it's remarkably hard to warn someone about the dangers of their possible imminent explosion when you can't talk because you're laughing too hard, and Luffy seems to find his efforts even more hilarious, and Luffy's laughter is infectious so Liir can't stop, and even Elphie's glower is starting to seem ever so funny. She just looks so silly when she tries to be stern, and anyway he can't help remembering the jokes Luffy was telling - and that sets him off again, wheezing and kicking his legs.
"Wh - wh - " Luffy tries, and after another fit of giggling, finally manages to get the words out in a relatively comprehensible manner. "What do you call a gigantic polar bear?"
And for some reason that's funny too. Liir convulses again, not even able to stop himself at the sight of Elphie rolling her eyes. He can't answer, but that doesn't matter, because Luffy knows it's incredibly funny, too funny to be able to say anything, and is already yelling "Nothing, you just run away!"
Which is exactly what Liir would do, in fact, if faced with a gigantic polar bear (not that he's entirely sure what a gigantic polar bear is), and so he howls with laughter and tries to kick Luffy for telling him such a wonderful joke, and Luffy laughs so hard it starts coming out as hiccuping sobs and tries to kick Liir back.
Elphie sighs, and turns away, but Liir's pretty sure he sees a smile quirk the corner of her mouth.
Mika
oh night divine
Ivy's made a fire, and is very proud of herself.
Getting the wood was the easy part; she only took the branches that had already fallen to the ground, of course, even if the trees would have readily given her whatever she needed (if she could wake them from their dormant winter slumber, anyway). The problems really started when she realized just how much of that wood was wet - most of it.
No one's ever going to say Ivy gives up easily, though. In the end, there was just enough to start a fire big enough to begin drying out the rest of the wet wood. And so now she can sit on a log by her fire, warming both her hands and her ego by the glow of the flames.
With most of the forest asleep, she's practically blind and deaf, and so the first she knows of Michael's presence is when the angel steps into the firelight and sparks seem to glint off his red hair. Ivy jumps, and tries to cover it, but he notices and smiles. That would signal a death wish in anyone else, but she and Michael have come to an understanding, and so she doesn't move as he sits on the log beside her.
"You're the last person I expected to find," the angel says eventually. Ivy glows a little more.
"It's not as though it was difficult," she tells him, and chooses to ignore the snort from beside her.
"Watch this," Michael says, and the fire shoots sparks. He seems to hesitate, thinking, and then the unmistakable shape of a growing vine appears, wreathed in flame. Ivy stares, fascinated, as it sends out buds and spreads glowing leaves.
"How do you do that?"
Michael shrugs. "I just do."
"Make a flower."
And he does, and then a snowman, a DNA helix, a reindeer, throwing in flourishes and smirking at Ivy's surprise. She can't help being suddenly happy in a way she hasn't been for a while now. She's warm and comfortable and entertained, and with this amusing angel beside her, it's all just - ha - divine.
Rayne
baby, it's cold outside
The only thing missing is a fireplace to cuddle in front of. Ivy surveys the scene, and nods with satisfaction. There's the warm faux-fur blanket, the wine, the chocolate...and if it turns out Rayne wants something a little stronger, she has a very fresh zombie on ice outside. The cabins aren't exactly warm, but they're warmer than the blizzard outside, and on Rayne's bare skin the snow will turn to water. Ivy knows what water does to her dhampir; that's why she has towels just inside the door, too, to wipe off every last droplet as soon as Rayne makes it inside.
It's taken a lot of hard work, and Ivy hopes Rayne appreciates the effort. She's even gotten a present, after all. And it's a present not made out of plants or any plant materials. No, Ivy bought it, with proper money she earned in a very nearly legal endeavour, and that's something special and rare. She's proud of that.
Ivy adjusts the blanket again, and sighs to herself. It's been full dark for almost an hour now, which is more than enough time for Rayne to have gotten her note and come here. It's possible that the dhampir had to go feed before she arrived, but still...Ivy's impatient. Normally she can wait. Normally she hasn't made an effort. Normally this would just be a brief introductory piece before the main event, namely Ivy Has A Lot Of Fun (Even If No One Else Does), but, well...it's Rayne. Somehow, over the days and weeks and months and, yes, years now, Rayne's become different. Special. Someone Ivy will wait for, until the door creaks open and she walks in out of the snow...
Shiki
in fields as they lay
Before he left, Fiyero taught Liir to recognize some of the stars. There are stories for all of them, stories that Fiyero knew by heart and that Liir's only just starting to learn, but he likes them so much that he wants to share every last one of them. And Shiki doesn't seem to mind that sometimes he stumbles over the words and forgets bits and has to go back; she just listens, and the way she listens seems to draw out a talent Liir didn't realize he possessed.
Shiki seems to be able to do that a lot.
Some of the time, the reason he's forgotten the words is because she's snuggled closer against his side, or rested her hand on his chest, and Liir's mind stops working but his mouth keeps going and the sentence that comes out doesn't make any sense at all. And then Shiki giggles, and Liir blushes like fire, but it's all right because her giggle isn't condescending or mocking, and so he's not too embarrassed to keep going. When Shiki laughs, it's like encouragement. He's not used to that.
She's so much smarter than him, Liir thinks. She brought a blanket, so they wouldn't freeze while they watched the stars and told each other stories. He didn't think of a blanket, and he didn't really think of the hot chocolate, either, but Elphie did and told him to do it, so that's almost the same as thinking of it himself, in a way. And besides, he was the one to think of being here together, looking at the stars and waiting to see if they could spot Lurline and Preenella and Santa making their rounds across the world, because one of them (or maybe all three) comes to camp every year and so it stands to reason that if you're watching at just the right time, you'll see them.
But when Shiki props herself up on one elbow over him, and smiles, Liir forgets all about watching the sky and can't think of anything except watching her eyes.
Simone
I could swear my heart just skipped a beat
Annabelle's hands are shaking as she tapes the wrapping paper down, and she almost drops the scissors as she cuts ribbon to go around her gift. It's kind of like offering up her heart - well, no, it's exactly like that. This is exactly why she doesn't normally show people songs, or poetry, or art, until it's perfect and fitting and just what she wanted. But she's pretty sure, now, that nothing she can ever write or sketch or paint for Simone will be perfect. Nothing will ever be able to measure up to Simone herself, and so there comes a point at which she has to surrender and give it to her teacher anyway.
She still doesn't know what to write in the card. Even the start is a problem, because she wants to write 'dear Simone' - that's what Simone is - but really it should be 'dear Miss Bradley', or even just 'to Miss Bradley', and it kind of feels like Simone will be angry if Annabelle uses her name. And with that much trouble over just the first couple of words, what hope does she have for the rest of them? What she wants to write includes the word 'love', and it's not just a few words, it's a lot - thanking Simone for how sweet and kind and wonderful she's been, telling Simone how special she is, explaining that she doesn't care what anyone else thinks...
...but even thinking that makes Annabelle's heart speed, beating so hard in her chest that it feels a bit like it might explode, and she's not sure whether it's because she's nervous or because of what it all means, all the words. And that's why she's been staring at a blank card for the past two weeks, every time she sees it on her desk and picks up a pen thinking that this time, this time she'll be able to write down exactly what she wants and needs to say.
It's Christmas Day. There's no more time. She has to find the words somehow. Annabelle grabs her pen and starts writing before she can think any more, before she can realize how hard she's biting her lip or how it feels like her heart's skipping every second beat.
Dear Simone...
Warren
come be merry while you play
Neither of them really know any Christmas carols, which has turned out to be a problem because it's the time of year that everyone wants to hear Christmas carols. Except for the people trying desperately to pretend that Christmas doesn't exist, and therefore the mistletoe doesn't exist, but that's getting harder with every day. The good thing is that Warren can play by ear just as well as Annabelle can, so between the two of them they're starting to pick up the chords. Which is good, because whenever either of them tries to look the chords up on one of the camp laptops, the sites mysteriously start malfunctioning and sometimes even giving them the music for completely different songs. Annabelle's never going to forget how Warren started playing Never Gonna Give You Up, and the look of disgust on his face when he realized.
One good thing is that they're making quite a lot of money in tips. Playing in the mess hall was a brilliant idea. At this rate, Annabelle thinks, she's even going to have enough money for more cigarettes from the camp store after she buys presents for everyone. The problem with camp's barter system is that she doesn't have a lot to barter, apart from music, and there's only so much music anyone wants to hear. Except for Warren, who's always eager to grab his guitar and play with her, always interested in learning a new song or a new tricky chord, whose deep baritone matches her own contralto voice perfectly.
If she was playing by herself, Annabelle's pretty sure she'd be bored and irritated by now. But Warren glances at her and grins, and shifts Jingle Bells into something that sounds like it would suit a heavy metal band, and Annabelle laughs and strums her own guitar harder to match. After all, if they're stuck here playing Christmas carols, they might as well have some fun.
Chitose
one seems to hear words of good cheer from everywhere filling the air
Annabelle's never met anyone as relentlessly happy as Chitose before, and she's pretty sure it's not just an act. Almost anything can set off bubbles of delight - this morning it was the way the snow drifted down to cover the fields and cabins with a perfect coat of pure white; now it's Christmas carols. She should've expected Christmas to make him happy, of course, since Christmas tends to make most people happy (the ones not stuck at boarding school or neverending summer camp, anyway), but this is above and beyond. Not even Santa's elves get this excited about Christmas, Annabelle's pretty sure.
And the other thing about Chitose is that once he gets enthusiastic about something, it's really hard to say no to him, even if he's suggesting she dress up as a Christmas angel and come around carolling with him. Annabelle's not totally down with the concept of singing in front of other people at the best of times, but wearing a skimpy outfit (and it will be skimpy; she knows Chitose and his taste in costumes) and a bobbing halo is definitely not the best of times. It might actually be the worst of times. She's still not quite sure how he managed to talk her into it.
At least she isn't alone. Chitose is dressed as an elf, and the skintight red-and-green candy-striped leggings are distracting most people from Annabelle's clinging white dress, assuming his dancing doesn't grab their attention even faster. And Warren, who had to be coerced into doing it as a favour to Annabelle, makes a fairly good reindeer despite his scowl. The stuffed antlers make him look vaguely terrifying, but the glowing red nose takes a little of the impact away. They've collected other campers as what Annabelle's starting to think of as Chitose's Magical Christmas Carol Parade has made its way past the cabins and mess hall and hospital, and little by little Annabelle and Warren are getting their playing to the point where the two guitars sound more like a duet and less like duelling banjos.
No matter how embarrassing it all is, though, it's kind of worth it just to see Chitose's face transformed by the glow of joy.
Daisuke
listen to what I say
Her breath puffs out into clouds of frosty air, dissipating quickly into the frozen night. Ivy's a little surprised that there's enough heat in her for even those faint wisps. The greenhouse roof has cracked, dumping heavy snow on two entire rows of pots where her vulnerable babies sleep. Ivy tried to dig them out, but she's only one small woman...and she's so tired. Winter saps her strength, talks to the plant genetics in her body and tells her it's time to go dormant and wait for spring.
Only she's still human enough not to sleep, still coherent enough to realize that letting herself lie down in the middle of a blizzard means she'll never get up again. She can't leave her sleeping babies, but she can't surrender to the peaceful cold like they do either. So she sits, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees, and stares into the swirling snow as ice crystals decorate her hair and eyelashes.
The sound of another pane of glass cracking ricochets around the greenhouse. Ivy winces, and huddles closer into her knees. It won't be so long now, she thinks. When the moogles bring her back, maybe she'll at least be warm enough to try to dig the plants out from under the snow...
"Ivy!"
It's a shout, and it's so unexpected that for a few moments Ivy's too surprised to respond. But it comes again, a note of desperation in the voice, and the little supervillain finds enough strength to raise her head and answer.
"Daisuke?"
She doesn't realize until he suddenly appears at her side that he must have been using Clock Up, bouncing around the greenhouse like a bee on speed to find her. He radiates heat, even through that ridiculous costume.
"Take it off," Ivy mutter, and closes her eyes. She's not going to talk to anyone in stupid suits, not right now.
When his hand touches her shoulder, it's bare skin and so warm it almost feels like it's burning. Ivy imagines steam rising, and shivers. She's too cold to even protest when he pulls her up, strong arms wrapping around her. Something warm and soft covers her back and shoulders - his coat, of course, Ivy realizes fuzzily. She snuggles into his chest, drinking in his heat.
"Ivy, what are you doing? You'll freeze." He sounds distressed. Ivy tries to shrug, decides it's too big a task.
"The plants," she explains, because even Daisuke must realize that's all the explanation required.
"Come inside, Ivy. Please. The plants will be fine. Please, Ivy."
He's fading.
"Ivy!"
Ivy thinks about it for a moment, and decides to listen. "All right," she agrees, and finally lets the world go dark as Daisuke cradles her in his arms.
Earth
the snow's coming down
There's only three people in all of camp that Ivy can really let herself relax with, knowing that even if they touch her nothing can possibly happen to them. It's an improvement on Gotham, where there was only Harley, and sometimes she wonders what she's going to do when she goes back to Gotham and Rayne and Earth aren't there any more.
She thinks of him as Earth, in the privacy of her own head, even though she says 'Kirigi' outside it. And even though she'd never thought of Earth as being male, or a teenager, when she sees him it seems strangely right. Ivy's found a kind of peace with the notion, enough of it that when she has the opportunity to sit with the boy in companionable silence she takes it. And when he held out his arms, it felt only right to move into them and let him wrap his warmth around her. After all, the snow's coming down outside the greenhouse walls, the same way it has been for days, and Earth might be the only person she can trust who understands the sheer bone-numbing cold that comes over the plants' world now, in the depths of winter. He feels it the same way she does, perhaps even more, because he feels the hibernating animals as well as the slumbering plants. Unlike Ivy, though, Earth still has the heat of the tropics and the southern hemisphere to warm him.
That's why it's so comfortable in his arms, Ivy thinks; they don't need to speak, because they're two of a kind, and words are superfluous when you can communicate through the unspoken language of the Green. He knows how cold she is, how cold all his children are right now, and while heat would be counterproductive for most of Earth's children, for Ivy it's desperately needed. It's not even humbling herself to let him hold her, as it would be if he were almost anyone else. It's safe.
Ivy can't remember how long it's been since she last felt safe in someone's arms. Once upon a time she must have known how good it was to be rocked until you fell asleep, but the memory has been lost for more years than she can think of. She yawns, and stretches, and lets herself start to dream in Earth's warm embrace.
Elphaba (Elphie)
sleep in heavenly peace
For all Elphie's snarky and grumpy and quick to bite while she's awake, Elphie asleep is one of the prettiest things Glinda's ever seen. And it doesn't matter that Elphie's not really pretty, not at all, certainly not the way Glinda is, because when she sleeps all the walls she's erected around herself drop away and for a little time the whole world can see what Glinda sees in her.
Or at least they could, if Elphie let herself sleep where other people could see. Glinda doesn't think that's happened since they set out for the Emerald City, four years ago (or just yesterday, if you look at it another way). Even in the cabin Elphie tends to pull all the blankets over her head, creating an impenetrable Elphie-lump in her bed. Sometimes, in the pitch black of the night, Liir sneaks in to curl up around her feet like a puppy. Glinda knows because she's almost sat on the boy twice now, and it's a good thing their matched squeaks of surprise didn't wake Elphie.
Because the thing is that while Elphie's asleep, she looks so peaceful Glinda can't stop watching her. Things no one would ever notice while she's awake are suddenly clear - the long dark eyelashes, the perfect curve of her mouth, the aristocratic angle of her cheekbones. And sometimes when Glinda touches Elphie's hand, Elphie reaches out to grab her and hold her like Glinda's the only thing that can keep her safe. Glinda's happy to stay there for hours, even though her hand cramps and sitting straight for so long is profoundly uncomfortable. It's all worth it to watch Elphie relax as she floats into dreams.
Elphaba (the Witch)
glory to the newborn king
It's been a few weeks now since she returned to normal, but Elphaba's still getting strange flashbacks, memories that she can't possibly have. She remembers a long, cold winter in a tiny attic room, the spice of intrigue and plots perfectly complemented by the warmth of her diamond-tattooed prince. She remembers, too, blood splattered across the floorboards, across the snow blowing in from the broken window.
What she doesn't remember, and is grateful she doesn't, is the blood and pain that must have come nine months later...
...she remembers the next winter, too, and the fluffy-headed child the maunts tried to place in her arms. He must have been three or four months old by then, dark eyes (just like his father's) starting to focus on the world around him, but to Elphie - to Fae - to Elphaba, he seemed newly born. In the strange not-memory, stirrings of love are buried under grief and anger and disbelief.
Here and now, though, Elphie looks down on her son's sleeping face, sees the baby he once was, and feels a surge of pride and protectiveness. Is it love? She's not sure, but the feeling makes her run gentle fingers through the boy's hair and smile as his head turns a little towards the touch. He's almost full-grown, but Elphie finds herself inspecting his features as if he were her newborn son. He has her hair, her nose, the same angularity of face, although tempered by Fiyero's long eyelashes and generous mouth.
The boy stirs, opening dark eyes to gaze up at her in surprised delight. "Mama?" he asks, and Elphie jerks in confusion. It connects to something so deep inside her that the words hurt. And she finds herself answering without thinking, without a chance to find a denial or reproach.
"I'm here, Liir," she says, and touches his cheek. "Sleep."
Her son smiles, and his eyes flutter closed. Elphie watches him, and feels tears begin to burn in her eyes. She doesn't dare move to wipe them away for fear of waking the boy again. He frowns as one falls onto his face, and reaches up blindly to her.
"Don't cry, Mama." His voice is blurry with sleep.
"Hush, Liir," she tells him, and waits until he starts to drift off, her mind full of memories of the boy's father.
Emma
fall on your knees
The costume is brilliant. Whatever else Harley's terrible at (stealth, clear thinking, the ability to not consider whoopee cushions the highest form of entertainment...), she at least makes up for it by being an excellent seamstress. Which, given how tight her suit is, is probably for the best. And she didn't complain once when Ivy requested a costume for Christmas. An angel.
Ivy looks very good in it, if she does say so herself. Her hair falls in loose curls over her bare shoulders, and the dress hugs her every curve. Inside, she can go barefoot, and smirk inwardly when campers and counselors alike can't help but follow the long smooth line from ankle to thigh with their eyes.
But it's not them she wants to drive crazy with unfulfilled desire, oh no. Ivy - as always - has a bigger target in mind. Since that infuriating Cyclops left, Ivy hasn't seen Emma around as much. She's not sure if it's because it's easier to hide grief when there's no one around to see you mourn, or whether it's because Ivy is...well, Ivy. Either way, she doesn't care. It's Christmas, and if she has to be jolly on a holiday involving the merciless slaughter of thousands of trees, Emma's going to be jolly whether she likes it or not.
There's no one in Emma's cabin when Ivy walks in, silent on bare feet. That's all right; she's prepared to wait. The little supervillain reaches into the sack she brought along and takes out the miniature - and living, naturally - pine she's crafted especially for Emma. Not that Emma will appreciate it, of course, but sometimes it's fun to have the high moral ground when you're a supervillain. Not being given a present, Ivy thinks, means she has the upper hand. As if she doesn't always have the upper hand anyway.
For good measure, she calls the mistletoe to curl through the rafters of the cabin. Then, her job temporarily done, the little villain settles down on her knees to wait.
It's a while before Emma returns, but Ivy's more than entertained by the antics of the mistletoe and by the wonderful thoughts of Emma's face when she does finally walk in. In the event, it's exactly what Ivy expected - a brief glimpse of surprise, hastily shut away behind haughty blankness. But there's a hint of amusement under there, Ivy's pretty sure, and maybe even pleasure.
"What are you doing in here?" The psychic's voice could freeze blood, but Ivy's glowing inwardly with delight and mischief and even the coldest tone can't dull her spirits.
"Waiting," she says, and carefully doesn't look upwards until Emma does. For a moment the blonde woman's face freezes, and then she rolls her eyes.
"Mistletoe. Really, Ivy."
Ivy doesn't respond, doesn't move, doesn't do anything but watch Emma, a smile slowly quirking the corners of her mouth. Mistletoe doesn't affect her, after all; she won't be drawn away from her position by the tiny tree. Nor, once commanded to stay, will the mistletoe leave - not even if Emma forces her to demand it goes away. She's thought it through. Not just for the pleasure of seeing Emma submit to her will, although that's plenty by itself, but - well, even Poison Ivy can want a kiss...
Eventually Emma steps towards her, reluctantly, and once she's taken the first step the second and third come much faster, until the blonde hero's kneeling in front of Ivy, close enough that all it will take is Ivy leaning forward -
"Merry Christmas," Ivy says, and kisses Emma's cheek, a gentle, chaste kiss that isn't what she wants but is what she knows Emma isn't expecting. At the flick of her hand, the mistletoe rustles away to annoy someone else. Emma's face is a picture of confusion. Ivy smiles, and stands, and walks towards the doorway. She blows the hero a kiss, and vanishes into the night.
Gon
a child sleeping in the night
"If you keep snatching them," Ivy hisses, "you're going to wake her up."
Daisuke spreads his hands in injured innocence, and ignores how closely Ivy's clutching the gift. Or at least he seems to. You can never entirely trust the stupid hero, in Ivy's opinion, especially - as it turns out - when he's trying to dictate exactly how Gon's presents should be arranged. Ivy knows how these things go, obviously; her view of the matter is far superior, obviously. And really, she should have expected Daisuke to interfere. You'd think the man had never heard of useful gifts before.
"You can't give her a carnivorous plant," he whispers. "Ivy-san, it's not safe."
"It's perfectly safe!"
He actually glares at her, and Ivy realizes belatedly her voice has risen above a murmur. She tries again, quieter this time.
"This is a tried and true modification," she points out, and chooses to pretend she doesn't see Daisuke glance in Herbie's direction. The damned plant is perched on the foot of Gon's bed, patiently nibbling his way through every stray piece of ribbon he can find on the gifts that are temporarily stacked by the bed. "He's normally very good," Ivy says defensively, and freezes as Gon stirs in her sleep.
"He tried to eat my makeup case."
"He thought there was a guitar inside! It's hardly his fault you can't keep things in the appropriate box." Ivy can't work out how anyone can be so obtuse.
"What? How does that make it better?"
"Guitars are made of wood."
"You are trying to give Gon a cannibal plant?!"
"Of course I am," Ivy says, her mouth moving faster than her brain can. She realizes, and recovers quickly. "It doesn't eat people, after all."
Daisuke's mouth opens and closes as though he's trying to think of a response, and Ivy takes the opportunity to put the gift back at the foot of Gon's bed. Daisuke reaches for it, just as the little girl in the bed rubs her eyes and yawns and sits up halfway.
"Daisuke?"
Ivy sticks her tongue out at the hero, and smirks triumphantly as Gon notices what he's holding in his hands.
"Is it morning already?"
"Yes," Ivy says, just as Daisuke tries to say "no". And, of course, 'yes' is the word Gon wants to hear, and so Ivy's voice is the one that wins out.
"Is it time to open presents?"
"Aa. Yes, Gon."
Daisuke shoots Ivy a despairing glance as he hands the gift to his charge. Ivy beams at him, and blows him a kiss.
Harley
on the first day of Christmas...
Ivy supposes she should have been expecting it. It is camp, after all, and she's always thought the Twelve Days of Christmas was tempting fate. It's just not a safe thing to sing in this place. But did Harley listen? Of course she didn't. She's Harley.
The worst of it is that Harley doesn't care. Harley thinks it's funny. Harley's talked one of the drummers into giving her his drum, and one of the pipers into giving her his pipe, and she's still singing. Ivy has the dreadful feeling that any minute now, there's going to be another poof of Christmas lights and tinsel and then a whole new set of animals and humans and things will appear, and then what is she going to do? They hardly fit into the greenhouse as it is. And Harley's raucous singing is really starting to get on her nerves.
It's just at this point that something wet and surprisingly heavy lands on her head. Ivy tries very hard not to guess what it is, an attempt that goes badly astray when the white liquid trickles down her face and onto her costume. Above her, the turtle doves coo happily to each other as the partridge hops angrily from branch to branch, irritated by the intrusion of other birds into its tree.
Ivy sighs, and wipes the birds' droppings off her face. Her costume's ruined, but at least leaves aren't hard to come by. Assuming the geese don't take them all for their nests, anyway, in the absence of reeds - is it reeds? She's not an ornithologist, she can't be expected to know these things. What she does know is that six geese honking non-stop is very, very annoying. Almost as annoying as ten lords and one clown-suited supervillain leaping over every damn thing they can find, including Ivy's lab bench, and - once - Ivy herself. She's pleased to see that that particular lord is not leaping anything like as high, and he does tend to wince in pain every time he leaps. That will teach him to leap around indiscriminately. Men need to be taught some manners.
The only thing stopping her from throwing every last one of them into a modified Venus flytrap is that Harley's so happy. That and the fact that the poor plant would have a terrible case of indigestion. But, this being Christmas, Ivy's trying very hard to believe that the first reason is really the thing stopping her.
Imoen
so be good, for goodness' sake
Glinda opens the door of her cabin and stops dead, confronted by a wall of presents. There's wrappings and tinsel and shiny ribbons from floor to ceiling, and even a cursory examination of the tags tends to indicate that not one of the presents is actually intended for anyone in the cabin. She sighs, and pushes her way through the squishiest-looking part of the wall.
Gargamel chirps at her from on top of his pile of loot - gold chocolate coins, discarded wrapping paper, and here and there what looks suspiciously like paste jewels. It's far too much for such a small pseudodragon, but he doesn't seem to mind, or even think that he might have trouble keeping it all. Gargamel always has been prone to biting off more than he can chew.
"You needn't worry, I've no desire for any of that," Glinda tells him sternly, and gets a quizzical head tilt in response. He settles himself down into a complicated curl over as much of his loot as he possibly can, and starts emitting tiny squeaky snores. The pink witch sighs, and forges onwards through the stacks of gifts.
Her fiancee's sitting in the centre of the cabin, just as expected, although - not as expected - she hasn't opened any of the presents at all. Not even the one specifically meant for her, the one Glinda spent ever so long picking out. She looks up at Glinda with a guilty expression, as though she didn't expect to get caught with an entire cabinful of presents. Glinda sighs again, and rubs her forehead. The worst of it is that this isn't the least bit unusual, and in fact she'd rather thought something of the sort might happen. Imoen's been remarkably good thus far when it comes to other people's gifts, which normally only means that she'll very soon be up to something.
"Darling," she says patiently, "while we both know quite well Lurline and Preenella, or Santa if you'd prefer, is entirely unlikely to come to us, the point remains that this is camp, and truly the oddest things do happen, and if they find out that you've stolen - "
"Haven't stolen 'em."
Glinda sighs again. "Very well, that you've temporarily appropriated every gift in this entire camp - I should think that that would put you on the naughty list. And quite possibly me, too, and I should quite like to get a present."
"I was going to give them back." Imoen actually sounds like she believes it. Maybe she even does. For a thief, she has a strange sense of honour.
"Well, then. There's rather a lot, and since it is Lurlinemas Eve, perhaps we ought to get started...?"
And the thing is, when properly directed, Imoen's mischievous ability to steal away just about anything can be transformed into putting it back right where it used to be. The only thing is that Glinda knows perfectly well that there's only one person expected to enter various cabins tonight, and it turns out that the reason no one ever wants to dress up as Santa Claus is that the stomach does tend to keep slipping and the beard itches dreadfully.
Jubilee
join the triumph of the skies
When she finds Jubilee, the girl's lying on her back in a clearing on top of one of the tallest of what pass for hills in this mostly-flat camp. Ivy hesitates for a long moment in the cover of the trees, watching the little hero sigh and shift and rest her head on her hands. Above her, the stars glitter in the frozen sky, bright and clear this far away from anything that could reasonably be called a city. Jubilee seems to be thinking, and if it were anyone else Ivy wouldn't hesitate to interrupt. But it isn't anyone else, that's the thing, and so she hangs back, waiting, until Jubilee sighs again and closes her eyes.
The grass crackles under even Ivy's feet as she walks away from the shelter of the trees, a stick snapping with a report loud enough to echo, and Jubilee bolts upright. Ivy holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender, and sees the little hero relax once she recognizes who's approaching. It's true that the zombies and gorillas don't really respect things like Christmas and peace and personal boundaries; she can't exactly blame Jubilee for her reaction. After all, in her position, Ivy would have done just the same - possibly with a little more terminal prejudice. She is a supervillain, after all. She's the one who can get away with murder.
"It's cold," Ivy comments, and settles down on the frozen grass. Jubilee sits down next to her, all gangly adolescent limbs, and shrugs herself deeper into her jacket. That's unusual; normally she's the most exuberant and talkative person Ivy knows. The supervillain tries again. "Is it about your friends?"
Another shrug. Ivy's always been good at carrying the conversation, but that's only if she gets to make veiled threats and slide innuendo into her words. But it's Jubilee, and she's not quite sure what Jubilee is to her, but it's not quite a child and not quite a responsibility and maybe it's the closest thing to a friend she has.
"There's someone I miss, too," Ivy tells her, voice as soft and fragile as the clouds of mist that come out every time she breathes. "Two someones. I won't see them again, either." It's coming out clumsy, but she has to keep trying. "Sometimes - the plants remind me."
She thinks about that. "It's strange. They had nothing to do with the plants. All right, except the mistletoe, but then everyone has something to do with the mistletoe..."
Jubilee seems to be listening.
"It's easier to talk to the plants about them."
This time, when she glances over, Jubilee's eyes are fixed on her.
"You could talk to the sky," Ivy offers, hoping the girl recognizes the meaning behind the words.
Jubilee smiles. Above their heads, there's a crackling, and the sky explodes with fireworks, rainbows of colour blazing glory across the night.
Luffy
joy and laughter every time we meet
Elphie's glaring - although, to be fair, she hasn't really stopped for the past ten minutes or so. Liir glances at Luffy, who grins back at him, and collapses into helpless giggles again. It hurts to laugh, now, and he clutches his stomach and rolls on the floor. That, of course, sets Luffy off, and the rubbery pirate falls on top of him and laughs until Liir starts fearing that the other boy might actually explode.
The problem is that it's remarkably hard to warn someone about the dangers of their possible imminent explosion when you can't talk because you're laughing too hard, and Luffy seems to find his efforts even more hilarious, and Luffy's laughter is infectious so Liir can't stop, and even Elphie's glower is starting to seem ever so funny. She just looks so silly when she tries to be stern, and anyway he can't help remembering the jokes Luffy was telling - and that sets him off again, wheezing and kicking his legs.
"Wh - wh - " Luffy tries, and after another fit of giggling, finally manages to get the words out in a relatively comprehensible manner. "What do you call a gigantic polar bear?"
And for some reason that's funny too. Liir convulses again, not even able to stop himself at the sight of Elphie rolling her eyes. He can't answer, but that doesn't matter, because Luffy knows it's incredibly funny, too funny to be able to say anything, and is already yelling "Nothing, you just run away!"
Which is exactly what Liir would do, in fact, if faced with a gigantic polar bear (not that he's entirely sure what a gigantic polar bear is), and so he howls with laughter and tries to kick Luffy for telling him such a wonderful joke, and Luffy laughs so hard it starts coming out as hiccuping sobs and tries to kick Liir back.
Elphie sighs, and turns away, but Liir's pretty sure he sees a smile quirk the corner of her mouth.
Mika
oh night divine
Ivy's made a fire, and is very proud of herself.
Getting the wood was the easy part; she only took the branches that had already fallen to the ground, of course, even if the trees would have readily given her whatever she needed (if she could wake them from their dormant winter slumber, anyway). The problems really started when she realized just how much of that wood was wet - most of it.
No one's ever going to say Ivy gives up easily, though. In the end, there was just enough to start a fire big enough to begin drying out the rest of the wet wood. And so now she can sit on a log by her fire, warming both her hands and her ego by the glow of the flames.
With most of the forest asleep, she's practically blind and deaf, and so the first she knows of Michael's presence is when the angel steps into the firelight and sparks seem to glint off his red hair. Ivy jumps, and tries to cover it, but he notices and smiles. That would signal a death wish in anyone else, but she and Michael have come to an understanding, and so she doesn't move as he sits on the log beside her.
"You're the last person I expected to find," the angel says eventually. Ivy glows a little more.
"It's not as though it was difficult," she tells him, and chooses to ignore the snort from beside her.
"Watch this," Michael says, and the fire shoots sparks. He seems to hesitate, thinking, and then the unmistakable shape of a growing vine appears, wreathed in flame. Ivy stares, fascinated, as it sends out buds and spreads glowing leaves.
"How do you do that?"
Michael shrugs. "I just do."
"Make a flower."
And he does, and then a snowman, a DNA helix, a reindeer, throwing in flourishes and smirking at Ivy's surprise. She can't help being suddenly happy in a way she hasn't been for a while now. She's warm and comfortable and entertained, and with this amusing angel beside her, it's all just - ha - divine.
Rayne
baby, it's cold outside
The only thing missing is a fireplace to cuddle in front of. Ivy surveys the scene, and nods with satisfaction. There's the warm faux-fur blanket, the wine, the chocolate...and if it turns out Rayne wants something a little stronger, she has a very fresh zombie on ice outside. The cabins aren't exactly warm, but they're warmer than the blizzard outside, and on Rayne's bare skin the snow will turn to water. Ivy knows what water does to her dhampir; that's why she has towels just inside the door, too, to wipe off every last droplet as soon as Rayne makes it inside.
It's taken a lot of hard work, and Ivy hopes Rayne appreciates the effort. She's even gotten a present, after all. And it's a present not made out of plants or any plant materials. No, Ivy bought it, with proper money she earned in a very nearly legal endeavour, and that's something special and rare. She's proud of that.
Ivy adjusts the blanket again, and sighs to herself. It's been full dark for almost an hour now, which is more than enough time for Rayne to have gotten her note and come here. It's possible that the dhampir had to go feed before she arrived, but still...Ivy's impatient. Normally she can wait. Normally she hasn't made an effort. Normally this would just be a brief introductory piece before the main event, namely Ivy Has A Lot Of Fun (Even If No One Else Does), but, well...it's Rayne. Somehow, over the days and weeks and months and, yes, years now, Rayne's become different. Special. Someone Ivy will wait for, until the door creaks open and she walks in out of the snow...
Shiki
in fields as they lay
Before he left, Fiyero taught Liir to recognize some of the stars. There are stories for all of them, stories that Fiyero knew by heart and that Liir's only just starting to learn, but he likes them so much that he wants to share every last one of them. And Shiki doesn't seem to mind that sometimes he stumbles over the words and forgets bits and has to go back; she just listens, and the way she listens seems to draw out a talent Liir didn't realize he possessed.
Shiki seems to be able to do that a lot.
Some of the time, the reason he's forgotten the words is because she's snuggled closer against his side, or rested her hand on his chest, and Liir's mind stops working but his mouth keeps going and the sentence that comes out doesn't make any sense at all. And then Shiki giggles, and Liir blushes like fire, but it's all right because her giggle isn't condescending or mocking, and so he's not too embarrassed to keep going. When Shiki laughs, it's like encouragement. He's not used to that.
She's so much smarter than him, Liir thinks. She brought a blanket, so they wouldn't freeze while they watched the stars and told each other stories. He didn't think of a blanket, and he didn't really think of the hot chocolate, either, but Elphie did and told him to do it, so that's almost the same as thinking of it himself, in a way. And besides, he was the one to think of being here together, looking at the stars and waiting to see if they could spot Lurline and Preenella and Santa making their rounds across the world, because one of them (or maybe all three) comes to camp every year and so it stands to reason that if you're watching at just the right time, you'll see them.
But when Shiki props herself up on one elbow over him, and smiles, Liir forgets all about watching the sky and can't think of anything except watching her eyes.
Simone
I could swear my heart just skipped a beat
Annabelle's hands are shaking as she tapes the wrapping paper down, and she almost drops the scissors as she cuts ribbon to go around her gift. It's kind of like offering up her heart - well, no, it's exactly like that. This is exactly why she doesn't normally show people songs, or poetry, or art, until it's perfect and fitting and just what she wanted. But she's pretty sure, now, that nothing she can ever write or sketch or paint for Simone will be perfect. Nothing will ever be able to measure up to Simone herself, and so there comes a point at which she has to surrender and give it to her teacher anyway.
She still doesn't know what to write in the card. Even the start is a problem, because she wants to write 'dear Simone' - that's what Simone is - but really it should be 'dear Miss Bradley', or even just 'to Miss Bradley', and it kind of feels like Simone will be angry if Annabelle uses her name. And with that much trouble over just the first couple of words, what hope does she have for the rest of them? What she wants to write includes the word 'love', and it's not just a few words, it's a lot - thanking Simone for how sweet and kind and wonderful she's been, telling Simone how special she is, explaining that she doesn't care what anyone else thinks...
...but even thinking that makes Annabelle's heart speed, beating so hard in her chest that it feels a bit like it might explode, and she's not sure whether it's because she's nervous or because of what it all means, all the words. And that's why she's been staring at a blank card for the past two weeks, every time she sees it on her desk and picks up a pen thinking that this time, this time she'll be able to write down exactly what she wants and needs to say.
It's Christmas Day. There's no more time. She has to find the words somehow. Annabelle grabs her pen and starts writing before she can think any more, before she can realize how hard she's biting her lip or how it feels like her heart's skipping every second beat.
Dear Simone...
Warren
come be merry while you play
Neither of them really know any Christmas carols, which has turned out to be a problem because it's the time of year that everyone wants to hear Christmas carols. Except for the people trying desperately to pretend that Christmas doesn't exist, and therefore the mistletoe doesn't exist, but that's getting harder with every day. The good thing is that Warren can play by ear just as well as Annabelle can, so between the two of them they're starting to pick up the chords. Which is good, because whenever either of them tries to look the chords up on one of the camp laptops, the sites mysteriously start malfunctioning and sometimes even giving them the music for completely different songs. Annabelle's never going to forget how Warren started playing Never Gonna Give You Up, and the look of disgust on his face when he realized.
One good thing is that they're making quite a lot of money in tips. Playing in the mess hall was a brilliant idea. At this rate, Annabelle thinks, she's even going to have enough money for more cigarettes from the camp store after she buys presents for everyone. The problem with camp's barter system is that she doesn't have a lot to barter, apart from music, and there's only so much music anyone wants to hear. Except for Warren, who's always eager to grab his guitar and play with her, always interested in learning a new song or a new tricky chord, whose deep baritone matches her own contralto voice perfectly.
If she was playing by herself, Annabelle's pretty sure she'd be bored and irritated by now. But Warren glances at her and grins, and shifts Jingle Bells into something that sounds like it would suit a heavy metal band, and Annabelle laughs and strums her own guitar harder to match. After all, if they're stuck here playing Christmas carols, they might as well have some fun.