Dream 02 ❧ Santa
Warnings: Little!Angie. Queen Valda is not exactly Mother of the Year.
Effects: Disappointment. Characters who had a crappy childhood may feel those emotions resurfacing throughout the second half of the dream.
The dining hall of Altena castle is mostly deserted, save for a few children at the end of one of the long, wooden tables. The three are gathered at one end, papers strewn about. They work with a collection of colorful wax sticks, scribbling away at the papers in front of them, each with a different level of concentration. The oldest boy seems relaxed, idly drawing something at the top of his paper where he's written several sentences in black wax. The younger boy is very diligently putting details to his picture of a tin soldier, filling in the outlines of the uniform, sword, and hat with the appropriate colors. The youngest is a little girl, likely recognizable by her shock of purple hair. Four-year-old Angela is sticking her tongue out in concentration, making deliberate and dark, heavy lines on her own piece of paper.
The younger boy leans over and looks at what the girl is doing. "Dummy, Santa's not gonna know what those baby pictures are."
"M'not a dummy, Koren." She looks up and pouts at him. "You're a dummy. Santa knows everything."
"Then why do we haveta write him letters, dummy?" Koren points at her drawing, which currently consists of two purple stick figures (one larger than the other) and a yellow blob with two black eyes. "He's not gonna know what that yellow thing is and you're gonna get coal."
"He's gonna know," she argues. "He's Santa, Santa's magic. He's gonna know it's a toy rabite."
"He's not gonna know. You didn't even write 'Dear Santa' on it!" Koren holds up his picture which has, messily scrawled with some backwards letters: 'deaR SaNTa I waNT a ToY SoLJuR.' He looks at her proudly and she sticks her tongue out at him.
"Victorrrrr," Angela whines at the older boy, "I need worrrrrds."
Victor smiles before reaching over to take the paper from her. "All right, princess. What words should I write?"
"Dear Santa." She points to the top of the letter, then watches Victor write it. Then, "Happy Mana Holy Week Angela."
"At the bottom?" Victor moves his wax stick there, but she shakes her head.
"There." She points to the space above the two stick figures. Victor looks at her, confused, but then complies.
"That's not where you sign a letter," Koren says, but already she's taken the piece of paper back and is drawing once more. The three children go quiet as Angela adds smiling faces to the stick figures and a tall crown to the larger one.
Salamando's Day, the day Angela was born, and the day Santa will give her what she asked him for this Mana Holy Week. She's anxious to hop out of bed, little feet bare on the cold stone floor. She doesn't wait for Victor's mother to show up to help her get ready, she struggles into her dress all on her own. First it's on backwards, then she gets her ears stuck, her shoes go on the wrong feet, but eventually she's dressed and her hair is in a messy ponytail and she's running out the door of her bedroom.
Down the hallway, up the stairs, over the long walkway that leads towards the throne room. It's there that Angela spots her. Valda, the Queen of Reason, her mother. Angela waits, peeking around a stone corner, watching her mother and her long, graceful, fluid steps. She walks with dignity and poise, the tall crown on her head never troubled with imbalance or gravity. Her every move is slow, deliberate, powerful.
Angela gathers her courage, and then rushes forward. She scampers and easily catches up with her mother, and with all the bravery she can muster, she grabs her hand.
"Happy Mana Holy Week, Mother!"
She holds her breath, waiting. She'd sent her letter out in time. Santa must have gotten it. Santa knew how important this was to her, he knew because he was Santa.
She feels the wind knocked out of her as the woman yanks her hand away, depriving Angela of her balance and causing her to fall backwards onto the hard castle floor. Valda barely seems to recognize that what was holding her hand was human, let alone her daughter. Instead she brushes her hand off like it had touched something dirty, and she's off again without a word.
Angela watches from the floor as her mother slips into the throne room, and only then does she hear her strong and deep voice: "Happy Mana Holy Week, Jose. Have we heard back from Forcena about our treaty?"
The castle's tree is in the courtyard, surrounded by unseasonably vibrant pink and orange flowers. Angela finds her way there with her nursemaid, and the woman tells her to find her present and open it before breakfast before wandering off again.
Angela doesn't need to search long, she can tell which present is hers without needing to look at the name tags for the few letters she has memorized that spell out her name. She unwraps the round, pink-papered gift, exposing a yellow blobby face, long ears, and black button eyes. The toy lifelessly smiles up at her as she holds it in her arms. She sits then, against the tree and amid the gifts for the others born on Salamando's Day, hugging the plush rabite close.
[ Angela wakes from the dream, having dozed off with her arms folded on the kitchen table of the cottage she now shares with Stocking and Panty. There are ribbons and wrapping paper all around her in various bright shades-- she must have nodded off while working on her Secret Santa gift. She sits back, covering her mouth as she yawns. ]
Effects: Disappointment. Characters who had a crappy childhood may feel those emotions resurfacing throughout the second half of the dream.
The dining hall of Altena castle is mostly deserted, save for a few children at the end of one of the long, wooden tables. The three are gathered at one end, papers strewn about. They work with a collection of colorful wax sticks, scribbling away at the papers in front of them, each with a different level of concentration. The oldest boy seems relaxed, idly drawing something at the top of his paper where he's written several sentences in black wax. The younger boy is very diligently putting details to his picture of a tin soldier, filling in the outlines of the uniform, sword, and hat with the appropriate colors. The youngest is a little girl, likely recognizable by her shock of purple hair. Four-year-old Angela is sticking her tongue out in concentration, making deliberate and dark, heavy lines on her own piece of paper.
The younger boy leans over and looks at what the girl is doing. "Dummy, Santa's not gonna know what those baby pictures are."
"M'not a dummy, Koren." She looks up and pouts at him. "You're a dummy. Santa knows everything."
"Then why do we haveta write him letters, dummy?" Koren points at her drawing, which currently consists of two purple stick figures (one larger than the other) and a yellow blob with two black eyes. "He's not gonna know what that yellow thing is and you're gonna get coal."
"He's gonna know," she argues. "He's Santa, Santa's magic. He's gonna know it's a toy rabite."
"He's not gonna know. You didn't even write 'Dear Santa' on it!" Koren holds up his picture which has, messily scrawled with some backwards letters: 'deaR SaNTa I waNT a ToY SoLJuR.' He looks at her proudly and she sticks her tongue out at him.
"Victorrrrr," Angela whines at the older boy, "I need worrrrrds."
Victor smiles before reaching over to take the paper from her. "All right, princess. What words should I write?"
"Dear Santa." She points to the top of the letter, then watches Victor write it. Then, "Happy Mana Holy Week Angela."
"At the bottom?" Victor moves his wax stick there, but she shakes her head.
"There." She points to the space above the two stick figures. Victor looks at her, confused, but then complies.
"That's not where you sign a letter," Koren says, but already she's taken the piece of paper back and is drawing once more. The three children go quiet as Angela adds smiling faces to the stick figures and a tall crown to the larger one.
Salamando's Day, the day Angela was born, and the day Santa will give her what she asked him for this Mana Holy Week. She's anxious to hop out of bed, little feet bare on the cold stone floor. She doesn't wait for Victor's mother to show up to help her get ready, she struggles into her dress all on her own. First it's on backwards, then she gets her ears stuck, her shoes go on the wrong feet, but eventually she's dressed and her hair is in a messy ponytail and she's running out the door of her bedroom.
Down the hallway, up the stairs, over the long walkway that leads towards the throne room. It's there that Angela spots her. Valda, the Queen of Reason, her mother. Angela waits, peeking around a stone corner, watching her mother and her long, graceful, fluid steps. She walks with dignity and poise, the tall crown on her head never troubled with imbalance or gravity. Her every move is slow, deliberate, powerful.
Angela gathers her courage, and then rushes forward. She scampers and easily catches up with her mother, and with all the bravery she can muster, she grabs her hand.
"Happy Mana Holy Week, Mother!"
She holds her breath, waiting. She'd sent her letter out in time. Santa must have gotten it. Santa knew how important this was to her, he knew because he was Santa.
She feels the wind knocked out of her as the woman yanks her hand away, depriving Angela of her balance and causing her to fall backwards onto the hard castle floor. Valda barely seems to recognize that what was holding her hand was human, let alone her daughter. Instead she brushes her hand off like it had touched something dirty, and she's off again without a word.
Angela watches from the floor as her mother slips into the throne room, and only then does she hear her strong and deep voice: "Happy Mana Holy Week, Jose. Have we heard back from Forcena about our treaty?"
The castle's tree is in the courtyard, surrounded by unseasonably vibrant pink and orange flowers. Angela finds her way there with her nursemaid, and the woman tells her to find her present and open it before breakfast before wandering off again.
Angela doesn't need to search long, she can tell which present is hers without needing to look at the name tags for the few letters she has memorized that spell out her name. She unwraps the round, pink-papered gift, exposing a yellow blobby face, long ears, and black button eyes. The toy lifelessly smiles up at her as she holds it in her arms. She sits then, against the tree and amid the gifts for the others born on Salamando's Day, hugging the plush rabite close.
[ Angela wakes from the dream, having dozed off with her arms folded on the kitchen table of the cottage she now shares with Stocking and Panty. There are ribbons and wrapping paper all around her in various bright shades-- she must have nodded off while working on her Secret Santa gift. She sits back, covering her mouth as she yawns. ]