@creatureshrieks said: leatherface babbles to get leland's attention for in his hands he holds a present. the small box is squashed by his fingers and dwarfed by his large hands. it's wrapped, a little haphazardly, in paper he has attempted to to decorate with images of his idea of christmas - snowmen, though he has never made one. reindeer, though he has never seen one. presents, though he has never received one that looks like this. he pushes the box towards the other man's chest with a large grin and a giddy, excited huff. inside is a bracelet he created from, obviously, stolen jewelry and trinkets from the various victims that found themselves on the wrong end of his chainsaw. it's not a particularly cohesive piece, instead made entirely of items bubba had thought were pretty. pretty thing for someone pretty. merry christmas
leland might have forgotten it was so late in the year, if not for the usual christmas covers playing on the radio, and the light snow dusting the tops of toolsheds, and the old car graveyard. right now, it's elvis — if i get home for christmas, that warbles out of the transistor radio, and leland hums lightly along. he can still see his mother stringing the candycane garlands up in the living room, letting the album play, talking about how she liked his voice so much, she could listen to elvis sing any old song.
before the memory can make him sad, thoughts are interrupted by heavy footfalls coming his way, crunching over the frosted, dying grass. it’s bubba — with a string of affectionate noises to announce his arrival. leland turns his head in surprise;
❝ oh — hey, big guy. what’s up? ❞ eyes crinkle gently at the corners as bubba shuffles up to meet him with a certain urgency. holding something in his large hands— which he proudly presents to leland. it's for him — it's wrapped and everything. leland blinks stupidly for a minute, and then obligingly takes the crushed box. bubba’s spent time drawing his own designs on the paper, as though to mimic the store-bought stuff, which seems oddly sweet to him. and so leland takes utmost care not to tear the paper as he unwraps the gift — one haphazard piece of tape at a time.
and leland pauses. for a moment, he just lets the sentimental gesture sink in, and soft, wide eyes lift up to search the the man’s face. leland can see his toothy smile, warmth beaming through the holes in the mask. ❝ did you… make this for me? ❞ he asks, finally. and his expression furrows under a wash of sincere emotion.
leland holds the bracelet in his hand, careful as he inspects and turns it between his fingers. he knows better than to ask where the mismatched pieces had come from. bubba was always collecting things from the victims he took to his big red room. things he thought were nice. things those people wouldn’t have use for, anymore. and despite knowing — leland still thinks it’s really pretty.
he feels a familiar lump of weird grief forming in his throat, and he tries to ignore it.
❝ this is… really awesome, thank you. ❞ leland pulls the bracelet over his wrist. shifts it up next to connie’s. some of the beads gleam in the overcast sunlight. like the bone chandeliers and tanned-skin lamps, and everything else on this property, the bracelet is a bit monstrous, in its crudely handmade nature. but it was made for him, special. and that’s enough to make leland's breath hitch in a slightly painful way. he doesn’t know why the tears prick at his eyes so suddenly, but he swipes back of knuckles against his eyes quickly before they can form. he gives a rough, watery laugh to cover it. an abrupt little puff of vapour in the chilly air;
❝ — actually— hey. i, um. i kinda got you something, too. ❞ leland clears his throat, ducking his head sheepishly; ❝ i mean, it’s not really… much, but… ❞ — he pats for the weight in his jacket pocket. and from his pocket, leland reveals a little snowglobe, no bigger than his palm, and holds it out to bubba to take. the motion makes specks of fake snow lift and fall in slow motion around the little glowing town inside.
honestly — it’s a cheap knick-knack from a pawn shop. something that someone had once kept on a shelf, grown tired of, and then sold off for a couple bucks. leland forgot what they’d even gone in there for to begin with. as johnny spoke to the clerk, leland entertained himself perusing the aisles. mostly junk — until he’d found it, crouching down to look at second-hand christmas decorations. it was oddly easy to get lost in the quiet, happy little world inside the glass orb; almost like peeking through a window to somewhere else. immediately, leland thought of someone else who might appreciate it — and the clerk sold it to him, for the guilty pocket change leland kept from their last victims.
anyway — it's small, it's not special and handmade. but it's a thank you — thank you for being kind to me, this year.
❝ … there’s like, not a lot of windows, down there — and you’re always working, so i thought… ❞ maybe you would want to get away, too, sometimes? leland trails off. suddenly a bit embarrassed with his sentiment. he wrings his hands, focuses down at his new bracelet intently to ease his own nerves; ❝ … um, yeah, anyway… i hope you like it. ❞ leland finally peeks up again, offering bubba a small smile; ❝ merry christmas. ❞
