#intermistletoe2014

The flaws in the plan became obvious after it survived three explosions, a fire, multiple stabbings, and an attempt to destroy it with an axe.

The radio, which could only pick up two stations on a good day, carried on triumphantly, as today it was refusing to turn off in a clear display of superiority.

“It’s the most wonderful time, of the year…”

“It’s got to die sometime,” Slick said. His face glowed an unpleasant shade of red, then purple, then green as the Christmas lights shifted through their colors.

“I don’t think it does,” Boxcars said tentatively. He moved around the kitchen, taste testing foods here and there, shifting things from table to oven and back again.

“It’ll be a goddamn miracle if it does die,” Slick argued. “A fucking Christmas miracle. And then I’ll know the true meaning of Christmas.”

“Doubtful,” Droog said. He turned the page of his newspaper. “I believe you have, once again, been voted as ‘Scroogiest Grinch of Midnight City’.”

“You’re goddamn right I was,” Slick growled. “Do you know what a terrible holiday Christmas is. Do you?”

Droog looked up at Slick, the slight movement causing the antlers on his head to shift, setting the bells on them to ringing. “Possibly.”

“Yeah, but you’re a cool cat about it!” Deuce said happily. He lifted up a small glass ornament and hooked it into Slick’s suit with great deliberation.

“Please never call me that again,” Droog said. “But yes. Although I might not particularly enjoy participating in the mirthful festivities, I understand social conventions well enough to let them persist unaided.”

“I understand goddamn social conventions,” Slick snapped, attempting to wiggle out of the Christmas lights binding him to his seat. “I just fucking hate them.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, yelling at mall Santa’s?” Boxcars asked skeptically. “That’s a bit far.”

“And who the hell was it that put up fifty gazillion pieces of mistletoe everywhere?” Slick demanded.

Boxcars grinned. “I like me the Christmas spirit,” he said. “’Specially when it means I get to kiss some pretty folks.”

“Yeah, and then you yell at anyone who passes under it,” Slick said. “You fucking yelled at siblings to kiss!”

Boxcars shrugged. “Should I add garlic to this?” he wondered aloud.

There was a chorus of “no’s”.

“Garlic it is,” Boxcars said with satisfaction.

“C’mon, Slick, it isn’t so bad!” Deuce said, hooking another ornament onto Slick.

“Of course you’d say that,” Slick said, looking disdainfully at Deuce’s Christmas sweater. It depicted, among other things, Santa’s sleigh exploding and showering presents everywhere.

Deuce just grinned. “Christmas is the best,” he said. “Everything’s all bright and sparkly, and people are happy, and I get to set off fireworks!”

“Oh yes, where did you hide them this year?” Droog asked. “I believe the fire marshal has promised to find them before midnight this year.”

Deuce hummed in satisfaction. “He won’t find ‘em,” he said. He reached up on tip-toes to hang an ornament from the brim of Slick’s hat. “I’m gonna get some tinsel!” he exclaimed, and ran out of the kitchen.

Slick immediately turned to Droog. “Fucking untie me, would you?”

“No thank you,” Droog said. “I’m quite comfortable where I am. Besides, since you managed to destroy our Christmas tree, stockings, and the Santa suit, you have to serve as a replacement tree at the least.”

“You’re fired,” Slick said.

“Duly noted,” Droog said. “I’m sure I can give you some recommendations on who can fill my spot. You’ll hate all of them and they’ll be dead within a week, but they’ll certainly try.”

Slick glared at him. “Rehired,” he said grudgingly.

Droog gave him a nod and returned to reading his newspaper. “Oh, a sale on shoe polish,” he murmured.

As Deuce re-entered with a box of tinsel, the radio wheezed its way into a new song, and the solemn chords of O Tannenbaum filled the room. Deuce hummed along as he picked up a strand of tinsel, draping it over Slick.

“Oh Christmas Slick, oh Christmas Slick,” he sang softly. “Some words I don’t really know…”

Boxcars paused in his cooking to watch as Slick broke into profanities and threats, which Deuce ignored.

“We’re untying him eventually, right?” he asked Droog in an undertone. “Just so I know how many places to set for dinner.”

Droog remained silent for a few seconds, watching the scene. “Oh, eventually,” he said. “But really, what’s a Christmas Slick without a star on top?”

Boxcars grinned. “Alright. Garlic in the potatoes ok?”

Droog sighed. “You’re going to add it anyways,” he said in a long suffering tone.

“Yeah, but I like givin’ people the illusion of choice,” Boxcars said, ambling back over to the stove.

Droog snorted and went back to his newspaper as Slick yelled in the background. The radio happily decided to worsen his misery by playing Greensleeves, which Slick despised.

Paint had found herself lost in the flickers of the Menorah before her, admiring the glint of the flames on both the surface of the table set before her, and her own smooth, pearl carapace. Slick had painstakingly insisted the year before that they replace the one they had now, rusting and raggedy, a polish certainly wouldn’t fix its moderately tarnished surface; Slick had indeed thrown a new and shiny Menorah at her a few weeks prior, however she’d sternly refused on the ground that this was her Menorah, and that there was a lot of sentimentality in it, she’d left him with a sweet little smooch on the cheek however before she’d sauntered off, still grateful he’d tried to do such a thing, and it had looked pretty expensive after all! She imagined that he probably had the newer one in his office or bedroom, Paint knew he liked to recite one of the traditional prayers on a near nightly basis, so it was likely the latter she figured.

  She sighed a wistful, but contented sigh as the murmur of an internal prayer came to an end, lighting the final candle and setting the stage for tonight’s feast. The door to the dining room was burst through with abrupt timing, coincidentally, and broken from her stupor the somewhat stout Prospitian was greeted by the sight of Slick, donned in a thick, unseemly but seasonal sweater. She beamed, bounding over the the man with a skip in her gait as she enthusiastically grabbed at both of his hands, clasping them affectionately within her own. She’d taken him by surprise it had seemed, interrupting a gruff hum which had suspiciously sounded hauntingly similar to Ma’oz Tzur chant she’d managed to teach him a few years back, she always knew he liked it, or at least appreciated the irony of it given that they really did live in what was basically an underground rocky fortress!

  “Think ya could go round up the boys for me doll? Boxy said food’s gonna be ready pretty damn soon-” Slick spoke up in his gravelly voice, interrupted, but not undeterred by the cheerful Prospitian in front of him. “-said not ta let Clubs get all caught up in whatever shit he’s doin’ up on the roof, yeah?”. Her smile grew all the sweeter as she heard the request, but couldn’t help but notice he’d called her ‘doll’, she tugged him down to cheek kissing range, the height difference always rather noticeable, but easy to work with.

“Of course I will sweetie! I’ll have that done in a jiffy for you, but Mister Slick?” She chimed, planting a smooch on his cheek as always, and allowing his hands freedom to drop to his sides as she moved towards the door he’d recently entered. “It’s Paint, remember? Not ‘doll’, you can remember that by now, can’t you?” There wasn’t a hint of malice in her voice as she left the room, adjusting her shawl with a shining smile, chipper as ever as she went to scout for the rest of the Crew.

  Slick was left standing in her wake, dumbstruck. There wasn’t a bad bone in that Woman’s body, but holy hell she could strike fear in the darkest of hearts with that innocent, genuine attitude of hers, sometimes it could be downright terrifying, the complete opposite of her; his eye itched instinctively and he sighed inwardly, mustering a smile and bracing himself for Karkat, ugh…

-------

The roof was Paint’s next destination, she was in a great mood, and who better than Clubs to share that with! Or that was what she’d thought anyhow before her nose had been assaulted by a familiar, unpleasant smell, one she’d learnt to tune out after repeated attempts of getting the culprit to cut down on their habit, but to no avail. It was particularly noticeable and easy to trace after all the cleaning she’d done to make sure the hideout was perfect in preparation for tonight's, um, preparations. With determination she set off towards the source, rolling up her sleeves as though she was getting ready to bake, or for one of those silly Human fisticuff match things! Either way, someone was lazing about and ruining the atmosphere, and it looked like she had some business to attend to. With a mental crack of her knuckles she shouldered her way into what appeared to be a study of sorts, not Droog’s room, but given the lingering smell of tobacco, it might as well have been.

  The unsociable Dersite did not raise his head to greet her when she entered, much preferring the attention of his book, nursing a cigarette and what appeared to be some fanciful cocktail set aside for the time being, looked like the man was foregoing his usual glass of wine. “Ms. Paint.” Droog murmured from behind the confines of his book, seemingly engrossed by whatever he happened to be reading. The Prospitian gave a little cough of dissatisfaction, making sure she kept the door wide open to air the room out a little, waving a short Prospitian arm in a mock attempt to dispel that awful smell now surrounding her.

“Mister Droog! Why aren’t you helping the other’s with the preparations? I’m sure there’s something around here that the others could use your help with!” She harumphed, crossing her arms as she came to stand before him, her lips pursed as she scowled down at the Dersite, still casually reading.

  Droog flicked a page and continued as though the question had never even been asked, the room had grown silent, but the Prospitian’s displeased huffing was breaking his immersion, or perhaps practice would have been a better word.

“I am contributing.” He finally broke the silence, deep and monotone, his eyes flicked up to the woman standing over him for just an instant before dropping back to the pages. The smaller Carapacian’s huffing did not cease, however her curiosity did get the better of her, it wasn’t like Droog to outright lie to her face, maybe to others, but not her, he seemed to respect her, well, when he wasn’t being rude and ignoring her. Rather than snatch that book out of his hand and see for herself what was more interesting than helping with the festivities, and being rude like the grump in the chair she made a show of stomping round to the back of the armchair and peering over the Carapace’s shoulder...oh!

  Her eyes had fallen upon what seemed to be a series of traditional songs, rhymes and prayers, her fingers clutched at the sides of the furniture she was leaning over, eyes widening as she realised they were all related to Hanukkah. She remembered the years before, Droog would never sing, nor would he join the prayers, always seemingly distant whenever the rest of the Crew would heartily chime in together, she’d asked him why before, but had never received a satisfactory answer...was this Droog maybe, probably, no! He couldn’t be! Could he?

Droog winced upon hearing a high pitched whistling in the distance “Think you could go and fix that? He’s been up there throwing the ‘failures’ off the roof for hours now.” Rather than let her excitement get the best of her, she stifled a giggle as she danced around to the front of the chair once more, she had a feeling that the Crew’s underboss had something in mind, but she’d rather wait for the surprise than bother the man further, oh she really hoped that what she was hoping to be true was actually true! Oh, she couldn’t let her excitement get the best of her, not too soon, and with that she bid the man farewell, leaving him to what she wished was practice. The Underboss said nothing more as he listened to the Prospitian make her way from the study, the hint of a pleased smirk crossed his features, hidden by his book as she left him in peace, though not because she’d left...she’d left the damn door open though. Droog’s smile turned into a displeased grimace as he placed his book to one side, scowling at the open doorway in annoyance, grumbling. “Rude.”

-----

  The winding stairs leading outside the confines of the hideout were quite the triumph sometimes, it made a lot of sense why there were ladders dotted about the place instead, dangerous to use those though, no telling where she could end up, maybe in the middle of a street, it had happened before! Regardless, she braved the stairs, and before long she was greeted with the crisp freshness of near-Midnight air, and strange whizzbang’s off in the distance...fireworks! She loved fireworks! So dazzling and different, piercingly loud but memorable, this had to be Clubs’ doing. She made her way carefully over to the source of the fireworks orchestrator, and what she figured was the Crew’s very own tinkerer, minding her step on the roof as she did so; They called it a ‘roof’, but it wasn’t quite what she’d call a roof, too low, but surprisingly well hidden. Paint caught the glint of a gleeful Carapaced face in the distance as another firework was set off, and she found herself clapping, amazed and awestruck at the Crew’s proficiency with pyrotechnics, though the small Carapace’s expression seemed to indicate differently.

  Paint could see the sullen expression of the smallest Crew member even when veiled in the darkness, and without a moments notice she rushed up to the diminutive Dersite and wrapped him in an affectionate hug from behind, gentle and caring her arms wormed their way around his middle. “What’s the matter Deuce? Your fireworks are very pretty!”

Clubs wasn’t startled when the Prospitian embraced him, she’d done this often enough in the past that he recognised those comforting arms and that soothing, sing-song voice easily, although it wasn’t hard, none of the rest of the Crew were exactly huggy, to Clubs’ disappointment.

  “They ain’t good, there’s no pizazz! This is a sucky surprise! I was gonna get ‘em all lined up for ya, then set ‘em all off at once in a dazzlin’, spectacular, spectacle thing!” He was on a rant, clearly upset that whatever he’d had planned for her hadn’t gone fantastically, it was practically a tantrum! Paint simply rested her chin atop his head softly, tightening her grip briefly and looking at the scattered remains of fireworks adorning the ground. “It was pretty, Deuce, I saw when I got up here...it’s nice you went to all this effort to do this for me.”

Clubs rumbled beneath her, he always responded positively when Paint told him nice things, the rest of the Crew sometimes spoke down to him, literally and figuratively! She didn’t, she was like one of those Human guardians that protect and coddle them for a few decades, unnecessary, but welcome!

“S’not finished though, been up here all night and got nothin’ to show for it, still sucks, and now we gotta go for dinner an’ Hearts is gonna scold me for bein’ late!” She hmm’ed against him as he spoke, panic and worry ringing clear in his tone as he wriggled in her grip, upset but calming at least. “If you’d like, I could cover for you, but only for a little bit! You just need a little more time, don’t you?” Maybe if she could get him a little more time, he’d be able to get done what he needed to, or at least give it another go, that’s what mattered, right?

  Clubs had perked up at the suggestion, grasping hold of the two arms holding him with unassuming hands. “Really? Ya really mean that? But...how’re ya gonna explain? Everyone’s gonna get mad at you for coverin’ for me...It’s a real special day an’, well, wait. It’s your day! Sorta! So nobody can get mad at you, I get it! It’s perfect! You’re a genius Miss!”

That wasn’t quite what she’d been going for, but it worked for her! She’d have to explain to him later, it was just like Clubs to get all caught up and excited like that, um, just like Slick had told her not to let him...hmph! She could deal with Slick if he decided to be a grump about it.

“Exactly!” She said as she released him from her grip, the short Caparace turning to look her in the face, grinning a toothy grin as he bounced on his heels eagerly.

“On one condition though! Bring that Kipa I got you, you look absolutely adorable in it!” She took a step back from the excitable Crew member, happy with what she guessed was a job well done, er, sort of! She really had to get going though, misjudging time, and being kept any longer than necessary and her Menorah would probably be ruined in melted candle wax by the time she got everyone together, she had faith that Clubs would arrive sooner rather than later though.

“Not a problem miss! I’ll work my hardest to get all this done in time, an’ it’s gonna work, promise!” He sent a silly salute her way as he saw the Prospitian already making her way back into the depths of the hideout.

-----

  Time was running out, and it was only just now that she realised she’d not really managed to get a single Crew member to make their way down to dinner yet, each time getting distracted by something or other, either being offensive smells or an upset Clubs, important things really, but it was time she set her priorities right if she was going to have the perfect evening in the hideout tonight, no more messing around, this time she really meant business, and with that she found herself breathing deeply, in and out, preparing herself before she rocketed into that kitchen of wondrous and mouth-watering aromas.

  She pushed open that swinging kitchen door and walked her way into the place as briskly as she could. This time she wouldn’t be distracted, Mister Slick had given her a job to do and she was determined to see it thr-”PAINT!~”

“Wha-!?” She had no time to react to the monster that scooped her up, lifting her from the safe confines of concrete flooring and up into the tremendous arms and the heartily chucking breast of the Crew’s very own brute

  “Where’ve ya been!? Not seen neither hide ‘a hair ‘a you all day, an’ where’s that scamp Clubs gotten off to, said ‘e was gonna be ‘elpin’ me with the damn dinner!” Menacing threats it might have seen to anyone else, but when you’re being lifted into the safe and secure arms of a perpetually chuckling Hearts Boxcars, there’s really nowhere safer, especially when he’s wearing the red cooking apron she bought especially for him, he was always such the sweetest of the lot, maybe, especially when she got him blushing, all’s it took was some compliments to his cooking and he’d turn into a red-faced mess, or whatever the Carapacian equivalent of a blush was, darker plates? Either way, Paint always knew a Boxcars blush when she saw one.

  “I’ve been trying to get everyone together for dinner, Boss’ orders!” She exclaimed, delighted with the cuddly brute, hugging him back with as much force as she could muster, not that he’d be able to feel much! “What are you cooking, you’ve been keeping me in the dark all week, it’s about time you gave me a look at what you’ve been teasing me about for days, don’t you think~” She beamed innocently as the largest of the Crew set her carefully back of solid ground, but not before planting his own, very special Boxcars-brand smooch to the top of her headscarf.

  “Sure thing, kept you in the dark long enough, huh? Come on over!” He led her towards what happened to be a huge stove, surprising, but familiar, she’d done her own fair share of cooking here, though Boxcars normally insisted and bore the brunt of the Midnight Crew’s cooking.

“This ‘ere’s Honey brined ‘erb roasted Turkey, Kosher as can be, so don’t worry your ‘ead about that any! Obviously gonna ‘av some side stuff goin’ with it, but that’s gonna be stayin’ a surprise at least, heh heh~” He rumbled his deep booming laugh, deeper than Droog’s voice, and she could swear she felt it reverberate through her Carapace every time he did that. She dared a peek at what was cooking within the stove, unfortunately not being able to see inside the thing all that well.

“I can’t see inside! I bet you did that on purpose, hmm?” Her tone was playfully as she stood from her crouch, raising an eye ridge and canting her head towards the towering Dersite, all’s she got in response was another deep chuckle, and then a huge hand was ever to carefully taking hold of her own and leading her over to the other side of the kitchen.

  “Slick wanted Pumpkin Soup for dessert, called ‘im a sourpuss, wasn’t ‘avin’ any ‘a that, everyone loves cake, so we’re ‘avin pound cake an’ the damn crispiest latke’s! With a little somethin’ extra, that I ain’t tellin’ ya~”. She peered down at the table, looking at the intricate designs upon the cake, surprisingly dexterous for a man with such large hands, he must be proud of his work.

“It all looks fantastic! Well, from what I can see anyway, you big tease. But if the smell is anything to go by, I’m sure it’s going to be delicious! That’s a given though, you are my favourite cook in Midnight City after all~”

There it was, that blush, aha! Perfect, her daily Boxcars blush had been achieved! Did she have any more goals...oh, OH!

“How long is everything going to be, how long are you going to be! I feel like I need to rush, I didn’t manage to grab any of the Crew for dinner, I kept getting distracted! See, it happened again, oh dear…” Shaking off his blush, the Dersite cook crouched to the meet the level of the sombre Prospitian, confident that she’d not done her job properly. He hooked a finger under her chin lightly, lifting her gaze to meet his, big sad eyes meeting a pair of caring partners.

“No reason to go thinkin’ that now, right? I’m the cook, everyone goes by my schedule y’know, you’ve done fine I bet, hell, you spent most of the week makin’ sure the place was spick ‘n span just fer today! That’s dedication, admirable, an’ it’s ‘bout time ya got t’ rest an’ enjoy Hanukkah with me an’ the boys, just like always, yeah?”

  She smiled that same old smile, she needn’t hear more than that. Hearts always knew the right thing to say...she pressed an appreciative peck to the bottom of his jaw, the only place close to his cheek she could reach. With that the Crew member rose to his feet silently, smiling down at her encouragingly, ushering her on to make her way make to the dining room, reassuring her that everyone would be there in time, no need to worry. Who knew a gang of mobsters could ever be this sappy, or make her this sappy! She was the luckiest Prospitian, without a doubt.

-----

  She may have taken Boxcars’ advice, returning to the dining room with gusto, but just as she’d suspected, she was the only one there, not a soul had arrived yet. She knew they’d be here, Boxcars was always right, but gosh darn if she wasn’t bored to tears waiting for the lot of them. In her waiting, she once more found herself drawn to the Menorah she’d lit not an hour before, still burning away, wax not quite as ruined as she thought it would be, that was a relief...perhaps she should sing a little, to pass the time? Yemei Ha'Chanukah seemed appropriate whilst she was waiting…

  Her voice had been echoing about the hall for more than 5 minutes now, still nobody to be seen; Paint’s eyes had closed as she recited the song once more, a near pitch perfect melody, joined by a...second voice?? Her eyes popped open, she knew that gravelly voice anywhere, a smile of relief reaching her Carapaced cheeks as she heard her ‘boss’ finish the song for her, and what looked like a grumpy Karkat in tow refusing to utter a word, she giggled at the sight, a hand rising to her face to hide what was a rather evident giggle in such a lofty dining hall.

The Troll and the carapace made their way over to the table, Karkat lagging behind ever so slightly, and Slick took a seat besides Paint, smiling wryly, and sighing frustrated, clearly fed up with whatever he’d had to go through with Karkat to get him here on time.

  “How’d it go? Manage ta round everyone up?”

The question panicked her, Slick had given her a job, Boxcars’ reassurance was all but forgotten as she realised she essentially failed the simplest of tasks given to her by a mob boss.

  Her panic-stricken features were put to ease just as fast as her brow turn to frown. She saw them enter one by one, almost rhythmically, the rest of the respective Troll children came to take their seats, she’d maybe, just a tad, forgotten about them in all the rush...oh dear. It had worked out in the end, at least! There was Droog too! It didn’t seem like he had his book he’d been reading any longer, maybe he was all practiced up! Oh she hoped so, forget holding back any more, she was really excited to hear Droog join in with them for once, er, if he did of course. Clubs closely followed Droog, and luckily enough it seemed he’d fixed his little late night show up all good and proper for the rest of them later on, the ear to ear grin spoke volumes! She could see him making his way over to sit next to Sollux, however Paint could swear she saw the chair move just a few feet away from Sollux, Clubs was none the wiser it seemed as he took his seat; Troll teenagers seemed like such a hassle sometimes! Or was that a Human stage of growth? what were the Trolls in the middle of maturation called? Grubbagers? It didn’t sound appealing...though the plates of food being placed on the table by a surprisingly deft Boxcars soon rectified that, mouth-watering smells quickly ensconcing the expansive room, it smelled like a home…