christmas at the freehold

Colored lights hung outside the coffee shop, blinking on and off and lighting up the night-darkened snow, casting it in blue and green and pink. Its doors were closed to the public, but inside some still gathered. The main dining area was closed, chairs stacked upside down over tables, but deeper inside, the commons room of the Freehold was alive with those that had nowhere else to go for Christmas.

In that room, Emil was playing the part of the fireplace, sitting serenely and sipping cocoa as the flames flickered and danced within the grates on his stomach. He didn't seem to mind; there was a calm smile on his face, a rare sight. By his side was the Klara, quietly adding her own modest light from her lamp. Her eyes were closed, and under her breath she sang carols in her native tongue, smiling even as candle wax dripped down her cheeks.

The Winter Queen, looking none too regal at the moment, stared into the flames, holding her young son close. Her expression was hard to read, as it always was on her blank face. The boy looked at his mother, smiled, ran his hands through the wisps that came off of her head like hair. She smiled back, but it was hollow. He could tell, but he said nothing.

Around the large television, a small group was gathered, watching as Ralphie faced the terrifying Santa, saying he wanted a Red Ryder carbine action two-hunded shot range model air rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time. All of them laughed, but there was a sadness in their eyes, nostalgia. Many of them had memories like this too. Things they couldn't go back to and share with anyone but each other. But it was fleeting. Now each other was all they needed.

Alois sat by himself on one of the recliners, and seemed transfixed by the Christmas tree, giving it a series of nasty glares. What was he so upset about? Nobody knew, not even himself. It was just yet another expression of his constant baseline irritation. Then, something plopped onto his lap. He snapped to attention, giving his lap a leer, to. There was a box, elegantly wrapped and done up in yellow and white ribbons. He looked up, into the porcelain face of the one who'd given it to him. The Dancer. Luka.

"Merry Chrismas." he said sweetly. Just as expected, the lionfish's face lightened, and he teared at the wrapping with every bit of zeal as he did anything with. It was a necklace, of gold and glittering ruby, in a pattern much like his own.

He wasn't sure if it really was his style, but still. Someone thought of him. And, even if just for one night, someone enjoyed his company. He pulled Luka close, though he said nothing. Luka smiled.