Post by Christian Moynahan on Dec 21, 2013 2:20:33 GMT -5
Frankincense to offer have I
Incense owns a Deity nigh
Prayer and praising, all men raising
Worship Him, God most high
-”We Three Kings” (in this case, Fuel)
Although he would have preferred a different venue, necessity dictated that Christian hold this particular meeting once again at Áine. He had three gifts to deliver; only one counted as an actual gift, but the nature of one of the others was sensitive enough that he did not want to risk anyone else catching wind of it. Soon it would be out his hands, and it would be up to his intended recipient to choose what to do with it.
This was his first Christmas in many respects. The first in Los Angeles, the first in a house, the first as a CEO, the first as the head of Ark Industries specifically, and the first with anyone he would have considered more than an acquaintance. There had been an office party at Ark the day before, during which everyone had gotten bonuses. That had been entertaining. Then he had given his employees the twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth, and twenty-sixth off, with the express understanding that they would return fired up and ready to work.
As for himself… he was accustomed to spending Christmas alone. He hardly celebrated it anymore. Due to the size of his house, he had decided to buy a very small Christmas tree for the living room. The tree was really tiny, such that only the smallest of presents could have fit underneath it. He did not expect to receive any gifts. In truth, he had no idea why he had bought it, nor why he had decorated it with lights and a little star at the top. His family had done that on the first day of December every year, and so had he this year.
He had sent them a Christmas card, a standard Hallmark sort with its own message inside so that all you had to do was scribble your name and send it off. That was exactly what he had done, as he had in every year past; they had done the same, his parents and sister all signing their name to the card and addressing it to wherever he happened to be living at the time. He had a birthday coming up as well, so they usually added “Happy Birthday” to the card as well.
This year, of course, their card had come to California. The envelope was in his mother’s handwriting, and, as always, the three of them had signed their names under the cutesy Christmas message. But - he noticed after the scribbles - on the left side of the card, there was written, in his father’s handwriting: We are proud of you, son.
He had cried for three minutes straight.
There was no one nearby to break his record of lonely Christmases, so he prepared once again to follow his usual routine. Gabriel was with his family in Hawaii, Lucius was with his family in New York, and… well, Alice might have been nearby, but in truth, he was so used to being alone that he doubted he would make a good host or guest, especially not with little Sharon around. He did his best to put up mental blocks, but that was not part of his abilities, and his attempts mostly involved thinking in old, small languages when he knew he was in the presence of a telepath; he was not fluent in those languages, but it seemed to help. The reason for the block was not that Christian did not want anyone reading his mind, but that his mind was a deep, dark place… and a telepath of the strongest order might have found it disturbing at best and impossible to escape at worst.
He did have one guest coming by that night. It was Christmas Eve, and the last gift he had to give out would be presented sometime after she arrived. Maurelle surely had her own plans for Christmas as well, but she had agreed to take some time out for the night for Christian. He doubted that she would regret it. He had a few surprises for her.
He was not sure how long she planned to stay, so he had bought and cooked enough food for the both of them in case she was hungry; if not, then ah well, he’d have leftovers. One of the formerly ignored but very helpful features of the house’s design was that the kitchen was closed off from every angle, so there was no permeating smell of food infecting everywhere, no need to Febreze the living room couch because he had cooked a turkey. And no reason for someone in the dining room to suspect he had cooked anything at all.
There was something in the dining room, however. That room hardly saw any use; it was not as comfortable as the living room, and Christian had yet to hold a gathering that required more seating than the living room. This would be appropriate, however. The dining room had windows that looked out on two sides, and a mirror, as well as a bar. It was here that he would lead Maurelle first, then to the living room if she preferred to stay and be more comfortable.
There were no text tricks this time. When Maurelle came calling at the front door, Christian simply opened it, and greeted her warmly. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Lacroix, et joyeux noël.” This time, rather than open to the door on her left, he opened the door on her right and allowed her to pass through before entering the dining room himself. “J'espère que vous allez bien et que vous ne travaillez pas trop fort ces jours-ci," he added with a small smile. “S'il vous plait asseyez vous. Je vous en prie, faites comme chez vous." As he had told her at their first meeting, his French was not very good, and he hoped he would not offend her if he made a mistake. “The chairs are more comfortable than they look,” he added with a small chuckle.
She would likely notice two highball glasses on the dining room table and a large, gift-wrapped box on one of the chairs, but otherwise there was nothing unusual about the room at all.
This was his first Christmas in many respects. The first in Los Angeles, the first in a house, the first as a CEO, the first as the head of Ark Industries specifically, and the first with anyone he would have considered more than an acquaintance. There had been an office party at Ark the day before, during which everyone had gotten bonuses. That had been entertaining. Then he had given his employees the twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth, and twenty-sixth off, with the express understanding that they would return fired up and ready to work.
As for himself… he was accustomed to spending Christmas alone. He hardly celebrated it anymore. Due to the size of his house, he had decided to buy a very small Christmas tree for the living room. The tree was really tiny, such that only the smallest of presents could have fit underneath it. He did not expect to receive any gifts. In truth, he had no idea why he had bought it, nor why he had decorated it with lights and a little star at the top. His family had done that on the first day of December every year, and so had he this year.
He had sent them a Christmas card, a standard Hallmark sort with its own message inside so that all you had to do was scribble your name and send it off. That was exactly what he had done, as he had in every year past; they had done the same, his parents and sister all signing their name to the card and addressing it to wherever he happened to be living at the time. He had a birthday coming up as well, so they usually added “Happy Birthday” to the card as well.
This year, of course, their card had come to California. The envelope was in his mother’s handwriting, and, as always, the three of them had signed their names under the cutesy Christmas message. But - he noticed after the scribbles - on the left side of the card, there was written, in his father’s handwriting: We are proud of you, son.
He had cried for three minutes straight.
There was no one nearby to break his record of lonely Christmases, so he prepared once again to follow his usual routine. Gabriel was with his family in Hawaii, Lucius was with his family in New York, and… well, Alice might have been nearby, but in truth, he was so used to being alone that he doubted he would make a good host or guest, especially not with little Sharon around. He did his best to put up mental blocks, but that was not part of his abilities, and his attempts mostly involved thinking in old, small languages when he knew he was in the presence of a telepath; he was not fluent in those languages, but it seemed to help. The reason for the block was not that Christian did not want anyone reading his mind, but that his mind was a deep, dark place… and a telepath of the strongest order might have found it disturbing at best and impossible to escape at worst.
He did have one guest coming by that night. It was Christmas Eve, and the last gift he had to give out would be presented sometime after she arrived. Maurelle surely had her own plans for Christmas as well, but she had agreed to take some time out for the night for Christian. He doubted that she would regret it. He had a few surprises for her.
He was not sure how long she planned to stay, so he had bought and cooked enough food for the both of them in case she was hungry; if not, then ah well, he’d have leftovers. One of the formerly ignored but very helpful features of the house’s design was that the kitchen was closed off from every angle, so there was no permeating smell of food infecting everywhere, no need to Febreze the living room couch because he had cooked a turkey. And no reason for someone in the dining room to suspect he had cooked anything at all.
There was something in the dining room, however. That room hardly saw any use; it was not as comfortable as the living room, and Christian had yet to hold a gathering that required more seating than the living room. This would be appropriate, however. The dining room had windows that looked out on two sides, and a mirror, as well as a bar. It was here that he would lead Maurelle first, then to the living room if she preferred to stay and be more comfortable.
There were no text tricks this time. When Maurelle came calling at the front door, Christian simply opened it, and greeted her warmly. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Lacroix, et joyeux noël.” This time, rather than open to the door on her left, he opened the door on her right and allowed her to pass through before entering the dining room himself. “J'espère que vous allez bien et que vous ne travaillez pas trop fort ces jours-ci," he added with a small smile. “S'il vous plait asseyez vous. Je vous en prie, faites comme chez vous." As he had told her at their first meeting, his French was not very good, and he hoped he would not offend her if he made a mistake. “The chairs are more comfortable than they look,” he added with a small chuckle.
She would likely notice two highball glasses on the dining room table and a large, gift-wrapped box on one of the chairs, but otherwise there was nothing unusual about the room at all.
[Outfit.]