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And all through the house...
He doesn't love Christmas. There had been a period way back in the misty past of his childhood where it hadn't totally sucked, but after his father had swerved off into drunken oblivion and he and his mother had moved into the cramped apartment one of the shadier parts of Queens Christmas had sort of lost a lot of its luster.
It's getting it back now. A little.
There's a fire in the temporary fireplace. There's a tree, in addition to the giant center-spoke of the wheel that the house makes. Hobbes had insisted and Eostre had grumpily given way. There's a can covered with a dishtowel in lieu of wrapping, because he's not sure how the fuck he'd wrap this. There's metal clinking around his neck, under his shirt. He's waiting for Hobbes to show up and for Eostre to finish putting the girls to bed. It's Christmas Eve and the one thing he notices is that he's actually just a little nervous. Mostly about Eostre's gift.
Maybe also about the fact that the trend actually seems to be upwards.
Hope is a dangerous thing, and 'tis the season for it.
It's getting it back now. A little.
There's a fire in the temporary fireplace. There's a tree, in addition to the giant center-spoke of the wheel that the house makes. Hobbes had insisted and Eostre had grumpily given way. There's a can covered with a dishtowel in lieu of wrapping, because he's not sure how the fuck he'd wrap this. There's metal clinking around his neck, under his shirt. He's waiting for Hobbes to show up and for Eostre to finish putting the girls to bed. It's Christmas Eve and the one thing he notices is that he's actually just a little nervous. Mostly about Eostre's gift.
Maybe also about the fact that the trend actually seems to be upwards.
Hope is a dangerous thing, and 'tis the season for it.