Just a GPSL NPCs (birthrightnpc) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-12-22 21:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | npc |
Blue Christmas
Who: NPCs
What: Christmas Dinner
Where: Syracuse, New York
When: December 24th, 2011
It was 6:30 PM, Christmas Eve, middle of the suburbs. A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalks, the manicured lawns, and under a mix of streetlamps and string lights, everything glittered enticingly. If Tim squinted his dark eyes, it almost looked like diamonds had fallen, and one need only to scoop them up in gloved hands.
As he approached one of the inoffensively middle class homes, he noticed the figure of someone shoveling their walkway. There was no one else on the street. The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and the streetlamps were out around it, giving it a dark, eerie look that was somehow made more surreal by the erratically blinking lights festooning a high hedge. The hedge made a natural curtain for the home’s living room windows.
In the silence of the quiet street, Tim could hear the scrape of the shovel against concrete. The man ahead kept his head bowed, focused on his work. “Go inside man,” he called out, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, a woolen beanie pulled over his unruly brown hair, a smoky burst of air from his lungs accompanying his words. “The snow will still be here after dinner.”
Graham looked up, pulling his hood back over the slightly balding crown of his head. “Hey, you made it. I thought you said you were fine spending the holiday alone.” He held out his hand for a firm shake, shovel held loosely in the other. “I didn’t want the stuff to freeze overnight. I’d have to pull out the blowtorch tomorrow morning to melt it.”
“My growling stomach won out,” Tim relented with a smirk. He looked up at the house. Two cars sat side by side in a driveway, the tops and windshields frosted in white. A wreath decorated the front door. A welcome mat directed visitors to ‘wipe your paws’. “You have a dog?” he asked, gesturing to the piece of Americana.
“Had a dog,” Graham corrected. “The kid’s still hung up on it, he wanted to keep the mat. Julie is the one who doesn’t want any more pets, but she made me play bad cop and tell him myself.” He smiled bitterly, then nodded to the front door. “Come on, let’s go inside. Food’s almost ready.”
He led Tim inside, the foyer of the home a blast of toasty warmth against the cold night air of the outdoors. The younger man slipped out of his coat and was directed to sling it over a hook. He trailed after Graham, entering a living room dominated by a long sectional couch. “Everyone, this is Tim. He started volunteering at the VFW a few weeks ago, he’s new to the area.”
“Tim, you remember Brody.” A teenage boy sitting at the end of the couch nodded but didn’t look up from his 3DS. “And this is my oldest, Todd, and his girlfriend…” Graham paused for a moment, a tight smile stretching across his face. “Cassie. They’re visiting from school.” He turned toward a woman kneeling in front of a fireplace and swearing under her breath. “And my wife, Julie.”
“I can’t get this thing lit to save my life. I wanted it for pictures,” Julie grumbled. She looked up at Tim and nodded. “And hi, by the way. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She tossed down a box of long matches, getting to her feet and wiping her hands together in obvious annoyance.
“I can help, maybe,” Tim offered, approaching the hearth and kneeling, grabbing the matches. With his back to the rest of them, it wasn’t long before a telltale crackle was heard, kindling and wood growing steadily ablaze. “There we go,” he said appreciatively before standing, putting the matches on the mantelpiece. He took a moment to look at the stockings that hung there, cheerfully overstuffed, before his eyes were drawn to an outlet filled with plugs, visually following the cords to a large, plastic Christmas tree. “You should be careful with these,” Tim pointed out to Graham. “They can be a fire hazard.”
Graham scoffed. “Let me get you a beer,” he answered dryly, turning to head toward the kitchen. “How amazing does this food smell?” he called out, his voice retreating with him.
“That reminds me,” Julie broke in crisply, “we have to start getting everything onto the table.” She paused, pointedly raising an eyebrow when no one seemed about to move. “Todd, Brody. That means you.” The two brothers glanced at each other before getting up and following their mother into the kitchen.
Tim turned his attention to a row of framed family photos, some of them featuring Graham in his uniform, badge polished and shiny. “Happy family,” he muttered.
“Yeah, they’re goals.”
He turned around, surprised, mostly because he forgot the girl was still sitting there. Tim raised an eyebrow, and wondered if she was being sarcastic or not. Cassie gave him nothing in return except an enigmatic smile. After a long stretch of potentially awkward silence, he nodded and joined the rest of the family in the kitchen.
Graham handed him an icy cold beer in a dark bottle. Tim examined the label. “The fancy stuff,” he commented with a smile before taking a drink.
Julie looked up after removing something big and tented in aluminum foil from the double-oven. “Is that an accent I hear?” she asked Tim curiously as she navigated the large, hot parcel to the island in the center of the kitchen. In the background, he could see Brody setting the dinner table. “Where’s it from?”
“Eastern Europe,” Tim answered casually. “But I almost forget that I have one sometimes, I’ve been in the US for...nine years now.” It had been a long, roundabout journey, but one that had felt very necessary. He truly believed that there were more opportunities there, and he had been proven correct. He was successful and wanted for almost nothing in the way of material possessions.
“I lost my family when I was young,” he continued. “At first, when Graham invited me to dinner here, I was a little reluctant. I thought it might remind me too much of when I was younger.” Tim smiled, tipping the neck of the bottle toward the older man in salute. “And it does, but not in a bad way.”
Graham chuckled and gave Tim a light clap on the back. “Just think of us as your extended family and treat us accordingly.” An electronic beep resounded in the kitchen, and the man pulled out a phone from his back pocket, squinting slightly at the display then frowning. “One second,” he muttered to no one in particular, drifting off to an unoccupied corner of the room. Tim sniffed the air.
“I think something is burning,” he commented. There was a thin haze of smoke coming from the oven.
“Shit!” Julie dropped a pair of salad tongs and walk-ran over to the wall where the ovens sat, pulling one of the doors open. “It’s the marshmallows, they’re a little burnt.” She grabbed a dish towel and gingerly pulled a casserole dish out, waving her free hand in the air in an effort to displace some of the smoke. “It’s okay, everyone likes burnt marshmallows, right?” The woman smiled thinly at Tim.
He pointed up vaguely at the ceiling. “When this happens in my apartment, the smoke detector goes crazy. Yours must not be that sensitive,” Tim remarked, closing the oven door for Julie. The woman looked up at the ceiling suspiciously.
“Usually ours do, too…” she said, before sighing and rolling her eyes. “Graham, did you not replace the batteries?” There was no response from the man who stood a few feet away, engrossed in whatever was happening on his phone. “Graham.”
“Hold on,” he finally replied, before looking up at Julie and Tim. He waved the device in the air. “Something at work came up, I need to hop on a call. Don’t be angry.”
It took a second for him to realize that the last part was directed at Julie. Tim looked between the both of them like he was following a tennis match. “Why would I be angry?” she asked breezily, looking down at the array of food set on the kitchen island. It looked like enough to feed their group of six people, ten times over. “Because you’re doing work on Christmas Eve, right when we’re about to eat? I’m not mad, it’s pretty much our tradition.” She clapped her thin hands together briskly. “Okay, everyone. Grab a plate and serve yourself.”
Graham left the room with the phone glued to his ear, and Tim grabbed a plate and queued up at the end of the line for food. He stood next to Todd, who was taller than he was by a few inches. “Enjoying the show?” the college student asked in a low voice, looking at Tim with an inscrutable gaze. “We’re just getting started. No one’s even properly drunk yet.”
Tim paused in the middle of scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate. Looked at Todd with the ghost of a smile. “Your family’s thinly disguised suburban rage is neither interesting or novel.” He set the spoon back down in the aluminum tray it came from and stepped around the younger man to grab a seat at the table. He ended up next to Brody, across from Todd and Cassie. On one end sat Julie, and on the other, an empty chair that was yet to be filled by Graham.
“We say grace before we eat,” Julie explained to Tim before folding her hands together and closing her eyes. Everyone else did, too. After a few seconds, he opened one eye, then the other. Everyone else’s head was bowed as Julie prayed and Tim tuned it out, then he glanced across the table and saw Cassie looking at him. She gave him a wink and he shook his head slowly, leaning back in his chair as if trying to put as much physical distance between the two of them as possible. “Okay, let’s eat.”
They sat in relative silence, silverware pinging against plates. After a moment, Julie spoke up, though her tone was distracted and her eyes were glued to the empty seat across the table. “How is everything?” she asked.
He finished chewing a piece of ham before answering. “It’s food,” he nodded, bringing his beer to his mouth.
“Thank you, Tim.” Julie’s chair legs scraped back against the tiled floor as she rose. “I’m going to go check on Graham.” Another silence followed this announcement as she left the room, the door separating them from the living area swinging in her wake. Brody was playing a video game, and both Todd and Cassie were scrolling through their phones. After a few minutes, the door swung back open and Graham and Julie had both returned.
It was Tim’s turn to get up next. “I need to use the restroom. Where is it?” he asked.
“Through the door, down the hall, last door on the right,” Julie told him, smiling.
He excused himself, following the directions he was given. Tim slipped into the bathroom, flicking on the light switch and locking the door. He stood in front of the mirror, turning his face in different angles as he stared back at himself. His hair fell over his eye on one side and he swept it back. Opened the medicine cabinet, seeing if there was anything good. Bored with that, he exited the bathroom before noticing a door across the hall, slightly ajar.
Pushing it open quietly, Tim peeked inside. A backward glance was thrown over his shoulder, checking the coast was clear. He wedged his body inside and carefully, gently pushed the door shut. It was obviously a small bedroom turned office, with a desk and computer in one corner. There were a lot of pictures on one wall. It was the cliche police trope, he smirked to himself. He gazed at photos and articles about a series of arsons. They were the most prominent, certain words and phrases circled in marker.
“Interesting.” The only thing it needed to achieve complete authenticity was some red string connecting all the pictures and clippings. Tim looked up sharply as the door crept open.
“This is my dad’s office.” It was Brody, his face impassive as he peered in at Tim. “I’m not allowed in here.”
Tim walked toward the boy, studying him closely. They had met in passing before, Graham having dragged the teenager to a recent, holiday-themed volunteer event. “A little tip, for the future?” he said, the corner of his lips curling up. “If you can manage a way in, you’re allowed.” He raised an eyebrow, looking down at the toes of Todd’s sneakers as they rested on the threshold. After a second or two, the kid smirked, too, and crossed one foot into the office.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Tim told him. He returned to the dining room table, slid back into his chair. “What did I miss? Something fascinating, I bet.”
“I was just telling Julie that we should make up the couch for you to stay,” Graham said before shoveling a forkful of stuffing into his mouth.
“Oh...you don’t need to do that,” Tim replied, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. His gaze bounced between husband and wife. “It’s not a long drive back, and tomorrow is Christmas. That’s your guys’ time.”
Julie shook her head. “It’s not a big deal,” she assured him. “We’re just opening a couple of presents. It’s not going to be a huge event.” Graham nodded in agreement as he chewed.
“You’re gonna stay,” he told Tim firmly. “And this way, you can drink as much as you want.” He sat back from the table, his plate nearly empty. “Speaking of drinks, are you going to make that thing you were talking about? The secret family...whatever.” Graham turned toward Julie. “The way he tells it, it’s the best tasting thing in a glass.”
“Fine,” Tim acquiesced dryly, rolling his eyes before nodding. “Yeah, I can make it, but everyone needs to clear out.” Julie and Graham laughed, but remained seated. “No, I’m serious. You need to leave. It really is a secret family recipe.” The couple looked at each other but said nothing before getting up and grabbing their dishes.
Tim stood and approached the counter where a small makeshift bar was set up. He grabbed six glasses and a large martini shaker, pouring in ingredients. With a glance behind him to make sure he was still alone, he pulled a small vial of something powdery out of his front jeans pocket. He emptied the substance into the cocktail shaker and listened to the satisfying rattle of ice cubes against metal before pouring the resulting concoction evenly in each glass. The dark haired man placed everything on a tray and carried it into the living room carefully, where it was set upon the dining table.
“My father used to drink this,” he explained, handing out the cocktails before taking a glass for himself. He set it in front of him as he settled into an armchair. “I learned how to make it from him.” Tim held up his glass. “Cheers.”
“What was your father’s name?” Graham asked, studying Tim curiously.
“Ivan,” Tim replied, the drink halfway to his lips. “My father’s name was Ivan.”
“To Ivan,” Graham replied, toasting. Everyone else repeated a chorus of ’to Ivans’ and Tim bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The older man clicked on the television and turned it to the news. “They’re doing a story on my case tonight,” he explained, turning up the volume and setting the remote down on the coffee table. As images of fire filled the screen, he could see the hard, angry set in the police officer’s jaw. “I cannot wait until we catch this guy. Slippery motherfucker.” He glanced at his wife and teenaged son. “Language. Sorry.”
“What would you say to him, if he were here right now?” Tim asked, tilting his head slightly. “Just out of curiosity.” He set the untouched cocktail down on the table and crossed one leg over the other, relaxing into the squashy armchair. The fire was still crackling quietly behind them.
Graham sighed, resting his head back against the top of the couch. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he contemplated silently. “I would say,” he began slowly, “that he’s a sick individual. He’s torn people’s lives apart, he’s destroyed them. And he needs to be locked away from the world, for good, behind bars.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Tim replied, though he made no move to actually do so. Graham, however, drained the contents of his own glass easily.
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Julie chimed in tersely, picking up the remote and changing the channel to ’A Christmas Story’. “This isn’t work, Graham.” She turned toward their guest. “This drink is absolutely delicious. Tim, do you mind helping me carry the sheets and blankets for the couch? I have a little linen closet down the hall here.” The woman set down her drink and rose to her feet. Tim nodded and trailed after her obligingly.
Once they were in the silence of the hallway, half-ensconced in the closet as Julie handed him a pile of neatly folded sheets, she spoke to him quietly. “Listen,” she began, her blonde hair shaking slightly around her shoulders as she bounced on her tiptoes to reach a pillow on the topmost shelf. Tim stood still and watched her, not bothering to reach up and grab it for her. “You’ve known my husband for a few weeks now, and I know he’s more likely to open up to his friends than to us. Is he...is Graham cheating on me? Has he mentioned anything?”
“Are you asking me if your husband, a fully functional adult human, is capable of cheating on you?” Tim asked, bemused. He glanced down at the sheets in his arms briefly, then back up at her. “Yes, absolutely. He’s completely capable of hurting you in almost any fashion imaginable. That’s what people do. But…” The man paused, shrugging one shoulder. “I think if you really stopped and listened to yourself, you would see that the issue isn’t if he’s cheating or doing something behind your back. It’s the fact that he even makes you worry about that, at all.”
Julie stared at Tim for a moment, her face a tight, neutral mask. “That drink hit me a little hard, I think. I’m going to bed,” she told him. “Can you please let Graham and the kids know that I was tired, and decided to head up early? Thanks.” She twisted away from him, ascended a staircase leading up to the second floor of the house. He watched her go before dumping the sheets on the floor of the closet in a messy pile and shutting the door on them. Returning to the living room, he relayed Julie’s announcement to the rest of them.
“Yeah, I’m getting there myself,” Graham answered lazily, not bothering to look up at Tim. They sat there and watched television silently for another forty minutes or so before everyone had drifted off to their sleeping destinations, leaving him alone in the living room. He looked down at his wristwatch. He would give it another hour, he decided. Enough time for everything to fully kick in. The man slumped down against the couch, watching the reflection of the Christmas tree lights against the window. The snow had stopped falling some time previously. Everything was quiet and soft.
After a sufficient enough amount of time had passed, the dark haired man stood once more and surveyed the scene around him. The stockings, the carefully wrapped presents that sat beneath the garish tree. The blink of lights reflected in glass-framed family photos. It painted a nearly idyllic picture. Too quaint for words, especially for any words in his vocabulary. His dark gaze honed in on that overstuffed outlet that sat between the fireplace and the tree. He concentrated carefully, and was rewarded when a spark left the fire and settled onto the plug of the power strip. Watched in appreciation as it traveled up into the plastic base of the tree.
He grabbed his coat off the hook, took one backwards look at the fledgling fire as if silently saying goodbye to an old friend, and exited the house, shutting the wreath-covered front door behind him.
[Written By Jess