Dedalus Diggle (misdirection) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-12-24 22:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | dedalus diggle |
WHO: Dedalus Diggle & Marjorie Gillespie-Diggle.
WHAT: It’s Christmas eve!
WHEN: Tonight.
WHERE: The Diggles’ house.
WARNINGS: Nah.
While many people enjoyed the evening with their extended families, Dedalus and Marjorie, at least, had each other. It was draining putting on a happy face and trying to remain festive and upbeat for her sake, but Dedalus did it every year. She knew very little about dead relatives, wars, and looming annihilation; she knew tinsel and colourful lights, the sound of bells, her dog snoozing gently by the fire in his Christmas sweater. She knew gingerbread houses, singing carols, and mountains of expertly-wrapped presents beneath their lavishly-decorated tree. Marjorie was happy, and that was all that her devoted father could have asked for. “How about three?” she asked, dashing toward the tree in her holiday dress to snatch up a metallic purple gift and give it a shake. “Marjorie dearest, you may open one. One small present. That’s the deal,” Dedalus said brightly, despite his aching joints and weary mind. He slumped, exhausted, into a plush armchair near the fire. “I heard you say three,” Marjorie insisted stubbornly, shaking the box harder. “Marjorie, please. Be gentle with that—” She frowned and dropped the present, then picked up another, larger pink present. “How about this one? Can I have this one?” Dedalus sighed. “One small one,” he repeated. “That one’s taller than you are, my darling.” “You’re no fun!” Marjorie accused, thoroughly unimpressed. Dedalus, using some oft-practiced parenting skills, changed the subject. “How about a story?” he asked, patting the overstuffed ottoman next to the armchair. Marjorie, still pouting, was curious enough to oblige. “Tell me about the time we got Waffles.” Dedalus smiled, glancing briefly at the little dog dozing nearby. “Marjorie, my little gem. You picked him out four years ago at the farmer’s market.” She looked slightly disappointed. “Oh yeah,” she said, frowning as she tried to think up another request. Her eyes lit up when she was struck by an idea. “Tell me about where I came from.” He chuckled and shook his head, having told this one many times before. “Your mother and I loved you very, very much before you were even born. And since we both agreed that marriage and nuclear families were terribly restrictive and old-fashioned, we decided to just go ahead and have you. That proved to be a very good decision—the best decision I ever made, in fact! You’re the most precious gift I ever could have asked for.” Dedalus said, reaching out to give her dark curls an affectionate ruffle. Marjorie smiled sweetly—a bit too sweetly. “Precious enough to open three presents?” Dedalus’ own smile waned as he sighed again, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Marjorie, what did I—” The seven-year old grabbed him by the sleeve and shook. “Pleeeeeeeeeease, Dad. It’s Christmas.” she pleaded. Dedalus side-eyed his daughter; she was getting a bit too good at this manipulation thing. Then again, he supposed, he was the one who’d been lying about being a vigilante for the past twenty-five years—did he really have any room to judge? “You do want me to have a happy Christmas, don’t you Dad?” Marjorie continued, putting on her finest, saddest puppy-dog eyes. “Now you’re just milking it, kid.” Dedalus grumbled, annoyed and proud at the same time. Clearly, she was from a long line of entertainers. Demeter would have been delighted. She also would have mocked him relentlessly for how much of a pushover he still was. He threw up his hands in defeat, dramatic even in his resignation. “Fine! You can open three!” Triumphant, Marjorie shrieked with glee and ran back toward the tree, lunging immediately for the biggest, pinkest present. “I hope this is a winged pony!” she squealed as she began to shred the paper. Dedalus, tired as he was, couldn’t help but to smile. She was happy. What more could he have asked for, really? |