InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "merfie lerfie!"

It had taken a whole lot longer than Joy had been expecting for them all to get properly settled into the Cattery. Which, now that she actually thought about it, shouldn't have been that surprising, given they were three ladies with hectic schedules (and, at least in the case of her and Meaghan, a tendency to say "fuck it, let's go for a pint" instead of unpacking boxes).

But finally--finally!--Joy was able to stand in the doorway of her (actually organised!) room and survey the main living area with the satisfaction of a job well done.

Except. "There's one thing missing, you guys," she pointed out. "I didn't bring a Christmas tree all the way from Australia with me. Do either of you guys have one?"

"I don't have one," Florrie said. "I always go to Merc's for that kind of thing." Given the anniversary of her father's death, she'd never felt like having a tree in her home, not when it was just her. It was a lot of effort for not very much payoff.

"Never had one since a kid," Meaghan said from the big sofa, where she was lying with her legs over the arm. Despite having contributed less to the decor than the other two, she'd just flopped there as if mentally, physically and spiritually exhausted. She perked up a bit over the subject, since she'd been thinking about it herself for a couple days now. "Mum grew us a new one each year from an old broomstick."

"Grew," Joy repeated, in the slightly boggled way of one who, growing up in a hot-and-sunny part of the southern hemisphere in a mostly muggle suburb had a plastic tree out of a box hung with fake silvery icicles, and as a young woman in Sydney had a silver tinsel foot-high confection, also out of a box.

But no, seriously. Grew. She was here in the northern hemisphere and here Christmas trees were real trees. She glanced at the window, where if there were any poetry and justice in the world it would be snowing, but this was Scotland, not a fairytale, so it was just grey and miserable. Still.

"I have never had a living Christmas tree in my life," Joy declared, "and I am getting one." She nodded decisively, and then frowned. "Uh. I don't have to, like, cut it down myself, do I?"

Though probably it would be doable. She knew a Canadian now.

"If you'd rather, you can buy one and they'll cut it for you. Or we can get one in a little pot and replant it. I think one of the Fraser cousins sells them; there's a wonderful little fir named after them that might suit." For someone who didn't have a Christmas tree, Florrie clearly knew a lot about them.

"Davies -- you know him, Florrie, s'one of your little ones -- said he got one inna pot. Brings it in every year." That's what had got Meaghan thinking about it in the first place, despite never having bothered in the last eleven years. Twelve? Since she left school anyway and got her flat. Hadn't been much point. But this felt more like a place to have a tree for some reason. People were home sometimes or whatever.

Getting a pot was no growing it from a broomstick, but Mum would probably like it. Maybe. She liked plants and shit anyway. "Plant it here though?" Meaghan asked doubtfully. She really didn't know about having to keep a thing alive, although she guessed it wouldn't be her problem that long maybe.

Joy was similarly dubious about having a living, growing thing that couldn't look after itself under her care. They'd tried having a fern on the kitchen counter once back in her old house and it had all been going great (mostly) and then Tasha's cat ate it. They didn't have a cat here and Christmas trees were bigger but the point was: weird shit just happened to plants and then they died.

"Let's get one in a pot." Because that sounded easy and convenient, right? "And we can decide what to do with it later. That is a January problem." And January, Joy's dismissive hand gesture suggested, was ages away. "We can always, like, release it into the wild. Or feed it to Ellie's dragons."

And Joy ducked back into her room to get her coat and scarf and hat and gloves, because the longer December went on, the more layers (and whinging about the cold) Joy needed every time she went outside.

Florrie knew perfectly well who was going to end up responsible for the tree. She was the only one who liked vegetables, anyhow. Still, she bundled up, though less so than Joy, and got ready to go find the tree of their desire.

Meaghan looked up when they came back out. "What, we're goin' now?" she said blankly, staring out the window like she'd never before seen or experienced miserable bloody freezing winter Scotland. "Ughhh." But she rolled off the sofa and in probably no more than ten extra minutes she was back in a winter getup that rivaled Joy's in layers and was unrivaled in clashiness. Just because she'd spent a good chunk of her life in Scotland didn't mean she liked the winters.

Joy fidgeted next to Florrie, waiting for their third housemate to get back. She was keen to get into this whole tree business, true, but mostly she just wanted to keep busy because otherwise she found herself thinking about what she'd be doing if she were back home. It hadn't been so much a problem until recently, because there was so much adventure and fun and stuff going on here. But the other day Roshan had owled her a picture of him and the kids at the Gabba Test without her, and they'd been wearing singlets and thongs and watermelon helmets and she could smell the sunscreen and spilt beer and she'd suddenly, keenly yearned for the Australian summer. It was all too easy to remember last year at this time, how she and Hemi had spent a week at the coast, surfing all morning and lounging around in the sticky heat all afternoon and...

"Hey," she said to Florrie, "thanks for doing this with me." Because she'd heard the spark of interest under Meaghan's grumbles, but Florrie had been... well, she still didn't know Florrie very well, but providing information seemed a very Healer-response-to-situation and not a very personal one. And Joy was grateful. Being alone right now would suck.

That, at least, did spark a smile. "You're welcome," Florrie said. "Nobody should have to be alone at Christmas."

When Meaghan came out in clashing colours, Florrie visibly rolled her eyes at Meaghan. "All right, let's go. Isnae so far, only to Wester Auchentroig," which was probably the most Scottish either of them had ever heard her sound. To Meaghan it only emphasised Florrie's kinship to her aunt. "Only about twenty-five miles as the broom flies, but I can apparate us up there straightaway."

Meaghan did her best to hide both her flinching at Florrie's sudden unexpected McGonagallness (was nowhere in Scotland safe??) and her mystification in regard to where exactly they were going. That sounded like a nowhere place but Florrie said it like the words meant something recognizable.

She wasn't about to admit she had no idea what that was about, though, not to a fellow Scot or to a foreigner. At least the distance was a solid gauge even if she hadn't a clue what direction. West probably?

"Apparate then," she said, muffled by her thick, blue and green striped scarf. The faster they travelled, the less time outside. Florrie might not understand because McGonagalls had ice running through their veins, but she knew Joy would appreciate it. So they each took one of Florrie's arms and a few moments later they were outside and surrounded by trees, which meant they were either there or in Canada on accident.

Joy did appreciate it. She squeaked even as they landed, the cold immediately insinuating its fingers under her careful layers. She shrugged deeper into her coat, tucking her (pink and sparkly) scarf more carefully around her neck. She was just not built for this, ok?

Though, look, there was a certain atmospheric something to the ranks of fir trees against a menacing grey sky. The scent of them rose, resinous and spicy, and Joy drew in a deep lungful and thought about gingerbread and brandy and not at all about cut grass and salty surf.

"All right then," she said, "do we--oh!"

When she turned around, she nearly fell over a hefty young man in matching beanie and vest, who uttered a mush of syllables that took Joy quite a while to decipher through the thickness of his accent. Something about a tree? Yes, that was them.

Florrie answered him in about the same mush of syllables, cheerful and pleased with herself. His accent was thick but by no means incomprehensible, and it wasn't like he'd slipped into full-on Gaelic or anything. She let their new friend lead her to the potted trees so Joy and Meaghan could make their selection from the rows of little firs. With a few words of thanks and a smile at their helper, Florrie turned back to her housemates. "All right, ladies, time to pick a tree, remembering the dimensions of the living room, and that one of us is going to have to apparate it back."

Sometimes Meaghan forgot just how Godricdamned Scottish some of her mates were, and then they went and reminded her. Though it wasn't as much as Ellie. No one was as much as Ellie.

"Apparating," she said dismissively, walking round the trees to get a better look. Apparating a thing was whatever. She could do that easy, she knew where the Cattery was alright.

The trees all looked pretty much the same to her, though, like what she'd grown up with only smaller. She'd never picked it before, it'd just kinda happened. "Uhhh, this'un maybe?" she said helplessly, pointing at random.

Joy frowned at the suggested tree. "S'wonky," she declared. Though maybe that was part of the charm? She didn't know; the plastic ones were always perfectly symmetrical. "Needs to stand straight or the decorations will slide off, right? What about that one?" She jerked her chin toward the line of trees, then gave up, unfolded her hugging-herself-for-warmth arms, pulled her gloved hand out of her armpit, and pointed more specifically. "That one, I mean."

"They don't need to be symmetrical. We can charm the decorations to the branches," Florrie reminded Joy. "But if that's the one you want, it's fine with me if it's fine with Meaghan."

Meaghan squinted through ever-shrinking gap between her scarf and hat. She might've never picked a tree before but she knew that wasn't right. It had to be half the size of her mum's trees and those were grown overnight. "That'un's too small," she said. "Wouldn't fit more then a couple quaffles. What're we adopting a baby?"

Joy blinked. Charms. Of course. She'd been thinking like she was a kid again and decorating the tree at home. She shrugged. "Have your giant wonky tree, then. But I am not apparating it home with a mouth full of pine needles." And then, without even a pause, as though this were the obvious next thought, she added, "We should have a party."

Because for Joy, it was the obvious next step. Having decided on the tree, they were going to take it home and then decorate it, and that was going to be a lot more fun if they had something to drink while they did it and maybe music and once you had drinks and music you might as well just invite people round and have a party. Probably not feasible for this afternoon, but it was a good thought. "Christmas party. Belated housewarming." She shrugged again. "My birthday." If she were throwing excuses out there, might as well add it in.

"Oh!" Florrie's mouth made a little delighted shape. "I didn't know your birthday was coming up. Housewarming and tree decorating and a birthday all at once! We'll have to." And taking another good look at Joy and the way she was bending into herself to avoid the chill--never mind that it wasn't really that cold--Florrie added, "I'll put in an early down-payment on your gift now." She unlimbered her wand and touched the tip of it to Joy's coat, just above her midsection, and muttered a few words. A glorious warmth spread from the tip of Florrie's wand to fill the coat (and Joy) with the warmth of a winter fire.

"You never said!" called Meaghan, half behind and half inside the tree, which she'd picked up to gauge how hard it would be to apparate back with. Perfect size, and who said he was wonky? He was exactly as he oughta be and even better once they put shit on. She was gonna cover him with quaffles and bludgers. "When's it then?" she added, putting the tree back down to pick up her hat, which had been knocked off by a branch.

Telling her not-so-new housemates that her birthday had been and gone might have been awkward, but Joy was rendered utterly pliant and blissful by the application of Florrie's heating charm. And so her words just slipped out with the ease of sudden comfort and around a happy smile. "Coupla weeks ago."

"And you din't say??" Meaghan said, dropping her hat again. She stared at Joy almost accusingly. "''Ago' ain't Aussie for 'in future' izzit?"

Florrie looked like she might be about to pout. "Better late than never, I suppose."

Oh, here came the awkward as the warm (literally) glow wore off. Joy poked at a tree pot with the toe of her boot. "Late November," she confirmed. "And it's just..." That for the last two years Hemi had laid on surprise plans of increasing romanticism, which when reflected on probably should have been a warning sign or something, and every time she thought about it her usual enthusiasm for celebrations drained out of her. It was doing it again now, dribbling away like she'd sprung a leak...

And fuck it, she refused to lose it. She was having a damn party with her friends and their stupid potted Christmas tree that was assaulting Meaghan again. Joy straightened her shoulders, and tried again. "Things were so busy. I'm not usually playing around my birthday. But now..." She flourished her hands, indicating the freedom from commitments which she and Meaghan currently enjoyed. "Now we can party, right?"

"Of course we can," Florrie said, and reached for one of Joy's hands.

"Course we will," corrected Meaghan, hefting the tree with a grunt. Not doing a thing for your birthday, that was just mental. "So let's get Dave home and get to it then!"