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A warm glow illuminated the manor, swirling in joy; unusual for the normally grim manor. Makeshift decorations of garlands and holly berries were tossed around the decaying railings and what lights could be found were tossed wherever the dark lingered, candles burned brightly where they could not reach. The bar played a joyous tune, bouncing off the cold walls; practically causing them to melt in place as they too found warmth in the cold months.
When one follows joy, of course you’re bound to wind up being served by the barmaid herself, Demi Bourbon.
A hearty laugh follows a curling hand around a mug, while a certain cowboy turns the jukebox up a little louder. The bar is full , with quite a few people chatting at the bar.
The normal drinking duos; Norton & Naib, along with Kevin & Jose sat cheery at the bar, as per usual. However, seeing the manor’s entomologist and perfumer together wasn’t expected. But not unusual. Everyone, except Norton, who couldn’t seem to be bothered.
To the other corner were Eli and Fiona; chatting as they sipped on sparkling juice. They were dressed to match in blue and white for the winter, as neither of them celebrated the christian holiday. The embalmer stayed close to Eli, not having a favoritism for parties, however.. It was worth a shot.
Dancing in the center was none other than Micheal Morton, making himself the star as always; dressed in a bright ugly sweater, he was going all out with the decorum. Murro cheered him on wearily from the side.
Even the grumpy lawyer and magician were in the room, watching with soft expressions. The manor is in full swing with some in sparkling red, others in green and white: all festive and excitable. A shimmering flapper dress takes the stage, winding a music box and beginning to sing with the gathering, satin gloves reflecting the shimmering strings of lights.
Smiles fill the survivors, and everything is warm.
Victor Grantz wasn’t good at socializing what-so-ever, but they surely weren’t going to miss the festivities; not when morale was already so low in this place. The warmth emanating from the room filled his heart with the fuzzy feeling he had not felt in a long time, at least, not without the presence of one British pai-
“Victor!”
Ah.
Victor turned on his heel from his place near the bar, to see Edgar squirming through the crowd over to the postman. Victor's eyes focused on just their partner; softening more than their face would allow. It was almost as if he was snow, and Edgar a warm summer day breaking through the cold.
“I thought you hated these kinda things! You sure know I do.”
Edgar’s face puffed with a pout; flushed from the clear struggle. Height never was his strong suit.
I don’t.
Victor began.
But I couldn’t help it this time. It’s the eve.
Edgar’s eyes focused on Victor's hands, translating as blue flickered back and forth. Once he had a response, he huffed again.
“ Christmas eve? Come on. It’s just a holiday for those who cannot be bothered to simply give a gift when they feel like it; there just has to be some special reason!”
Victor chuckled, their shoulders bobbing with them. The bells on the costume animating him, bringing new life to his form. They caught the painter's eye, as he shifted glances to them.
“And Jingle Bells? Did that blundering bastard Balsa put you up to this??” Edgar sneered, though, the shine in his eyes said something different; a greater intrigue and respect than the harsh words that seeped from his tongue. As if he’d thank Luca, though.
Victor merely smiled, shaking his head, then pointing to the crowd.
No matter how hard Edgar looked, he could not see a ponytailed inventor in the crowd. He turned to Victor, eyes scanning for an answer, one he would be given if he merely had patience.
“He probably just went to the bathroom,” Edgar huffed.
Victor patiently shook their head again and began to sign out.
They’re not here. He also doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and he dislikes the parties the same as you and I do. Andrew and him are in the garden, I think. He did put up the lights and did all the circuitry. He was competing with Tracy as usual.
As Edgar went to pipe up again, they signed once more.
Chattier than usual. Edgar’s lips curled into a small smile. Victor only ever did this for him; no one else made the postman so talkative.
I think we’ve had our fill here though.
Victor looks to Wick by their feet, who woofs encouragingly.
Edgar crosses his arms.
“If you wanted an excuse to leave with me, you should have said so sooner.”
With a grab of their hand, the postman scooped up Wick in one arm.
The pair darted through the crowd, the hum of The Fairy on the Christmas Tree being sung by a few different voices, enveloping the pair in song, which faded as they left.
When Victor turned his head to look back one more time, a jingle of his bells allowed his eyes to catch onto the same sparkling red dress of the female dancer as she spoke to what seemed to be an overwhelmed patient; Emil. She dabbed a corner of a handkerchief to his face and spoke in a rapid high tone as always. Emil simply nodded, before they too faded as the stairs met the postman's feet.
The floor creaked as always, and turning down the hall, they found themselves returned to their rooms.
Edgar ran a hand through his hair.
“What were you even doing down there if you weren’t doing the whole Christmas thing anyways? It’s hardly worth the trouble just for some bright lights and liquor.”
Edgar took off his painter’s smock, before turning to Victor and gazing at them. His hand reached up and took off the half mask the costume came with and laid it to the side, fixated on nothing but his warmly freckled face.
Autumn brought straight to him, as if it had never ended with winter's arrival.
Victor looked down at the moon this time, eyes soft and sincere.
It’s the eve of my birthday. Even if they weren’t celebrating it, pretending that was the case was nice.
Victor signed, hands seeming to flutter due to the old light. Edgar’s eyes shined; this time, remorseful.
“And you didn’t say a word this whole time?!”
Victor simply gestured to the yarn stitching on his mouth, causing Edgar to groan loudly.
“You know what I meant.”
The postman let out that hearty chuckle again, his shoulders bobbing and bringing that same joyous feeling to the room, soaking up all of Edgar’s anger like a sponge. The painter exhaled a sigh, wrapping his arms around Victor’s chubby figure and letting his head fall onto their chest.
“You’re awful.”
Edgar mumbled into their chest as a hand rested on top of his head.
Victor hummed in acknowledgment, knowing full well the meaning behind what Edgar said. Words had never been his strong suit, but Victor was alright with actions over words; if it was for him.
They’d do anything for him. Victor's devotion rang louder than the bells; louder than the laughter emanating from the bar, louder than even Wick's whining.
Edgar slowly, and hesitantly, pulled away from the sun, looking back up at Victor.
“I.. want to show you something. Come.”
Victor didn’t even think to hesitate as Edgar took them from the room, walking just barely across the hall to Edgar’s own room. As the door opens, Victor’s eyes adjust to the dusty room; covered in red, melted wax and paint covering the desk and drawers.
A large canvas stayed covered in cloth, a small step stool by it. Victor smiled at the note of it.
With a sharp tug, the covering fell, and the painter stood back.
A half complete portrait of a certain dog stared Victor back in the face.
“Luca let me borrow him while they were baby sitting.” Edgar began, “But between matches and just.. Not having full inspiration I didn’t fin-”
Edgar was engulfed by the sun, muffling his excuses and declarations of inability. Victor held onto the moon as tight as he possibly could, as if the candle light would flicker out at any given moment.
It’s more than I could ever ask for.
Victor’s soft voice murmured out through their stitching. Edgar couldn’t help but melt, slowly lifting his own arms to rest fingertips atop the postman's shoulders. The two stayed there, as music from downstairs drifted through the floorboards and up to their ears, letting the pair simply sway as the minutes ticked by.
Click, Click..
The clock’s bell rang throughout their ears.
With no hesitation, Edgar pulled away, standing on his tiptoes. Pulling the postman’s face to his, a soft whisper left his lips before they kissed.
Happy Birthday.
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