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moonsheenFor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saturnoolaa. As promised.
Sally had gotten a bad feeling about the guest the moment she’d answered the screech of the door. Oh, he was perfectly polite. He waited until he was asked to seat himself, accepted some batwing tea with perfect grace, and wasted no time in stating his business. He had come a long way, he explained. He wouldn’t be staying for very long, he added—and truly as he spoke his manners were nothing but screamingly good. Still, Sally couldn’t bring herself to like him very much.
It wasn’t that he was a stranger in town, either. On the contrary; he looked very much like he belonged as he leaned back and flexed his long, hairy fingers. ‘Strange, very strange,’ Sally thought as she busied herself with shooing a snake out of the teapot. ‘By the stitching of my thumb…’
This time of year did make her a little bit nervous.
“Well,” said Jack, after the guest had finished speaking. He was seated in the new chicken-footed armchair that had found its way to his steps during the bustle last fall. It was moth infested and had a habit of skittering away without a good elbow jab. Jack had taken an immediate liking to it. “While I’m very flattered by your offer, I’m afraid-” he waved a perfectly polished hand in a vague approximation of regret. “—time is a bit of a problem. Specifically this time. I’m sure you’ve seen things are very busy. So much to do, you know how it goes.”
The visitor clearly did and his face puckered unpleasantly with the knowledge. It was an expression that looked far more natural on him. “…it can’t be that busy. Halloween has only just ended this year, after all—“
“Ah,” said Jack, understandingly. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you but --” he curled and uncurled his finger bones, importantly. There was a ghoulish light in the depths of his sockets. “—there’s next year to consider! Surely you’re not asking the Pumpkin King to abandon what will naturally be the world’s greatest fright yet.” The grin was utterly ghastly. Sally found it comforting.
“…and anyway I prefer to do my own devious plotting.”
“Hm,” said the visitor, looking a little put off. Crooked, yellow teeth showed in his grimace. After a moment he set the cup down and folded his fingers. His equally yellow eyes narrowed slyly. “…but it would be interesting.”
This gave Jack some pause. “Hm,” he echoed, a tad wistful. “…it would be. No doubt about it.”
He reached idly, over the table, drifting over the beetles that were gnawing at the finger-foods (rotted nails and all) saved especially for such business matters and deftly plucking an object from the surfaces cluttered contents. He gave it a long look of consideration, and then tipped his skull up to glance at Sally, who hadn’t moved. He leaned back and nodded, the matter decided.
“I don’t think so.”
The visitor made an irritated noise. “I’d reconsider--” he growled.
“Nope! …I mean, no thank you. Not interested. Besides.” He scoffed. “You say it like it’s something that hasn’t been done before.”
He gave the snow globe in his hand a light spin. The contents whirled: white snowflakes around a little undead reindeer. Jack Skellington watched it with a certain measure of pride, and Sally felt the sudden strong relief down her leaf-stuffed core.
“I’m sorry,” said the Pumpkin King. “Mr…Grinch, was it? As far as this business of ‘stealing Christmas’ goes…you’re just out of luck.”
saturnoolaa. As promised. Sally had gotten a bad feeling about the guest the moment she’d answered the screech of the door. Oh, he was perfectly polite. He waited until he was asked to seat himself, accepted some batwing tea with perfect grace, and wasted no time in stating his business. He had come a long way, he explained. He wouldn’t be staying for very long, he added—and truly as he spoke his manners were nothing but screamingly good. Still, Sally couldn’t bring herself to like him very much.
It wasn’t that he was a stranger in town, either. On the contrary; he looked very much like he belonged as he leaned back and flexed his long, hairy fingers. ‘Strange, very strange,’ Sally thought as she busied herself with shooing a snake out of the teapot. ‘By the stitching of my thumb…’
This time of year did make her a little bit nervous.
“Well,” said Jack, after the guest had finished speaking. He was seated in the new chicken-footed armchair that had found its way to his steps during the bustle last fall. It was moth infested and had a habit of skittering away without a good elbow jab. Jack had taken an immediate liking to it. “While I’m very flattered by your offer, I’m afraid-” he waved a perfectly polished hand in a vague approximation of regret. “—time is a bit of a problem. Specifically this time. I’m sure you’ve seen things are very busy. So much to do, you know how it goes.”
The visitor clearly did and his face puckered unpleasantly with the knowledge. It was an expression that looked far more natural on him. “…it can’t be that busy. Halloween has only just ended this year, after all—“
“Ah,” said Jack, understandingly. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you but --” he curled and uncurled his finger bones, importantly. There was a ghoulish light in the depths of his sockets. “—there’s next year to consider! Surely you’re not asking the Pumpkin King to abandon what will naturally be the world’s greatest fright yet.” The grin was utterly ghastly. Sally found it comforting.
“…and anyway I prefer to do my own devious plotting.”
“Hm,” said the visitor, looking a little put off. Crooked, yellow teeth showed in his grimace. After a moment he set the cup down and folded his fingers. His equally yellow eyes narrowed slyly. “…but it would be interesting.”
This gave Jack some pause. “Hm,” he echoed, a tad wistful. “…it would be. No doubt about it.”
He reached idly, over the table, drifting over the beetles that were gnawing at the finger-foods (rotted nails and all) saved especially for such business matters and deftly plucking an object from the surfaces cluttered contents. He gave it a long look of consideration, and then tipped his skull up to glance at Sally, who hadn’t moved. He leaned back and nodded, the matter decided.
“I don’t think so.”
The visitor made an irritated noise. “I’d reconsider--” he growled.
“Nope! …I mean, no thank you. Not interested. Besides.” He scoffed. “You say it like it’s something that hasn’t been done before.”
He gave the snow globe in his hand a light spin. The contents whirled: white snowflakes around a little undead reindeer. Jack Skellington watched it with a certain measure of pride, and Sally felt the sudden strong relief down her leaf-stuffed core.
“I’m sorry,” said the Pumpkin King. “Mr…Grinch, was it? As far as this business of ‘stealing Christmas’ goes…you’re just out of luck.”
(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-31 07:24 pm (UTC)Oh my - this just made me so happy. So very full of happy joy and glee. <3 <3 <3