kitchen_maid | Christmas Party! Millitimed Vaguely to "Sometime Around Christmas"

Christmas Party! Millitimed Vaguely to "Sometime Around Christmas"

Anne and Amy have been very very busy over the last week or so, transforming their usually simple white room into the perfect place for a Christmas party.

There are garlands of holly and balsam strung around the room, leading away from the wreath between the windows (and there's a grumpy looking crow, perched in the middle of the wreath, trying to figure out how to get the red ribbon from around his neck). A Christmas tree, candles ablaze, stands in one corner, with presents tucked under its branches.

Welcome, dear friend, to Anne and Amy's Christmas party.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Anne comes to stand by him, and touches one of the glass ornaments on the tree lightly.

"Christmas without family just isn't the same, is it?" It is said softly, and a little wistfully.

"I wish my own family could be here." A small smile.

"Davy would love the squirrels."

"What's a Davy?" Logan asks, turning to lighter subjects. "You haven't got a brother you've been hiding somewhere, have you?"

Anne shakes her head, laughing.

"No, although, I suppose he's the closest thing I have to a brother. Davy and Dora are the twins that Marilla took in earlier this year, and Davy is such a handful, forever asking 'why?' and getting into the most dreadful scrapes, like when he set the pig on the parson."

She tries to look stern, but fails utterly. Davy is Anne's darling.

Logan grins. "Sounds like a fun kid to have around? How old are they? And is Dora anything like the mess Davy sounds?"

"They're almost seven," Anne says, with a fond smile. "And no, Dora is a very proper little girl--she always keeps her hair perfectly curled, and her frocks neat and tidy, and never raises her voice."

Anne is fond of Dora, but she is--well, just a little boring.

"Davy, on the other hand, seems made for perpetual movement."

"Sounds like me as a kid," Logan says, grinning. "Drove my sister crazy, and it was always fun. But I never set a pig on a parson. Sounds like there's some story there."

Anne can't help but laugh at the memory.

"Well, he was a very small parson, with rather bowed legs. And it was rather a large pig."

You get the idea.

Logan pictures it, and he can't help but laugh either. "Nice work, Davey," he says. "How did the good reverend take it?"

"Not well," Anne says, ruefully. "I'm afraid he suffered from a very bruised dignity."

"Tragic," Logan says, shaking his head. "And there's just no cure for that. No matter how much ice for it you offer."

"None at all," Anne says, regretfully. "Although I find laughing about it often helps."

"Only if you're lucky and have a sense of humor," Logan says, grinning. "Some people don't and it's totally the saddest thing in the world."

His gets lost as often as not, but he tries.

"Wll, it isn't easy," she admits. "I've only been able to laugh at my mistakes very recently, and even then it's touch and go at times. It's far too easy to take things much too seriously."

"And how," he says fervently. "I've made an art of mocking self-deprecation, but it's not really the same, is it? It's easy to appear amused at your foibles and not really be at all."

"Is it?"

Anne looks at the tree, reaching out to touch a delicate green branch lightly.

"Do you think it helps?"

Logan thinks for a minute. "Yeah," he says. "Make fun of something long enough, and it becomes funny. Some things never do, but it throws people off guard, at least."

"I suppose so," she says, uncertainly.

"I've never really thought about things that way before."

"You wouldn't," Logan says kindly. "I can't see you needing a great deal of bravado in your life."

He envies her that. Some days it seems like bravado's all that he has.

"Not much," she agrees.

"Except when I am trying to walk ridge-poles. Bravado isn't much use in Avonlea--everyone knows everyone else's secrets there, anyway."

"Ridge-poles?" Logan asks, amused.

"Neptune's the same way," he says. "At least, it seems that way. A lot of secrets stay buried, but Veronica Mars does like to ferret them out. We're just supposed to pretend we don't care, I guess."

Anne giggles.

"It sounds as though she'd get along well with Mrs. Rachel. And yes. You know."

She waves a hand, vaguely.

"Ridge-poles of a roof. I tried to walk one once, on a dare."

"She'd pump Mrs. Rachel dry in a minute and be looking for new material," Logan says wryly. "Kid's too smart for her own good."

Logan grins slowly. "Oh? And how did that work for you?"

"I fell off and broke my ankle," she admits, ruefully.

"But I look on the bright side. I may have fallen off on the other side, and broken my neck, so it all turned out alright in the end."

"Ouch," he says, wincing, then laughs.

"You were born a philosopher, Anne Shirley. And under a lucky star, which is maybe more important."

She laughs with him, girlishly.

"Oh, I would like to think so. It's the only explanation for how I've managed to get out of so many scrapes."

She sits down on the windowseat nearby, and smiles up at him.

"What were you like as a child, Logan? You said Davy reminded you of yourself."

Christmas Party! Millitimed Vaguely to "Sometime Around Christmas"

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree

Re: The Christmas Tree