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.

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"The sunglasses at night," Trina explains. "Corey Hart?"

He should be thankful that she has not has so much to drink that she begins singing.

"I am afraid I do not know who that is." Bran does not bother to remove the sunglasses.

"We all should be so lucky." Trina does not bother to explain who Corey Hart is.

"You certainly seem to be full of holiday spirit."

"It is a lovely party," Bran says, unsmiling. "I am glad that you are enjoying yourself."

"You, sweetie, need a drink," says Trina.

It's something of a universal solution in her family. That, and the black Am Ex.

"Punch?"

There is never alcohol in the Christmas punch at David Evans' parties -- there are too many Methodists among the farm workers. It does not occur to Bran that the punch at Anne and Amy's party could be spiked.

"Yes, please," says Bran Davies.

It did not occur to Anne and Amy that the punch at their party could be spiked.

Fortunately, it did occur to Trina and Logan.

At least they used champagne, which Bran should notice.

"Here you are," she says, offering him a very full glass. "Merry Christmas."

"Nadolig Llawen. Merry Christmas." Bran drinks.

He does not, actually, know what champagne tastes like.

Half a glass later, Bran says, "That is very good punch. What is in it?"

Don't tell him.

It would never occur to Trina that he needed to be told there was champagne in the punch.

"I think it's mostly orange, and maybe some pineapple," she says.

Ginger ale, too, though it's been made somewhat unnecessary by the addition of the champagne.

"So, Corey, what brings you to this party?"

"Bran. Bran Davies. Anne invited me." There may possibly have been a slight pause before Bran mentioned her name.

"And I'm Trina Echolls, of course," she says. She's not paying enough attention to notice the pause, if it was there. She rarely is.

"Anne seems nice. I just met her."

Bran gulps more punch. "She is..." He cannot think of appropriate adjectives at this juncture, so he goes silent.

"Everything okay, Corey?" Trina asks, refilling his glass without asking.

The punch is delicious; of course Bran drinks more of it.

"No. Everything is not all right. There are people in the bar who will gladly hurt my friends and family only because I care for them, and Anne is kissing Gilbert Blythe right over there." Bran gestures with the hand holding the glass.

Trina looks over at Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe, and being familiar with the story, doesn't find this all that odd.

"Is there a reason she shouldn't be?" she asks.

As for the rest of it . . .

"Well, that's not good," she says. "Can you call the police or something? I mean, stalkers can be dealt with, you know?"

Oddly enough, Bran's glass is empty again. "She is Anne, and he is a ... never mind that, now. And Security here is not nearly powerful enough to act."

Trina gives him a rather knowing look.

She has a seventeen year old brother who is constantly in the middle of drama, after all.

Nothing for it but to refill the glass.

At least she doesn't have to worry about Bran throwing up in her car.

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Christmas Party! Millitimed Vaguely to "Sometime Around Christmas"

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