I got this idea a couple of days ago while listening to one of my favorite season's songs "Good King Wenceslas" and thought it would be fun to write it with George, Philip, and Dustin all participating in this little recreation. I hope you all enjoy! The character of Philip belongs to me, and Dustin and Asher of Aquarian Wolf. And many thanks to her as well for helping me with ideas and for her wonderful editing skills.
Christmas Night, 1912…
"Why do I have to do this?" Philip groaned as he stared at his outfit.
"It's a Christmas tradition!" George replied, the moth-eaten beard strapped to his mouth flapping in the breezy air.
"But I'm Jewish!"
"So? You can still celebrate the holiday tradition! It's secular enough!" the Master grumbled. "Now get in the season spirit!"
Philip and George were decked out in medieval attire for the now annual Christmas tradition at Gracey Manor. The residents of the mansion always celebrated this season in a most festive manner, with gift exchanges, dancing, and merriment all around the enormous tree in the grand ballroom. Philip and Prudence equally celebrated their respective holiday of Chanukah in the ballroom with the others, lighting the large menorah displayed on the fireplace mantle.
Then, precisely at eleven o'clock, the group would all convene outside in the snowy graveyard, participating in snow fights, slides down the snowy hills, and snow angels around the tombstones. The finale for the evening would eventually be a quintet of local singers hired by George to join in for a choir of carols. This merry tradition itself culminated always in a recreation of the tale of Good King Wenceslas, as the singers crooned out the tune. This spectacle attracted many from the surrounding area, gaining admittance to see this display by providing a donation. Every year the funds would go to a local orphanage sponsored by George and Asher's law firm, with the group of children gaining admission for free.
As always, George assumed the role of the regal Good King Wenceslas, and hapless Philip as his young page boy. Ever the proud peacock of a man, George was outfitted in a long flowing cape of red velvet, concealing his purple and golden brocade suit beneath it. A gleaming gold crown was perched upon his head, as a ratty looking prop beard he borrowed from an attic chest was looped around his face. Philip was likewise attired in a medieval page boy suit of royal purple. Giant poofy striped sleeves of purple and white rested on his shoulders, fluffing upwards to almost matching the size of his head. The outfit, despite looking roomy for an average man, was extremely tight on the liveryman's fat frame and around his round belly. He was forced to stand straight up in an awkward position, as sitting down might tear the seat of his pants due to his large rump. A small purple cap with an ostentatious feather strapped to it was also perched upon his head.
Lily, Merridie, and the rest of the spectators all crowded anxiously atop the balcony of the mansion to witness this reenactment. It provided a wonderful panoramic view of the graveyard, as well as the hills surrounding it that would supply the backdrop for the scene. The singing quintet assembled into their positions, while the small group of musicians struck up the chord and began to play the opening refrain.
"It's positively freezing out here!" Philip protested shivering, as the cold wind howled from over the hill.
"I feel quite toasty myself," George remarked with a smug smirk. He wrapped himself up snugly with his cape to shield the icy New England wind.
"That's because you're almost entirely dressed in velvet and fur! I feel utterly ridiculous in this outfit!" Philip whined, feeling as if he would make any drastic movements a rip would ensue.
"I won't hear any of this arguing!" George bristled at the liveryman. "Think of the community. It's a tradition." The Master paused and elicited a small chuckle as he stared at Philip in his ridiculous looking suit. "Besides, it isn't my fault that you've outgrown that outfit even more than last year. Been having more pie than usual, haven't we, chubbers? I suppose that's what I get for spoiling the help…"
Philip twisted his pudgy face into a glare. "At least I'm not the one who's wearing dead rat fur on my face!"
Before George could open his mouth with another retort, the band struck up into the final stanza of the overture. "Get ready, we're on!"
Taking center stage in front of the balcony, the choir began to harmonize together:
"Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen.
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel."
Hearing his cue, Dustin emerged from behind the cluster of trees at the far end of the hill, carrying a large stack of logs. Wearing only his battered suit and duster, and with a thin shawl wrapped around his neck, he likewise was freezing from the windy frostbitten weather.
"Every bloomin' year, it's the same ruddy thing," Dustin mumbled to himself while marching down the hill with the heavy load. "I swear I'm going to catch pneumonia from…"
Oblivious to a soft patch of snow concealing a ditch, Dustin stumbled and tripped his foot into the hole. In a wild effort to keep himself from falling, he attempted to stagger backwards, letting the logs fly from his hands and into the air. The pieces of wood went hurling into the earth behind him; except for one which flew directly into the sky and landed swiftly on his other foot.
"AHHH! BLOODY HELL!"
The scream reverberated from the top of the hill, echoing itself back to the audience.
Philip did his best to stifle an onslaught of giggles, while George nervously glanced towards the onlookers. He could see Lily, and the entire crowd, breaking out into a fight of snorts and chuckles as well. The only exception was the group of children from the local orphanage, who simply gasped in unison, and with one little girl crying at the foul language. The governess clasped her hands over the small child's ears in a vain attempt to drown out the sound. Salvaging the situation, the Master began to sing the next stanza to cover up the echoing obscenities from Dustin's mouth:
"Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know'st it, telling.
Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?"
Philip attempted to hold back his laughter, but continued to giggle profusely as he sang out the next chorus:
"S-s-sire, he lives a good…hee hee…league hence, underneath the m-mountain;
Right against the…f-f-hee-ha-forest fence, by S-Saint Agnes' fountain."
George turned and sternly glared at Philip, as the liveryman's round face was turning red from hysterics. "Stop laughing or you won't get any more pie!" he gritted through his teeth.
Phillip immediately ceased his giggling, slipping into a deadpan expression. "I'll be good."
With a smirk of satisfaction, the Master resumed his regal position and belted out the next verse:
"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither:
Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither."
Following the usual ritual, Philip picked up a basket full of food and wine, and slung a satchel of firewood around his shoulder. George cast a skeptical eye while peering into the basket, taking notice that the large wheel of cheese had a considerable bite mark taken out of it. He turned to scowl at the chunky servant, who just feigned innocence and glanced skyward.
The choir took over the next verse and began to croon together:
"Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together;
Through the rude wind's wild lament, and the bitter weather."
Following this verse, the musicians harmonized into an interlude of the song, with George and Philip beginning their trek up the hill. With the ever present smarmy look of satisfaction upon his face, the Master plowed through the freezing cold wind, as Philip continued to shiver and shake with his pointed ears turning bright red.
"I'm cooold!" Philip whined loudly to the faux king, beginning to break off into another one of his childish whining tantrums. "I want to go back!"
"I honestly don't know how you can be so cold!" George shouted back, while wrapping the velvet cape tightly against his frame. "You have all that self insulation! Like those big blubbery seals at the South Pole."
Philip scowled back in retort, twisting his fat face into a pout. "I may be rather heavy, but I'm not blubbery!"
"Oh, please. If we went to the Arctic, Eskimos would kill you for trade," the Master remarked back with a grin. "Don't be such a whiny fat rich boy tonight. You need to get more into the Christmas spirit!"
"Oh humbug on your Christmas spirit!" the husky heir chattered back. "You can go ahead and shove it up your damn stocking!"
Indignantly, George turned around and glared back at his pudgy page. Noticing a cluster of trees ahead, the Master grinned while forming a small little act of revenge in his mind. Continuing his triumphant march, he began to plow through the small snow covered glade, and carefully lifted a tree branch out of his way. Making sure that Philip was following close behind, he let the branch fall back into place at the precise moment, dumping a tiny avalanche of snow directly upon the young man's head.
"Ahhh! Hey, watch it!" the servant shrieked in surprise as he brushed off a path of snow covering his head and face.
"Oh, dear! I'm so dreadfully sorry, Philip!" George gushed in an almost sarcastic tone. With a sly little grin, he commented, "I'll try to be more careful next time…"
Pressing on in his strident air, the Master continued to lead freezing Philip through the rest of shaded glade, before emerging out the other end of the wooded dale. Witnessing the final spruce ahead, George pulled back the obtrusive branch out of the way and carefully concealed it behind his back.
As Philip shivered and wobbled his way to the exit, the aristocrat simply grinned smugly and bowed with a sweeping motion. "After you, my dear friend…"
The pudgy boy simply raised a curious and bewildered eyebrow at his employer, and proceeded through the small clearing. Stifling his devious giggle, the Master let the branch snap back into the air, whapping Philip directly in the back of the head. Immediately losing his balance from the smack, the fat lad toppled over and into the snow upon his big belly.
Simultaneously with the fall, George let out a bellowing call of "TIIIIIIIMBEEEEER!" causing an onslaught of giggles and guffaws from the spectators across the way. The most prominent was a familiar brash Cockney cackle, followed by, "Oy, fatty fall down, go boom!" The orphans laughed even harder with Asher's joke.
George poked his head through the tree, as he emerged from behind the branches. "Ohh, how clumsy of me! Did the little kitty boy fall down?"
With a loud groan, the tubby teenager rolled over in the snow, glowering at the mischievous master.
"Aww, don't look so peeved," the blueblood giggled in good humor. "At least you had plenty of cushion to land on."
His face twisting into a cocky sneer, Philip could feel his pointed ears pricking up even more, as his hands began to become almost claw-like. "Have you ever seen a scratching post after a tabby has its way with it? With any more remarks like that, and I'll rip your furniture up like a grain thrasher."
George cocked his head upward, furrowing his brow directly at the fat werecat. "You wouldn't dare…"
"It would be a shame that all of the town would find out that you're keeping a real life werecreature for household experiments and study…" Philip grinned with a pompous smirk.
"Yes, and who would be the one chased by the angry mob with torches and pitchforks, hmmm?" George coolly retorted with an egotistic smile. He gave the tubby lad a condescending pat upon the head. "Better keep those claws in like a good kitty."
Finishing their musical interlude, the band quieted softly and waited for Philip to begin the next chorus of the number. The rotund teenager however remained in the snow, continuing his deep scowl at Gracey.
Growing impatient and nervous at looking like a fool in front of the town, George quickly nudged Philip in his flabby side. "Psst! You're on!"
In an instant, a broad grin flashed upon the young man's face, as an idea popped into his mind. Standing up to his feet, he brushed himself off and began to bellow out the next verse:
"Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer."
Playing his part to the hilt, Philip swooned and staggered about, holding his arm directly across his forehead. Proceeding to tumble backwards, he shouted with a Southern twang, "Oh, the vapors!" and collapsed directly into George's arms. Taken completely by surprise of this form of improvisational acting, the Master was forced to hold up Philip's heavy load with a gasp of air, as he strained under the unexpected and immense weight of the obese werecat. In the same instant, the bulky satchel of firewood slipped from the hefty lad's shoulders, crashing down upon the Italian leathered feet of the snarky aristocrat.
George pursed his lips tightly as he attempted to muffle a scream of pain from his throbbing toes. His right eye began to twitch in fury while he glared down at a grinning Philip, still being held securely in his arms.
"I do believe it's your cue now, sir," his pudgy face beamed with satisfaction.
Gathering as much strength as he could muster, George pushed the fat lad out of his grasp and gasped for a breath of air to compose himself. Panting and clearing his throat, the regal "king" began to chant out his lyrics:
"Mark my footsteps good, my page. Tread thou in them boldly.
Thou shalt find the winter's rage, freeze thy blood less coldly."
Extending his leg, George began his strident march up the hill, making sure to leave deep footprints within the snow. Following his cue, Philip trotted behind; likewise being careful to make sure he stepped within the Master's footprints.
"I never quite got that aspect of this story," the rotund boy chattered whilst marching through the blowing wind. "Why do I have to walk in your footpaths again?"
George sighed in exasperation at his page's ignorance. "Because according to the story I'm so saintly that my footprints warm up your cold feet and enable for you continue on with the journey."
Philip's lips immediately curled up into a grin as he began to illicit chuckles and pig-like snorts from his mouth and nose.
The makeshift monarch halted his snowy stomping and turned back to cock an eyebrow at the snorting lad. "Pray tell me what is so hilarious, oh portly page boy?"
Philip bit his lower lip as he struggled to keep on a serious face. "Nothing…"
Silence laid still over the hill, except for the soft crunching of their footsteps and the howling wind.
"You…a saint!" the teenager suddenly busted out with a guffaw, and proceeded to laugh with a fit.
His nostrils flaring in annoyance, George struck a haughty god-like pose as he pointed an accusing finger directly at the stout lad. "DON'T YOU DARE LAUGH AT A HOLY MAN!"
The shouting reverberated across the hill and down to the crowd, causing an assortment of chuckles and snickers amongst each other. Growing uneasy with the interruption, the band stuck up the melody once again, followed by the choir to wrap up the proceedings with the final verse:
"In his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod, which the saint had printed.
Therefore Christian men be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing."
Hearing the band and choir begin to wrap up the song, George now walked double time up to where Dustin boringly sat. Attempting to keep up with Gracey's jog, Philip huffed and puffed along the way, feeling now that he might pass out despite the freezing temperature.
"Wait…" the round lad wheezed behind. "You're going…too fast…"
"It isn't my fault if all your insulation slows you down!" George called back. "Now hurry it up! The band's about to finish!"
"Lawks! I am but an 'umble peasant in need of wood!" Dustin yelled down the hill, accenting his normally hidden Cockney dialect for effect. A cold wind suddenly gusted down the snowy peak, chilling the coachman to the bone. "Oh, would you bloody well hurry up? I'm freezin' my arse up here!"
His large horsey teeth chattering loudly, Dustin continued to shiver before George jogged over the slope. Slowly tagging behind, Philip staggered in the faux king's footsteps with his heavy breath coming out in chilled puffs.
"Oh, good show!" Dustin wryly commented in between his bouts of chattering. He clapped his thinly gloved hands in a slow sarcastic applaud as the page and monarch arrived. "How nice of you to take your dear sweet time getting up here…while I've almost been turned into a bleedin' popsicle!"
"Now don't you start!" George hissed at the coachman. Hearing the band strike the final chord, the Master shoved the basket of food and wine into Dustin's hands. "I've had enough insubordination already from our fat little friend here."
Philip dropped the satchel of logs into the snow with a loud clatter. "What on earth do you mean?!" his voice rose indignantly. "You're the one who forced me to go around parading in this ridiculously tight outfit in this bitter weather, while your pompous arse gets to be toasty wrapped in layers of god knows how many animals you killed!"
"It's faux fur!" the Master shouted back. He vainly slung the wooly drape across his shoulders, and prissily ran his fingers across it. "I insisted they be real for authenticity sake, but I had to make due with common substitutes."
"Oh no!" Dustin gasped in a mocking tone. "Not…common substitutes! Oh the horror! How earth shattering that our beloved leader must reduce his extravagant lifestyle one bloody bit for the sake of some ridiculous Christmas show!"
"Don't you mock me!" George spat back, his face turning red in anger and from the frosty weather. "It's all your sister's fault in the first place! She's the one who screamed 'You shall not have died in vain!' and poured paint all over the real ones!"
A blast of Arctic-like wind suddenly blew across the frigid slope. Through the tumultuous wind, the snowy banks billowed about and hailed a mini blizzard around the trio.
"I can't stand it any more out there!" Philip shouted as his round body swayed in the frozen weather. "Dusty, where did you hitch up Rolly around here? I'm riding back down with you!"
"Philip how could you!" George shouted back in false terror. "Think of the poor animal! If you get up on him you're going to break his back."
"THAT'S IT!" Philip shouted. The sound of his fury echoed multiple times across the summit. Feeling as if he was unable to contain his anger any longer, the fat lad swung his arm towards the Master…completely missing him.
About to lose his balance on the slanted hill, the portly page boy grabbed onto George's fake beard, pulling the Master down along with him. Simultaneously, Gracey likewise grabbed onto the bottom of Dustin's coat, dragging the Englishman down to the snowy ground as well. Holding fast on to each other, the bickering trio began tumbling down the wintry peak with the snow quickly accumulating around them. Before long, the flurries packed around their rolling bodies, growing larger from a small ball of snow to an enormous boulder.
The spectators on the balcony all stared in awe with wide eyes at the spectacle. Many began to laugh at the silly sight of the rolling ice ball (Asher and the children specifically), while Lily, Merridie, and Bea all looked on in a mixture of hilarity and surprise.
The enormous sphere continued to gather force, growing now to matching the height of the entire first floor of the mansion. Gaining momentum at the bottom of the hill, the man filled snowball zoomed by in a blur past the spectators and around to the side of the manor. It seemed as if there would be no stop to the gigantic spinning ball…until it hit the stables.
In the parlor, Lily carefully counted every nickel and penny from the charity jar. Jotting numbers down on the ledger, her face beamed in excitement. "We made over 10 dollars this evening for the charity drive!" she gushed happily. "Oh George, isn't that wonderful? With that money the orphanage will be able to finally complete their new wing!"
"Yeah, wonderful…" the Master sniffled as he huddled himself on the sofa. He wrapped numerous layers of blankets around him, still shivering despite being near the hearth. "Just what I wanted to do this Christmas evening. Catch pneumonia and degrade myself in front of the whole town."
The Mistress waltzed over to the loveseat, slipping her arms around his shoulders and giving a hug from the back. "Now honey, if you can't degrade yourself for a children's charity, who can you degrade yourself for?" She giggled and placed a loving kiss upon his frozen cheek.
George smirked back at his darling wife with his cerulean eyes sparkling in the firelight. "I suppose so…"
"I s-s-still wish you w-w-would have l-l-let me hand out the tickets like I req-q-quested in the first place!" Dustin chattered back. Wrapped in a dense blanket, the coachman had a thermometer rattling between his teeth as he simultaneously drank hot cocoa. The saucer and tea cup shook anxiously in his shivering hand.
"You know, with drinking cocoa and having a thermometer in your mouth, you're not going to get an accurate reading…" George quietly began.
"Oh, shut up!"
"I suppose though it was all worth it," George sighed, snuggling into the embrace of his wife. "Right, Philip?"
Lying upon the floor, Philip had transformed into half-werecat form. Pointed ears emerged from the top of his head, as his long cat tail stuck out from the top of his large rump. Though he often remained almost fully human, these feline features would always grow out the minute he was lured into a playful kitten-like mood.
Merridie playfully dangled a sprig of mistletoe above her boyfriend's head, causing him to bat at it with his hands in an impish manner. Luring the branch over her, Philip immediately snapped back into his normal behavior and grinned at the sight. Pulling her close to him, the tubby young man grabbed his sweetheart by the waist and placed a tender holiday kiss upon her lips.
Seasons Greetings, Everyone!