From boredom is born such tales as this one.
As you all know, I don't own Kingdom Hearts or its characters; nor do I own A Christmas Carol, NOR do I own Disney's Christmas at the House of Mouse, from which I got this idea. I merely own a very inventive brain.
The streets of the little town were thick with snow; the crystals covered everything in a cold and icy blanket that glittered like diamonds as it settled gently over the rooftops and walls. The whiteness turned to ice as it descended over the lake, and then to slush and water as it was tracked through the streets and into the buildings by the throng of passing pedestrians on their way to work or school.
The crowds were alive with merriment, the children skipping and the adults walking with just a bit more spring in each step. For tonight was Christmas Eve, that most magical of nights that fills every town, every home and every heart with joy.
Except for one.
The counting house was cold and drafty, the winter wind whistling in between the cracks in the walls and ceiling where the builder had been just a little too careless with his placement. There was one stove in the center of the room; a squat, potbellied, ugly little thing with a crooked stovepipe that jutted from its top at a precarious angle. No fire burned within the little stove, though; no smoke wafted from its pipe. The room remained cold and silent, save for the scratching of a pen on paper with the occasional pause as its owner refilled it from the steadily freezing inkwell.
There was a final sigh as the pen's nib clicked against solid ice. Once again, the ink had completely frozen over.
The pen's owner, a tall, thin young man clad only in a threadbare coat, his mop of petal-pink hair sticking out crazily from beneath a hastily-knitted hat, rose slowly from his position at the scribe's desk beside the doorway. Shooting a casual, quick glance at the counting house door, he moved over to the stove, bending down and reaching beneath it. With a terrible scraping of metal on wood, out slid a shallow tin bucket which contained a few small pieces of coal.
The young man glanced at the door once more; then, satisfied that no one was there, he reached into the bucket and pulled out a piece of coal, his fingers quickly staining black as it flaked off into his gloveless hand.
He smiled at the tiny object he held. So small, and yet very soon, it would provide light and warmth to brighten the whole counting house—
"Lumaria!"
A sudden voice from the door made the young man look up in surprise, his stomach clenching as he heard the tone of anger in the voice.
Standing by the door, dressed in what could only be described as finery, was a tall, gaunt-looking man with long blond hair. Although some would say his face, with its angular, nearly carved quality, was handsome, Lumaria could only wince at the cold hostility in his master's green eyes.
"Y-yes, sir?" he responded quietly, trying to drop the coal piece back into the bucket inconspicuously. He missed, however, and it clattered to the floor. Lumaria cringed as it bounced and rolled away behind him.
"What are you doing with that coal?" the blond-haired man demanded, glaring venomously at Lumaria.
"I was… just trying to thaw out the ink, Master Even," Lumaria replied, bowing his head beneath his master's fearsome gaze. To prove his honesty, he moved back to his scribe's desk and hefted the ink bottle, handing it to his master with his eyes still on the floor.
Even took the bottle, frowning as he shook it vigorously. When no ink splashed out onto his hand, he handed it back to Lumaria with a sigh.
"Very well. One piece of coal," he told the young man. "You may retrieve the one you dropped as you were trying to conceal it from me." Another withering glance made Lumaria's cheeks flush with shame; nothing escaped the cold emerald eyes of his master.
Hurriedly, Lumaria went to reclaim the lost piece of coal from where it had come to rest beneath his master's counting desk. Quickly, he tossed it into the stove, then took the matchbook down from where it rested atop the stove's metal roof, beside the stovepipe. He struck a match, and it flared brightly in the dim room before Lumaria tossed itontothe pile of old wood and the one piece of coal in the stove. The flame sputtered and choked for a few seconds before flaring to life. Smoke began to puff out of the stovepipe, and a little bit escaped through the cracks in the stove door and at the seams, which, like the counting house itself, were a little lacking in quality.
Lumaria sat himself back down at the scribe's desk, glancing over at his master, who had seated himself at the counting desk and was pulling loose the strings on a fat brown sack that lay before him. Gold coins spilled out onto Even's desk, and he cupped his hands and scooped them toward himself, careful not to let so much as a single one fall from the table. Quickly, the blond man moved the pile of shimmering metal over to one side of his desk, then, just as quickly, he began thumbing coins over to the other side, stacking them into piles of ten with amazing rapidity.
"Now let's see," he muttered. "That'll be… hmm… three hundred munny from Inazuma, plus his interest, add to that what he's due from last month…" An unhealthy glitter was sparkling in Even's eye as he flicked the coins into their respective piles, and Lumaria turned away with a nearly inaudible sigh, picking up his pen and dipping it back into the inkwell, which had begun to thaw out.
A sudden thought made him look up again, his eyes flickering uncertainly over to Even. The man's sour mood seemed to have completely dissipated in the face of the piles of gold, and now seemed as good a time as any for what Lumaria had in mind.
"Er… Master Even?" he asked softly.
Even looked up, his hand pausing, just about to flick another coin.
"Eh? Yes, what is it, Lumaria?" he asked, sounding slightly bored and slightly annoyed at the same time.
"Well, sir… I… I was wondering—since tomorrow is Christmas Day—if I could have… ha—half a day off, sir," Lumaria stuttered, immediately closing his eyes in preparation for both disappointment and the blow he was sure would be coming.
"Christmas, is it?" Even asked, as though he had just realized it. The blond man stroked his chin thoughtfully, and Lumaria opened one eye, a spark of hope shooting through his chest.
"Mmmnnn… I suppose so," Even finally said. "But I'll have to dock you half your pay for tomorrow's workday. Let's see… I pay you two hundred munny a day—"
"Two hundred fifty, sir," Lumaria ventured, shrinking back slightly.
"Hm? Oh yes, I gave you that raise the year before last," Even recalled, nodding as the memory entered his mind.
"Yes sir," Lumaria nodded energetically. "When I started doing your laundry for you."
"Yes, yes," Even waved the details away. "So I'll pay you one hundred twenty-five munny for tomorrow, and you may leave at two P.M. Oh," he added, pulling something out from behind his desk and throwing it to Lumaria, "and here's another bundle of clothes for you."
Lumaria caught the large cloth bag eagerly, setting it down beside his scribe's desk.
"Oh, thank you, sir!" he exclaimed. "You're exceedingly kind!"
Even glared at his young subordinate. "Never mind all that mushy stuff!" he snapped. "Just get back to your duties!"
"Yes sir, right away!" Lumaria replied happily, turning back to his scroll.
Just then, there was a loud knock on the counting house door.
"See to that, Lumaria," Even called wearily, not even bothering to look up.
"Right away!" Lumaria hopped up from his chair and went to the door, flinching a little as his gloveless palm grasped the cold metal. He turned the handle and yanked the door open hard.
There on the stoop stood a tall and lanky young man in a bright red coat. A huge smile creased his face, and his shock of flaming red hair stuck up in all directions.
"Merry Christmas!" the young man called cheerfully, stepping through the door.
"And a Merry Christmas to you, Master Lea," Lumaria replied with a smile, standing aside as Lea walked past and shutting the door heavily behind him.
"Bah," snorted Even from the counting desk. "What's so merry about it? I'll tell you what Christmas is—it's just another workday. Just an excuse for young lads like yourself to be lazy."
Lea glared up at the other man, indignation shining in his bright turquoise eyes. "Uncle Even, you're so sour!" he exclaimed.
Even snorted. "Hardly. I'm worldly wise. I know what you young fools are like."
Lea rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. It was then that Lumaria noticed the large, gaily decorated wreath that the other young man carried in his right hand.
"Just what exactly are you doing here anyway, nephew?" Even asked tersely.
Lea held out the large wreath. "I've come to give you this wreath, and to invite you to Christmas dinner," he explained. "Liseth is making a huge feast, and the whole family's coming."
Even's eyes seemed to light up. "Tell me now," he said slowly. "Will there be turkey and gravy?"
Lea nodded, smiling. "Yes."
"And hot apple pie?"
"Yes."
"And spiced coffee with caramel?"
"Yes, Uncle Even. Will you come, please?"
Even's expression soured in the blink of an eye. "You know that stuff is bad for my digestion!" he snapped. "Now take your wreath and get out!"
And with that, he shoved the wreath back at Lea, stomped over to the door, pulled it open wide, and shoved the brightly dressed young man back out into the snow, slamming the door with a huge crash.
Lumaria winced.
The day wore on over the counting house roof. The fire in the small stove slowly burned down, leaving the room seemingly colder than ever. Lumaria rubbed his hands together every few seconds, but no matter how much he tried, he just could not warm them up without Even noticing the pause and snapping at him to return to his work. Fearful of losing the half day's reprieve that Even's small mercy had given him, Lumaria was forced to write his scribe's notes with increasingly numb fingers.
Lumaria was in the middle of shakily scribbling delinquency counts for a mortgage debt when another knock sounded on the door.
"Lumaria," Even called, still engrossed in his money.
"Yes, sir," Lumaria replied instantly, rising from the scribe's chair and taking the opportunity to rub his hands together ferociously, trying to stimulate some feeling back into his limp fingers.
Digits tingling, he pulled open the door once again to reveal two well-dressed men standing on the stoop. One of them had a large, bushy mustache and wore a monocle over his left eye. The other one was short and slightly pudgy, and held a tin cup in his right hand.
Even looked up from his desk, his eyes lighting up as he caught sight of the two men.
"Ah, customers!" he exclaimed, rising from his chair and moving eagerly toward the newcomers.
"I'll handle this, Lumaria," he said, maneuvering the younger man out of the way. Lumaria nodded humbly and returned to his chair, watching the scene with interest and continuing to rub his hands.
"What can I do for you two fine gentlemen?" Even asked pleasantly, smiling at the two men. To Lumaria, the smile seemed slightly hungry.
"Good evening, sah," the mustached one said pompously, with a heavily refined accent. "We are here soliciting funds for the penurious and destitute."
"Come again?" Even asked, a confused look crossing his face.
"We're collecting money for the poor," the short one said. His voice was quiet and soft, with a slight rural drawl.
Lumaria saw Even's eyebrows tighten, but other than that, there was no sign that the man was disturbed by this news.
"Ah hah, I see," Even replied. Then his face twisted into something like confusion. "You two do realize that if you give your money to the poor… they'll no longer be poor."
"Well, yes, that is the general ide—" the tall one began.
Even cut him off. "And if they're not poor anymore, then there will be no reason for you to collect for them, will there?"
"Well, no, but-" the short one said, but Even interrupted a second time.
"And if there's no reason to collect for them, then the both of you would be out of a job," he finished. "Now please; don't ask me to put you out of a job. Not on Christmas Eve, of all nights."
The mustached one looked confused. "We wouldn't do that, Master Even-"
Even's eyes narrowed. "Wonderful. Then I suggest you donate that tin cup, and get out of my counting house."
And with that, the door slammed once again. Even sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and turning to Lumaria.
"Ah, Lumaria," he said. "What is wrong in the heads of these people? All your life, you work hard to earn your money… and then they expect you to just throw it away, like rubbish."
Lumaria had no answer for him. Even sighed once more and returned to his desk.
At last, the shadows outside the window lengthened and fell to night. The old wall clock in the counting house was long past broken, but outside the window, Lumaria faintly caught the sound of the clock tower bell chiming eight P.M. Happily, the rosette young man rolled up his documentation scroll and stuck his pen back into the inkwell, beginning to rise from his seat.
Behind him, Even checked his pocketwatch, which was still slowly ticking. "Two minutes fast," he observed casually.
Lumaria instantly sat down again, beginning to unroll the scroll.
Even waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, those two minutes are extra. You may leave."
Lumaria jumped up again, smiling widely. "Oh, thank you, Master Even!"
Even glared at him. "But be here all the earlier tomorrow morning!"
"Absolutely, yes, sir!" Lumaria said. "And a bah humbug—er, I mean, a very Merry Christmas to you, Master Even!"
Even merely rolled his eyes. The door scraped open and closed, and Lumaria was gone.
