Author's Notes: Wow. This is one of my old pieces. Finally went back through and edited the dialogue at least, though. -nervous grin- I'm all embarrassed by it, now.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
An FY Christmas Carol:
People bustled through the streets, chattering excitedly as they clutched their packages to them. High above the streets, rooftops were strung with bright, festive draping. A man stood on the side of the street, ringing a bell and selling bags of fresh-roasted chestnuts. Somewhere, someone was singing a carol.
Tomorrow was Christmas day, and it showed in the faces and hearts of all the people of the city.
All except one.
In one small building, the sounds of song and Christmas cheer were notably absent, replaced instead by the clink of coins, the enthusiastic whispers of a man's voice counting, and the occasional quiet cackle. No fire burned in the fireplace; it had long since gone out for lack of coal to fuel it. The two small rooms that comprised the building's interior were both bare... and each contained only a single occupant.
The entryway was furnished by only a high desk, at which was perched a young man with dark blue hair. A steadily growing stack of coins teetered precariously before him, and he laughed softly as he added to it, eyes in the shape of little money signs. He would pause every so often to climb from his chair and retrieve another bag from a nearby safe, deposit its contents next to the already massive piles of money, and continue counting greedily.
The adjoining chamber was smaller even than the first one, and just as bare. A desk, not nearly so large as the other, housed a young man that could be described only as beautiful. His hair, long and luxurious, seemed to continually fall into his face as he attempted to write, and it was with clear distaste that he tried to coax the near-frozen ink from his pen. He ceased the effort at last, with a great sigh, and rose to move to the doorway that connected the two rooms.
"Tamahome," he intoned, deep voice commanding, and waited for a response. The boy continued to stack his coins, however, eyes an unnatural size, and extremely shiny. The other man narrowed his lovely eyes in annoyance, clearing his throat. "Tamaho-" He cut himself off and sighed, remembering. "Mr. Scrooge, sir." This time his deep bass came in a fair approximation of a British accent.
The boy lifted his eyes from the piles of coins to regard the beautiful man that stood in the doorway, dressed in clothes that were shockingly humble in comparison to his usual attire. The money signs faded from his eyes almost reluctantly as he found the presence of mind to snap, "Cratchett! What are you doing in here? I thought I put you to work!"
"Yes, sir, you did. But I think the ink in my pen is frozen." The emperor-turned-pauper sighed once more, a long-suffering sigh, and let a note of pleading creep into his tone for the sake of a believable story. "Do you think I could have some coal for the fire, sir?"
"Absolutely not!" Scrooge was quick to reply. "You've already used two pieces today! Do you think that money grows on trees? Or that coal does?"
The rest of his lecture was lost, however, as the door burst open to reveal a very tall, sinister-looking man with ice-blue eyes, hand clenched into fist that choked a Christmas wreath in its death-grip. His clothing, perfectly matched to the cheery atmosphere outside the room, only added to the glare he fixed upon the blue-haired boy. "Merry Christmas, uncle," he intoned, smiling coldly.
"Christmas?" Scrooge asked incredulously, making a valiant effort not to burst into laughter. "Bah humbug! It's nothing but an excuse for the card companies to take away our hard-earned money!" His eyes became a bit distant again at the mention of money, but he was saved from the distraction as his 'nephew' forced out the next words.
"That's a pity, uncle. My intention on arriving here was to..." He took a deep breath and managed to continue with a minimum amount of menace in his tone. "...to invite you over for Christmas dinner."
This drew incredulous stares from both men, until several seconds later, Scrooge recovered his wits. "Christmas dinner? What a pile of rot! I'm sure there will be roast duck and plum pudding- and all manner of other disgusting foods that idiots like you think are appropriate for this sorry little excuse for a holiday!" Here he let out a harsh laugh to punctuate his line.
"I take it that means I won't be seeing you?" his nephew smirked, pleased, already turning to leave.
"See me? Showing up for that? Get out before I make you regret coming here!"
"As you wish, uncle," the man agreed, already closing the door behind him. The poor wreath was tossed to the floor instead of decorating the doorway, as originally intended, but the author was happy that Nakago had cooperated even a little, and so let the matter go unmentioned.
The two in the silent building were left looking after the blonde man, a stretch following that was filled only with quietly suppressed snickers. After a longer time than necessary, and probably a longer time than was good for plot continuity, Scrooge took it upon himself to kindly return to character. "What are you staring at?" the blue-haired boy demanded, abruptly stifling his laughter. "Get back in there!"
"But, the coal..." the other man protested, though his tone was half-hearted.
"I said-" Scrooge began, but was rudely interrupted by the tolling of a bell. It's melodious tones, reminiscent of the holiday season and the joy it brings, sounded five times before falling silent with only the echoes to ring in the snowy air.
Cratchett smiled hopefully, and the expression was lovely enough to summon a myriad sparkly spots to dance about his radiant face. "The bell, sir. It's time for me to go home."
Scrooge snorted, running a hand through the unruly teal hair as he returned to his desk. "No way. My nephew stole a good five minutes from me. Hell's gonna freeze over before you get paid for all that time you were gawking like an idiot."
The beautiful young man that he addressed pursed his lips in displeasure. "But Scrooge, sir... It's Christmas Eve!"
The boy began to stack the coins again. "Oh, bah humbug. Christmas Eve!" He shook his head without regarding his employee. "Next thing I know, you'll be wanting a break for lunch or something pathetic like that!"
Clearly unhappy, Cratchett pressed his hands together in a pleading gesture. "Oh, please, Scrooge, sir? It's only five minutes, and I'll be early the day after tomorrow, I swear I will!" He widened his lovely eyes to better affect the other man, and the sparkles returned in force. "My family's waiting for me, sir, and-"
"Oh, shut up and go," Scrooge replied, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "But I want you in ten minutes early the day after Christmas. Understand?"
The newly poor man very nearly protested the injustice of the boy's terms- but then thought better of it, instead bowing low in thanks, according to what was meant to happen.
"Oh, thank you, Scrooge sir! You won't regret it, I swear! I'll be in fifteen minutes early!" He had already pulled on his threadbare jacket, and was hurrying out the door in a rush to return to his loving family. "Oh, thank you, Scrooge, sir!"
Stooping briefly as he left, he swiped up the wreath to hang it on the handle with a flourish, and took his leave with an eagerness he didn't have to feign; the building really was freezing without the coal for a fire. "And Merry Christmas to you!" he remembered to call as he closed the door behind him.
The blue haired boy made a disgusted sound as the door slammed shut. "Bah!" he muttered to himself, frowning deeply. And with that he began to gather the careful stacks of coins with a giddy pleasure that was entirely too real.
It was only after a half-hour of checking and double-checking that every coin was securely in place that he could bring himself to close the safe. A heavy pad-lock and chains wrapped firmly around it helped to reassure him as to his fortune's safety- and then, just to be sure, he added several more padlocks, a combination lock, and left a small, white cat to guard the treasure.
"Nya?" blinked Tama-neko, scratching his little kitty head.
Eventually, several more padlocks later, Scrooge managed to convince himself of his treasure's safety. With a good deal of effort, and through sheer force of will, he dragged himself away from the money in a brave attempt to salvage the plot. And to his credit, he only applied two padlocks to the front door before pulling his scarf tighter about him and heading into the snow.
The cheers and laughter of children engaged in snowball fights surrounded him, but the only regard the boy gave them was to glare menacingly at any who threw their ammunition too close, despite the obvious distress it caused him. He attempted as best he could to feign coldness toward those less fortunate, forcing his way through the snow toward his own home, which waited, if not welcomingly, than at least warmly. The carolers, whose song rang cheerily through the air, had no affect on his seeming heart of stone, and though Scrooge did stop once, to buy chestnuts against the wishes of the author, he arrived home without shattering the illusion of harshness too badly.
"Thank Suzaku," he muttered under his breath, pulling his jacket more tightly about him as he fumbled with his key. "Home at last."
"Hey, obake-chan," a voice drawled, sounding more than a bit pleased. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doin'?"
"H-huh?" Scrooge's eyes snapped upward, to fix dumbfounded on the sound's source. "Tasuki?" he squawked, before remembering himself. "Uhh- I mean- Marley?"
The flame-haired ghost snorted. "Who were ya expecting, Miaka?"
"B-but.. You're dead! And you're a door-knocker!" Scrooge seemed torn between horror and hilarity.
Marley narrowed his hazel eyes. "Hey, ya don't gotta rub it in. It's not like I asked fer this part." The doorknocker grinned, baring its fangs. "But, it might do a pretty good job of keeping you outta trouble." The grin abruptly faded, and the bandit put on the most serious expression he could conjure at will. "Ya see, this is what happens if you're bad during life."
The blue-haired boy blinked. "You turn into a doorknocker?"
"Not that, moron! You have to hang around here!" Marley smirked again, showing a fang and regarding the other boy to see his reaction.
Scrooge simply stared for a long moment. Then he snorted and put the key into the lock. "Bah! You're not real- you're dead! Those chestnuts I had were bad, and I'm seeing things. That's all."
The doorknocker let loose with a stream of fairly colorful curses. " I'm not a bad chestnut, idiot! If ya don't listen, you're gonna end up stuck here just like me!"
The tirade, however, was cut short as the door slammed, rattling poor Marley something terrible. "Bastard. See if I try and help him again." And with that, the doorknocker returned to normal.
It was rapidly nearing eleven when at last Scrooge had finished his dinner and settled enough from the incident to consider sleep. "Damn ghost," the blue-haired boy muttered, lighting an extra candle as he entered his room and setting it upon the long-empty fireplace. "Just like Marley to show up and bother me."
Carefully, he took the remaining candle in hand to peer inside the closet, checking for the ghost that had visited him so recently. "Bet he really was some half-digested chestnut." Scrooge admirably pulled off a nervous little laugh.
Laying out flat, he regarded the dark area under his bed with suspicion before finally edging close enough to lift the silk hangings and peer underneath. Discovering only a dirty sock, he let the sheets fall into place and regained his feet, attempting vainly to push thoughts of spirits from his mind. "Bah," he muttered, blowing out the candle. "Just my imagination, like I thought."
A soft puff of air extinguished the second candle as well, and Scrooge was left to find his way to the bed in darkness, mind anxious with thoughts of hauntings.
"Ahhh!" he screeched suddenly, shattering the stillness. "Ow! Ow! Dammit!" Gathering his newly stubbed toe in his hands, he proceeded to hop about, seemingly unaware that the room was supposed to be familiar enough for him to navigate in complete darkness. Eventually regaining his wits, however, he offered the shadows a sheepish grin. After a few cautious steps around a dangerously positioned table, he found the bed and settled down.
Sleep soon overtook him, fear of ghosts or no.
It was the last toll of the clock striking midnight that woke the blue-haired boy, rudely stealing him away from his dreams of a vast fortune and a certain air-headed heroine. The chime of the bells, so welcome and joyous in the daylight, was menacing in the darkness of the bedchamber, and promised a night of terrors. For several long moments, Scrooge stared about with a growing sense of dread, wondering exactly where he had put the candle before lying down for the night- and exactly how long it would take him to find it in the "familiar" darkened room.
The eerie silence was deep and ominous, but soon broken by a sound that was even more forboding. A terrible clanging rattle seemed to creep into the room from the very darkness itself, leaving Scrooge to abandon the idea of leaving his bed even to find the much-desired candle. The horrific noise seemed to last for a small eternity to the terrified boy, coming to a stop with the violent clank of metal on metal, and a heavy thud.
"Fuck!" shrieked a voice suddenly, and in obvious pain. "Shit- fucking- fuck!"
Scrooge's eyes grew huge as his gaze went toward the sound, unseeing. "Marley?" he ventured, uncertainly.
"Who the fuck else would be stupid enough to be in your deathtrap house in pitch black?" the voice snapped. "And what the hell've you got stuff in the middle of the floor for?" There was a brief pause before the shout came: "LEKKA SHINEN!" A great gout of flame was conjured forth in response, leaving the author to regret not taking the tessen away while she had the chance.
"That's better." Marley smirked, pleased with his own handiwork- and then scowled as he saw what had caused him to trip. "A table? What the hell kind of place is the middle of the floor for a table?"
The blue-haired boy just stared at his seven-years-dead partner- at the worn look he'd never possessed in life, and at the heavy chains that wrapped about him in restraint. "Marley," he managed. "What are you...?"
"Here for?" The flame-haired boy left off cursing Scrooge's tablelong enough to scowl at the boy himself. "To warn you, stupid. If you keep living like ya have been, you're gonna end up just like me."
"So... not a doorknocker?" Scrooge smirked.
Marley's- admittedly short- temper snapped. "Cursed to haunt the living with the chains ya forged in life! Mine're fuckin' huge cause I was such an asshole- imagine what yours'll be like!"
Scrooge regarded him for a long moment before speaking. "You aren't real," the blue-haired boy told him evenly. "You're a nightmare, and I won't have to wear anything because of what I did or didn't do in life." He sniffed for effect. "So you might as well leave- I have to wake up early to catalogue my profits."
Marley's wolfish grin nearly changed the boy's mind. "Thought you'd say so! If that's the case, I'm not the only ghost yer gonna have to see tonight! 'Stead of just one, you get three!"
"Three?" Scrooge didn't sound quite so certain any longer.
"Yup! And they aren't as nice as I am, either." Marley laughed his trademark manic cackle, seeming to enjoy himself immensely.
The miser swallowed nervously. "Uhm. Isn't there a way..."
"Oh, hell no." The flame-haired boy flashed a fanged grin. "Too late now. Have fun, obake-chan... And good luck! Yer gonna need it, with those three!" And with that, Marley's ghost was gone.
The only sign that he'd been there was the half-melted candle that still burned on the table in the room's center.
-end part 1-