A/N: Sorry this one is late, and kind of lame. Finals week sucks.
Chapter Three: Three French Hens
December 15
"According to Wikipedia, some French varieties of chicken are Faverolles, Bresse, Crevecoeur—I'm probably butchering these, heh, get it, 'butchering'?"
"We get it, Tristan. Go on."
"Well, there's a couple other ones, but I like the Faverolles. They look pretty awesome."
Téa leaned over and looked at the computer screen. "They look really strange. Why are their feathers so puffed up?"
"Who do I look like, Farmer Brown? How should I know?"
"Thanks, anyway, Tristan, but I just don't think Mai wants chickens. I mean, can you really see her with a coop full of hens going 'Here, chicky, chicky'?"
"Well, no," Téa admitted grudgingly. "But what are you going to do? I mean it's right there in the song, 'three French hens.""
"Thank you for not singing."
"Quiet you." Téa glared at Tristan.
Joey scratched his head. "Maybe there's some way we can point a spin on it, like we did with those candies." He turned to Tristan. "Do a search for 'hen,' Maybe it means some other things besides chickens."
Tristan's fingers clicked over the keys. "Well, it also means female octopus or female lobster. Any prospects there?"
Joey made a face. "Octopus? I don't think so. And I don't have any money to take her out for lobster or anything."
"Anything else?" Téa asked.
Tristan frowned at the page. "Not really. Not unless you think Mai would be into a seinen manga with yuri themes."
"Tristan." Joey gave him a Look.
Tristan put up his hands. "Hey, I'm not saying she would be. You wanted to know the options."
"Alright, alright. Let's not have a fight about this, shall we boys?" Téa got to her feet. "Let's just go shopping and see what we find, okay?"
Tristan eyed her suspiciously. "You just want an excuse to go shopping, don't you?"
Joey grabbed his arm. "C'mon, monkey boy."
Two hours and half a dozen stores later, they had settled for three dollar store porcelain figures that Téa thought were pretty, Joey thought were cheap, and Tristan thought were enough already. Before they had made it out of the mall, however, Joey was already dissatisfied.
"But they're not French," he said. "They're just hens."
"Oh brother," Tristan muttered. "C'mon, Joey, my feet are killing me here."
"No, he's got a point," Téa admitted. She scratched her scalp for a moment. "Hmm, tell you what…" Before Joey and Tristan knew quite what had happened, she had dragged them to a craft store and down an aisle full of doll accessories.
"It's a GIRLY AISLE!" Joey and Tristan shuddered together, trying to bolt for it. Téa grabbed the backs of their coats, shaking her head.
"Cool your jets, you two. You're not going to catch cooties from standing in the same aisle as a dollhouse. Now c'mere and look at this, Joey."
"They're…little black circles?"
Téa sighed. "They're berets, Joey. Y'know, French berets."
"Oh, for the chickens." Joey grinned. "I like it."
So they bought the berets and glued them on the figurines' heads with Téa's craft glue. Later, Joey climbed up the fire escape to Mai's balcony and arranged them on the little table. He frowned. Even with the berets, they still didn't seem all that French. Then he had an idea. He fished in his jacket pockets and came up with a black sharpie.
Mai blinked as she stared down at what she assumed was her "third day of Christmas" present. "They're pretty cute," she said, "but if they're hens…why do they have handlebar mustaches?"
