A/N:
We now have The Very Unofficial Soundtrack to This Very Unofficial Christmas Story curated especially for your auditory delectation!
Go to playlist/5xUxqSc3xSNuCJ57oqlFK2 for the whole Hallmark Christmas Not-A-Movie experience.
Warning and disclaimer: I own precisely none of the musical efforts included. I do, however, have terrible taste in music. Listen at your own risk.
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Chapter One: Come What May
Rukia had been staring at the message for the best part of twenty minutes. It was hardly the greatest example of written communication, but after twelve days of countless drafts she knew she'd never be happy with it. The cursor hovered over the send button as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and clicked.
She opened her eyes and exhaled slowly before slumping back in the chair. She stirred only when the waitress settled her dairy-free coffee coconut frappé down next to the laptop. "Thanks," she uttered quietly, offering a small smile, but the waitress had already gone, gliding silently to her next customer in the bustling café.
Rukia's gaze fell on two young women at a corner table. Between them, they had four preschool age toddlers and a tiny, gurgling new-born. She watched them wistfully as they gushed over the diamond sparkling on the blonde's left hand as the darker haired woman gently rocked a pram, her two elder sons squabbling over a packet of crayons and colouring books. She half wondered what it would have been like to pick a fight with her brother over something as silly as crayons.
"I'm not your brother."
The closest they'd ever come to fighting was still imprinted in her memory. It was quite possibly the longest conversation they'd ever shared. At the time, she didn't fully comprehend the weight of his words. She did now. Cold and disdainful, he'd spent most of the past twenty years pretending she simply didn't exist. It wasn't nearly as bad as it sounded. At least she didn't have to put the effort in trying to maintain any sort of relationship with him, especially now he was on the other side of the country.
She sipped at her frappé, enjoying its chill in the torrid late August. Given the choice, she'd much rather be a thousand miles north and surrounded by snow all year round. Alas, she was very much in Sacramento and suffering in the heat.
Not for much longer, though. Not with any luck.
Her luck, however, depended on the response to the message she'd just sent. Her hopes and fears were cavorting in turmoil. A positive answer meant breaking the news to her Dad, which was nerve-wracking in itself. Maybe she'd receive nothing at all. That was okay. She was prepared for that. She could still head north. She had the funds to do so. She had the smarts and the qualifications to find work. Maybe she could move to Canada.
She picked absentmindedly at the cuticle of her left thumb. It wasn't quite Berkeley, but Toronto was a good university. They had a post-grad programme for environmental sciences. British Columbia, too. Both would be acceptable, even to Byakuya's exacting standards. He might like to act as though she didn't exist, but heaven help her should she ever bring shame to the family name by attending a sub-par university.
The greatest moment of her life was being accepted into Berkeley and seeing her brother struggle with the fact that she had outperformed him. She would happily relive all of the anxiety of high school exams and waiting on tenterhooks for her results a hundred times over just to see his face contort with shock and envy and disbelief in equal measure once more.
That being said, she would probably also thoroughly enjoy seeing his reaction if she shacked up with some common rancher in the back end of nowhere. The more delinquent the better. Possibly covered from head to toe in tattoos with an excessive amount of facial hair.
She eyed a ridiculous looking hipster strolling past her table, with his tweed jacket, slightly too short yellow-beige trousers, loafers, and a distinct lack of socks. His face was probably home to several nesting birds judging by the unbelievably thick ginger beard and Dali-like moustache.
Maybe not the facial hair, then. The ink could stay, though.
He'd be taller than Byakuya, too. Just a smidge. Just enough to bother him, but not enough that he could remark on it. They would, of course, make the most beautiful babies, far more beautiful than anything her brother could sire, just to rub salt into the wound.
She smirked to herself as she fiddled with the stirrer in the near-empty glass mug. Whatever future lay ahead, she would face it head on and with gusto.
But for now, she would wait.
And possibly fantasise about just how far down those tattoos went.