Disclaimer: All I own is the use of Bernice's name specific to LCV Productions' interpretation of her character. :) Oh, and also, Midge, the best OC in the history of ever, belongs to Megfly, who was kind enough to let me borrow her. :)
Note: Wow, an update! :) Thanks, you six wonderful wonderful people ohemgee, for your fantastic reviews of the last chapter; I hope you like this one just as much. In terms of language and happy raunchy fun time, this is probably the most suggestive any of the chapters will be, as it is Action and Pauline, after all. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. Further notes at the end!
For: some very lovely people I know: HedgehogQuill, SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx, and Megfly, all of whom are very special and amazing. But this chapter in particular is dedicated toSheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, who is the nicest mod ever and who is both an amazing Action RP-er and the writer of a really wonderful oneshot on Pauline. You're incredible, squishy. :)
—viennacantabile
merry christmas with love
two : jingle bell rock
...in which Pauline rocks Action's jingle be—yeah.
.
What a bright time! It's the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell time is a swell time
To go gliding in a one-horse sleigh
Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet
That's the jingle bell,
That's the jingle bell,
That's the jingle bell rock.
.
Christmas Eve, 1957
.
"God, I hate Christmas," Action grumbled. He was sitting in the back of Doc's with his feet propped up on a table, balefully watching the rest of the Jets and their girls lounge around amid the battered Christmas decorations Doc had put up.
Baby John and Minnie were happily decorating a Christmas tree in the back corner. Action snorted. It really was funny. Every once in a while, they'd bump into each other, light up exactly like the damn tree, and drop an ornament or two for good measure. He didn't get why Baby John was still so jittery around his girl; after all, they'd been going together for a few months already and it certainly wasn't as if Minnie minded him at all. In fact, they seemed like a match made in heaven, Action observed, rolling his eyes as Minnie handed Baby John a candy cane—upon feeling their fingers brushing together, both of them turned bright red.
Bernice and Gee-Tar, though, that was a different story. Action didn't know how the hell that had happened, except that maybe she was the only one who would put up with his whining. Action frowned. That was the thing, though, most of Gee-Tar's whining was about Bernice's twin, Clarice, and Action didn't see why Bernice would put up with that. Gee-Tar had to be a really good lay, then, he judged, before shuddering at the thought of that. But there really was no other explanation, he thought sourly, and it was definitely going to be a temporary thing. They didn't evenlook happy; Bernice was sitting on a stool with her arms folded, gabbing away to Graziella and completely ignoring Gee-Tar's arm around her waist. Action was pretty sure Gee-Tar didn't care though; he was busy darting surreptitious glances at Clarice, who was cuddling with Big Deal in a spot uncomfortably close to Action and whispering something he didn't understand but sounded vaguely like whatever language his upstairs neighbors were always yelling in. Except that, judging by the expression on Big Deal's face, whatever Clarice was saying probably didn't translate to "Get out of the house, asshole."
Action shifted in his seat, trying to avoid the sickeningly sweet aura of happiness he could practically feel radiating from that area, which was occupied by not only Clarice and Big Deal, but Ice and Velma. They were tucked away in their usual corner behind the pinball machine, lost in their own little world as usual. Action scowled, watching Velma giggle from her spot on Ice's lap as the Jet leader looped his arms around her waist, grinning like an idiot. Why the hell were they so damn happy all the time? It wasn't as if there was anything to be happy about, this Christmas. Sure, they'd come to an uneasy truce with the Sharks, but the Musclers were sniffing around and Ice had to keep his mind on the Jets and not on his girl if they were going to hold their turf. Action sighed. Sometimes, he thought he was the only one who still cared about that anymore.
Snowboy and Joyboy definitely didn't look like they gave a damn whose territory they were on, thought Action irritably. The Boyer twins were playing a very roundabout game of checkers, in which Snowboy, from what Action could tell, was spending most of the time practicing his cute little stand-up comic routine in an effort to cover up the fact that he was playing like a crooked dealer. Joyboy wasn't having any of it, though; every time Snowboy oh-so-nonchalantly tipped a piece too many spaces forward, Joyboy's hand darted forward and corrected it. Action sighed. He could tell that this game, like every other game of checkers he'd watched the twins play, wasn't going to be over anytime soon.
He definitely couldn't trust the kids to keep the Jets on course, either, thought Action with a scowl as he shifted his gaze to the very intense dart contest that was going on between A-Rab and Anybodys. Every so often, one would accuse the other of cheating, never mind the fact that it was practically impossible to cheat at darts, thought Action, rolling his eyes, and then a scuffle would break out. He'd almost gotten used to Anybodys being counted as one of the gang—after all, it wasn't as if she was around any more than she had been before Ice had let her in—but it didn't mean he liked it. She was too much of a distraction for all of them, Action thought, too much of a weakness, and A-Rab, especially, seemed to let her get under his skin a little too much. Why, Action had no idea, but then, A-Rab was really just a kid, after all. Even if he was a Jet, and a pretty good one, at that.
At least he wasn't as dumb as Mouthpiece, Action conceded grudgingly, watching the tall Jet spout off some stupid shit about hippopotamuses to Minnie's friend Midge, who, Action had to admit, was putting up with Mouthpiece pretty well, only stopping to sigh every once in awhile. But then, supposed Action, rolling his eyes, no one was as dumb as Mouthpiece. Not even Tiger.
Action slouched in his hair and sighed. All in all, it wasn't all that different from all those other Christmas Eves spent with the Jets. The only thing that was really off was up at the counter, where Graziella was perched on her usual stool by Bernice, leaning her head on her hand. Action eyed her for a second. It was so perfectly normal that it took Action a second to remember that it was Tiger standing besottedly next to her, not Riff.
They were married, now, and everyone knew why. It wasn't hard to figure out, not with Graziella looking like she'd swallowed a watermelon. Action kind of felt sorry for her—after all, he'd been with her for a good year or so back in middle school, and annoying as she was, her life had changed an awful lot in the past seven months and no one deserved that. Action wasn't exactly one of those touchy-feely guys who could tell what every girl was thinking, but everyone knew she'd been head over heels in love with Riff.
Riff.
Action sighed. He never would have admitted it—feelings were for girls and sissy guys like Baby John—but he missed Riff. Still. He even missed Tony, a little bit, and sometimes he wondered how that girl—Maria—was doing, whether she ever wanted to run, and yell, and sink her fists into something, anything, to forget about that hot summer night when everything they'd ever known was blown out from under them. Action had a feeling she wouldn't have forgotten as easily as the other Jets had seemed to, wouldn't just be sitting somewhere humming "Feliz Navidad" while trimming a tree and baking cookies. No, Maria was probably out remembering Tony, the way the Jets shouldhave been remembering their leaders, thought Action disgustedly. It bothered him, that they were all just sitting there like nothing was different, like there wasn't some gaping hole in the middle of them where Riff and Tony should have been. Hell, it wasn't as if Action liked change—he definitely didn't—but things were changing, and all Christmas did was remind him of how things should have been in Doc's little candy store, and how they definitely weren't. Other than the fact that it was snowing like crazy outside and he didn't want to go home, Action didn't even know why he was here.
"God, I hate Christmas," he muttered again.
Pauline, who'd been lounging on a nearby chair reading a magazine, caught the tail end of that sentence and looked up. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Scrooge," she said, snickering. "What's got your long underwear in a twist?"
Action eyed her sourly. Pauline was a great lay, sure, but he had to be in the right mood for her kind of company, and he definitely wasn't today. "Bah, fuckin' humbug."
Pauline grinned. "I'll bah your humbug, little boy."
Action's lips twitched in spite of himself. "Don't mind if ya do." That was the thing about Pauline—no matter what he said or did, she wasn't scared of him and she let him know it. Even if she was a tramp, Action thought, looking her up and down with undisguised appreciation, at least she wasn't one of those spineless idiot wannabe Jet girls who squealed and ran whenever anything got the least bit rough. And, he thought, his mood marginally improving as he craned his neck forward, she was also one of the few girls who knew how to dress so that a guy could still get a good look even when the weather got cold.
Pauline smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. "Maybe later, if you're lucky. But Santa's got a lotta houses to visit tonight, so don't wait up too late."
Action scowled, his mood immediately taking a nosedive again at the mention of Santa. "Yeah, well, save me a lump'a coal," he muttered, then snorted. "'S matter'a fact, don' even bother."
"Quit rainin' on the parade," scolded Pauline. "Even a grouch like you oughta be smilin' right now. I mean, just look at Santa's little helpers." She indicated Baby John, who had somehow gotten twisted up in tinsel and lights and looked more like the Christmas tree than the tree itself. A distressed Minnie was attempting to untangle him, while the rest of the Jets and their girls looked on, hooting and hollering. "If that ain't funny, what is?"
Action waved her off. "Yeah, whatever," he grumbled, watching Minnie try to pick apart a knot of lights. It wasn't as if Baby John getting into a mess was anything new. In fact, it was all too annoyingly familiar: what kind of a Jet was the kid, anyway, if he needed a girl to rescue him? Action's scowl grew deeper; if that was the future of the Jets, he thought darkly, there was definitely no hope for the gang at all.
"You are just bein' no fun at all," Pauline chided, sliding her hand on his knee. "I think ya just need to get in thespirit of things, Action!" she finished, with a suggestive squeeze and a smirk.
"Yeah, well, why should I?" Action groused, giving her his best imitation of Ice's patented Glare. He was fed up with all of this holiday cheer. Even Pauline, who he could usually count on to scoff at sentimental crap like this with him, seemed to have been bitten by the Santa bug. "Christmas bites. Everyone goes around bein' all happy an' smiley for one stupid day an' they all forget that yesterday sucked, and tomorrow'll suck even more." He scowled. "Sure, maybe if ya got one'a them movie families with two kids an' a picket fence an' a dog, an' ya get lotsa presents, Christmas is great. But I don't give a damn about my family, an' they don't give a damn about me. An' I sure as hell ain't gonna get any presents, or give any'a that shit, neither, so why bother?" Action slumped in his seat, crossing his arms. "Christmas ain't nothin' but a crock."
Action was too busy stewing to care that, for an annoyingly chatty girl, Pauline was being unusually silent. Five minutes later, when even he couldn't ignore the unnatural quiet anymore, Action looked up and saw a very odd expression on her face. It almost looked like pity.
"What?" he blurted angrily, irritated to be getting a look like that from Pauline, of all people. Sitting up, he glared at her, suddenly feeling defensive. "It ain't like you're some Mary Sunshine like Minnie, either!"
Pauline shrugged, innocently lifting her hands up. "I wasn't sayin' nothin'."
"You'd better not've been," Action grumbled, settling back into his chair and moodily scanning the room again. Nothing much had changed, except that Minnie had roped Midge into helping her pick stray bits of tinsel out of Baby John's hair, while an ornament-laden Mouthpiece stood by like an overgrown dog waiting for a command.
Action rolled his eyes. And there was another model Jet, he thought sarcastically. Sure, Mouthpiece was stupid, but what the hell was he doing playing around with chicks like some goddamn prep school suckup? It wasn't like the Jets were doing anything at the moment, yeah, but that didn't mean they could just sit back and take orders from girls. Even Mouthpiece ought to know better than that, he thought disgustedly, what with the—
Action frowned. It was definitely too quiet again. Cutting his eyes over to Pauline, the dark-haired boy nearly jumped when he realized her gaze hadn't wavered at all.
"Quit starin' at me like that!" Action demanded, unnerved.
"Oh, was I doin' that?" Pauline asked innocently. "'Scuse me, Action, I didn't know you cared so much about people lookin' at ya," she snickered. She pointedly rotated in her seat to face the wall. "That better?"
Action snorted and didn't bother answering. Sometimes, he thought, crossing his legs, Pauline was really annoying.
After another five minutes of abnormal silence, however, Action decided he preferred a yapping Pauline to a zipped-up shut one—for some reason, Pauline keeping her trap shut made him nervous, because he had no idea what she was thinking. It was, he supposed, probably how Ice and Baby John felt around her all the time.
"Okay, fine!" he snapped, exasperated. "Turn the hell back around an' stop actin' so funny, okay?"
"Tell ya what," said Pauline abruptly, swiveling to face him with a gleam in her eye. "You do whatever I tell ya all day tomorrow, an' I guarantee I can prove that Christmas ain't all that bad."
Action's jaw dropped and he stared at her, flabbergasted. This was definitely unexpected. "The hell?"
Pauline shrugged. "Just think of it as my good deed for the year." She gave him a wry smile. "It ain't like I only want coal in my stockin', y'know."
At this, Action scoffed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Pauline didn't exactly seem like the type of girl to do good deeds, even if only one a year. "What's in it for me?"
Pauline grinned. "If ya still think Christmas sucks by the time it's over, I'll—" Here she leaned over and whispered something that made Action's eyebrows shoot straight up.
"An' if I don't?" a very intrigued Action asked with a low whistle.
"You admit Christmas ain't the worst thing in the world," Pauline said innocently. Then she smirked. "An' hell, I'll throw in what I said before, too. Deal?"
Action considered the options. It really was a win-win proposal, especially since there was no way she'd ever actually convince him about Christmas. He stuck out his hand. "Deal."
.
"Well, ya definitely ain't winnin' this bet," growled Action as he stomped into Pauline's apartment almost twenty-four hours later, irritably shaking snow off his jacket.
"Who says?" protested Pauline as she followed him in, a hint of a grin in her voice. "Christmas ain't over yet, buster."
Action swung around to glare at her. "Might as well be, it's after dark."
Paulined smirked, very suggestively removing her own coat. "Lotta fun things happen after dark."
"Not with your old man around," Action pointed out, refusing to be sidetracked. "'Sides, what else ya gonna put me through 'fore ya figure out I just hate Christmas?"
"Actually, I made him spend the night at grandma's," corrected Pauline. "An', well, there can't be that much more, can there?" she asked very innocently. "After all, Christmas's almost over, right?"
Action groaned. He was already plenty traumatized for the day, and she knew it. First, citing his promise to go along with whatever she said, Pauline had taken him to the department store:
.
"But why the hell d'ya wanna go here?" groused Action, dragging his feet. "Nothin' but a buncha little kids an' stuff ya can't buy."
Pauline grinned. "Don't mean we can't look," she said, tugging him along. She pointed at the gold and silver decorations sprinkled liberally throughout the store. "Pretty, ain't they? An' look at the tree."
"I guess," Action grudgingly allowed, eyeing the glittering ornaments with dislike. "Why's this place even open, anyway?" he demanded. "Seein' as it's Christmas."
"Well, that's the best part," Pauline smirked as they approached the center of the store. "Santa couldn' make it last night—bet he was on a bender with some'a his reindeer," she added in an wicked undertone, "so they made him show up today to meet all the little kiddies whose parents were boohooin' about it."
Action blanched as they rounded a column and took in the sight of fifty-plus kids running berserk around the department store, chased by a frazzled elf or two. A very hungover-looking Santa had a red-faced, screaming toddler on his knee while a woman with a face like a hatchet (presumably the mother) stood nearby, glaring ominously.
"Oh, hell, no," Action sputtered, stopping dead. "I ain't gettin' on—"
Pauline smirked. "Better start thinkin' about what ya want for Christmas, Action."
.
Then, as if being a Jet wasn't already dangerous enough, Pauline had insisted on taking him to the Rockefeller Center to ice skate:
.
"Fuck," hissed Action as he did a faceplant on the ice for the fiftieth time.
"Language," scolded Pauline with a cackle. "Wouldn' want the little kids to hear, now would ya?"
"Fuck the little kids, fuck ice skatin', an' fuck Christmas," grumbled Action, albeit in a much quieter voice, as he gingerly pushed himself up off the ice.
"Shoulda gotten Velma to teach ya, like I did," Pauline said cheerfully, tracing a slow, but steady loop around him.
"How'd ya manage that?" asked Action skeptically as he wobbled to his feet, cursing the stupid skates. He didn't see Velma as the type to hang around with the, well, friendlier Jet girls.
Pauline grinned. "'S amazin' the favors that girl'll do when ya got some dirt on her boyfriend."
Action raised an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of himself. "Ya know somethin' about Ice?"
"Well," smirked Pauline, "let's just say he wouldn' want his, um, difficulty spread around." She paused. "If ya get my drift."
Action frowned, thinking. He wasn't quite sure what she meant. Then—
"Jesus!" Action yelped, as her meaning hit him. He was so shocked that he lost his balance and crashed to the ice again. "Dammit, Pauline, ya tryin' to kill me?"
"Oh, no," said Pauline, her lips twitching. "It ain't even four o'clock yet, there's still plenty'a time for that."
.
And finally, as if to add insult to injury:
.
"No," said Action flatly, crossing his arms. He was sore, bruised, and aching all over from that little excursion to the ice rink, not to mention mentally disturbed from the experience of actually having to sit on Santa's lap, and he was not going to take any more of this crap. "I ain't doin' it."
"Oh, c'mon," Pauline wheedled. "It'll be fun."
"No way," said Action firmly, shaking his head. "I sat on Santa's lap. I went ice skatin'. But I ain't watchin' The Nutcracker with ya."
Pauline pouted. "But daddy got the tickets, an' everythin'," she protested. "An' besides, Action, it's a Christmas classic. It even has fightin', an' everythin'!"
"Yeah? Who's the fightin' with?" demanded Action skeptically. "Fancy-pants princes an' tralala fairies?"
For once in her life, Pauline hesitated. "Um. Mice," she admitted in an uncharacteristically small voice.
Action stared. "Ya gotta be jokin'."
.
Action growled as he recalled how Pauline had dragged him off to see the ballet anyway with a thinly-veiled threat to pass around the picture she'd gotten of him and Santa at the next Jet meeting. That had been a wasted couple of hours, he thought, scowling. It hadn't been that bad, at first. Action had managed to keep himself occupied by copping the occasional feel and laughing at the dancers—grown men, in tights, pirouetting—but he'd been less than amused when the girl who'd been playing Clara had managed to bean him on the forehead with her slipper when, as a very amused Pauline informed him after the show, she was supposed to have been aiming for the Mouse King.
"Oh, get over it, grumpypants," snickered Pauline, apparently figuring out what was on his mind. "I thought she hadgreat aim, actually."
"Ya would," grumbled Action, rubbing his forehead. "Since she hit my—"
"Anyway, aren'tcha forgettin' somethin'?" interrupted Pauline innocently.
"What?" snarled Action, in no mood for her games.
Pauline pointed upwards. "Take a look, Daddy-o," she said sweetly.
Action paled, thinking of all the possible reasons she could be saying that. "I don't think I wanna."
"Kiss me, asshole," she commanded, her lips twitching as she indicated the sprig of mistletoe above them.
Action looked up and groaned. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me, right?"
Pauline smirked. "Hell, no."
Action rolled his eyes, fed up. "You'd better be givin' me what ya promised," he warned, before starting forward.
Pauline held up her hands to stop him. At Action's nonplussed look, she grinned. "I didn' say where."
Action raised an eyebrow. "Well, ya gonna tell me, or what?"
Pauline tilted her head, eyes glittering with mischief. "Maybe later. Right now, I got better things for ya to do," she said, backing up very slowly.
Action rolled his eyes again, but followed her as she led him into her bedroom and began rummaging around in her bureau. "Like what?" he asked, with exaggerated patience as he locked the door behind him and dropped his jacket on the floor. Finally, something fun, something he'd actually enjoy, something that didn't completely suck about Christmas—
Pauline pulled out a red Santa hat from the drawer and smirked. "You be Santa."
Action's jaw dropped open. "What?"
"You be Santa," repeated Pauline, her grin widening.
"Oh, God," groaned Action. "No way. No fuckin' way."
Pauline rolled her eyes. "You promised."
As if he needed a reminder, Action thought balefully, backing away. "An' I ain't never doin' that again, that's for sure," he snapped. "This's way more'n I signed up for!"
Pauline gave him an innocent smile. "'S for your own good, Action. Sides," she purred, slipping her dress off her body to reveal her bright red lingerie, "Santa's got helpers, don't he?"
Action was only able to respond after a few minutes of thunderstruck silence, during which Pauline had plopped the Santa hat on his head, shoved him into a sitting position on her bed, and climbed into his lap. "Yeah," he said at last, eyes fixed on her, "I guess he does."
Pauline snickered. "So fire away, Santa."
"Ho, ho, fuckin' ho," snarled Action. He might be playing Santa, sure, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
Pauline smirked. "Ya called?"
Action snorted in spite of himself. Pauline was one crazy broad, sure, but at least she had a sense of humor. "Okay," he sighed, giving up. "I'm Santa. Whaddaya want me to say?"
"Ask me if I've been good, Santa," Pauline prompted, her lips twitching.
Action raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Now you're talkin'."
"If ya get a move on, I won't be for long," parried Pauline.
"Okay, babe," Action said, staring straight at her and resting a hand on her thigh, "you been good this year?"
Pauline arched an eyebrow of her own. "I could be," she suggested, innocently sliding her hands down Action's chest and past the waistband of his pants.
"Ya don't say," said Action, his voice catching just the slightest bit as he tilted his head back and moved his hands to occupy a place where Santa definitely shouldn't.
Pauline twisted to straddle him, batting her eyelashes for good measure. "Yeah," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him, "real good." She smirked. "A'course, I could be bad, too."
"How about good, for now?" Action suggested, leaning forward to press his lips to her throat.
Pauline sighed with pleasure. "Whatever ya want, Santa."
At that, Action rolled his eyes and pulled off his Santa hat before pulling her down onto the bed and running his hands over her body. "Nice gift wrappin'," he noted appreciatively. "Mind if I open?"
Pauline just grinned. "Y'know, I never did tell ya where I wanted that kiss," she reminded Action, draping her arms around him.
In answer, Action kissed her mouth roughly. "Tell me where," he breathed into her skin as he moved lower.
And Pauline smirked, sucking her breath in as he reached a particularly sensitive spot. "Where."
.
"So," said Pauline, glancing over at the clock on her bedside table, "it's after midnight."
"Yeah?" said Action comfortably, from his spot on the pillows. "Ain't that somethin'."
"Well?" she prodded.
"Well, what?" he shot back perversely. Action was pretty sure he knew what Pauline was up to, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of letting her know it.
Pauline just rolled her eyes. "Well, d'ya still think Christmas was invented by the Communists to suck our souls dry an' blow up the world?"
"Never said that," returned Action, blowing a stream of smoke from his cigarette.
Pauline sighed. "Well, anyway, I don' mind Christmas," she said, settling back into her pillow and pulling the sheets up a bit higher.
"Like I said," shrugged Action, "the world looked just as awful as it does every other day. It bein' Christmas didn't change a thing."
"Yeah," agreed Pauline, and Action was surprised to hear a note of wistfulness in her voice, "the world's a pretty shitty place. Don't I know it." Then she smiled. "But that's the nice thing about Christmas, y'know? Maybe the world sucks the resta the time, but it's nice forgettin' it once a year."
Action thought about this. If he was honest, really honest with himself, he had to admit that today hadn't been so bad. Sure, he'd almost been trampled by a horde of rampaging kids, and sure, he could happily go the rest of his life without seeing another pair of ice skates, and okay, sure, he now had a bruise the size of Alaska on his forehead from the ballet, of all things, but even so, he'd had…well, he'd had fun. And, yeah, even though Pauline's idea of holiday cheer was kind of limited to idiot trips around the city that put him in serious danger of bodily harm, still, there had been the holiday-themed roll in the sack to make up for it, which, Action had to admit, was definitely not bad at all.
But most importantly, Action reflected, he hadn't once thought about Riff all day, 'til now, at least. And that particular memory didn't hurt quite so much as it had the day before.
Therefore, if he had to tell the truth…
"Okay," he grudgingly admitted, stubbing his cigarette out on the ashtray of the bedside table, "maybe Christmas ain't so bad."
Pauline smirked. "Least, 's not as bad as me."
Action's mouth twitched in spite of himself. "Ya definitely ain't on the nice list," he said approvingly, then grinned. "Now how's about we put ya at the tip-top of the naughty list?"
And Pauline snickered. "Whatever ya want, Santa."
.
.end.
Music: I found two versions of "Jingle Bell Rock" that I liked on iTunes: the one by Bobby Rydell and Chubby Checker, and the much more recent version by Matt Belsante. The first is really adorably funny, and the second is similar to Michael Buble's style, but both are very enjoyable. :)
Hint: to be sung to the tune of "O, Christmas Tree:"
O, Baby John and Minnie,
How fluffy is your chapter?
:) love, viennacantabile