Christmas season oneshot. Why would ghosts restrict themselves to a modern Dickens-style Christmas?
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Danny sipped green fuzzy eggnog from the corner as he watched the ghosts mingle and revel around him.
It was his third Christmas as a half ghost and yet he'd only learned about the Christmas Truce last year. It seemed an odd thing for ghosts to celebrate, especially considering the accepted theology of the Ghost Zone and the wide variety of the present ghosts. Ghosts from all over the Zone and all through time were present at this year's truce party.
It was surreal. From the group all clad in holly garlands that gathered around a fire of pine to the group in funny hats drinking and gambling to the group nearby that gathered around Technus as he weaved wires and tiny lights into something properly egotistical. From the Christmas trees lit with candles and adorned with clove-studded oranges to the strange lumps of raisin puddings wreathed in blue flames. Nothing here really seemed to fit Danny's idea of Christmas. There was no fighting, no screaming, no sense of tension. There was plenty of chaos but nobody seemed to resent it.
"Enjoying yourself, Whelp?"
Danny suppressed a groan and turned to face Skulker. He sipped his eggnog without answering.
Skulker clapped Danny on the shoulder, nearly sending the ghost boy to his knees. "We've got a much better showing than last year," Skulker continued. "It helps that the Ghostwriter isn't using our little gathering to further his own gains again. Embarrassing, that was. The Truce has been going strong for thousands of years and to have it broken so utterly like that..."
Danny's brow furrowed. Wait a minute... "How has the truce been going on so long?" he asked. "Modern Christmas isn't that old."
"Because that's a name you'd recognize?"
Danny fixed Skulker with a glare.
"We've been celebrating the solstice with a truce for as long as there's been a 'we' to celebrate it. Everyone just uses the name they most recognize. Yule, Christmas, Saturnalia, the Solstice, Long Night, whatever. Of course, not everyone stays with the name they know best from life. I didn't."
Danny nodded. He looked around the room again, seeing new possibilities.
He could stay in his corner where the Box Ghost lovingly wrapped boxes and stuck them under a tree, where Technus perfected his self-portrait using tiny blinking Christmas lights, and where the eggnog was green and fuzzy.
He could join the group of long haired types with their burning log, their overflowing mugs of beer, their trees adorned in popcorn strings and clove-studded oranges. Tiny winter birds pecked at the tree as the ghosts chanted for some guy named John Barleycorn to be reborn from the icy fields.
He could even join the group with the funny hats as they drank deeply of metal goblets full of dark red wine. Shouting rang out from them as they threw dice and made exorbitant bets. Suddenly a voice he recognized rang out from the group.
"Winner provides service, come on!"
Danny handed Skulker his fuzzy eggnog and drifted over to the gamblers. Sure enough Plasmius was there wearing a funny hat as he threw the dice into the circle. Plasmius looked up and grinned broadly. His face was flushed from far too much wine as he grabbed Danny by the wrist and dragged him in. A hat was produced and placed on Danny's head.
"What is this?" Danny asked.
"This is Saturnalia," Vlad said, sweeping his arm around in a broad gesture. "A time for drinking an' gambling an' all the things that's not allowed in polite society. Slaves is bein' free men and their masters is servin' them. Errebody's wearin' the hat of a good Roman citizen." He handed Danny a goblet of wine.
Someone handed Danny the dice. Danny looked at them, not sure if he should play. "I don't know..."
In the far corner Technus laughed as the lights finally took on the design he wanted. A giant neon Technus laughed from the Christmas tree while Ember chased him around with her guitar for daring to ruin her decorations. The Lunch Lady knitted something weirdly spiky while Desiree sipped tea and rolled her eyes at the spectacle. It was far too close to his normal family tradition of shouting, arguing, chasing each other around with weaponry while the turkey came to life and they had to order a pizza while the presents lay in smoking ruin along with any sort of enjoyment...
Danny threw the dice. Hands slapped him on the back as the table roared in a strange combination of English and Latin. He watched as the winner was dragged off and came back with a wine jug, pouring more for everyone while he scraped and served like he hadn't just been shouting praises to his own virility and talent.
Christmas wasn't the tradition. The celebration was the tradition. Whatever form it ended up taking.