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gen_storyteller2007-02-06 09:53 pm
spuffyduds.livejournal.com) wrote in gen_storyteller2007-02-06 09:53 pm
Entry tags:
Thus I Refute Santa
Title: Thus I Refute Santa
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spuffyduds
Rating: R for general ick
Notes: Inspired by Anya's, er, alternative characterization of jolly old St. Nick.
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. He even took my dog. Not cool, man.
At first Richard thought the new nanny would work out beautifully. But lately she seems to be always there, always appearing in the nursery with some foolish “reason;”; popping her head in to check on James because he "seemed a bit feverish" earlier; appearing with a hot water bottle for the boy's feet; always, always making sure that Richard never has more than a moment alone with his son. His own son, and she seems to think that Richard’ s not entitled to all the time, all the privacy he wants.
And now he's just sat down by the boy's bed, just started to stroke his hair, when in pops her curly head, that bright smile that makes him want to choke her. "Terribly sorry, sir!" she says. “I thought I heard him cry out. Thought he must be having a bad dream." And that's an utter lie, because the boy's made no noise--he knows better, when his father's in the room.
Richard closes his eyes, sighs with the effort of not screaming at her. She must go, and soon; but the housekeeper and cook and all the other help seem enchanted with her, as is the lady of the house. If Elizabeth can be said to have earned that title; she certainly doesn’t manage the house. No, that’s left to Richard; after a full day of business he must return to his home and deal with the petty grievances of the bootblack and the cook’s assistant, while Elizabeth is “confined with the vapors.” Confined with the laudanum, more like. But she’d bestirred herself from her dreams just today, to mention how charming the new nanny is. If he suddenly sends Hallie off with no reason there will be questions, there will be odd looks from the staff, and he will have none of those.
But go she must; a man with a uselessly bedridden wife has needs. Has rights, and he will not be done out of them by a prattling female in a starched apron.
Now the chit hasn't the sense to leave; she flounces right up to the bedside, smiles at the boy. "Do you have everything you need, James?" she says.
"Yes, Miss Hallie," he says, and gives her the smile he didn’t give Richard. He'll pay for that, later.
"You must go to sleep, then," she says, "or Santa won't come." And Richard's heart leaps with glee; there's his reason, there’s a license to send her out into the street this very night. His thoughts on these ridiculous flights of fancy are well known; no one will blink at his letting her go for subjecting his son to this tommyrot.
"Santa," he says, "is nothing more than a tale spun by idiots--" but he's interrupted by a clattering on the roof.
"Reindeer!" James says, beaming at Hallie.
Richard tightens his hand in James' hair, just for a moment, a little reminder of how things have been and will be again. "Squirrels," he says, "and I'll have no more of this nonsense, do you understand me?" But the clattering grows louder, and nearer; perhaps vermin in the attic again?
“I shall go and deal with whatever creature is causing this racket,” he says, “and when I return, Nurse, you and I shall have a chat about your filling my son’s head with this useless twaddle.” He smiles at her, the happiest he’s been in weeks, and strides off toward the stairs.
James watches him go, turns to peer at Hallie. “Papa says Santa’s not real,” he says.
“Papa,” she says tartly, “does not know everything. And one of the things he doesn’t know is that Santa is an old friend of your nursie’s, and owes her a favor or two.”
They listen to the steady upward clumping on the stairs. And then there’s a crash and a scream and a long, terrible tearing sound.
Something in a red-soaked suit flies past the nursery windows, and Hallie gives it a cheery wave. James looks out the window, back at her. Outside the nursery everyone in the house, even the mistress, is running upstairs, and there’s more screaming, something about Richard. But inside the nursery all is calm, all is quiet, and James reaches up with love to stroke her veiny face.
“My sweet boy,” she says. “Wish granted.”
Author:
spuffydudsRating: R for general ick
Notes: Inspired by Anya's, er, alternative characterization of jolly old St. Nick.
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. He even took my dog. Not cool, man.
At first Richard thought the new nanny would work out beautifully. But lately she seems to be always there, always appearing in the nursery with some foolish “reason;”; popping her head in to check on James because he "seemed a bit feverish" earlier; appearing with a hot water bottle for the boy's feet; always, always making sure that Richard never has more than a moment alone with his son. His own son, and she seems to think that Richard’ s not entitled to all the time, all the privacy he wants.
And now he's just sat down by the boy's bed, just started to stroke his hair, when in pops her curly head, that bright smile that makes him want to choke her. "Terribly sorry, sir!" she says. “I thought I heard him cry out. Thought he must be having a bad dream." And that's an utter lie, because the boy's made no noise--he knows better, when his father's in the room.
Richard closes his eyes, sighs with the effort of not screaming at her. She must go, and soon; but the housekeeper and cook and all the other help seem enchanted with her, as is the lady of the house. If Elizabeth can be said to have earned that title; she certainly doesn’t manage the house. No, that’s left to Richard; after a full day of business he must return to his home and deal with the petty grievances of the bootblack and the cook’s assistant, while Elizabeth is “confined with the vapors.” Confined with the laudanum, more like. But she’d bestirred herself from her dreams just today, to mention how charming the new nanny is. If he suddenly sends Hallie off with no reason there will be questions, there will be odd looks from the staff, and he will have none of those.
But go she must; a man with a uselessly bedridden wife has needs. Has rights, and he will not be done out of them by a prattling female in a starched apron.
Now the chit hasn't the sense to leave; she flounces right up to the bedside, smiles at the boy. "Do you have everything you need, James?" she says.
"Yes, Miss Hallie," he says, and gives her the smile he didn’t give Richard. He'll pay for that, later.
"You must go to sleep, then," she says, "or Santa won't come." And Richard's heart leaps with glee; there's his reason, there’s a license to send her out into the street this very night. His thoughts on these ridiculous flights of fancy are well known; no one will blink at his letting her go for subjecting his son to this tommyrot.
"Santa," he says, "is nothing more than a tale spun by idiots--" but he's interrupted by a clattering on the roof.
"Reindeer!" James says, beaming at Hallie.
Richard tightens his hand in James' hair, just for a moment, a little reminder of how things have been and will be again. "Squirrels," he says, "and I'll have no more of this nonsense, do you understand me?" But the clattering grows louder, and nearer; perhaps vermin in the attic again?
“I shall go and deal with whatever creature is causing this racket,” he says, “and when I return, Nurse, you and I shall have a chat about your filling my son’s head with this useless twaddle.” He smiles at her, the happiest he’s been in weeks, and strides off toward the stairs.
James watches him go, turns to peer at Hallie. “Papa says Santa’s not real,” he says.
“Papa,” she says tartly, “does not know everything. And one of the things he doesn’t know is that Santa is an old friend of your nursie’s, and owes her a favor or two.”
They listen to the steady upward clumping on the stairs. And then there’s a crash and a scream and a long, terrible tearing sound.
Something in a red-soaked suit flies past the nursery windows, and Hallie gives it a cheery wave. James looks out the window, back at her. Outside the nursery everyone in the house, even the mistress, is running upstairs, and there’s more screaming, something about Richard. But inside the nursery all is calm, all is quiet, and James reaches up with love to stroke her veiny face.
“My sweet boy,” she says. “Wish granted.”
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Thanks!
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It's not Santa in that red-soaked suit, he didn't aquire one until he sold out to Coca Cola, so eeek! You haven't given a time-scale or setting for this but I see it as around 1880s London. Am I right?
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vengeancejustice demon as a rule.no subject
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That was good! :)
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