goodfella: (for there was no pride)
Robin Goodfellow ([personal profile] goodfella) wrote in [personal profile] priorcommitment 2012-12-24 06:43 pm (UTC)

For two weeks now, there had been a vendor selling live pine wreaths and other decorative plants for the holidays. This morning, the leftovers are sitting out unattended, with a donation box.

Robin doesn't leave a donation, but he takes some wreathes with him.

He doesn't celebrate Christmas in general, is in fact mildly disgusted by much of the behavior surrounding it (although it had always been a good time for the dealership, what with the need of some people to purchase extravagant gifts) -- but Christmas tradition is anything but tradition. Most of it was forcibly taken from elsewhere, and though Robin can't appreciate the birth of Christ, he can at least appreciate a good immortality symbol when he sees one.

And he can hang it on the door to his bar. Which is, of course, open tonight.

But as he turns to head back into town, he catches sight of something so surprising he could piss himself, and so ironic he could vomit. At the very least, he finds himself standing, gaping and startled, as one of the wreaths under his arms falls to bounce lightly, once, and roll to a stop.

At a pair of feet that belong to Ishiah, though everything in Robin's gut says that they can't. They very probably cannot. Because Robin could not be that supremely lucky.

Or quite so horribly cursed.

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