more_magic | though it's been said many times, many ways

It’s strange to think of where he was a year ago, exactly. Waking up in Alex’s bed, hung over from the shame of the night before and the lingering effects of whatever Manuscript had given him, preparing for his first full day in a city outside of the world he knew and realizing in the process that he’d lost nearly two months in the space of a breath. There were more shocks to come, more alterations in what he thought to be true, but very little had managed to surpass the disorientation of that initial beginning to his tenure in Darrow.

Back then, Darlington had wondered what they might have done at home, if Alex would’ve been on a plane to California at the start of break--or if he might have managed to convince her to stay, to spend Christmas at Black Elm with him. What they got instead was better, that makeshift celebration with hastily-bought gifts and the smell of a half-remembered recipe wafting from Alex’s kitchen; the start of something new, even if neither of them had known the depths of that newness at the time. And now, a year on, through hard work and some kind of miracle, he gets what he’d wondered about after all.

Christmas Day will be just for them, presents and breakfast and relaxing by the fire, but tonight is a chance to celebrate. They decorate the main floor of Black Elm, filling the rooms they’ve already managed to furnish with light and warmth, the tree they’d bought earlier in the month standing by one of the large picture windows in the great room. Alex cooks all of Estrea Stern’s recipes she can think of, adds a few of Bernadette’s that Darlington remembers from his childhood. There’s music low on the stereo, a fire lit in the vast fireplace, the new table and chairs they’d bought for the formal dining room arranged just so beneath the chandelier at the center of the room. Even Kirby gets into the spirit in a new, festive collar, bright red against his black fur.

Above all, they’ve invited the people that matter, the few who have come to mean something--to one or both of them--in the year that’s just passed. It’s the first real party Black Elm has seen in many years, not since Darlington’s grandfather was alive. It feels, once again, like starting something new.

[[tag in, tag around, enjoy the party!]]

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From:

maloscuridad

Even the most insulated brujes can't avoid Christmas, not in New York. Nova's watched a few of the cartoons, knows some of the songs, but he knows them as an outsider. From a very young age, he'd learned Christmas was not a brujo holiday. Brujes, his grandmother taught him, celebrated the solstice, lit candles, and gave thanks for El Papá's protection during the long nights while also praying for the return of La Mamá's sunlight.

Tonight, surrounded by so many people who know of a magic beyond what can be explained by the Vatican, Nova thinks that this is the kind of Christmas that has very little to do with the birth of a king. And if anyone pushes him about it, he'll push back.

He brings a gift, wrapped in nice red paper, but wreath within the package, spun of plants and thorns that repel spirits and the mal de ojo, is entirely brujo. It matches the bracelet he wove for Alex when they first met.

From:

more_magic

With Alex preoccupied by handling multiple things on the stove and in the oven, it's Darlington who answers the knock on the door, happy to find a familiar face on the other side of it. There's still a tension between them, but it's eased some since their escape from East Hallow, both of them forced to work together to make it out alive.

"Nova, hey," he says, standing aside to let him step through the doorway. "I'm glad you could make it."

From:

maloscuridad

"Nice delivery, I almost believed that." Nova smirks but there's not really any malice in his voice. It's not like he's made his peace with the guy but they'd had each other's backs in the middle of a really shitty situation. By default, that puts credit in the bank for him. He assumes that Darlington's of a like mind.

From:

more_magic

"Years of practice," he says, equally dry. It's more true than he means it to be, though that thought isn't one he lets himself dwell on for too long. Not tonight, when everything is bright and cheerful and he and Alex are starting a tradition of their own.

"I think there's still space in the closet for your coat," he says, nodding towards a door off the foyer. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

From:

maloscuridad

There's something about making a point to put coats in closets that feels alien to Nova, somewhere out of his tax bracket. At Bruja gatherings, coats ended up piled on a bed or on the backs of chairs, people sent hunting at the end to draw out the party's final minutes. The corner of his mouth tips up at the thought, though he knows Darlington won't get it.

"What's available?" he asks, referring to the drinks. And, because there are certain Rules governed by bigger things than simple people, he adds, "Thanks for the hospitality."

From:

more_magic

"You're welcome," he says, noticing the half-smirk but making the choice not to press the issue. "And thanks in turn for the gift," he adds, nodding towards the wrapped package in Nova's hand. "Whether that's just for Alex, or the both of us."

Once Nova's coat is put away, Darlington glances towards the bar they'd set up in the great room for the evening. "There's wine and beer, and one of Alex's friends brought eggnog," he says. "Unspiked, I think, but there's options to doctor it as you wish. Plus sodas and a nonalcoholic punch."

From:

maloscuridad

Nova shrugs. "It's for the house, so I guess for both." They both deal with the dead, after all. There aren't many powerful cantos that Nova can safely perform but he can, at the very least, weave and activate protective wreaths. "For safety."

He expects Darlington will understand.

"Red wine?"

though it's been said many times, many ways

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