The Miscreants of Xiphoid Camp [NOT UPDATING CURRENTLY]

» 2130 « Chapter 18 - Unhappy Unholidays

December 25, 2130

Christmas was not considered to be a great big exciting day in the Viator household. It was merely an occasion. And in the Viator household, an 'occasion' was defined as a day for the entire extended family to gather and drink wine and discuss politics and comment on "the state of the situation", whatever THAT was. They did not engage in exchanging presents or drinking hot cocoa and singing carols like Avior had heard normal families did.

Avior did not like Christmas very much. He considered himself to be a quite Grinchy sort of person. He was proud of his Grinchiness. Not everyone had the courage or brilliance to steal an entire holiday.

The main downside to this holiday season in particular was that Archer had no choice but to come home from his fancy university and spend Christmas with his family. Avior did not like that one bit. Archer was insufferable! Who in their right mind would want to be around him? Someone who was non compos mentis, that was who.

Speaking of non compos mentisness, Avior had indeed paid dearly for his outburst a month or so before. His parents were still being quite snippy and cold toward him, but then again, they were also naturally snippy and cold people. The doorbell rang out sharpy and sudden, ruining Avior's rare moment of peace. Company had arrived.

He stood in front of his mirror. "It's only a few hours," he told his reflection reassuringly. "You can survive,"

All of the bruises were gone. That was good. The dark rings beneath his eyes were new. He did not know why they had appeared. He did not like them. He ran a hand through his hair and left the sanctuary of his bedroom, stepped into the hallway, and ran straight into Archer.

His brother jumped back. "Apologies. I did not see you there,"

Avior pushed past him. "You don't have to talk like the crown prince. I get it, you're in smart people university doing smart stuff and you don't have time for us lowly idiots." He was in a bad mood. Everything was bothering him.

"Well, merry Christmas to you as well," Archer said drily, rolling his eyes and continuing down the hall. Avior didn't care. He hoped Archer was angry at him. Then again, he wasn't sure if his brother could even handle being angry. The force of it might knock him dead: he had been looking tremendously sickly as of late.

The day ahead looked to be absolutely miserable. None of his family was interesting except for his Uncle Lennart, and that was only because Uncle Lennart was a right mental case.

"Avior! Come say hello to your grandparents. They want to speak to you," his stepmother called from downstairs.

How wonderful. Avior hadn't seen his grandparents since his birthday. He was certain that they were still annoyed by being called 'non compos mentis', even though they didn't even know what it meant! What miserable people he was surrounded by.

Absolutely miserable.

The nice thing about Christmas was that at some point someone was bound to drink a bit too much wine, which would then spark a chain reaction, resulting in everyone becoming significantly more interesting to be around. That was where the evening had gone. Avior had long since been banished from the living room ("Adults are talking! Go do something else!"), but the conversation was loud and intolerable, and really, one could not help but overhear.

"KILL THEM ALL, I SAY!" the more-tolerable grandfather shouted out amidst cries of agreement.

They were talking about the demons. That was all anyone talked about anymore. Avior was quite sick of it. Whatever happened to werewolf politics? Everyone used to love discussing that!