Mahogany and Teakwood

Chapter 17: Thistle

i couldn't catch my breath

or calculate my death

Christmas Day came and went.

Roman attempted to deep-fry a turkey using his murder's recipe, an experiment which led to flames, shouting, and liberal use of the kitchen fire extinguisher. He made up for the disaster by mixing up a pot of homemade hot chocolate and declaring, rather nonsensically, "There's no winning at Christmas."

Logan paused in wiping down the counters. "No one says that."

"Yeah, that's not a saying." Virgil scrubbed the scorched turkey pot.

Roman narrowed his eyes at both of them. "Pretty sure I've heard it somewhere."

Logan, ever the practical one, ordered pizza once the kitchen was habitable again.

Upon learning that neither Logan nor Virgil had seen A Christmas Story, Roman made them both sit down with Logan's laptop and suffer through it, insisting that it was 'a classic'.

Virgil, to his surprise, actually enjoyed the ridiculous movie; he alternated between scathing commentary and laughing so hard he nearly spilled hot chocolate on himself. Roman mouthed along with his favorite lines. Logan, in an uncharacteristic show of casualness, balanced a jar of Crofters on his leg and ate it by the spoonful as he watched, pointing out inconsistencies between licks.

Virgil was definitely watching the movie and not Logan's tongue on that spoon.

Then Roman picked a fight over whether the father had been right to forbid the BB gun, as the kid did, in fact, do precisely what everyone had warned him about. Roman, naturally, took the kid's side; Logan took the father's. Normally Virgil derived a perverse sort of pleasure from watching bickering matches he wasn't part of, but tonight it felt like Roman was just trying to show off.

He'd actually been a tiny bit grateful for Roman's boisterous, distracting presence up until then. The Car Fight still hung heavy and tense between Logan and himself, a marked contrast to the last Christmas they'd spent together. Any time Roman left the room, the two would awkwardly and silently avoid each other's eyes until the other came back.

They did presents after the movie, accompanied by another round of hot chocolate. Logan complimented Virgil's petitgrain oil from the flea market, but Virgil also noticed how quickly it was abandoned on a shelf and tried hard not to feel hurt. After all, Logan had actually gotten him a proper gift this year.

"A gift card, actually," Logan clarified. "For some audio books you could listen to, in order to calm yourself down during moments of...excessive alarm."

It was thoughtful, and practical, and thus very Logan...but it felt impersonal. Then again, they were still fighting. Technically.

Roman, it turned out, had bought Virgil an oil warmer for his room, making him feel awful that all he'd prepared in return was a card. Granted, it was hand folded and hand painted on nice card stock, and Roman held it to his heart and proclaimed that he loved it, but still.

Roman's gift to Logan was an elaborate piece of Sherlock Holmes fan fiction he'd apparently written himself, a gesture that equal parts confused and flattered the half-faery into blurting out, "I mean, the cover is ridiculous but I am intrigued, Roman."

And Logan, it turned out, had at some point acquired a ukulele, which he presented to a wide-eyed Roman.

"I don't play, personally, and I thought perhaps you might enjoy the challenge of learning an instrument to accompany your singing," Logan said.