(no subject)

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

Date: December 8, 1999
Status: Public
Setting: The lobby
Summary: Adam sets up the Manor's Christmas tree



After a quick trip home, Adam returned to Tadfield Manor with an oft taped cardboard box tucked under one arm. His eyes sparkled as he stepped into the lobby and found that the gardener had remembered to bring in a tree for him. Pepper had insisted that it be a live tree, which was fine with Adam, and putting the box down, he tugged it to a place of honor in the lobby not far from an electrical outlet.

He opened the box and almost reverentially began to pull out the baubles within: two strings of multi-coloured fairy lights, a bit of plaster imprinted with his tiny hand and strung on a bit of red ribbon, a pipe cleaner reindeer that he'd made in primary school, a sparkly bluebird with wire in its feet to grasp the branches, a painted soldier on a wooden clothespin, a snowflake that his grandmother had crocheted, and his favorite, a perfect, blown-glass globe with the words "Peace on Earth, 1991". Adam wound the lights around the tree and hung his six ornaments on it carefully.

Reaching into the box one final time, he pulled out the angel that had graced his treetop since he was born. It was an unusual angel in that it did not have ornate, flowing robes in a variety of rich materials. Nor did it have long hair, a glowing halo, golden wings, or a simpering expression. It wasn't even a girl. No, this angel was male, dressed in simple white cotton robes, with plain white, feathery wings and something sparkling in the painted blue eyes that bespoke compassion and love, but intelligence, too. Adam didn't know where it came from, but he loved it as much as a teenage boy is allowed to love a doll-like thing, which is quite a lot, so long as no one knows about it. He gave it a fond smile and fetched a chair to stand on. With an air of gravity, he placed the angel gently atop the tree before climbing down and plugging in the lights.

Stepping back to appraise his work, Adam found it good. Then he replaced the chair and went searching behind the Metatron's desk for some office supplies. After some thought, he wrote,

Tadfield Manor Christmas Tree:

This tree is for all of us staying at the Manor. Please feel free to add your own ornaments from home. Any presents left beneath will be delivered to their recipients on Christmas morning.

Happy Christmas!
Adam

Leaning his sign up by the base of the tree, Adam picked up his now empty Christmas box and headed upstairs to his room humming "O Holy Night".

Comments

[corroded-crown.livejournal.com]

Peeking around a nearby door, Pollution watched Adam leave the room and the tree behind. It was almost as though he had been avoiding said Antichrist. That wasn't entirely wrong, he was just a bit nervous around the boy who had, had his friends ...whatevered him and the other horsemen. Understandably.

Pollution waited a few more minutes before reaching down to grab his own box of Christmas things. Any mortal wouldn't have noticed it the moment before but it was there for much the same reason that Crowley's Bentley was still moving. Because he expected it to. Not that he was powerful enough to make anything happen like that. But it just so happens that the box was filled with an assortment of different bits of litter and trash and a few toxic chemicals. Way within Pollution's power.

He moved with in the room, looking at the perfectly beautiful tree. After a moment, he made a face and put his box on the ground. A quick dig through it found garland made out of plastic pop rings. He smiled and ran a hand through them, then he moved to the tree and started putting them up, wrapping them around it. Tin cans came next, followed by a sprinkling of different little packets and wrappers. For a moment, Pollution contemplated pouring a bit of the toxic chemicals into the soil at the base before ultimately deciding against it. The tree was nice enough as it is.

Smiling distractedly about a job well done, he picked up his box and exited the room, leaving it slightly more dirty then it had been. Upon glancing down at the box, he realized he had a few things left in them. The smile was back as he took it outside, ready to spread a bit of his own special sort of joy with the world

[corroded-crown.livejournal.com]

((Because I'm too lazy to actually right it out at the moment, let's just say that there is now four badly wrapped presents under the tree, containing a pretty little bottle of Agent Orange (Pollution had always been rather proud of that little herbicide), a plastic box decorated with a water dish in the shape of an ocean and a plastic palm tree and "beach hut" and a breeding pair of a rather nasty species of locus (Pollution had seen it in a human toy story and couldn't help himself), a bloody shirt, sheets and hat, said blood containing the very first AIDs virus found in humans (not that they had known it at the time) (Pollution figured that Pestilence was a lot of things, including a sentimental old bastard, and would get teary eyed over it), and a fishing pole and tackle box. (everyone has to take a vacation sometime) ))

For Wednesday (who hasn't been added yet, therfore posted under Pest)

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Wednesday was well into his second hour of glaring at the tree in the middle of the lobby.
All in all, he was conflicted about this time of year. In a general sense, he approved of tree decorating. A good, pagan fertility symbol, (nice and phallic, very un-holy, he thought with a wry smile). He could stand behind that. Also, to be honest (which he very rarely was), he had a very strong reverence for trees.
The problem, of course, lay with the bastard child that got the lucky break. (Wednesday supposed it wasn't really his fault, he had actually been born several months before.) But no, the Christians had gone and taken Yule- Sullied it.
There at the top of the tree was a poofy looking angel. He muttered something about "ergi" and grumbled.
He rather suspected that a nativity scene would be arriving soon. Drummer boys and Wise Men and sheep. Damn them all. He walked towards the tree with determination and a look of defiance in one of his dark grey eyes.

He stood next to the tree for a minute, the needles almost touching his skin. His hand clenched, he appeared as though he were about to punch the little blinking lights out of the tree, but instead his hand reached into the pocket of his grey silk sportcoat, and pulled out a figurine that may or may not have been there a moment ago. He placed the little replica of Mjollnir on one of the branches, setting his mind against any thoughts for the thick old bastard that had owned the original. He reached back into his pocket, this time pulling out a badly tarnished golden apple. Idunn (silly old bitch, he thought) had had much more brilliant apples, all too rare in this godless age. Next came a tiny spinning wheel, (Frigg lost long ago in the sands of time). Then a falcon feather for the most beautiful goddess- his rival for the souls of the dead, leader of the Valkyeries. He pricked his finger and allowed a drop of cold blood to fall onto a branch. *I shall never drink in a hall unless mead is brought for both of us.* He heard his old words come back to him. A bough of mistletoe, a sword long-lost, a metal boot. Finally there was only one piece left in the deep pocket.
He looked at the little figurine, the rope around its neck, a gaping hole where an eye once was. A sacrifice. Himself for himself. He briefly wondered if it had been worth it. But the words came rushing at him, as strong as the thick smell of pine. Though it held no mirth, a smile stretched his lips.
Holding the figure tightly in his fist, he wound his arm through the boughs, until his knuckles scraped the bark. He hung his last ornament, then turned and walked quickly away.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley had seen the tree the day before as he walked across the lobby with Aziraphale. Scowling at it, he made some scathing remark in passing, but the sign made him wonder.

It had to be Adam's influence, he thought, as he found himself standing in the lobby again today. Looking around, he saw no one, so he sauntered closer to the tree. Quick as a snake strike, he placed a tiny ornament deep inside and left.

Still swinging slightly on its branch, a perfect red apple reflected the light.

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"This is stupid," John muttered, fingering the peculiar little item he'd brought with him as he eyed the strange (and in some cases disturbingly symbolic) collection of oddities that already adorned the thing.

He had walked past the tree without pausing several times before noticing the sign, and had shaken his head at Adam's overly-trusting nature. With the mixed assortment of Beings who occupied the Manor, and anyone able to wander in and out, who knew what might get left under the tree in the guise of an innocent gift?

It was that thought more than anything that had inspired him to dig out a handful of tools and mementoes and cobble them together into the ornament (well, more of an amulet really, but it could pass for an ornament if not examined too closely) that he now carefully suspended in an inconspicuous spot low and toward the back of the tree.

Two feathers--one a faintly shimmering white, one midnight-black--were lashed together in the middle, forming an extended X. Both were a little dry and fragile now, having been picked up as an afterthought fifteen years before, but he had preserved them carefully; he wasn't likely to get his hands on another like the black one, and the white one, as far as he knew, was now the only one of its kind that still existed.

Suspended under them by its rawhide drawtrings was a small leather sack containing a variety of small semi-precious gemstones, dried herbs, and a few less pleasant items, all carefully chosen for their complementary protective properties.

The drawstrings also threaded through a piece of origami in the shape of a five-pointed star. The paper was shiny gold, but only on one side; John had put two pieces together back-to-back so that no white would show. Written on the plain side of one sheet, folded safely away where no one would see, were several names (some belonging to beings who inhabited the Manor, and others who were elsewhere...one very far away) and a number of esoteric runes and diagrams. All pertained to matters of peace, prosperity and good fortune, the sorts of things one wished one's friends around this time of year.

He stood back from the tree and eyed the glimmering object with a dissatisfied grimace. Why he was even bothering with such a paltry thing in a place chock-full of beings whose power so thoroughly eclipsed his own small talents he had no idea.

Still...it couldn't hurt. Right?

Under the tree he set a very old, slightly dusty bottle of wine with a bow tied around its neck and a tag marked with two names. Almost the last drop of Brendan Finn's grand collection, the rest having been drunk to Brendan's memory or traded away for other needed things in a pinch. It was a wrench, letting it go, but hell...he had nobody to share it with, and considering the price the old boy had been prepared to pay for the stuff, he'd have wanted someone to enjoy it who would appreciate what they were drinking.

Wondering idly what else might turn up on or under the tree before Christmas Eve, John wandered off to the bar in search of some holiday cheer, or failing that, a properly soggy state of depression.

[i-hate-crawly.livejournal.com]

Making sure that nobody else was present, Ligur sidled into the lobby and up to the tree. After glancing twitchily around he removed from one of his mac's many pockets what looked like a plastic minature tentacle monster on a piece of string and hung it on one of the tree's middle branches. He then removed from another pocket a rather large object wrapped in old pages of the Daily Star, which bore the felt-tipped inscription Too Sugarplum, and set it down by the base of the tree. He then very hastily made for the nearest staircase.

[-moonylupin-.livejournal.com]

One night, when it was dark and quiet and there really was no one about, Remus crept forward and silently added his own contribution, aware of how ridiculous he looked. (He had just finished with a rather rude client, who had demanded to pay and be left alone so he wouldn't be robbed.)

He hummed a snatch of Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" from the Nutcracker as he hung the little toy soldier that still had a worn Padfoot written on it. It was Remus' first gift from Sirius, hidden under all the chocolate and other sweets Sirius had seen fit to bestow on his pale and sickly friend during their first Christmas at Hogwarts. He cherished it, but he'd rather see it celebrated than in his dusty old briefcase anyhow.

And then he bent to his real task, his first task. He'd brought a gift for Adam - silly of him, but he wasn't very wealthy and the boy looked openminded to such things - a few, actually. Magical Creatures and Where to Find Them dominated the stack of wrapped books, with a book of Quidditch and another of wizard photography, and yet one more about Quidditch, albeit this one was more bloody than the first. He felt it possible that Adam could share them amongst his friends, if they weren't quite to the boy's liking.

Remus used his wand to add a nice, tidy bow, and wandered back into the night.

WARNING: JOKES IN BAD TASTE INSIDE

[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Pestilence smiled at the Christmas tree in the corner. He loved this time of year. Everyone giving things to everybody else. Being completely generous with their germs. It really made him feel all warm and fuzzy. That I-think-I'm-coming-down-with-malaria feeling.
Of course He knew there were those that didn't appreciate his generosity. You know, like humans, but that usually didn't stop him. He thought back to 1348 and the Christmas outbreak of plague. Or the trenches in WWI where soldiers on both sides put aside the battle on Christmas Eve and complained about dysentery and trench-foot together.
It had been so beautiful.
But- he had had the alarming realization recently that his powers were not quite as potent here. NO ONE got sick from the potato salad. Or the sushi he had made the other night. He had the fear he was losing his touch.
But that wouldn't stop him from giving gifts.
Of course, the first gifts he had thought of were for those two young love-birds. He had dug deeply into his satchel (magic satchel, of course) and found a pair of really corroded and nasty metal grails. He knew Pollution would appreciate the completely defiled appearance. (He himself appreaciated that there were pathogens in the dried blood inside one of them) And he had never known Famine to turn down a tipple, so he rounded off the couple's gift with a nice bottle of Shiraz.
For War he took out an ancient Aztec Sacrificial knife, the blood of the sickly king still stianed its handle~
For DEATH, he had a pair of sandals. Antiques, no less. He had grabbed them from a leper who had recently lost his feet back around the original Christmas. (Pestilence had always thought that DEATH looked like he needed comfortable shoes.)
For everyone else, he had baked four-dozen cookies in the shapes of a rat, a scythe, a sword, a crown and pair of scales. (He had had them made specially of course.) He hoped everyone would like them. He had gone so far as to use butter that had been made in this century.
With a final sneeze on the tree, he headed back to his room.

[archangel-mike.livejournal.com]

Michael carefully neared the tree. Glancing up, he nodded approvingly at the angel. It was one of the few ones he'd ever seen to be close to right. Really, golden wings? How inconvenient.

Putting a hand into a pocket that was surprised to exist -- rather understandable; it hadn't existed a second ago -- he drew out several objects. Then he started hanging them on the tree. After a moment tiny angels decorated the branches. None of them had golden wings, but all had small swords in their hands. Some had flames on their swords, adding some more light to the tree, and some had armours instead of robes. They looked very nice.

Something still wasn't quite right, though. Ah, yes -- there was one angel all alone near to the back of the tree. It had long, blond hair, a shining armour, and a big sword*. The flames on the sword were very bright. However, even in all its mighty glory, it looked lonely.

Well, that would be quickly redeemed. Putting a hand into his pocket again, he drew out another little angel. This one was clad in white robes, a gentle expression on its tiny face. No sword would have suited its hands; those hands seemed better for healing than hurting. Hanging it near the lonely angel, he then whispered a couple of Words. A moment later, the lonely angel and the healer were sitting on a branch, very close. Yet again he nodded in satisfaction.

Oh, it was exactly like it should.

Anyway, that was the easy part. Now for the tricky thing -- gifts.

For Gabriel he had a romance novel with a dark and dangerous hero and a fair and angelic heroine. (It wasn't that he approved of any kind of feelings for demons, but it would be worth it just to see Gabriel's expression.) For Aziraphale, he had managed to find a copy of the Rebecca's Camels Bible**. It was also sort of an apology. He honestly hadn't known about the fire, and as for the demon's flat and all that holy water, well, he'd been under orders, and as an angel he didn't have free will, and surely Aziraphale understood that? (Well, so he had quite liked the thought of killing a demon, but that didn't count as he hadn't had a choice anyway, right? And besides, he had thought it was a bit underhanded; he'd always preferred to face demons in a good one-on-one battle. But orders were orders.)

Then, the really tricky part. He had to get something for Raphael, or Raphael might think that Michael didn't like him, and that definitely wasn't true. After all, Michael liked Raphael very much, but not too much if you catch the drift, just the appropriate amount really, and -- ah well, he loved Raphael, okay? Anyway. It had to be something personal, but as far as he knew Raphael didn't collect anything or anything else that might have made Michael's job easier. So finally he had decided to give Raphael something he had had a long time. It was a painting by the artist Raphael, featuring two angels. One of them looked a lot like Michael, and the other resembled Raphael closely, and this was all just a coincidence and had nothing to do with Michael. It was a good painting, and especially Raphael looked very nice in it. Michael looked very righteous and all in it, too. He just hoped that Raphael would like it.

With a bit of hesitation, he placed one last gift under the tree. It contained a book. To be exact, it contained Let There Be Lust by Misty Moore. He wanted to show Crowley that even though he did despise demons, he was an angel in the end. He was a forgiving creature by nature and did not hold grudges; any hostility he might show was just because of their respective sides, really. Honest.

Michael thought that the pocket didn't exist anymore, and it didn't. He took a glance at the lonely angel and the healer one, and noticed with satisfaction that they were holding hands.

And then, satisfied with his work, he left the room.

*This wasn't in any way symbolic. And it definitely wasn't any kind of compensation, either. Really, what would a tiny ornament angel need to compensate for?

**He'd been told that it was an Infamous Bible, whatever that meant, and he vaguely remembered somebody mentioning that Aziraphale liked first editions of those. He didn't know just how it was different from any other Bible, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know, either.

[angsty-death.livejournal.com]

DEATH had been at a loss trying to think of something to get his fellow horsepeople, but had finally decided on a "Raise an Anthill" set for War (after all, ant battles were becoming much more formidible than those between humans) and a kazoo for Pollution (noise pollution was all the rage these days.)

For Pestilence, DEATH had went to a gift shop and asked the woman there what he should buy someone special. For some reason, she had winked knowingly and told him to get a box of chocolates. After that fiasco with the duct tape costume at the Halloween party, however, he had learned to take the advice of females in shops with a grain of salt, but as he had no other choice, he ended up leaving the place up to his nose with every single variety of chocolate they had. For good measure, he had them infected with a few diseases.

After arranging his gifts in a artistic skull pattern, (leaving room for the eyes, nose, and mouth) DEATH pulled out a brightly colored object from inside his robe of Endless Darkness(tm) and hung it on a branch located in the most outer rim of the tree.

It was a hat with a skull located at the tip; the one he wore during his brief and disastrous stint as the Hogfather. It was red and white, a limp and dirt stained object, but it reminded DEATH of something he wanted that was always just out of reach.

HO. HO. HO, said DEATH sadly, and spun away to visit Binky.

[polldancer.livejournal.com]

Famine had been watching decorations slowly appear on the tree for the past few days, and decided that he might as well put something up as well. On the tree went a small sword with a red crystal set in the hilt, a small scythe, a little rat with sparkling eyes, and a heavily tarnished miniature crown. After a moment's consideration, he took a little pair of scales from his pocket and hung them right next to the crown.

Once satisfied with the placement of the ornaments he knelt at the base of the tree to place his presents, all wraped in dark charcoal grey paper with black ribbon, the recipient's name written in a corner in a hand that would be considered spidery were it not so elegant. For War there was a nice set of throwing knives (same as always), Death was getting a nice leatherbound journal with a fountain pen, and for Pestilence there was an old doctor's bag, complete with antique surgical instruments that were stained with rust, old blood, or both (there was also a little plush version of the Bubonic Plague bacteria hidden at the bottom, he had run across it and hadn't been able to resist). There was one more small box in his hand marked Pollution, and he studied it for a moment before tucking it amonst the others. The gift had been inspired by something Pollution said at the Almost Apocalypse, before everything fell apart. It was a silver necklace, with a tiny phial continaing about 200 milligrams of white powder. A lethal dose, were it ingested.

Arsenic is forever...

[winged-healer.livejournal.com]

Raphael smiled at the tree - it was looking full already. He put his own tiny ornament - a small rod of Asclepius, because people who used the caduceus were just silly. True that it did have a snake on it (which he wasn't sure he approved of) and it was just a tiny bit pagan. But it held sentimental value and it was all he had in the way of ornaments, so it would have to do.

He then put a few identical packages beneath the tree, labeled with the names of the three other resident angels. They all contained exactly the same things - a pair of white mittens with a bit of gold stiching, a pair of socks, and some balm that would help in a pinch - because after all he wanted to be fair.

As he was placing them under he saw two rather suspcious (and disconcertingly familiar) looking ornaments. They were angels, a symbol of the holiday to be sure, but... they were holding hands! And not in a way that Raph was entirely sure he approved of. They didn't seem to be healing each other or praying together so who knew what was on their minds.

Shaking his head, he separated them gently and put them carefully apart so that nobody could mistakenly construe anything from the sight of them.

He tutted as he walked away. Angels unnecessarily holding hands. Silly, really.

What would people, or man-shaped-beings for that matter, think of next?

[chantinellie.livejournal.com]

Ellie's eyes flared dangerously red when she approached the strange tree and spotted the bauble hanging on its low branch. The white feather glinted softly, twined with its black mate, cruelly mocking. That unspeakable bastard. How dare he! Furious, she snatched it from its place on the tree, fully intending to dismember it and cram the pieces down the presumptuous conjurer's throat. He had to be around here somewhere...

Taking the thing into her hands, though, she was brought up short as its nature became clearer. It was an amulet of protection; not very effective hanging on a Christmas tree as opposed to around someone's neck, but then, it was calibrated to a number of people, not all of them human...herself included. A slight tingling in her fingertips told her that it was working, in its small way. Other faint strands of power radiated in various directions, some terminating quite close by and others much further away.

Curious in spite of herself, Ellie shut her eyes and followed one to its terminus, somewhere in London proper. The cabbie; of course. Others stretched as far as Ireland and France. At least two stopped somewhere in the immediate vicinity, and Ellie's eyes flew wide open as a tentative twang of the strings revealed something of the nature of their subjects.

"What on Earth are you up to, John?" she said softly aloud, staring at the cheap gold star and the feathers spread protectively above it.

Long moments passed before she returned the bauble carefully to its spot, and stepped back to survey the Christmas tree and its sign and its strange conglomeration of ornaments. It was a ridiculous sight, quite possibly the ugliest thing of its kind she had ever seen, and that was saying something. The decorations spoke equally of filth and violence and heathen myth on the one hand, and of joy and reverence and Christian good fellowship on the other. Absurd.

But something about it whispered to her in a language she did not understand, and without quite knowing why, she raised her hands as though in benediction.

When she lowered them again, the tree glowed softly from top to bottom with the gentle sourceless light of a place long since abandoned, remembered only dimly and through a haze of bittersweet regret. It illuminated the translucent wings of the small angel figurines scattered throughout the boughs and perched at the top, and Ellie cursed quietly as her eyes flooded unexpectedly.

Angels. How she hated them, and the longing that filled her at the sight of those beautiful, untouchable white wings.

Dashing the tears from her eyes with gesture of furious impatience, she spun away from the tree and went looking for someone who could tell her what the fuck was going on in this place.

[whatamigoodfor.livejournal.com]

War had never really been one for Christmas cheer. Soldiers were always so eager to set aside their guns and grenades for a few hours on December 25th, and in her opinion fighting should never cease just because a holiday rolled around. Why couldn't war be part of Christmas?

It was that reasoning which led her to spend an evening rummaging for old bullet shells-- the shinier the better-- and stringing them together on cleaned piano wire. When she was finished, she had strung together a long line of shiny metal beadlike bullets, which she cheerfully wound around the Christmas tree one evening.

She stood back and observed the effect*. On the whole it pleased her, but something was missing. "Might as well do something a little more traditional," she muttered, and headed back to her suite. She returned, and left a single hira shuriken throwing star hanging, gleaming bright, on one of the branches.

*An evergreen Rambo.

[barking-harry.livejournal.com]

Harry, currently donning his work clothes, along with - at Draco's insistence - his fluffy antlers and a circle of red lipstick on his nose (thank goodness for Sister Mary's make-up supplies), carried two parcels, both wrapped in silver and green paper and addressed to one Draco Malfoy, over to the tree. He was secretly very pleased with the presents within.

Since moving into Draco's room he had not failed to notice that his friend had a tendency to stare longingly at the gold cup with the Badger Motife that had been found with him at the scene of his accident; and Harry, being fonder of his friend that was probably healthy, had decided that the look of delight on Draco's face when he tore away the wrapping would be worth far more than any pleasure he could possibly derive from possessing the artefact himself. The other parcel contained a state of the art mobile phone. It had cost him about two week's wages, but the clerk at the shop had assured him that it was the perfect gift for somebody who gave their occupation as 'Demonic Intern'.

Carefully he set them down at the base of the tree. Making sure that they were as far away from the dubious looking, newspaper-wrapped item inscribed with the words Too Sugarplum, as possible.

December 19th

[entropyoptimism.livejournal.com]

Destruction had heard a lot about this tree. Communal decoration, creating something that belonged to everybody in the manor, a little bit.

He looked it up and down, all weighted down with ornaments and bits of miscellanea. Quite a sturdy tree, yes indeed. And if it was a little less sturdy after Destruction carefully hung a plastic (it must have been plastic) sword at the front, then that was a complete and utter co-incidence. After all, Destruction didn't do that anymore.

But he moved the heaviest ornaments to the front of the tree anyway. It wouldn't be his fault if the slightest touch sent the whole thing toppling onto someone...

[http://users.livejournal.com/white_grin_/]

He had noticed the tree while in the lobby, noted it, filed it away. He knew he would be drawn back to it eventually; it was an amazing thing, but first, he had a job to do.

...Amazing. The marquis de Carabas had a job to do.

He laughed quietly, standing before the tree again now. Bullets and angels and a tentacle monster, tin cans and wrappers and trash... and above all that, a Christmas angel unlike the usual ones, with intelligent eyes and a kind, loving demeanour. What a contradiction this whole thing was! And yet, it appeared to havebeen decorated by a dozen different people, all working independently of each other... which said something interesting indeed about the denizens of the Manor.

The marquis paused for a moment, assessing the tree. He thought it might be nice to add to it. It seemed whatever he did couldn’t hurt, after all.

He reached into his pockets and pulled out half a dozen things that were suitable for decoration, if their original guises were studiously ignored. The four candy canes had probably seen better days (before being stuck in his pockets, for one thing), and while the white handkerchief was only dirty, the red one was slightly bloodstained (though it was almost impossible to tell). Still, he hung the candy canes on the branches at practically even intervals. He then tied the handkerchieves into two makeshift bows, and placed them carefully where their imperfections would be less noticable.

He paused to think for a moment. Then he smiled, like a satisfied cat. He fished in yet another pocket, pulling out a figurine—a truly fascinating, horrid thing, like a boar from Hell. He turned it slightly in his hands, watching the light play off of it. When he had seen it in person, the lighting opportunities had not been nearly as good.

The Beast.

He stared at it for several minutes, then fumbled in his coat with his other hand. He pulled out a surprisingly sharp pen knife, and went to work at a chink in the figurine. It was difficult work, but he’d done something similar before, and soon had somewhat of a hole through the small, terrible figure of the Beast.

Another exploration of his pockets produced string, which he threaded carefully through the hole. The now Beast-ornament was hung quiet carefully, where it would almost certainly be spotted, and he finally smiled again, grimly satisfied. “And may any or all of the gods give you rest, Hunter,” he said quietly.

He turned away from the tree, thoughtful now. Now, he thought, I need to think about presents. The thought brought another slight, bright grin to his face as he retreated from the room, the Beast still swinging gently on the tree behind him, reduced to a bauble for aesthetic enjoyment. Not very fitting, but right, nevertheless.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale had had his gifts all wrapped already in paper with a tartan pattern, with lovely bows and quite a lot of lacy ribbon.

A trenchcoat - black, leather, warm, a large but tasteful arrangement of inner pockets - for Crowley. He had enjoyed John's so. The parcel was carefully set down near the base of the tree.

A pack of - supposedly, he couldn't recall just now who had mentioned the brand to him - John's favourite cigarettes and some more expensive beer than perhaps the man was used to. He'd put the label clearly so that John would see it before he saw the tartan and lace.

There was ice cream (that would stay cold) for Belial, and an assortment of chocolates that he thought maybe Gabriel would like to share with Belial and some quite nice (not tartan) silk underwear that Belial would like to have Gabriel share with him.

Adam and his small friends got books, of course, and the other angels got varied amounts of chocolates.

Aziraphale sighed and stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Quite a few gifts had piled up, now, and every single one of them had tartan and lace.

He smiled as he walked away, not knowing about the lace ribbon stuck to the underside of his shoe.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

A couple of days before Christmas, Crowley crept back to the lobby with a small, beautifully wrapped package in his hand.

As he walked silently from the stairs to the tree, he cursed his bloody angel for starting the whole stupid tradition with a few careless words. 'Oh, hello! You kings there! Might I suggest that you offer Him gifts?' He rolled his eyes.

That was why a demon was now carrying a present intended for a human being and placing it carefully under the community tree. It was a wristwatch. A very expensive and elegant wristwatch. But after an interesting conversation with Draco, it was now also a specially modified watch. The tag read simply, "John".

Crowley left nothing else under the tree. His gift for Aziraphale couldn't be wrapped.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel stood in front of the Christmas tree, surveying it with a critical eye. The decorations of wide range made the corners of his mouth lip up and shake his head in mild amusement. There definitely were some really interesting beings inhabiting this Manor.

Near the back of the tree he spotted two tiny ornament angels. They were different from the little celestial warriors scattered all around the tree -- courtesy of Michael, no doubt -- and resembled very much two angels he knew very well. What was most interesting about, though, was the fact that the angels were sitting very close to each other -- and they were holding hands. Very interesting, indeed. He had to find out just what was going on between those two.

For a moment he thought about it, then reached a hand into his pocket. From there he drew a handful of small icons -- hand-painted by himself, of course -- and hung them all around the tree. The pictures were all painted with bright colours and with golden decorations all around. Besides the Holy Family, there were several angels, including all the four archangels. After a moment of thinking, he placed the ones for Michael and Raphael rather close to each other. Close, as in, almost touching each other. If anybody asked anything, he could always blame Michael for starting it all.

Then he glanced to his side, where a pile of rather similar-shaped packages waited patiently to be placed under the tree. Every one of them was wrapped in the same deep green paper with a white ribbon and the name of the recipient written with silvery ink. There was one for every angel currently in the Manor -- except for himself, of course -- although one was addressed to both Aziraphale and his dear demon, and there was one for Belial, as well -- basically one for everybody he could claim to somehow know.
This was the thing he liked most about Christmas, aside from the fact that His Presence was then even stronger than usually. Most of the humans' Christmas nowadays was just unacceptable -- Gluttony and Greed and Sloth all wrapped together. However, this was certainly something he could approve of. Giving, unselfishness, was certainly true to the nature of Christmas.

Of course, his presents were personalized. More specifically, he'd drawn a portrait of each of the recipients -- the one that Aziraphale and Crowley got had them both, of course. He'd seen the demon briefly and could admit that while he still didn't quite understand the point of making an effort, Aziraphale could have certainly chosen a worse being to make it for. He had painted pretty much all the time he'd spent in his room. Being an angel, he didn't have to sleep or wait for the paint to dry to add another layer, which had certainly helped him significantly in his mission of getting all his presents ready in a reasonable amount of time.

After placing his presents underneath the tree, he nodded, satisfied. Then he turned around and left the room, quietly humming to himself.

"Hark, the herald angels sing,
Glory to the newborn King..."

[archangel-mike.livejournal.com]

Michael stood in front of the Christmas tree once again. Having Uriel come to the Manor had forced him to do some very quick thinking; he hadn't expected the last archangel to show up. Finally, however, he had managed to think about something to give to him. Now he put the present under the tree among all the others. Two new throwing daggers -- not like Uriel needed a single one more, but he preferred to have some variety, so he would probably appreaciate the gift.

Something caught his eye near to the back of the tree. Two little angels were sitting there, side by side -- and they were holding hands. A very broad smile spread onto his face. He could just imagine Raphael gently arranging the two angels into a place where they could get some privacy.

Michael left the Christmas tree even happier than he had come to it.

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

At 11:30pm on Christmas Eve, Adam climbed down the stairs and headed towards the tree once more. Finally able to concentrate on it without distractions, he looked carefully at all the many and varied decorations and a bright smile lit his face. It was everything he had hoped and more. Even things like trash and bullets could be beautiful when they meant something to someone.

He then turned his attention to the large pile of gifts underneath the tree. Most of them seemed safe enough, but he did carefully seal off the vials of Agent Orange, napalm, arsenic, and other dangerous things the horsepeople were insisting on giving one another, in order to protect the mortals in his charge from their effects. Fortunately, the horsepeople would never realize they'd been tampered with, nor would Pestilence ever know that Adam altered his cookies to prevent people from actually getting sick. He felt bad for the retired horseman, though, and made it so the cookies would cause anyone who ate them to cough pitifully whenever Pestilence was around.

Adam's last bit of business was to give his own gifts. He'd thought long and hard about it for the last couple of weeks and decided that if he were truly going to be fair, he'd have to give the same gift to every inhabitant of the Manor. It had taken a great deal more thought to determine what this thing should and could be, but he finally had it and he concentrated on it now. As he did so, a golden light began to grow around him. Faint at first, then pulsing with bright energy it expanded to encompass the entire building and all its inhabitants. It flashed for a moment and then grew dim, never fading entirely.

The gift was a promise and nothing more. It was a promise that at some time during the next year every person that it touched would have a single day of perfect happiness. It was all he could give them now.

Exhausted, Adam made himself comfortable on the floor and gazed at the gentle beauty of the world's strangest Christmas tree as he waited for morning.

December 18th

[electrictadpole.livejournal.com]

Newt and Anathema approached the tree, hand in hand. Newt had on a backpack into which Ana had gatuitously stuffed the entire contents of their attic, and they were each carrying a platic bag containing their giftsfor various people, wrapped at home.

"Well, here we are!" Newt said, dumping the backpack on the floor. "Ow. look, it's all decorated already, we didn't need t bring this much stuff!"