Mr. Bishop made himself quite at home in our little apartment, and very quickly took to taking over Miss/Sir McKale's position as master of the house. It was no longer my employer who called upon my services to run baths, iron clothes, and fetch a cup of Earle Grey in the morning, but Mr. Bishop, who took no little delight in seeing me wait on him hand and food. I was beginning to believe quite heartily that I had surely insulted some deity out there, who, much like Bishop, was taking no little delight in seeing me suffer. Shar had to repeatedly remind me that he was, indeed, working on a plan, simply to keep me from giving in the towel, as the saying goes.
The next few days following Mr. Bishop's self invited residence were more than a little trying on my patience, my resolve, and my state of mind. I was beginning to feel more and more like Alice after sliding down the rabbit hole.
And Christmas was upon us, more than that, I would be forced to leave the house to retrieve a few gifts for my employer, Shar, and Cy. This, in turn, and rather unfortunately, meant I would be forced to leave them home alone with Bishop. I have never been one to leave my Christmas shopping (or anything else for that matter) until the last minute, but this year I found myself with little choice but to do so.
I was not even certain how I felt about leaving Shar alone with their little group. I did indeed think him competent to keep himself out of harm's way, but I was no longer positive as to how far away from harm he wanted to be.
Never-the-less, Christmas morning came with little conflict or mishap between our respective groups. My only wish, at the time, was for it to stay like that. But I have found, lately, that my wishes rarely come true.
.:.:.::.:.:.
Shar lay awake on the couch, various limbs strewn out over the cushions or tucked close to his body to give him room (and keep him warm under the comforter Jeffrey had given him), head craned so he could stare across the room at the make-shift Christmas tree propped up in the center of the living room. Shar had, unlike Cy, known precisely what Christmas was. It wasn't as if he had been terribly keen on finding anything out about it, but it just so happened that, while he was researching, he stumbled across a website or two who'd done up their theme in the typical holiday style. Shar was curious.
He flicked his gaze toward the clock, its white face gleaming in the otherwise stark darkness of the apartment. 6:29
Shar rested his head back against his forearms.
It hadn't been quite a week yet, since Bishop had wormed his way into the apartment. A normally courteous and charming fellow, really, but Shar had been in Jeffrey's head (and asked him about Bishop on more than one occasion), and it was quite apparent to him that Bishop, apart from being a wealthy gentleman and a successful diplomat, was also a dashed good actor.
And he was smart. One does not become so terribly good at leading a double life without being intelligent and savvy. Shar frowned, brow furrowing. Pulling off his plan was going to be no easy f-
"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE."
Shar lifted his head, propping himself up on the couch.
A bedroom door slammed open and there was a heavy patter of feet slapping against the hard wood hall floor. A flurry of white skidded past the corner and tumbled into the room, stopping short of the Christmas tree.
"He was here!" McKale, dressed only is silhouette and robe, gripped the collar of said clothing and bounced around on the balls of his...her feet, squealing again. He...she...stopped momentarily to bend over the presents, squinting eyes at a few of the name tags. McKale bit his...her lip, turned on heel, and raced down the hall with a crowed,” Jeffrey!"
Shar sat up, pushing his blanket to the floor, and slid off the couch.
Across the room, curled up in the armchair, Cyilume cracked open an eye,"Shar?"
Shar cocked his head and lifted his brow.
"There's no use in me going back to sleep, is there?"
Shar shook his head. Cy wrinkled her nose and let out a sigh before joining him on the floor.
.:.:.::.:.:.
Gift giving commenced as soon as McKale managed to wrangle everyone from their beds, clothes weren't bothered with and (with the exception of Tor and Dagstae, who slipped back into their coats), and the majority of the little group piled around the Christmas tree were clad in nightclothes. McKale hadn't bothered to slip into something gender-defining, but informed the group, after a little good-natured suggestion from Jeffrey, that he would be male today. Which really came as no surprise, as he'd been male since Bishop sauntered into the apartment.
Another suggestion from Jeffrey, Shar knew. No need to inform Bishop of how good McKale could pull off both genders. Jeffrey, Shar realized quite early on, did not want to bring any abnormal attention to anyone while Bishop was residing with them. Shar himself had even been warned not to shape shift again until he'd left.
The gifts were quickly snatched up and unwrapped, and Shar was unsurprised to see that even Tor and Dagstae received a good few from McKale (and one or two small things labeled 'Santa Claus', which Jeffrey had done up to appease his employer). There were a goodish amount of books strewn about for each of them, including a hard cover copy of the complete Sherlock Holmes collection, from Jeffrey to Shar. A couple pinstripe trousers and a long tailored jacket for McKale (from Jeffrey), and a pair of beautiful Edwardian dresses (from Bishop). Cy had received every last oddly colored sock McKale could find (both from his own collection and through shopping), as well as an electronic encyclopedia (paid for by Jeffrey, but 'from' Shar), and a couple of interesting silver trinkets from Bishop, nothing useful, but certainly pretty and classy. McKale had also taken it upon himself to give everyone a Santa hat, including himself, which he urged them all to wear whether or not they wanted to. (Jeffrey donned his with little resistance, and through that reaction Shar assumed that this was a tradition that went on every year).
All in all, there were more than enough presents to go around, and no one was left unhappy.
The last few gifts found themselves extracted from the safety of the tree's branches. One was passed along the chain toward Jeffrey, who shifted his grip on a garbage bag full of brightly colored wrapping paper to accept it. McKale was squirming in his seat (tucked between Tor and Dagstae, he'd gotten rather chummy with them over the past few days), eyes wide and a grin threatening to split his face in two. Jeffrey carefully ripped off the paper and tossed it in the bag before giving the object a good once over.
It was a book. A rather simple looking thing, leather bound and black, with a little strap that went from the front to the back, kept together by a gold buckle. On the front of the cover was the word 'Journal' printing in bold, sylfaen letters.
Jeffrey lifted it a little, nodding his head at McKale,"Thank-you, sir."
McKale's face flushed and his grin widened impossibly further,” Think nothing of it, Jeffrey old thing." He dove back under the tree to collect the last two. Shar watched him pull the pair forward, squint his eyes at the names, and shove them back under before sitting upright again.
"Who're those for, little sir?" Tor (or Dagstae, it was rather hard to tell them apart) asked, leaning toward the two gifts.
"Our dinner guest,” replied McKale, pointing to one, a cube-shaped thing, about a palm's width in height,” And..."he paused, ducking his head and gnawing his lips,” And my bond. Just because he, or she, rather, isn't born yet doesn't mean sh- h-." McKale stopped, gaping a little,"Oh rum, this is rather difficult, isn't it?"
Jeffrey let out a quiet chuckle, barely audible, and stood, bringing the garbage bag up with him,” Shall I make breakfast, sir?"
"Oh, yes indeed, Jeffrey,” he craned his neck and shot him a grin,” Customary Christmas breakfast, I should think."
"Certainly, sir, I dare not make anything else on Christmas morning."
McKale's grin widened.
.:.:.::.:.:.
Evening rolled around lazily, with everyone comfortable to just lie about and enjoy their presents, reading books or waltzing back and forth down the hall showing off new outfits and trinkets. Shar watched it all over the brim of his Sherlock Holmes book, his goggles snapped over his eyes even though he didn't need them. It was easier to watch people if they didn't realize they were being watched.
Jeffrey, who had changed into his customary black suit, was tending to the supper, leaning against the counter with one of his new novels in hand. Even he, it seemed, decided to relax a little for Christmas. Shar had noticed he'd been taking a keen interest in peering at McKale's neck when he wasn't looking, and finally those bruises he'd been watching had disappeared. A happy Christmas gift in itself, Shar thought.
McKale himself (and Cy, with her new trinkets), were playing model with their new clothes. Tor and Dagstae acted as audience, cheering and calling whenever they appeared around the corner and did their little turn-about. Really rather nice fellows, they were, despite first appearances.
Shar extracted his gaze from the group and locked eyes with Bishop, sprawled across the armchair with a D.H Lawrence novel in hand and a smirk on his face.
Shar's brow furrowed, and he made to open his mouth. The doorbell rang before he could say anything.
Jeffrey dog-eared his page and moved to answer the door. Bishop was up and out of his seat before he even made it passed the table. The door was eased open to reveal a tall, scaly looking creature.
McKale stopped mid-swirl to stare at him,"Burnig!"
The creature's gaze was instantly drawn to McKale and he bobbed his head with a grin, opening arms wide.
McKale gave a little crow and rushed forward, tossing arms around the thing's neck and planting a kiss on the fellow's cheek,” Happy Christmas!" He rushed back into the room to collect his present from beneath the Christmas tree.
Burnig stepped into the room, and Jeffrey moved to his side to collect his coat and hat, hanging it on the rack before returning to the kitchen, casting a wary glance at Bishop. Bishop cocked a brow and moved back to his own seat without a word.
"Ye've got quite a few guests over this year, Tierney."
"Oh, yes, well,"McKale waved a hand dismissively and reappeared, gift in hand.
The room was getting crowded.
"Jeffrey?" Shar slid off the couch, abandoning his book against the arm, and padded toward the kitchenette.
Jeffrey peered over his shoulder, brow arched,” Yes, Mr.Tah?"
"I'd like to take a walk, may I?"
Jeffrey nodded and turned back to his cooking. Shar hummed quietly and moved toward the door.
"I think I vill as well."
Shar could feel Jeffrey tense across the room. He craned his neck, watching as Bishop rose off the armchair to stand at Shar's side. Shar gave a little nod and continued toward the door. He felt, rather than saw, the smirk Bishop shot Jeffrey as he followed Shar into the main hall.
.:.:.::.:.:.
"You are Shar, is that correct?"
Shar nodded his head. It was much nicer out here in the streets of Star City, the wind (or artificial air conditioners) ruffling his fur and cooling his skin and scales,"Shar'voras Tah."
"Hm,"a smile spread itself over Bishop's lips,” Jeffrey is much too formal, is he not? You are his bond, and he calls you Mr.Tah."
"On occasion." Which was probably habit more than anything. Jeffrey had very little opportunity to refer to anyone by their first names. Even Bishop was rarely called 'Erich', despite the man's insistence that Jeffrey refer to him as such.
"You enjoy living here?"
Shar nodded.
"It is a small apartment, can Mister McKale not afford anything else?"
"It's temporary,” said Shar with a shrug. He flicked his ears back, brow wrinkled,” If you wanted more space you could have rented your own room."
Bishop gave a chuckle and leaned his head back against the building,”Ja, but that would be no fun."
"Jeffrey tells me you're hiding from someone."
Bishop stilled, his arm, resting against Shar's shoulder, tensed a little.
"Ja...yes."
Shar looked up at him, ears perked,” Who?"
"Hm,"Bishop looked away, digging through his jacket pocket and producing a carton of cigarettes. He slipped one between his lips and produced a lighter from his pocket, burning the tip. He inhaled sharply before tucking the cigarette between his fingers and exhaling a billow of smoke,” His name is Vilbur Vinquist."
Shar smirked, nodding his head. Of course.