Lights flicker on, and a girl steps in.
“Welcome, welcome!” She smiles, clearing her throat. “Today, I have dragged a couple of Lucy’s characters here, and they have… agreed to answer a few questions.” A mischievous grin plasters itself across her lips. “Come on!”
She leads you through a door and into a square shaped room, where a flock of characters gather around the small table, one quietly sitting next to it, one loudly wobbling on crutches, and an older man having a stare-down with a younger boy. Two nearly-identical girls stand off to the side, close together in a deep conversation. A little boy bounces in between them and the girls.
The girl claps her hands together. “Alright, introduce yourselves. Each of you.”
The two girls step away from each other, but the older one keeps hold of the younger’s hand. The younger tosses her head, her long braids whipping around her rich copper skin. “I am Jasira Aystoya,” she says in a thick accent. “Once-princess of Dalhana.”
The older girl winces. “I’m Zy,” she says softly. “Jasira’s older sister.”
The man sneers at everyone around him, but steps forward, his long dark robe swirling about him. “I am Haldoras Jdorin, Emperor of Mastona.”
One of the younger boys shrinks back, his eyes going wide.
“Woah. Wait, wait, wait.” A teenager, dressed in a t-shirt and old jeans, shuffles forward clumsily on a pair of crutches. “Emperor? You’re from a fantasy?”
Jasira raises an eyebrow. “You’re not?”
The teenager blinks. “Okay…uh…show of hands! Who here is from a fantasy?”
All hands but his and another teenage boy–this one dressed in vintage-looking clothing and sitting at the table–go up.
The teenager blinks again, shifting his crutches. “…wow. Anyways…I’m Damian Shepherd, and our author writes WAY too much fantasy.”
The boy at the table chuckles. “And not enough historical fiction,” he says in a thick British accent. “I’m Arthur. Arthur Walters.”
The tiny boy springs forward, his eyes lighting up with excitement. The pointed tips of his ears poke out of his dark, curly hair. “My name is Ronan.” He ‘whispers’ in a voice loud enough to carry across the room and through the rest of the blog.
The last person in the room–the young boy from earlier–flinches as all eyes turn towards him. “I-I’m…Weylin.” He says, barely audible.
“Good. Now, traditions. Does anyone have a favorite Christmas tradition?”
“If untangling endless lights is a tradition…” Damian wrinkles his nose in distaste, “then sure! My sister and I have a huge, never-ending, horribly boring tradition. Otherwise…nope.”
Arthur raises his eyebrows at the teenager. “Singing Christmas carols.” He says, his voice fond with memory.
Haldoras turns towards Weylin, a strange look on his stern face. “I don’t know what this Christmas is, but a certain young boy and I would have our own small celebrations, following the traditions of Mastona’s Doysma, every year.”
A glint of memory flashes across Weylin’s gaze before he ducks his head and flinches further away from the man. “Yeah. Before you started hating that boy.”
“Do any of you have Christmas plans with your family this year?”
Jasira sends a glare Zy’s way. “How about just getting to be with my family this year?”
Zy grimaces, whispering something in her native language.
Arthur watches them with a small frown, absently tapping at the table. “The same as always since Dad died and the war started. Maybe we’ll have enough coupons to buy gifts–maybe we’ll make them again.” He grins. “Don’t tell Mum, but I think Thomas is up to something. I’ve never seen him this excited about Christmas.”
“Oh! Oh!” Ronan springs forward, his former shyness suddenly forgotten. “Zandier said we were going to have a c…ce…cell-e-bration soon!” He stumbles over the long word, his eyes sparkling.
Arthur grins and ruffles up the little boy’s hair.
“What is the best Christmas gift you can remember receiving?”
Weylin hesitantly lifts a hand. “I don’t know if this counts as a Christmas gift… b-but the best gift I ever got was when Aideen surprised me with…” he glances at everyone watching him and stops abruptly, his face going red.
“Would you prefer a white Christmas or a brown one?”
“What in the Countries?” Jasira scoffs. “How can you make a day white or brown?”
Damian snorts. “It’s not the day. It’s how much snow you want. A little? A lot? None?”
Jasira crosses her arms. “And what is this ‘snow?’ Another silly human thing?” She quirks an eyebrow. “What do you do with… ‘snow?’ Build with it? Eat it? Fly on it?”
“Fly on it??”
A word-match ensues and Arthur shakes his head, shifting in his chair. “It never snows much in my part of London. So I’ve always enjoyed a good white Christmas.”
“Frankincense, Gold, or Myrrh?”
Damian breaks away from his spat with Jasira long enough to grin, shifting one crutch. “Meeeerrrr.”
“Ha. So, who here actually knows what Christmas is?”
Only Damian and Arthur’s hands go up.
Damian raises an eyebrow. “Okay…this all suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.”
“…Okay? Favorite colors?”
“Red.” Jasira says immediately, tossing her long, rope-like braids.
Zy bites her lip, tilting her head. “I’ve always loved lavender. Or dark blue.”
Haldoras sneers at the prospect of answering such a juvenile question, but goes along with the others. “Black.”
Weylin shudders. “Anything but black.”
Ronan hops up and down on his heels, grabbing at Arthur’s chair. “Everything!”
Arthur chuckles at the little boy. “Good choice.”
Damian yawns, wobbling slightly as he lets go of one crutch for a split second. “I don’t know. Grey, maybe? Or blue?”
And with that, the lights flicker off as the characters are all returned to their respective docs.
Lulu’s Library 