The Chronicles of Lucius

The Chronicles of Lucius

Christmas

Notes: *squeals* The Christmas chapter! Finally! As if the title of the chapter didn´t give it away, eh? :) I actually had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of this chapter, but - like the previous ch. - I had the idea in the airport on the way to Sweden 2 weeks back. I must have looked a right odd-ball, sitting in the airport, giggling and scribbling stuff down in my pad.

_________________________

Christmas 1992

Hmpf.

No.

Bloody.

Porsche.

~*~

December 26th 1992

Hair braided all neat and pretty-like (wife did it to make up for disappointment. Think self looks v. dapper). Evil glare all spent yesterday (Father smacked self over head with cane and said self was acting like petulant brat. Stuck tongue out at him. Stupid father has no idea what he is talking about). Robes spiffy new ones (and v. nice, surprisingly) from wife´s mother, Esme (managed to avoid having her present for Christmas dinner. V. relieved. Father is barking enough. Esme is ten times worse. V. frightening thought, having father and mother-in-law in same room). Arse better than it was yesterday (Wife was being a pain in arse. In every sense).

All right.

Maybe was a little...ungrateful yesterday.

Yes, Porsche did arrive.

However, self did have vague hopes that wife would realise that self actually wanted FULL-size car, instead of car of equal size to those shown in various posters self had applied to mirrors around house.

Am uncertain how arse (which is looking v. good indeed) is meant to fit into foot-long model of Porsche. Am sure self could find some kind of spell which would increase size of car.

Wizards always provide charms for enlargements of...ah...toys, as - despite what witches claim - size does matter.

On plus side, snake was on front of car and looked v. spiffy.

Also, father´s gift was a v. pleasant surprise.

Father recalled request for train set from twenty-five years ago and has finally brought one for self (Am willing to forgive the rather long wait, as it was sort of self´s fault that father was lost in Asia for that period).

However, father ought to have provided warning that train set had been shrunk to fit container the size of sugar bowl.

Sudden expansion of minute-sized steam engine in living room as soon as self opened box was something of a surprise.

Wife was not best pleased about steam train squashing hideous purple couch (beloved to v. strange wife) that self has subtly been trying to destroy for years (For good karma of living room, of course! Not because it is an affront to anyone with...well...taste).

Am distraught over loss of couch.

Obviously.

Sob.

See?

Also, am rather concerned about how father managed to abscond with entire section of National Indian Railway line, along with steam train, several carriage and a few v. disorientated passengers.

Am sure that passengers were not meant to be included in gift of train set.

Did start to ask father about how it was possible and was patronisingly patted on head by father (obnoxious git!) and told "And that, shun, ish why I´m alwaysh going to be the besht wizard in thish family."

Was tempted to hex him for being annoying old fart, but recalled father is faster.

Will hex him later, when he is sleeping.

Or will knock him unconscious with large rock.

Depends on mood of self and since wife did not get another dia...er...journal for self, am feeling in quite generous mood, esp. since self is looking so v. dapper and dashing with hair in good, old-fashioned braid.

Father has just informed self (and sounded v. hurt when he approached self. Am nearly compelled to feel v. guilty about being ungrateful. Nearly) that he wishes to go outside and play with the muggle passengers of train, if self does not want them.

Oh!

Father did mean for self to have passengers!

Was a mode of father-son bonding!

Father is so spiffy! Wonder how self could ever have disliked him!

Will be back later! Have some muggles to chase around garden with sticks!

~*~

December 29th 1992

Hair all smooth and shiny (thanks to hair-care gift set from son. How well son knows self´s taste. Self sent son another year´s supply of hair-gel. Had to shrink it down to size of shoebox, as self suspected a ton crate containing many jars of hair gel would look v. suspicious. Would not wish to see son picked on for having nancy-boy hair gel he likes so much). Evil glare spent on muggle-games of a few days ago (made fat little man cry with one second of evil glare. Was v. amusing). Robes are practical (self has been... erm... experimenting with wif... CAR! Self has been experimenting with CAR all day yesterday, day before and day before that and am suitably grubby - will explain grubbiness shortly. Is v. unusual, but has v.... interesting side effect). Arse - hot property!

Have done more father son bonding, before he headed to London for a couple of days to seek out old friends and find some v. high class New Year parties for family to gate-crash, without invites (We are so v. evil!).

Did not think it was possible to actually like father, but twenty-five years in the wilds seem to have tamed him a little.

Either that, or self really was a greedy, grasping little brat when self was young.

Hmm.

Prefer to stick with concept of father being tamed (Even though it seems impossible for any-one/-thing/-continent to tame madcap homicidal father, who, on sidenote, was v. not pleased about missing out on whole long campaign of Dark Master.

Am actually rather glad that father was absent - otherwise, self would never had reached high and v. evil standing that self did. After all, Dark Master is v. partial to Scottish accent. Manky git is accentist!

Self is not at all jealous of father´s v. sexy accent.

Not that father has sexy accent!

Not at all!

Self was being hypothetical about accents and that Scottish accent of father (although, why head of our family originally from France has Scottish accent self has yet to work out) may be construed as sexy by people who like sexy accents.

ANYWAY!!

On to grubbiness.

Have some v. unusual robes for practical work.

Actually, robes may be normal for average wizard to wear for working. Self normally does not partake in manual labour, so not recognising particular work robes is hardly v. surprising.

Today, though, thought that self ought to look the part while tinkering with car (which is now full sized, but has plastic interior. Grr. Must work on finding out how engine works, so self can fit one. Or steal one from other Porsche. Or steal other Porsche. So many options available), so self donned spiffy robes without sleeves and with fitted trousers called `dun-gur-ease´.

While outfit looked utterly ridiculous, had effect of baring arms (which are v. toned after months of house-elf-hurling) and much of naked chest (which looks rather good too. Should be illegal for one person to look so good).

Was v. surprised when wife appeared in garage (which self added six months ago in anticipation of Porsche. Am sure garage should probably be on outside of house and not in attic, but believe it works equally well).

Was even more surprised when wife started ogling self like self was hotter than usual, which was v. odd, esp. since self´s hair was all over self´s face and self was looking a little flushed (Could see reflection in hood of car - another v. good reason for having v. spiffy silver colour).

Asked wife what she wanted.

Wife made garbled response about working man and sexy.

Next thing self knew, self was pinned on hood of car and was certainly not objecting as wife showed just why dun-gur-ease have word `ease´ in them. Am sure wife has never got trousers off self so quickly before.

Apparently, wife has fetish for something called `grease monkey´.

Am sure that this is reference to human and not some...ape.

Would be v. displeased to be compared to monkey, but have found that wife is happy to pop into workshop every day, just to dispatch dun-gur-ease and show self why hood of Porsche is...rather spiffy.

Wife apparently likes robes and seeing self attempting to make car work.

Wife also offered bottles of oil and grease, claiming that such things were essential when working on a car. Have decided that, in order to maintain wife´s hourly visits to garage, will humour her.

When wife entered garage this afternoon and found self in work-garb, with wizard-style wrench in hand and grease on hands and forearms, wife uttered feeble squeak of delight, then fainted.

Was very good for self´s ego.

Wife is v. easily pleased, but will not let that detract from giddy glow.

Unfortunately, Porsche´s shiny bonnet now has rather noticeable dent right in the middle where wife - once she had regained consciousness and got wide and silly grin off her face - pounced self.

Will have to call in actual mechanic to sort that.

Self repaired it, but dent was immediately replaced when wife - stunned by self´s prowess at motor repair - slide-tackled self onto hood again and threw dun-gur-ease across room within seconds.

Will have to have bonnet reinforced.

Am actually now v. pleased that wife actually did bugger up with car.

Fake-Porsche has provided much more interesting results than average Porsche would and can always start dropping subtle hints for real Porsche for self´s fortieth birthday in a few months.

After all, is big birthday, involving a zero on end of number, therefore, self deserves something special.

Not that self will be old.

Self will be...mature, like fine wine.

Fine wine that wants a real Porsche.

Will have to look into it.

Now, though, wife has just snuck back into garage. Have sneaking suspicion she wants to see what progress self has made and self lying on stomach on bonnet of car, writing Chronicles is hardly action of `grease monkey´.

Will write later.

~*~

December 31st 1992

Hair beyond perfect (and wife´s looks equally stunning). Evil-glare turned to slightly arrogant and v. proud-of-self-and-arse look (Am going out in public in short time and would not desire to be arrested for evil-glaring various ministry-types). Robes look top of the range, esp. on self´s damn fine arse. Arse - as mentioned - is damn fine.

Self, wife and father are about to go out for a night on the tiles.

New year is hardly significant big deal, but since wife and self do so love being seen in public, looking all glamorous and whatnot, it is best time of year to don best robes and go out together.

On most other occasions, self and wife go to different dos separately, so that we will not stun the populace with stunning good looks, as it may cause damage with so many people staring at us and not looking where they are going.

Heard that a broomstick collision was fault of wife and self last year (although later found out that wife´s skirt was stuck in waistband of her scant knickers and she was flashing her bum at world. Is possible that is what distracted two male broom riders and will not look into symbolism of woman´s arse making two men snap their flying phallic symbols by crashing into on another´s arms...).

So, self and wife seldom go out in public together.

However, when we do, we go out in style.

Wife looking absolutely edible.

Wife had to change dress after she entered self´s rooms and looked so bloody good that self had to immediately show wife what wifely duties are and, unfortunately, the dress suffered.

So, wife is wearing the not-quite-as-spectacular dress.

Thankfully.

If wife was wearing spectacular dress, self would have to kill anyone who dared to look at her. Self might just do that anyway. For fun.

Father, though, may succeed in reducing self and wife´s credibility for looking v. spiffy as father is insisting on wearing skirt.

Oh, pardon, father.

Kilt.

Father intends to wear kilt.

Have been informed that kilts are sign of dominant manliness in Scotland. Suppose that if man was brave enough to wear kilt in Highlands and not get living poo kicked out of him for being soft nancy girl, he would have to be v. formidable.

However, am still unsure of necessity of sporran.

Sporran is v. oddly shaped little bag which hands right in front of crotch area.

Father said something about keeping oats in it...

Am beginning to have severe doubts about father´s sanity (or what was left of it after years in Asia. Not that he had much to begin with, but self won´t nitpick on it, as father did manage to find spiffy party to crash. Somewhere called Balmoral...).

Anyway, best finish now.

Wife has polished cane head for self and father and wife are ready to go.

Will write more in the new year.