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a-gal-with-taste · 1 year

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Certainties & Mistletoe

Summary: Mistletoe, the only decoration the old bastard could bear to stand during the winter-months. You thought it harmless, simple and almost forgettable... but the event it causes, is anything-but.

Ebenezer Scrooge & F!Reader | 2469 Words | AO3

Part 2 | Part 3

Tags: Oneshot, mistletoe-troupe, humor, internal-thoughts, boss/employee relationship, pre-prelationship, first-kiss, pining (??), Scrooge being a grump (shocker), open-ended, haven't watched the movie, just think Scrooge is kinda-

A/N: I have. No excuse. But blame @sweatandwoe and Netflix anyways, because they had no rights, but caused this anyways.

Upmost in certainty, were these three facts:

One, that Ebenezer Scrooge was the richest man in this district of London.

Two, that Ebenezer Scrooge was the most miserable, selfish, cold-hearted miser in the district, possibly in the country, certainly within the distract.

And three, that Ebenezer Scrooge kissed sweetly enough, that one could nearly forget the prior two-facts.

Or, rather... the Master Ebenezer didn't exactly kiss you back. In fact he didn't little much of anything, and remaining-still as you pressed your own lips, delicate as the falling-flecks of white, to his.

Was it a mistake? Undoubtedly.

Foolish? Certainly, you could be out in a slum-house come tomorrow morning, dismissed in disgrace.

But, the mistletoe... oh, it was silly, but the it had looked so inviting! Berries casted soft glow in the nearby light of lanterns, spiked leaves untouched with frost.

The one-decoration the old bastard had enough paitence to withstand, and of course, it had been your demise. Like the temptation of the apple, like the god of hell-itself beckoning, you had almost been eager to lean-forth towards your doom.

Foolish, stupid, silly mistake, one that could ruin you.

And yet, you didn't pull back.

And neither did he.

From the moment you had spoken his name, soft as snow's first-fall on the porch, the sole movement Ebenezer managed, before you cupped a hand over a sturdy, well-trimmed cheek, stood high on the tip of your toes, and sealed your fate by pressing his lips to your own.

He had yet to pull back.

Yet to move entirely, speak, or... frankly, you feared he lost the ability to breathe.

Ironically, it was that fact that finally convinced you to retract from the man. Not the fact this was Master Scrooge, nor even that your future was as uncertain as a ship traversing through rock-laden waters onto certain doom...

But the fact that your simple kiss, had been enough to completely halt the miser entirely.

Heels kiss the ground in silence, as open your eyes to gaze at the looming man, who, indeed, was in some-sort of state of inanimation. More frozen than an hanging-icicle, your gaze flicked from an unrising-chest, tightly-pursed lips, eyes sightlessly staring-forth, and a distinct lack of pale-clouds emanating from mouth or nostrils.

One could almost fear the kiss had been enough to kill him.

You, however, always preferred being of the optimistic-sort, if a bit realistic.

Assuming the less-dire, you took another step back, and spoke as if Ebenezer was still residing well-into the land of conscious thought and reality, and not clearly miles-away in snowy clouds. "Forgive me, sir. That was a poor-choice, and you have my sincerest apology for my action, I... I have no excuse."

Well, there was one excuse. But you could hardly blame a decorative plant.

Speaking of it, though it was a bit of a strain, your fingers tugged the innocent, demonic little pest from the doorway free. The ribbon it was attached to fluttered simply to the ground, but you dared not stoop to pick it up - instead, placing the plant in the certain of your palm, you held it out between yourself and your employer.

A peace offering.

Though this was an event that was anything but peaceful, you still held out the offending object with a brief smile, one that wobbled at the corners. Not just with the shivers of your body, but with the slow-looming knowledge of what you had just done, and what it would cost you.

What was the price, of a simple kiss?

Scrooge, a most professional businessman, would surely be able to tell you. But he seemed rather strained with words, speech made entirely impossible even as life resumes within him, thank God...

He is able to blink. Twice, before his eyes dropped down to yours, than down to what was effectively, the murder-weapon of your current employment in your palm, before his mouth moved to form a single-word:

"What."

"I'm sorry," You said again, shaky smile fading, but the trembling of your lips moved instead to reside your voice. "I-i... there is no excuse. I can only offer an apology, which I do... I do so quite, quite heartily, Mister Scrooge."

Worrying at your bottom lip, your own eyes followed the same trajectory as his own. Darting from his unreadable, unblinking eyes, and those damning plump-red berries held aloft in your gloved-palm.

Something wet, almost burning in comparison to the winter's chill, began to prick at the back of your eyelids, before finally, large and dark-clad gloves decended down onto your hand.

Pinching the culprit between his fingers like a sixpence, when he raised it to eyelevel for inspection, you dropped your own gaze to settle down near the ground. You couldn't help noting how perfectly his boots gleamed in a somber-black, causing the snowflakes that fell upon it to be in a perfect outline.

A distraction. Welcomed, but you roused yourself from it to face reality, even if you kept your gaze well-averted.

"I shall pack upon the morrow, if it suits you," You whispered, words trapped on a small cloud of frigid air, and releasing near-silently between you both. "You shant see me again, Master Scrooge, if it is in your desire... I fear that is the minimal I can offer for my transgression. I'm sorry. P-please... please accept it, as my truest apology."

"... ahem."

You raised your gaze, now truly stinging with the weight of water at your lashes, but a singular blink was quick to ease them away. Despair faded, replaced by confusion at the... oddest expression on the face of Ebenezer Scrooge.

He had turned away from you, unsurprisingly. Perhaps he couldn't stomach the sight of such unruly behavior from an otherwise acceptable-maid, but had a rather fixated-attention on the small branch of green and red in his fingers.

And, apparently, on his collar.

He was adjusting it, clearing his throat periodically, as his attention remained averted from your own growing-bewilderment, and remained steadfast on loosening his tight-cravat.

"... Master?"

Another clearing of his throat. Without the guide of his facial-expression, you were unable to discern his exact emotions at this given-moment, but you deduced that it was a scoff of acknowledgement, and attempted to salvage yourself once-more.

"I... shall guess you will have me return-early, to do a days work before my final departure? Or shall I, perhaps, remain the evening so-as to prepare for my replacement on the morrow-"

Unlikely he would find-one willing enough to work for the miser, even with the steady-promise of coin, but it was a possibility quickly-forgotten with his sudden-snap, like a whip of words.

"What foolishness. You think I shall take-up the duster, the broom in your absence?"

You blinked. The dust had been nearly an inch-thick on your first day of working, you half-imagined the man didn't know such objects of cleaning existed. "I... I only thought-"

"-that I would discard a perfectly-suitable maid? Bah, don't be absurd." You were not exempt from the trademark scorn that caused many in London to wince at the mere-mention of the name Scrooge, but it was... muted?

Certainly not softer, and lacking even the basics of kindness, but... you did not flinch. Only blinked, and quietly asked the man what he would like you to do now.

The dark, rich leather-gloves creaked as his pinched-fingers tightened sharply on the deep-emerald stalk. Silence reigned, in a muted-world where little existed, save for the soft-falling snow, the two of them, and the mistletoe in his grasp.

Then, after another strange clearing of his throat, Scrooge brought words into the small, trapped-reality the two of you shared.

"What would like, is for you to go home," He commanded sharply. "And ensure my coin is put to good use, by arriving back here on the morrow, on-time."

You blinked. "You... would like me to return? Even after-"

"Was it not what I said?" Ebenezer interrupted, voice even sharper than before... no. Now it bordered on shrill, something choked. "You certainly won't be if you were to catch a chill, a likely consequence if you were to remain-out any longer on this night."

It's a dismissal, but one that barely registers until he jerks his head back, briefly facing you with the gesture.

The sight of cheeks, dusted in a deep-pink besides his well-trimmed salt-and-pepper sideburns, is enough to make you blink. Certaiy, the chill is enough to coax a darker-shade onto one's skin, and you know that you have some frost-nipped skin of your own, but Scrooge's shade was enough to worry you.

Others might dance a jig at the thought of old Ebenezer Scrooge catching a chill, long-standing karma being served at last, but a burst of worry still resides within you.

The thought of ailment or illness befalling the gentleman, even if that gentleman was Scrooge, was enough to grant you concern at the sight of reddened-cheeks. Emotion outfitted sense, as you stepped forward. "Sir, are you quite well-?"

"Go home," He snapped, the sound harsh and reverberating through gritted teeth. More akin to a growl of a hunter than man, causing you, the prey, frozen in your steps with wide-eyes. "I hardly plan to pay you for remaining later-hours, and I will still expect you upon the morrow without delay. It would be, in your upmost best interest, to leave."

A dismissal.

Ebenezer Scrooge was... letting you off, with only a dismissal.A mere be-gone for the evening, no different than any other you have received in the days-past, if a little more scornful than the rest.

You'd be a fool not to take this gift, perhaps the only the old bastard could provide - absolution, an escape from this humiliation transgression.

You would be a fool not to take it. Yet, you're the kind of fool to hesitate.

Not long - you don't have a death-wish, despite recent actions may otherwise suggest - but after another moments' pause to study the man, you hesitated curstied in obedient politeness, gathering your skirts high-enough to step down the ice-slick porch-steps.

You had little fear of falling, having traversed this walk on the daily, but some part of you felt quite uncertain.

As if the axis of the world has shifted, in some form or the other, and you walked down the steps with uncertainty of what exactly it was.

And how different your world would look, come morning.

For the moment, longing to remain in normalcy, you turned and called back your quiet, routine salutations to the Master - or rather his back. He had yet to face you fully.

"Good-night, Mister Scrooge."

Stepping down the lane with a tug of your shawl tighter around you, the streetlamp you pass-by offers temporary warmth, refuge from the uncertainty and the unsteadiness beneath your feet...

"Good-night."

... which became only more unsturdy beneath your heels, at the sound of Ebenezer Scrooge, the most miserable man in town, wishing you a good night.

Unheard of.

Inconceivable.

The gentleman had never provided you with a pleasantry in all the time you've known him, and yet now, it's offered in a way that could almost be described, daresay, as soft.

A sharp turn, harsh pivot, that miraculously doesn't send you sprawling onto the ice-slick path, but it's too late. The click of the cane on cobble is enough to signal his retreat, and the sight of his back, shawl catching on a snowy-breeze, is enough to confirm his escape before you can question it.

Before you can question if it had even happened at all, or if the snow-filled wind carried words as well as ice.

Perhaps you had fallen into madness - surely, the only true explanation for your lapse in good-sense in the first-place.

It was a more pleasing thought, than whatever it could possible mean that Scrooge felt the urge to offer a nicety after such transgression, and one you worked-steadfast of to convincing yourself at, all the way to your small apartment several blocks over.

It was the one-comfort you found, once dressed and tucked beneath your sheets. The solace was well-suited for your buzzing mind, the delusion that his parting-words were merely something of illusion enough to send you into a restful-sleep.

So restful, that you quite nearly forgot the incident entirely upon return to the waking-world.

Certainly, the motification remained in regards to your own-actions, which you were certain had occurred in reality. There came moments when your lips seemed to recall a soft, unfamiliar presence when memories returned of the incident, ensuring you did not forget it.

Apology, one in daylight and well-rehearsed to display true remorse, was well in-order.

You also suspected such would put your mind to ease. While the gentleman had seemed keen to erase the moment in the minutes-following, you resigned to put the event of transgression well-out of your mind, as well as the impossibility of good-night that had followed, and an assurance that such behavior would never transpire-again.

Closing the chapter entirely, and forgetting it's contents.

Including the one where you imagined Ebenezer Scrooge, of all people, wishing you a good-night.

Absurdity!

Such fantasy was only liable and expected to be forgotten entirely, in order to move-forward in life. And when you stepped into his buisness the following-morning, you had intended to do just that. Begin to forget the fact that you had kissed Ebenezer Scrooge, and in response, he had bid you good-night.

That had been your plan.

Your first-step towards normalcy, the first stride back into stability, and you had taken it into his office with an optimistic smile hinting at your face, as you pushed open the door.

Your plan to move-past the incident was foiled immediately, when you opened the door to the man's office.

Catching sight of that same accursed sprig of spiked-green and perfect red-berries, atop Mister Ebenezer Scrooge's otherwise entirely plain-desk, and settle in a filled-glass of water.

Preserving the event with it's allowed continued existence.

And once-more shifting reality into realms uncertain, when steele-blue raise from endless inspection of the cut-plant, to entourage gaze in an examination of equal-intensity.

The gaze neutralized. Becoming safely familiar, even as the words that followed, were not.

"Good morning."

And you realized, it would not be so-easy to return to what reality had been. Before the night prior where you had taken the apple, the hand-to-hell, in the form of following the practice of mistletoe.

Because, there was now no possibility to return from when-once-you-came.

A fact solidified, when you opened your mouth, and whispered in-repeat words you never thought such a miserable man was capable of saying to you...

"Good morning."

... but the fact that he did, was a fact that confirmed that change was here, like the days' fresh-blanket of cool snow upon the city of London.

A change refreshing, despite the uncertainty it held for the winter ahead.

#how could netflix do this?#scrooge: a christmas carol #scrooge 2022 #scrooge 2022 x reader #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge x reader #netflix #reader insert #this is only 50% joke #guess what the other 50% is #fanfic #female reader #scrooge fanfic #writing #christmas

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a-gal-with-taste · 1 year

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Certainties & Mistletoe - Part 2

Summary: Mistletoe, the only decoration the old bastard could bear to stand during the winter-months. You thought it harmless, simple and almost forgettable... but the events it causes, is anything-but.

Ebenezer Scrooge & F!Reader | 4946 Words |

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Tags: Slow-burn, humor, banter, internal-thoughts, boss/employee relationship, maid!Reader, some world-building, pining (?!?), denial of feelings/everyone has denial, Scrooge being a grump (shocker), I literally don't know where this is going but gosh is it fun

A/N: Second chapter. Why? Haven't figured it out yet, and also don't know where this is going. Enjoy the ride!

If anything was affixed in reliability in regards to your strange-sort of new-reality, it was the fact that it was difficult to ignore that pesky little sprig.

Not just difficult.

Quite impossible, actually, considering it sat prominent at the corner of the undecorated desk of Mister Ebenezer Scrooge.

A desk currently unoccupied.

The district of Cornhill in its entirety left shaken by the sight of such a man on the prowl, particularly in this season’s time. Pity as it was to wish-upon the innocent the presence of Scrooge, you felt free alone in his business-quarters as you went-about your normal, average routine...

As normal as could be, with the singular reminder of your transgression still sitting upright and full of life, on that small glass of water at the miser’s desk. Right there... right there, out in the open, for all, and especially the Master-himself, to see!

It felt like a mockery. Taunting you, with a memory already half-repressed, forcing it back into the forefront every time you saw the spiky-leaves from the corners of vision, the crimson berries gleaming-still in candlelight...

You half-thought the thing lived-on, refusing to even consider wilting, just out of spite.

Henceforth, why you chose to regard it with an eye full of loathing, and offer a wide-berth around its immediate proximity. A fact that was as ridiculous, as it was entirely unignorable by parties not-privy to your internal conflict.

“Miss?”

You hummed in a way that proved you were listening, despite the venomous staring-match you were engaged-in. With a plant.

“Fairly sure those berries are only poisonous when eaten... they don’t jump out ‘atcha, frankly.”

Ah, Robert - though he swore that Bob was the name written on record - ever the relieving fresh-air in the stifling atmosphere that was Marley and Scrooge. His humor politely-stifled on most days to appease his mentor and employer, the brief freedom allowed between the hours of mid-morning, to five hours past-noon, were well-spent with an easy smile, and a more at-eased attitude.

Usually, it was a well-welcomed attitude.

But the mischief that gleams in bi-colored eyes, that shift from yourself and to the out-of-place sprig, is enough to leave you wary before he even speaks.

“Though I can’t quite decide... whether your loathing comes from its poison, or spikes. Have you pricked yourself, perchance?”

“Were I lacking more wit than I currently possess, perhaps, but I am not-yet that clumsy,” You insist, but there’s a small smile shared from you to him, one that does-away with most of the troubled glint in your eyes. Most.

“Strange, ‘innit?” He hummed in that almost-sweet, disarming way that had earned your gratefulness early-on in your employment. “Thought I’d be a-long into some great beyond before ol’ Ebenezer decided to stock up on decorations.”

It’s spoken all in light joviality - out of respect, seasonal mood of jolly or legitimate amusement at the old man, you weren’t certain - but the second-opinion of the foul little thing does little to ease your mood.

Your eyes slowly trail-back to it, nails digging into the meat of your palms as they tightened into fists.

“I would think the very-same,” You murmur, eventually finding yourself able to turn your back on the desk and what resides there, in order to begin work along the shelves, all under Cratchit’s keen gaze. Keen, very-much curious, and unfortunately, eager for gossip to pass the hours.

“Well then. Have you any idea why he-?”

“Why-what? Who knows why that man does anything he-wills to do?” Too hasty, you knew, not only by how swiftly eyebrows shot-up, nearly touching his hairline.

Honesty would relieve you of some of the worry, you knew.

But it also seemed unbearable. To admit one's misconduct was enough of an embarrassment, but the crime-committed felt so much more severe than a slip in composure or social-graces...

Yet, it only took another lingering stare at the surviving twig of holly, before you wrung the dusting cloth between your fingers, “Mister Cratchit, have you ever done something truly... dreadful?”

No one would ever think a dear such as Bob capable of anything less-than goodness, but the copper-haired lad nodded rather quickly. “Oh, indeed! Rightfully so, my missus never lets me forget it.”

Stunned, breath caught between two-lungs, you asked out in a rush what it was.

“Thirty minutes late, I was, to own second girls’ arrival.” He confessed, a great and sorrowful light entering the eyes of two-shades as he wags his chin mournfully. “Nothing more-dreadful than that, Miss. It’s only out of blessing and that gold-heart of hers, that Kathie has never scorned me for it.”

Your heart sank - not necessarily from the story, though you did pity the family-loving man - but because it wasn’t even remotely-comparable to your own situation, and all the complications that now come with it.

Though, likely being the sole-woman alive who has so-willingly bestowed a kiss upon the lips of Ebenezer Scrooge, there was very-likely none to properly seek confidence-in.

So, physically shaking your thoughts from mind, you turned your inquiry to a subject far-less combustible, and humiliating. “Yet another child I find myself privy to be learning-of. Tell me, Robert, what good have I done to deserve such knowledge?”

“Bob, or Mister Cratchit if-you-please,” He corrected immediately, but with a pleased grin assuring you that no-offense was taken. “Two-years anniversary comes soon, since you’ve strode into this very office. It seemed appropriate.”

“In a way of celebration, I trust?”

“No other way I would speak of your presence here, miss.” The assurance is cut off, as Bob raps his knuckles upon his desk once, twice, with a canine briefly worrying at a chapped-lip before he continues. “That, and... well, you might very well privy to the sight of my children, soon enough. Two of them, to be exact.”

“Oh, Mister Cratchit, surely you don’t desire to host them among the company here.” You certainly had no issue with their attendance, but the office of Scrooge and the late Mister Marley was hardly a place of welcome for children.

“Oh no, they’d be so horribly bored, and Mister Scrooge would likely be-” A darting of eyes, much akin to your own, is paired with a gulp as he lays a gaze upon the somber work-station of the man-himself. “... displeased. But Kathie is of-age to begin work, with a voice as lovely as the Queen’s, I'd say! She might design to come ‘round upon her day, with my little man.”

“A son, too?”

“Tim, man ‘o the house when I'm here, hard at work!” The declaration is spoken with pride, and it’s quite easy to respond with a small smile at the proud-father.

Perhaps it was selfish, but discussion of his life, rather than your own recent actions, was far more welcomed, even as something terribly weary entered his eyes before he continued.

“My... my boy would dowell with walking. Winter has never-quite been a friend with him, and... well. It’s come to the point where the exercise is much-needed, y’see, and I-”

“Mister Cratchit,” You interjected, sympathy in your eyes. “You need-not explain further. Perpetuating your woes with my curiosity was never an intention.” And it was clear, even with a lapse of details, that the situation with the Cratchit’s son was a woe-indeed.

“Right... right!” It was now his turn to shake-himself free of his troubles, which he did with a zeal that left his bright-copper hair to flip over his forehead. “Well, regardless... Miss, ‘ve no-doubt they’ll make the occasional trip! ‘Tis only natural for Cratchits to wish in staying-close, even when hard-at-work, though I can assure you, they’ll keep their business outside!”

“Tis not me you need to assure-this-to, but the caution is appreciated.” And the fact gave you plenty more to mull-over between the repetitiveness of your daily routine, dust collected and shaken-off the dusting-cloth with practiced ease. “Have I time and ability, I can spare a cuppa, warm, for the little-ones.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you-”

“And you haven’t, it’s merely an offer,” The smile you gave back was meant to invite ease, something which the clerk accepted after a moment. “Free-of-charge. Though darenot tell the Master of-that.”

“Heh, right... I shan’t.” A pause, the quiet words of gratitude nearly-silent, but no-less sincere. Again, pleasantries were a rarity in such-offices... three-years gone by, and still Cratchit was slow to get-used to them in your presence.

Keeping to normalcy. A lifestyle you thought mastered, and now something you missed bitterly, as your routine now seemed to revolve around... it, at his desk.

Foolish, it very-much was, but nonetheless, your steps naturally merged upon a new-path as you went about your duties - a bit quicker than normal, after the pauses taken during your conversing with the clerk - and kept ensuring you made as little visual-contact as possible with the sprig of your ire, the reason for that writhing cluster of uncertainty gathering inside you.

Why keep it?

And, more significantly, why display it? As some sort of warning? Perchance it was a form of mockery, a private joke of which only one gains twisted-humor from...

But was there humor to be had? From yourself, certainly-not, but recollection reminds you swiftly of the man’s own reaction to the incident...

Averted eyes - surely out of the morbid embarrassment of the unprompted action.

Rapid, repeated clearing of the throat - solely for discomfort, you dreaded what occurred whenever the gentleman fell-ill, and what that entailed for you to do.

Your concern of some ailment only increased at the memory of reddened-cheeks - an occurrence that had twice been a happenstance. The prior evening upon your departure, and just this morning, upon your return.

With a sigh as you shuffled the books back unto their place on a cleaned-shelf, you resolved to detour from home to speak with a physician, speak on behalf of his welfare. A second-opinion... was it not what was desired in the first place, except for another scenario entirely?

You supposed you had to take victory elsewhere. If you could not succeed in unraveling the frazzled, mangled remnants of your good-sense, at least ensuring your employer was not catching-cold, was an acceptable alternate achievement in defeat of another.

That is, of course, what you tried to convince yourself. You feared you didn’t succeed much there either.

Speaking of the man, the clock struck the fifth-hour of past-noon.

By the second-ring announcing the time, you were dusting yourself to an acceptable greeting-condition - picking-up the pace as you passed the desk, and its topside contents you so-loathed.

The third and fourth tolling of bells both near-and-far finding yourself positioned, as always, by the front-door to brace to take hat & coat. Arms extended slightly, expectantly enough that your eyes slipped-closed as you sighed, bracing for the temporary flurry that would be let-in. From the season’s snow, and Mister Scrooge's return.

The twelfth-toll.

The minute-hand passed the twelfth-rung entirely, marching onward to time forever and ever... and the front door did not open.

Understandable. It had slushed more than it had snowed the night previously, making the banks of snow less-pleasant to traverse through by oneself... doubly so, for Prudence would not make traveling conditions any-easier, despite the companionship she provided.

Allowing this consideration, a moment passed without fanfare. A second moment, another... but by the forth, you began to peer at the doorway rather perplexed, a frown gathering on your lips as you squinted out the port-window of the entryway, stretching upon your toes, and still catching no-sight of your employer.

A flicker of... something, unpleasant, crossed your mind.

“Robert-”

“Bob, miss.”

“-Mister Cratchit. Master Scrooge is late.”

“Oh no.” Less of alarm, more of polite-dismissal, the clerk raised his ruddy-nose high-enough over his freshly-inked book to squint-down the corridor to the back-offices, the grand clock sitting proudly at the back. “Hardly even five-after... five minutes after, miss! Hardly a wink in time."

You shook your head, glancing between the unopened door and clock. "Mayhaps, but this is Mister Scrooge we speak off. A man who considers ‘time to-be a finite resource to be transacted sparsely, to avoid its waste.’"

After nearly two-years, Ebenezer Scrooge was nothing, if-not predictable when it comes to stifling-speeches of practicality. You liked to think you did a well-enough mimic of voice and posture too, but the humor is lost quickly when six minutes pass.

A seventh. “He surely hasn’t gotten into an argument of some sort.”

“Mister Scrooge is rather, erm, efficient with those, miss. Doesn’t much-like getting caught up in one such as those.” An eighth, flirting close with the tenth-past the hour.

But Cratchit’s words were true enough; it was quite-possible that the man was among the most stubborn of humankind, the kind to be set-firm as stone, plowing through as efficiently and steadfastly solid as marble.

Which was why you started to pace at the entrance, when the minute-hand reached the first ten-moments of the hour. Sitting at the windowside, two-minutes later, with that cluster of troubled-nerves within you building and building, to the point you feared a combustion would take-place.

The avoidance should have been welcomed.

Extra-time, even only the length of only a quarter-hour, was something you would normally see as a blessing and something to be welcomed wholeheartedly, entirely, and without any questioning as to the why.

But then you glance at the almost-empty desk, your eyes catching-sight of what exactly made the desk only almost empty.

The sprig of holly doesn't seem as much like a physical taunt, at this moment.

It's motivation.

One you find yourself taking subconsciously, as you rise from your waiting-seat at the windowside, and march over to the coat-rack. With your bonnet shoved over your hair as you tug on your coat, the voice of the bystanding clerk is enough to cut through the fog of your swirling-thoughts, "Leaving sooner than normal? No emergency, I hope?"

"Only the emergency of a search. I worry the worst, Mister Cratchit."

A slow blink, and lowered quill as the man frowned. "For Mister Scrooge? Surely not... yes, it's not-normal that he's absent for so-long, but I'm certain he's right-as-rain-"

"And if he's not?" You demanded, fingers a flurry over the buttons as you bundle yourself up to prep for the outside-chill. "Slicked-cobble is a nightmare, even for a man with a cane. Especially so, mayhaps, and God-knows there's few willing to help him if he's slipped or fallen."

Most would probably laugh, though you-yourself find little-humor in the thought.

"Oh, come now, miss, someone would fetch the doctor, surely! Imagined we would hear Prudence half-the-city away if something befall the fellow, besides-"

"I'm quite certain of it, but I need to be sure!" You insisted, tugging your gloves into place as you turned towards the door, turning to Cratchit in the midst of your strides. "I... I only wish to ensure all is well. If such-is, I'll be back only momentarily-"

The sharp, sudden gust of pure ice to your cheeks was only barely-registered, in time with the modestly-sized office building shaking from the force of the door flung open.

You had very-little time to register these two-sensations.

Even less time, to slow-down enough to prevent the collision, of you striding-out, and your fashionably-late employer marching-in.

Rather spectacularly, soundly colliding against his chest, your hands are coming up too-late to cushion the blow, and curl on his vest. It's only thanks to the sudden-rigidity in your body that you don't stumble-along with the gentleman as he staggers, winded from the blow, and you-yourself are able to keep upright.

Though, your legs feel slightly-weakened at the sharp, flabbergasted inhale that you feel, more than hear.

Another-breath is felt beneath your cheek, after the man finds his center-of-gravity once more, and after the faint deflating of his chest at sharp-exhalation, Prudence slices through the stifling fog of the incident with an excited bark at your feet.

Hands curled tighter, before you push yourself off his chest with chin still tucked-low towards your own. "I-I... You... I apologize, but you were running quite-late."

A poor, poor excuse. And hardly an apology, something Ebenezer Scrooge sincerely agrees with, as evident by his scoff.

"A typical occurrence, miss, when one requires a detour from average paths."

"Well... yes, but I had-fear that you slipped, the cobbles are quite-slick this evening-"

"My relation with gravity is of such grand-importance to you? Humorous, considering you nearly made me fall-"

"You only did just the same, Mister Scrooge! An accident of equal blame, you can hardly push responsibility solely onto...." You trailed off, a bit lamely, as your gaze has raised in response to man.

Pompous and sneering as his words are, you quickly take notice that Ebenezer has held himself in such a way that can only be described-best as stiff... he also refuses to look at you directly, line of sight barely-skimming over your brows.

The non-whiskered skin of his cheeks still host some redness from his exposure to frost, even if the door has already swung-closed behind him. Excessively so, as the flushed-hue upon his skin extends from face, down to neck, peeking upon his ears from beneath his hat...

And...

He's also holding a fresh sprig of holly in a gloved-hand, newer than even the one hosted at his desk. Fist clenched tight about it, as if his body was subconsciously, fiercely opinionated on its existence.

You cannot yet-tell what that opinion might be.

"What... what is that?"

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