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[for edgar]
Nov. 9th, 2020 10:02 pm[backdated to Halloween]
Grantaire's birthday is actually the first of November, but he was born at just after the clock struck midnight -- and anyway so many things happen around Halloween in this city that the difference between it and All Souls' Day is barely noticable. He's never cared much about celebrating his own existence, but being guaranteed a disaster leaves a bit of a sour taste and tends to dissuade from digging too deeply into events. (Much as it seems to for Edgar, although differently: the catastrophes on New Year's are more funny, usually, than horrifying -- but it being how he counts his birth and his death is.)
He does know there's a festival in that town that's bizarrely cropped up north of the city. It being a weekend, they've had a bit of their own party at Green Gardens in the afternoon, but some of the older children had wanted to go. On their own. Grantaire has already agreed to take whatever handful of children are content to go trick-or-treating in Darrow, reasonably early in the evening before he takes the rest of the weekend off, but he and Greta have put their collective feet down on the East Hallow front. "Absolutely not. We're your legal guardians. What if something happened to you? In another town? Come out with us, or stay in, unless you've got someone signing you out: that's it."
In the end, he'd persuaded them with going a little further and to the big houses on the trick or treating route. If he had had any thoughts of going to the thing himself -- and he's not sure he did -- by the time he gets them all checked back in, most of the little ones exhausted and the older ones even more wired, he's well content to have a night in with Edgar.
It sounds nice. Whatever it means: he's not sure if Edgar has anything planned or if they'll both fall asleep watching some inanity on the television. It sounds nice.
"Do you know," he says even as he swings open the door, a couple abandoned trick or treating pumpkins and a bag of craft supplies he'd carted over in the morning for the party in his arms, "how goddamn heavy a five year old in some kind of -- car robot costume -- is when they fall asleep riding your shoulders? I didn't, but I do now."
Grantaire's birthday is actually the first of November, but he was born at just after the clock struck midnight -- and anyway so many things happen around Halloween in this city that the difference between it and All Souls' Day is barely noticable. He's never cared much about celebrating his own existence, but being guaranteed a disaster leaves a bit of a sour taste and tends to dissuade from digging too deeply into events. (Much as it seems to for Edgar, although differently: the catastrophes on New Year's are more funny, usually, than horrifying -- but it being how he counts his birth and his death is.)
He does know there's a festival in that town that's bizarrely cropped up north of the city. It being a weekend, they've had a bit of their own party at Green Gardens in the afternoon, but some of the older children had wanted to go. On their own. Grantaire has already agreed to take whatever handful of children are content to go trick-or-treating in Darrow, reasonably early in the evening before he takes the rest of the weekend off, but he and Greta have put their collective feet down on the East Hallow front. "Absolutely not. We're your legal guardians. What if something happened to you? In another town? Come out with us, or stay in, unless you've got someone signing you out: that's it."
In the end, he'd persuaded them with going a little further and to the big houses on the trick or treating route. If he had had any thoughts of going to the thing himself -- and he's not sure he did -- by the time he gets them all checked back in, most of the little ones exhausted and the older ones even more wired, he's well content to have a night in with Edgar.
It sounds nice. Whatever it means: he's not sure if Edgar has anything planned or if they'll both fall asleep watching some inanity on the television. It sounds nice.
"Do you know," he says even as he swings open the door, a couple abandoned trick or treating pumpkins and a bag of craft supplies he'd carted over in the morning for the party in his arms, "how goddamn heavy a five year old in some kind of -- car robot costume -- is when they fall asleep riding your shoulders? I didn't, but I do now."
