Mel, Madin, & Sharon | Decorations
Nov. 22nd, 2025 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to November 22nd, 2025 Sharon ropes Mel and Madin into helping her. Awkward Thanksgiving crafts ensue.
"The cranberry sprig. I need that."
A clawed hand held itself out to Mel, palm-up. Its owner was focused on the autumnal centerpiece with laser-like intensity. She'd been inserting sprigs of fabric flowers, leaves, and berries into the cornucopia's foam core with the same single-mindedness usually reserved for stalking prey.
Sharon liked to remind people that she was Cat, but she was also the daughter of a woman who had spent long hours curating her own Pinterest board.
The other mutant looked up from the paper chain garland she was currently assembling and quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the magic word?”
Sharon didn't look up from her forensic examination of her project.
"Now," she suggested.
“I believe it’s please, but that’ll do,” Mel teased, passing over the pile of foam fruits. It was nice to get to relax a bit and do something with her hands. “How many d’you reckon they’ll need? Not sure what the turn up looks like normally.”
"The penitent shall accept what is provided for them and we shall be Thanked, as is proper. This is the meaning of Thanksgiving." Sharon plucked a sprig of artificial berries from the basket of fake fruit. Her tail gave a smug flick. "This I shall do until I am bored."
Mel was pretty sure it in fact wasn’t about that, but she wasn’t about to try and correct Sharon. Maybe that was what Catholics did at Thanksgiving. “Sure thing, Cats.”
Satisfied with this recognition of her charity, Sharon identified the optimal spot for the sprig and nestled its wire stem into place. The centerpiece looked good. The fact it looked increasingly as if it would require a dolly for transportation was not her problem.
Movement caught her eye, as it did periodically; the sunroom was adjacent to a major hallway. This was intentional. What was the point of doing good if no one was around to see it? Sharon turned to the newcomer, tail lashing slyly.
"Madin. You have come to craft? Is for Sooraya."
"Uh." Madin blinked. "I hadn't realised there were crafts. Um. Is this traditional?" Who the fuck knew.
“I mean, I guess. They’re fer the community center’s Thanksgiving shindig.” Mel said coolly, hands still stapling together another loop in what was becoming quite a long paper chain.
"We are asked to avoid such decorations as might promote settler-colonialist propaganda. Puritans are not to be trusted." Solemnly, Sharon plucked a lightly waxed apple from the basket of fake fruit. "You have relevant skills? Hand-turkeys are your passion, maybe?"
"Oh, right. No old settler fundies or like. Dancing Indians and shit? Well, yeah. Dur." Madin paused. "Hand turkeys are the thing you give toddlers. Like, come on."
The flier made a half laughing sound. "You fancy glueing stuff on these napkin rings to make 'em festive then?" That was supposed to be Mel's next task, but oh well. She could do the hand turkeys.
"Um. Sure." Madin took the parts, awkward and slightly out of place and started carefully gluing. They were surprisingly good at it.
Sharon looked up from her centerpiece long enough to nod. "Is acceptable. You may stay." It took some doing to make that sound like a threat while holding a wax gourd, but Sharon's talents were many. She made a pleased noise. "Is good. You two are relaxed, almost. Crafts are very healing."
Mel sent a look Sharon's way at the remark, having wanted to avoid too much reminding of last years' Thanksgiving fiasco. "Maybe they oughta offer more of 'em around here then. Lotta folks in this place who could use it." Not her, of course. She is incredibly well adjusted thank you very much.
Sharon's tail flicked with the lazy satisfaction of a job well done. Interpersonal tensions were, to Sharon, a personal affront: it was as if she were the only one in the mansion capable of approaching emotions logically. Now Mel and Madin were situated in the same room, socializing once more. True, Madin seemed unusually focused on their napkin rings, but this was only diligence. She, Sharon, had fixed things.
It was nice when people got along.
"The cranberry sprig. I need that."
A clawed hand held itself out to Mel, palm-up. Its owner was focused on the autumnal centerpiece with laser-like intensity. She'd been inserting sprigs of fabric flowers, leaves, and berries into the cornucopia's foam core with the same single-mindedness usually reserved for stalking prey.
Sharon liked to remind people that she was Cat, but she was also the daughter of a woman who had spent long hours curating her own Pinterest board.
The other mutant looked up from the paper chain garland she was currently assembling and quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the magic word?”
Sharon didn't look up from her forensic examination of her project.
"Now," she suggested.
“I believe it’s please, but that’ll do,” Mel teased, passing over the pile of foam fruits. It was nice to get to relax a bit and do something with her hands. “How many d’you reckon they’ll need? Not sure what the turn up looks like normally.”
"The penitent shall accept what is provided for them and we shall be Thanked, as is proper. This is the meaning of Thanksgiving." Sharon plucked a sprig of artificial berries from the basket of fake fruit. Her tail gave a smug flick. "This I shall do until I am bored."
Mel was pretty sure it in fact wasn’t about that, but she wasn’t about to try and correct Sharon. Maybe that was what Catholics did at Thanksgiving. “Sure thing, Cats.”
Satisfied with this recognition of her charity, Sharon identified the optimal spot for the sprig and nestled its wire stem into place. The centerpiece looked good. The fact it looked increasingly as if it would require a dolly for transportation was not her problem.
Movement caught her eye, as it did periodically; the sunroom was adjacent to a major hallway. This was intentional. What was the point of doing good if no one was around to see it? Sharon turned to the newcomer, tail lashing slyly.
"Madin. You have come to craft? Is for Sooraya."
"Uh." Madin blinked. "I hadn't realised there were crafts. Um. Is this traditional?" Who the fuck knew.
“I mean, I guess. They’re fer the community center’s Thanksgiving shindig.” Mel said coolly, hands still stapling together another loop in what was becoming quite a long paper chain.
"We are asked to avoid such decorations as might promote settler-colonialist propaganda. Puritans are not to be trusted." Solemnly, Sharon plucked a lightly waxed apple from the basket of fake fruit. "You have relevant skills? Hand-turkeys are your passion, maybe?"
"Oh, right. No old settler fundies or like. Dancing Indians and shit? Well, yeah. Dur." Madin paused. "Hand turkeys are the thing you give toddlers. Like, come on."
The flier made a half laughing sound. "You fancy glueing stuff on these napkin rings to make 'em festive then?" That was supposed to be Mel's next task, but oh well. She could do the hand turkeys.
"Um. Sure." Madin took the parts, awkward and slightly out of place and started carefully gluing. They were surprisingly good at it.
Sharon looked up from her centerpiece long enough to nod. "Is acceptable. You may stay." It took some doing to make that sound like a threat while holding a wax gourd, but Sharon's talents were many. She made a pleased noise. "Is good. You two are relaxed, almost. Crafts are very healing."
Mel sent a look Sharon's way at the remark, having wanted to avoid too much reminding of last years' Thanksgiving fiasco. "Maybe they oughta offer more of 'em around here then. Lotta folks in this place who could use it." Not her, of course. She is incredibly well adjusted thank you very much.
Sharon's tail flicked with the lazy satisfaction of a job well done. Interpersonal tensions were, to Sharon, a personal affront: it was as if she were the only one in the mansion capable of approaching emotions logically. Now Mel and Madin were situated in the same room, socializing once more. True, Madin seemed unusually focused on their napkin rings, but this was only diligence. She, Sharon, had fixed things.
It was nice when people got along.
