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Mephistopheles rattled softly through the snow-dusted backstreets of District 20, Christmas lights strung haphazardly across ruined billboards and broken signs. Inside, the bus was surprisingly warm. Faust had not-so subtly gloated about the climate control inside.
Hong Lu sat cross-legged on one of the plush seats, a loop of red-and-green tinsel draped around his neck like a championship scarf. He tilted his head, studying the small, lopsided tree someone had managed to stand up in the back corner. Tiny glass ornaments swung gently with the bus’s motion.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Hong Lu giggled, eyes sparkling. “People put dead trees inside buildings and hang shiny things on them. Back home, we used to use real, living trees for Christmas~”
Heathcliff, sitting next to him, let out a snort before pausing. “Wait, how does that even..?”
Hong Lu blinked at Heathcliff's half-formed question, then clapped his hands together once in delight, tinsel rustling like tiny bells.
"Oh, it's quite simple! You plant them in very special pots! Enormous ones, mind you, with their roots wrapped in stasis film and nursed by attendants day and night. The trees drink from crystal fountains laced with a bolus that keeps their needles soft and green until the season’s over." He leaned forward conspiratorially, a small smile on his face. "My favorite was the one in big brother Huan’s wing. He used to decorate it with us every Christmas."
Heathcliff stared at him for a long beat, brows slowly climbing toward his hairline. "…Yer pullin' me leg."
"Not at all!" Hong Lu beamed wider, utterly earnest.
From across the aisle, Rodya let out a bark of laughter that nearly knocked the paper crown off her head. She'd fashioned it from a torn page of an old holiday catalogue she'd found under one of the seats. "Woah, really~? Next you'll tell us your family had peacocks trained to sing carols."
"They did," Hong Lu said without missing a beat. "Very passionate performers."
Ishmael, who had been pretending to read a dog-eared brochure on Q Corp, finally lowered the booklet just enough to show one skeptical eye. "And let me guess. The trees also walked themselves to the compost heap when they got tired of being festive?"
Hong Lu gasped theatrically, hand to chest. "Spoilers, Ishmael! You're ruining the surprise ending~”
The bus hit a pothole then, sending the little tree wobbling dangerously. A glass bauble shaped like a golden fish slipped free and rolled down the aisle, clinking against boots and seat legs until it came to rest against Don Quixote's foot. She immediately scooped it up like it was a holy relic.
"BEHOLD! A STAR-FALLEN TREASURE OF THE WINTER REALM!" she gasped, holding it aloft. The bauble caught the string lights that Rodya and Gregor had hung and threw red-green flecks across her face. "This humble squire shall return thee to thy rightful bough, o noble fir!"
Hong Lu watched her march towards the tree to place it back on a branch, dragging Sinclair and Yi Sang along so they could determine where exactly would be the most picturesque location.
Hong Lu turned back to Heathcliff, hands fiddling with the tinsel. "And what were your Christmases like, Heathcliff?”
Heathcliff rubbed his temples, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite his best efforts. "Just chopped the damn thing down, stuck it in a bucket, and called it good if it didn't drop all its needles before Christmas Day."
Hong Lu tilted his head again, genuinely curious. "And did you hang ornaments on it?"
“…Yeah. □□□□□ and I used to argue over who got to decorate the bottom branches first when we were little, since both of us were too short to reach the top ones." Heathcliff’s eyes shifted, glancing out the window.
Hong Lu blinked once, twice, before smiling. “Ah. Who was that again? I didn’t catch the name.”
Heathcliff’s jaw clenched.
Hong Lu wisely dropped the subject.
"Romantic nonetheless, yes~?" Hong Lu sighed happily, hugging his tinsel scarf tighter. "I bet it was very honest."
Before Heathcliff could decide whether that was an insult or a compliment, Faust's voice drifted from the front, cool and unbothered over the low rumble of the engine.
"According to archived meteorological data, District 20 has not had a verifiable 'white Christmas' in seventeen years due to atmospheric particulate interference from the nearby districts and factories. The current snowfall is therefore anomalous. Enjoy it while it lasts."
A beat of silence.
Then Ryōshū, who had been silently carving something with a utility knife, spoke without looking up.
"C."
Everyone turned to her.
She held up a tiny wooden ornament she'd just finished. Masterfully carved and smoothed, and unmistakably a cigarette with angel wings. Wordlessly, she flicked it toward the tree. It landed on a lower branch and stayed there, right where Don Quixote was about to re-hang the little fish ornament.
Hong Lu clapped again, delighted. "See? Even Ryōshū is participating in the Christmas spirit!"
Heathcliff glanced at Hong Lu again, who was now humming a half-remembered tune under his breath while re-tying the tinsel into an elaborate bow around his own wrist.
"…You're bloody weird, you know that?"
Hong Lu just smiled, bright as the star atop the small tree.