fandomhigh | Festivus in July, Fandom High front lawn, Friday afternoon

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!event: friday events

Festivus in July, Fandom High front lawn, Friday afternoon

Sometime during morning workshops, when no one was paying nearly enough attention except those concerned, the Fandom High schoolgrounds had filled with snow.

For the record, "those concerned" meant Rory Gilmore and several dozen snow cone distributors from the mainland. But who wants to ruin the illusion? Students who were curious might assume that it was simply a Festivus in July miracle, or some such.

In the middle of the lawn stood a bare, aluminum pole. Festivus tradition, you know.

[Yes, the schoolgrounds have snow. I'm weathermodding and saying it's cool enough today through this evening for it to stick, and it'll melt overnight. And yes, we're having Festivus in July. For those not in the know, here is a handy Wiki link! ~~Please wait for OCD.~~ Up, yay!]

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"I'm not hopeless, just concerned," Peter said with a nod. "So what then are latkes?"

"Potato pancakes, fried in oil," Willow said. She put her hand in his and led him over to the food table. "Which some may argue is why we ran out of it in the first place, but you can't argue the yumminess."

"Sounds good," Peter said, following her lead and squeezing her hand slightly. "When did you run out of oil?"

"About two thousand years ago, give or take a Tuesday," Willow said, giving his hand a squeeze back. "See, you celebrate your guy being born. We celebrate a miracle of oil lasting a whole week longer than it was supposed to. And apparently now we get smug about it, which is why we fry things."

Peter smiled. "It's the birth of hope in both cases that seems to be celebrated. Do you fry doughnuts as well? Or just potatoes?"

"I'm glad you asked," Willow said. She reached across the table and got a couple of donuts for them. She handed one to Peter. "Now tell me my holiday doesn't rule."

"It rules by the virtue of being your holiday," Peter said, accepting the donut.

"Which is a very nice thing to say," Willow replied. "Now what's one of your favorite foods? We can share in experiences. Especially since my parents aren't around to get upset."

"I don't think there's anything I like that's 'specifically' Christmas-oriented," Peter said. He spotted some gingerbread and whipped cream. "This would be lovely though." He offered a plate to Willow. "Gingerbread and whipped cream?"

"Please," Willow said, accepting it. She dipped the gingerbread into the whipped cream and nibbled on it. "Okay. So now the Festivus tradition is to air grievances."

Peter definitely stole a bit of whipped cream from Willow to enjoy with his gingerbread. Which was almost good enough to convince him that there weren't evil forces at play. "On a holiday? How exactly is this festive?" he asked. "What about holly or mistletoe or ever-burning candles?"

"No clue?" Willow admitted. "Maybe they're basing it off the day of atonement? Either way, I want to go first."

"I doubt the day of atonement is something that's awfully festive either," Peter pointed out. "But air your grievance? And if it's something I can help with, I shall do so."

"Well no," Willow admitted. "It's only festive in comparison to you guys who go for 40 days, which proves that even in sin you people pay retail. Anyway, yes. I have a grievance and it is a very serious one. I need your help."

Her expression? Not at all serious.

Peter laughed at her analogy and relaxed enough to smile broadly. "I shall do my utmost for you."

"Good, because my grievance is great," Willow said. She tried to look woeful and sad. "It's horrible. And I know for a fact that you are the only one who can help me."

Bowing formally, Peter tried to prevent his lips from quirking. "I am at your service, my lady. Shall I slay dragons? Find the hair of a winged horse?"

Willow tried her best not to grin back at him, but oh was this a wasted effort. Her eyes were dancing with amusement as well.

"You see," she said, at least trying to sound sad if not look it, "it's my guy. Entire sections of the day go by and, well, he doesn't kiss me. It's awful. Horrible. Tragic."

Peter considered the problem. "Something really ought to be done about this," he agreed, seriously. "I can't imagine what he's thinking. Obviously he's an idiot."

"Imagine what it's like for me," Willow said. "Hours and hours of lonely lips. It's awful. They cry. Or they would if they have eyes, and for the record I'm very pleased that they don't. But metaphorically the tears are nonstop."

"We can't have that," Peter said solemnly. "May I try to make up for it?"

"I truly believe you can," Willow replied, nudging him with her shoulder.

Peter moved closer to her then leaned in to kiss her. There may have been an attempt to dip if she was amenable to it.

That got a happily surprised squeak out of her. She held on, going for the dip, and kissing him in return.

Paying no attention to the fact that they were in public, Peter kissed her thoroughly. Because that was what holidays were for in his hastily formed opinion. Still holding her in the dip, he grinned, "is that a start?"

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