Adia Costas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chiron_survivor) wrote2017-12-31 03:33 pm
chiron_survivor) wrote2017-12-31 03:33 pm
Entry tags:
Winter Solstice.
For the first time in three years, the Fleet can celebrate Winter Solstice.
The infrastructure for an island-wide electrical grid is not fully in place, but people make do with strings of battery-powered LED lights and colorful votive candles to decorate the inside and outside of their homes. The weather on Atlantis is mild, but every fire pit is lit, communal gathering points for friends and neighbors to share drinks and wish one another well.
The holiday is traditionally celebrated by a quiet dinner with family. Those that have no family (and there are many) break bread with friends and neighbors, or join other loners at the Temple of Persephone. The priests pray to her for a short winter and a joyous return to spring. The priests pray to her cousin, Apollo, for the sun to rise in the morning. A formality, of course, to even the most religious in the Fleet, but it doesn’t hurt to cover one’s bases.
The Cylons have no Solstice traditions, but many have grown close to at least one human, and are welcomed into their homes. Julia joins Adia’s little family for dinner, which adds an additional layer of awkwardness to the evening. But the food is good and filling and there’s a bottle of wine to share, so everyone remains on their best behavior.
(Except baby Jason, who is teething.)
Gift-giving is not a Solstice tradition, but after learning that Adia would be receiving at least one present in the Nexus Secret Santa exchange, Caspar made it clear that he would be getting her something, too. To keep him from going overboard, she insisted that they buy one another only one gift, and something simple at that. Reluctantly, he agreed.
They exchange gifts after dinner in the privacy of their cabin. Adia hands over a box wrapped in shimmering blue foil, a hopeful smile on her face. Her smile grows when Caspar pops off the lid and examines the contents with obvious pleasure.
“Pocket squares…” He pulls one out and brushes his fingers against the silken, brightly-patterned fabric. “These are really nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” But Adia barely gets a chance to pat herself on the back for a gift well-chosen before Caspar is handing over his present, an even smaller box festooned with a bright red ribbon. Pulling loose the bow, she slides off the lid and examines the contents. It’s a pair of socks in a pretty shade of blue, but what’s that cute creature patterned upon them?
Are those… water bears??
“Where did you find these?” she asks in awe. “They’re so cute!”
“Turns out the Nexus has just about everything, including tardigrade socks.” He grins, his eyes twinkling. “There’s something else in there, too.”
“I thought we agreed on only one gift,” she complains as she takes out the socks, although there’s no real annoyance in her tone. Considering how much he likes to spoil her, she had expected him to break the rules, and with a box this small, how extravagant can it —
It’s a charm, no bigger than a dime. A pair of tulips, the petals carved from orange coral, their gold stems crossed at the base. “Caspar,” she whispers. She stares at the piece of jewelry. She knows what it is supposed to represent. They both do.
Caspar carefully lifts the charm out of the box. He checks to make sure that the thin gold chain it’s attached to hasn’t snagged or tangled, then undoes its clasp. “I suppose you’ll have to forgive me,” he murmurs into her ear as he hooks the chain behind her neck. “But I wanted to get you something that would last longer than real flowers.”
The charm rests just below the hollow of her throat. She reaches up and feels the delicate shape underneath her fingertips. It reminds her of the fields of orange tulips on the way to her Nana’s house. Of the bouquet of orange tulips that he bought her for her birthday.
It reminds her of what she’s lost, and what’s been returned to her.
He brushes a kiss against her cheek, then sits back. “Do you like it?” he asks, a thread of worry in his otherwise quiet voice.
“I love it.” She blinks back the tears threatening to form in the corners of her eyes and smiles brilliantly. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he replies automatically. She laughs and kisses him, feeling his relieved smile underneath her lips. Pushing aside the boxes and wrapping paper, she fits herself against him properly so they can curl up together in front of the fire.
It is the longest night of the year, and they have the rest of it to celebrate.
The infrastructure for an island-wide electrical grid is not fully in place, but people make do with strings of battery-powered LED lights and colorful votive candles to decorate the inside and outside of their homes. The weather on Atlantis is mild, but every fire pit is lit, communal gathering points for friends and neighbors to share drinks and wish one another well.
The holiday is traditionally celebrated by a quiet dinner with family. Those that have no family (and there are many) break bread with friends and neighbors, or join other loners at the Temple of Persephone. The priests pray to her for a short winter and a joyous return to spring. The priests pray to her cousin, Apollo, for the sun to rise in the morning. A formality, of course, to even the most religious in the Fleet, but it doesn’t hurt to cover one’s bases.
The Cylons have no Solstice traditions, but many have grown close to at least one human, and are welcomed into their homes. Julia joins Adia’s little family for dinner, which adds an additional layer of awkwardness to the evening. But the food is good and filling and there’s a bottle of wine to share, so everyone remains on their best behavior.
(Except baby Jason, who is teething.)
Gift-giving is not a Solstice tradition, but after learning that Adia would be receiving at least one present in the Nexus Secret Santa exchange, Caspar made it clear that he would be getting her something, too. To keep him from going overboard, she insisted that they buy one another only one gift, and something simple at that. Reluctantly, he agreed.
They exchange gifts after dinner in the privacy of their cabin. Adia hands over a box wrapped in shimmering blue foil, a hopeful smile on her face. Her smile grows when Caspar pops off the lid and examines the contents with obvious pleasure.
“Pocket squares…” He pulls one out and brushes his fingers against the silken, brightly-patterned fabric. “These are really nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” But Adia barely gets a chance to pat herself on the back for a gift well-chosen before Caspar is handing over his present, an even smaller box festooned with a bright red ribbon. Pulling loose the bow, she slides off the lid and examines the contents. It’s a pair of socks in a pretty shade of blue, but what’s that cute creature patterned upon them?
Are those… water bears??
“Where did you find these?” she asks in awe. “They’re so cute!”
“Turns out the Nexus has just about everything, including tardigrade socks.” He grins, his eyes twinkling. “There’s something else in there, too.”
“I thought we agreed on only one gift,” she complains as she takes out the socks, although there’s no real annoyance in her tone. Considering how much he likes to spoil her, she had expected him to break the rules, and with a box this small, how extravagant can it —
It’s a charm, no bigger than a dime. A pair of tulips, the petals carved from orange coral, their gold stems crossed at the base. “Caspar,” she whispers. She stares at the piece of jewelry. She knows what it is supposed to represent. They both do.
Caspar carefully lifts the charm out of the box. He checks to make sure that the thin gold chain it’s attached to hasn’t snagged or tangled, then undoes its clasp. “I suppose you’ll have to forgive me,” he murmurs into her ear as he hooks the chain behind her neck. “But I wanted to get you something that would last longer than real flowers.”
The charm rests just below the hollow of her throat. She reaches up and feels the delicate shape underneath her fingertips. It reminds her of the fields of orange tulips on the way to her Nana’s house. Of the bouquet of orange tulips that he bought her for her birthday.
It reminds her of what she’s lost, and what’s been returned to her.
He brushes a kiss against her cheek, then sits back. “Do you like it?” he asks, a thread of worry in his otherwise quiet voice.
“I love it.” She blinks back the tears threatening to form in the corners of her eyes and smiles brilliantly. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he replies automatically. She laughs and kisses him, feeling his relieved smile underneath her lips. Pushing aside the boxes and wrapping paper, she fits herself against him properly so they can curl up together in front of the fire.
It is the longest night of the year, and they have the rest of it to celebrate.