May Writing Challenge: Cultural Heritage

[Sean *]

It's writing challenge time! To enter, just post a ficlet (300-4000 words suggested) in this thread. When the voting for this month's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well.

The Challenge: In honor of the Multicultural Club's Banquet coming up this month, you must write a story that explores the cultural heritage of your character. It can be food, a holiday, a ceremony, events that happened to their family in the past, or something else related to that.

The rules:

• Characters must be in Hammel canon, but the ficlets are not canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Entries must be more than 300 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets. Any ficlets posted after the original 3 will not be considered for voting. If you want to post more, however, have fun.
  
• Story entries must be titled.

[Piper Sasaki-Roswell]

A Day in the Life...



Piper yawned as she tossed her keys haphazardly onto the table near her door as she shut the cheap wood slab with her foot. She’d been gone for a week this time running errands and fetching new students and she was glad to have a few days off to rest. As she sauntered into her kitchen to open her fridge she caught sight of a picture she’d put up there years ago.

A younger Piper was flushed and extremely happy standing with her family outside her aunt’s house in San Francisco. She wore a blue furisode with a complimentary yellow obi tied in an elegant knot. She lacked a fur wrap around her shoulders as it wasn’t cold enough to need one and Piper hadn’t been fond of them when she’d been looking at pictures of other women on their own Seijin Shiki or Coming of Age ceremony. There had been no temple or official ceremony to attend but her family (mostly her grandparents) had insisted that Piper celebrated the day as traditionally as possible when she became and adult at the age of 20.

Her family had flown from Oregon to San Francisco to meet with Piper’s paternal grandparents and her aunt’s family. There had been an air of expectation and pride when Piper had finally shown herself to her family fully dressed with her hair and makeup done. Her grandmother’s had helped dress her in the kimono and arranged her hair with an accessory. The accessory itself was pinned to the corner of her vanity mirror these days. Then there had been so many pictures!

Piper had sat for a traditional portrait that she never looked at, a string of more informal pictures at a nearby park with a photographer and of course, countless personal photographs taken by relatives and family friends. This one was one of her favorites, her whole family together, even Robert and her little cousins grinning at the camera. Her other favorite picture sat in a more personal space by her bed. She stood with her mother and Robert, while in Piper’s arms she held a portrait of her late father. The same portrait sat on a small table that served as her butsudan with everything Piper needed to pay her respects to her father’s spirit.

The recruiter decided she didn’t need a cold drink at the moment and walked straight to the butsudan and the picture of her father. She sat in the uncomfortable seiza position and took up a lighter which she used to light the traditional incense. She placed the incense into the burner folded her hands. “Hi Daddy, I’m home…” she began quietly, going through her last week with her father. It was comforting to speak to him this way; she felt connected to him even after all these years. When she was finished she picked up a small mallet and struck the edge of a bowl that rang with a loud, clear sound.

Piper stood slowly, grumbling at the lack of feeling in her legs as she habitually dusted herself off and headed back into the kitchen. There was a frozen pizza in the freezer and a beer with her name on it in the fridge. Tomorrow she’d call her parents in Oregon to catch up and maybe get around to cleaning her less than spotless living area…maybe.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Lessons
January, 2021

The turn of a new year brought so much to their household. Their little boy was close to his first birthday, and he'd find himself with a sister in a few short months. For two people that had been so distant from everyone years ago, there was so much love in their lives now.

There were so many firsts to come; so many that already have. Penny might have been concerned about the boy having not taken his first steps yet, but for Lucy, it was something to look forward to. It all was.

And now it was Lincoln's first Australia Day.

They were in Vermont. It was stupidly cold. And Lucy couldn't actually drink, but it was still something to enlighten Link with. At the very least, the Australian humored her father by dressing the infant up in an outfit sent to them from overseas. Colbalt blue, with six bright, white stars spanning across the fabric and the Union jack at the shoulder. Strategically, she did so while her wife was at work. She wasn't one to even acknowledge the day at all.

Not so strategically, Lucy had fallen asleep. A sunny spot on the couch and a sleeping child in her arms had the ink manipulator dozing off. When she awoke again, the sun was barely peaking over the treetops, ready to set early in the winter evening. Yet she didn't notice the bright oranges and reds that painted the living room walls; not when she first realized her son was missing.

Next, came the smell of a simmering meal, followed by relief. She was home. No doubt Lincoln wouldn't be far from his mother. And as Lucy pushed herself off of the couch, she could hear that familiar accent come from the kitchen.

"-- We sent all the bad people there." Penny's back was turned to the living room as she prepped the meal she was making. The only thing to draw her gaze away from the pan on the stove was the little boy sitting in his high chair. The bright Australian flag he was wearing had been cleverly switched out, and big, dark eyes looked up at Penny like he truly could understand the concepts she explained to him. "And they stayed and built up a society of convicts."

Lincoln's head bobbled up and down, as if he were agreeing with whatever his mother was saying. That was, until those big eyes caught sight of the woman across the kitchen, and little fingers were instantly reaching out towards Lucy, asking to be picked up. Who was she to say no? As if on cue, Penny followed his line of sight to the Australian, and as she moved towards Link, she moved towards her.

"You're awake." Penny breathed, pressing a gentle kiss against her wife's lips. The ink manipulator hauled Link up out of his chair, settling him in an arm as she felt the way her hand moved to the growing bump that was Lucy's stomach.

"You could have woken me up." Lucy replied. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have rather been awake and aware of her love than not.

But Penny always worked with purpose. "You need as much rest as you can get." She explained. Seven months into pregnancy had its tolls on the body.

Lucy's free hand lifted, offering it to the boy as his tiny fingers curled around her thumb with a tight grip. Her eyes remained wide and amused for him, but she paid attention to every word Penny offered. "What were you up to?" She asked, and a brief glance to her wife had the Australian catching a threat of a smile.

"Just a history lesson."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine

Do you sleep alone when others sleep in pairs?
Well, there’s no need to complain.
We’ll eliminate your pain.
We can neutralize your brain.
You’ll feel just fine!
Buy a big bright green pleasure machine!

Sean pulled the tablecloth from the box of decorations, carefully unfolding it before he spread it out across the dining room table. The edges hung over the side unevenly, as it always did when first laid down. Slowly, he circled the table, tugging here and there while eyeballing the finished product until it qualified as “good enough.”

Satisfied, he pulled the green linen napkins from the box, counting out three and then returning the excess to storage for another year. He sat in the nearest chair, making himself comfortable while using the leverage of the table to fold the first of the napkins. One fold so that it was now a triangle along its diagonal, then each half of that long triangle folded towards the middle, making a diamond that was less than a quarter of the original napkin’s area. Folding one edge and then the other, and then flipping the napkin onto its back to flip over the top side, and, then, finally, tucking along the edges to created rounded tops rather than sharp square points.

With the utmost care, he moved that first napkin – now arranged delicately into a green linen heart – to the side so that he could repeat the process with the next napkin.

The telepath knew that he put in far more effort than outside observers would consider worthwhile, but that never stopped him. The ritual was part of the occasion, just as much as the menu for tonight.

Finished with the second napkin, he set it almost reverently beside the first, before beginning on the last of the three.

One fold, and then another, and then another. He moved slower than he had even a few years ago, as his joints developed a bit more pain with each passing year. The undeniable signs of aging.

When the third heart napkin lay in front of him, he moved it beside its brethren so all three lay in a row.

Then he began his inspection.

The second of the three hearts was clearly the best: the most symmetrical, the one with the most rounded top edges, the one with the sharpest point at the bottom. Sean moved that one to the seat he occupied at the moment, before turning his attention to the first and third napkins.

After another moment of assessment, he decided that the first was a bit more “off” than the third, which tended to happen when he folded a pattern after a year without practice. He selected that napkin for himself and set it at the head of the table, before moving the third napkin into place at the setting to the right.

With the napkins finished, he rose again and once more began unpacking decorations from the box. Next he pulled out the green and white candlesticks, setting them in the middle of the table, followed by unwrapping two deep green candles from the package of twelve he had bought a few years ago. After this, he only had two left, which meant that he would have to go shopping – perhaps tomorrow, once the holiday had ended.

Once the telepath had finished with the last of the decorations, he moved the mostly empty box back into the closet; there was no reason to keep it out where someone might trip over it and earn a surprise visit to the Emergency Room.

Back to the kitchen.

Sean had spent the past few days on meal preparation, despite the fact that only three of them would share this meal. The main dish required days to brine properly, and he wanted to do this properly.

On the burner, the pot of potatoes continued to boil, and he lifted the lid to check on them. Soon, he could drain the pot and begin mashing.

He kept to a similar menu every year, even if it was slightly less rigid than for most of the other holidays in their family.

Passover had such stringent dietary restrictions, where half their typical menu was off the table, and all of the other ingredients had to be certified for the holiday, and then the Seders had a menu set down thousands of years ago. For Chanukah, they always had latkes and applesauce, with jelly doughnuts for dessert. Rosh Hashanah required apples and honey. Thanksgiving brought the massive American feast that required turkey and then the favorites from his and Josh’s individual households.

Here, Sean had complete control over the menu, and as long as he hit the basic expectations, he could do whatever he wanted.

Inwardly, the telepath knew that he took the day entirely too seriously, considering that he didn’t practice the religion of his childhood, and how the rest of the United States used this day as an excuse to get as drunk as humanly possible.

That never stopped him.

Years ago, before Eleanor joined their family, he and Josh had shared several intense conversations before agreeing to raise their daughter Jewish. Between Sean’s atheism, Josh’s enthusiasm to share his cultural and religious customs with their baby, and the attorney’s intense dislike of all things even remotely Christmas-related, this meant that the Jewish holidays dominated their household, albeit more cultural than religious in some ways. They celebrated eight nights of Chanukah, where the house was adorned with blue, silver, and white decorations, and neither an elf nor a scrap of red or green could be found. They did a Seder for each of the first two nights of Passover, one with family and then one with friends, and, as a household they forewent leavened bread for all eight days (although Sean ate sandwiches at work, out of sight, since this wasn’t his holiday). They celebrated Rosh Hashanah with the rest of the Bernsteins, and they threw a giant party for Purim and baked hamantaschen and planned family costumes.

They didn’t acknowledge Christmas or Easter – the holidays of Sean’s youth. The closest they had was how Josh let him make a Moses basket for Eleanor, since the best parts of Easter were making baskets of treats and toys for children.

Saint Patrick’s Day was the only holiday he had to share with Eleanor, the only part of his background that he could share with her – that was uniquely his to share. He loved Halloween, but that was American and not Irish, or even Irish-American.

This was his, and so he went out of his way to make a production of it, because he had to fit an entire year’s worth of heritage into one day.

That was why he made French toast with soda bread for breakfast. That was why he made sure she wore green during the day (and why he explained how it had to be green and not orange – she was the only girl in her elementary school who understood this concept). That was why he used Irish folklore as bedtime stories for the entire week leading up to today, and why he always got her a small thematic present each year, despite the fact that it wasn’t a gift-giving holiday.

She might not understand it quite yet, but getting to share this part of his heritage with her was his daughter’s gift to him.

When the potatoes finished boiling, he hefted the pot with a soft groan and drained it in the sink. Then he dumped the peeled root vegetables into a large bowl, grabbed his masher, and began to stomp them down.

Soon, he could add the kale and make the colcannon, and when he finished with it, he would add the little treats. To make the dish both more fun and authentic.

The corned beef still needed another hour, and he had to make the cake and finish the crème brulee, all before Josh came home from the park.

Sean could pull it off.

Then they could have their quasi-traditional feast, on the one night of the year that the Neville-Bernstein household was a bit more Irish than Jewish.