I'm sure anyone who knows me is probably
a littleconfused as to why I've written something like this. Long story short, it was a gift for my good friend Sumner Sturgeon.
Also, yes, I realize it's no longer Christmas (though when do you need it to be Christmas to enjoy the spirit?), but I wanted to post at least something for people to enjoy.
Notes: This character dynamic is really fun for me to write, for some reason. I just like making May really snarky... Also, may not be as shippy as people would hope. If any of the staff has an issue with where I've posted this, feel free to move it or ask me to do so.
The freshly fallen snow crunched under May’s boots as she made her way through Petalburg City. A burst of sharp, cold wind came by, causing her to involuntary shiver despite her thick, winter clothes. Making sure that she didn't lose the grip on the cardboard box in her hands, May continued on down the street. The reason May was out during this weather was that her mother, Caroline, had baked a number of confectionary treats for the holidays, and asked her daughter to deliver them to their neighbors and friends nearby.
May, however, suspected a second reason for her unwanted excursion: her father, Norman, had made his yearly appearance as Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick, a tradition started on May’s first Christmas, and one he was keen to continue. While May and her younger brother Max had long outgrown this tradition, she noticed that Caroline had not, and May was not looking forward to the noises that were sure to emit from her parents’ bedroom that night…
Shuddering at the thought of her parents’ activities, she continued on, watching for patches of ice on the sidewalk and frantic last-minute shoppers that could potentially disperse her goods. Add that to my list of Things Not to Think Of, May thought. My mother’s baking all over the ground… A second thought slid into her head: I hope Mom baked some stuff for us. A nice, hot cup of cocoa and a plate of cookies sounds really good right about now…
One by one, the bags disappeared from the box, as May deposited them to the appropriate addresses, wishing happy holidays to smiling faces, some familiar, others not. Eventually, there was only one bag left in the box, and May turned it around to see to whom she had to find next. Her mother’s writing labeled to bag to the Birches. May sighed, a cloud of mist drifting from her mouth into the cloudy gray sky. “A half-hour walk to Littleroot Town, in the snow… you definitely owe me some cocoa now, Mom.” Pulling her scarf tighter around her neck, May set off.
About halfway down Route 102 leading to Oldale Town, May paused. After traveling through two regions on her Pokémon journey, her senses had developed to the point of being able to notice unwanted presences. It wasn't on the level of pure omniscience, but May could tell when someone unwelcome was nearby. She started glancing around, attempting to locate who or what didn't belong, when a snowball landed about a foot to her right with a pfft.
May knew only three people who were stupid enough to throw snowballs at her: the first was Max, who was lying in his bed back in Petalburg with a slight fever. The second was Ash Ketchum, who was (thankfully) off traveling Arceus-knows-where far from Hoenn. The third, and most probable suspect, was her childhood friend and all-around nuisance Brendan Birch.
The only child of Professor Birch, Brendan had made it his life’s goal to annoy May at any and every opportunity possible. Somehow, May had tolerated him for ten long, grueling years before starting her travels as a Pokémon Coordinator. Now that she was back home for the time being, she had to put up with his juvenile pranks once again.
Following an imaginary line from the snowball’s landing place, May spotted her least favorite person in the world sitting up high in a tree, wearing that stupid knit cap and grinning like a fool. “You missed,” she said, nodding down at the indentation in the fallen snow.
“Got your attention, didn't it?” Brendan retorted. “So I hardly missed.”
“Well, at least I know you’re not stupid enough to try and hit me.” May turned before he could respond, and continued on her path to Littleroot. She had hardly taken three steps when a second snowball smacked her in the back of her head. The sudden impact caused her to stumble, the cardboard box flying from her hands, and May collapsed face-first into the snow, her face stinging from the cold. Now furious and cursing under her breath, she pulled herself up and whirled around to deliver her best death glare to Brendan. “Now you've done it…”
“What are you gonna do?” taunted Brendan, still grinning, legs swinging back and forth from his branch. “You have a terrible swinging arm — oof!” His sentence was cut short from taking a snowball straight to the face, and he fell over backwards, off the tree branch, and landed flat on his back onto a snowbank.
“Did you think I use a slingshot for my PokéBalls?” May said dryly, patting the snow off her gloves. “I've grown… you, obviously, have not.”
Brendan hoisted himself out of the snowbank, face red and wet from May’s snowball. “You only say that ‘cuz I haven't shown you everything —”
“Stop talking. Right now.” The last thing May needed today was to hear drastically unnecessary details about someone she couldn't tolerate for more than an hour at a time. “Look, you hit me, and I hit you. We're even, okay? So…” She picked up the fallen box and the last bag of treats from the snow, and turned back to Brendan, who was propped up on his arms. “I’m gonna go deliver these to your parents.” She held up the bag, almost as if to taunt him. “And you’re welcome to what’s inside as long as you don’t piss me off any more.”
“Hmm,” Brendan raised his hands like a scale, figuratively weighing his choices. “Torment you, or feast on your mom’s baking…” He shrugged, flakes of snow drifting from his shoulders and arms. “I must admit, it’s quite the toss-up.”
May smiled deviously, a rather evil idea forming in her head. “Alright, fine. What if I sweet the deal?” She could tell by Brendan sitting up straighter that she had his attention. She paused, letting the notion of a “something extra” hang in the air momentarily. “We stop this silly feud… no more snowballs, no more insults… and…” She paused here, letting the tension gnaw away at Brendan’s psyche. “And I… will give you a private viewing of my new Contest outfit.”
“Deal!” said Brendan way too quickly, sticking out a gloved hand to shake on it. But May held out a hand to silence him, and he did.
“One last condition,” she said, smirking slightly at his crestfallen face. “You are not — I repeat, not — allowed to offer any critiques of any kind.” Brendan was somewhat hesitant to accept, but relented, and the two shook hands. “I’ll call you around seven.” As with that, she turned on her heel and departed from Route 102 without another word to (and thankfully from) Brendan.
At seven-thirty that night, Brendan found himself sitting cross-legged on May’s bed, waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom. She had holed herself up in there once he arrived, and his patience was starting to wear thin. He knew that May only did this to prevent him from barraging her with snowballs earlier: he only hoped that everything would be worth it.
“Are you ready?” came May’s voice from behind the closed door.
“I've been ready since this afternoon!” Brendan replied with just a hint of exasperation. He ran his hands over his face and glared over at the bathroom. “You're stalling!”
“I am not. You're just too impatient.”
Rolling his eyes, Brendan muttered, “Can you blame me?” Then he heard the door lock click, and he sat up, rapt with attention. The door swung open, but May wasn't in sight. He was just about to complain when May’s bare leg slowly came into view. Brendan sat up even straighter, trying not to lose consciousness so soon: she had never shown off this much skin before… to him, at least.
She was teasing him, and knew what she was doing: May would put out her other leg, then pull it back out of view. Gradually, she put her hips out, revealing her lace-hemmed skirt. S-she… she’s seriously not wearing that to a Contest…! Thought Brendan, not daring to blink his watering eyes for fear of missing a precious second. May was now putting more of herself into his view, confirming Brendan’s suspicion of her new outfit… although, if he was the only audience member of this fashion show.
As May showed off more of her lacy maid costume, Brendan felt his heart rate quicken. He was sure that his face was bright red, and he could feel his palms become damp with sweat. May definitely knew that he was being teased, and knowing her, she was enjoying every second of his torment. Her head was the only thing still hidden, and then…
Brendan was rewarded for his patience with an utterly hideous and grotesque zombie mask, with scarred gray skin, bloody orifices, and chunks of missing hair. The complete shock of this unexpected revelation caused him to scream in shock and stumble off the bed, his heart now somewhere within the vicinity of his throat.
“What’s wrong, Master?” May cooed, her voice muffled by the mask. “You don't like my Christmas gift, after all the effort I put in for you?” She ran her hands down her sides, wiggling her hips as she stepped closer to him.
“I… that’s not…” The sight of the encroaching ghoul triggered a flight-or-fight response, and Brendan moved towards the bedroom door, stumbling over his feet. He was still entranced, eyes locked on her, but no longer in the joyous manner as just seconds prior. “I wasn't promised this!” He choked out, groping behind him for the doorknob.
As Brendan threw open the door and fled down the stairs in terror, May pulled off the mask (borrowed from Max), and collapsed into a laughing fit. Her plan had worked perfectly. As she stood up, wiping the tears from her eyes, she tossed the mask onto her bed and walked back into the bathroom to change. She looked over her reflection in the mirror and smiled broadly: with any luck, Brendan would be too frightened to bother her for a few days.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas~” She sang, twirling like a ballerina, reaching behind her to undo the costume's straps.
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