This is apart of The Girl Who Wanted To Fly, set a few years before the movie. It features an OC who is a member of an alien race I made up, if you want to find out more about it read chapter two of the main story. For these purposes all you need to know it Philly has blue hair, is short and has pointed ears. This was the product of writer's block and thinking about all the things that didn't make sense about Christmas to me.
EDIT: I fixed some things that were pointed out to me and want to thank the people who brought this to my attention.
Enjoy~
In the Galeet quadrant there's a planet commonly known as Haly'Vrei, roughly translating to, 'visitors bring fortunate' in some dialect or another. It is a mildly colonized world, with a hand full of large cities that made popular rest stops for weary spacers. The terrain was mostly made up of hills and valleys dotted with patches of forest. And a vast network of rivers and streams ran like veins up and down everywhere. Deeper in the trees, near a smaller, more secluded settlement, rested the ship Milano and half of her two-man crew.
Not far away, a pint-sized blue haired Zeldonain trudged through the trees grumbling whatever explicit or curse came to mind. She wore a black one-shoulder cocktail dress and comfortable worn out work boots. A pair of red pumps dangled from her fingers. The dress had been rumpled for hours and reeked of stale beer. Her ass had been slapped more times then she cared to count and those heels had been tsup to stand in, not to mention walk.
She was tired, annoyed, and frustrated. The blue and orange Milano was certainly a welcomed sight for her sore and smoke blown eyes. She stomped up the lowered loading ramp and punched in the code to open the cargo bay doors.
"Peter, I'm back…" Philly called out, dropping the heels like hot spuds and flopping down on the hard dura-steel floor, "Goods delivered and units in the account, BTAD."
And it was just a 'Boring Typical Average Deal'. Four hours sitting on a bar stool in a local club, just waiting for the buyer to show. Then of course there was the coy bantering and heated haggling expected among a deal of this nature. Eventually, a price was settled upon, the item was fetched, and then the deal was sealed with a pint of ale.
Seven kriffing hours starting around midnight local time.
Her lower back, shoulders, spine, and neck…everything was sore. Philly pulled off her boots and tossed them blindly to the side, flexing her toes.
"Peter?"
Nothing. She stood to investigate.
Sock clad feet padded softly one foot in front of the other. A hand grabbed her taser gun, affectionately nicknamed her zapper, from the holster between her thighs. The pilot glanced at the loading ramp joints and control panels. No sign of forced entry. She peeked cautiously around crates and corners. The cargo hold was clear.
Peter couldn't be…uh…entertaining…there was no rag or anything tied around the ladder rungs that led to the rest of the ship. After what happened that one time, he'd remembered faithfully to leave their signal when he had a guest. Maybe He'd stepped out…or he was just slee-
"Ouch!" Philly yelped as something poked through a sock at just the right angel and pricked her foot. Sticking out of her sock was what looked like a Borovice tree's needle like leaf; she plucked it out for a closer inspection. Yes, it was from the local flora, but now instead of the purple color it naturally was someone had gone and painted this one green.
The smell hit her. The potent stench of wet paint whiffed past the beer and cigarette smoke. As Philly stooped down to brush the floor with her fingertips more bits of the little leafs brushed against her.
What is going on?
Deeper into the ship she heard a loud, continuous clatter, the pilot ventured forward with clipped steps to find out what was awry. One more corner to turn till the common room and the general hullabaloo was accompanied by some of Peter's preferred Terran curses.
Some deep breathing, some mental preparation. She peeked in the room.
…
…
Philly really didn't know what to expect, Peter tended to have a knack for being unpredictable just when she thought for sure she had him pegged. So, she wasn't as surprised as she would have been once upon a time at what she found.
On it's side, right in the middle of the floor, was a Borovice tree. It was green with, if the smell and smudges on the floor and walls were any clue, still slightly damp paint. The table was filled with heaps of different things. A red bed sheet was torn into strips and tied together to make one long rope; some strips were in a pile of sloppy bows.
Pasted on thick flimsy paper cut it different shapes were raw 'roni noodles drowning in…glitter…arranged in patterns. Dozens of these were hanging by string anywhere they could hang. Extras were laid out on the table to dry next to every spare light they owned. Flashlights, glow sticks, Peter's plasma-balls.
A new smell, something baking, mingled with the drying paint.
This made her jaw drop slightly more open then it already was. The micro oven in the ship's galley was mostly restricted to heating, never actual baking, as neither of the two cared to put more effort then opening a package, if even that, to make food.
The cramped counter space was coated in white powder, bowls and things dripping with batter and dough poked out of the sink. An instant cake mix box was propped against where the wall met the counter.
And standing in the middle of all that, with his back turned to her, was Peter, glairing at the once purple tree.
The Terran was splattered with glitter, glue, tree needles, and raw 'roni noodles from head to toe. And that was only his back…
Probably feeling her gaze he turned around.
"Well what'd you know," He smirked, letting his eyes rove around the dress suggestively just to push her buttons, "dreams really do come true."
"Bite me."
"Any particular spot or should I just use my imagination?"
"Don't give me that," she groaned, "I've had a long night, and not like that. I just wanted to get there four hours late, 'cause I knew he'd do that 'make me wait' thing, but…"
"…He was probably watching and if you didn't show when he told you to, he'd have pulled the plug." Peter finished. "Well that's what you get for taking on these low profit smuggling jobs."
She huffed, rolling her eyes, "What is all this?" His face lost the maliciousness and lit up with almost child-like excitement.
"This," he swept his arm out, pausing for dramatic effect, "Is Christmas!"
…
"What's that mean?" She asked in a flat voice.
Peter, not one to be deflated by a skeptic explained rapidly, "It's a Terran holiday where you bring a Christmas tree inside and decorate it! Then Santa Claus comes and puts presents under the tree!"
He had started to try forcing the tree to stand upright. The top grazed at the ceiling. Peter rattled on. Philly stared with a dumbstruck expression.
"There's also cookies, and hot chocolate, and singing, and good food…"
His voice seemed to fade.
She was sore. She was exhausted. She was badly in need of a deep clean. And she certainly didn't have patience to deal with his obviously alcohol induced antics. So Philly sighed, rubbed her temples, and made a beeline for the ship's small shower cutting her roommate off with a,
"Yeah, you do that." Side stepping the tree to get out the other door.
Later she'd make him get that shrub out of the common room and, the pilot vowed, Peter would sweep up every last needle and scrub the floors, the walls, do the dishes...
A loud, (and she assumed) off key song starting up and chased after her, bouncing off the dura-steel walls, "jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…!"
…
…
…Just as soon as he sobered up…
…
…
…
Two hours later…
Well, it turns out Peter was, in fact, not drunk. This whole bringing trees inside and putting stuff on them was actually something they did on Terra…or so he insisted.
They sat at the table where they ate (when they ate together) admiring the tree that was propped against the wall and the freezer and took up most of the small common room space. He went on and on, telling a slightly more willing post-shower-and-nap, comfortably clothed ear all about this joyous holiday.
Or what he remembered of it.
…
…
Philly tossed her head with a burst of laughter, "Really Peter? You have a whole holiday that compels you to chop down a tree, paint it green, cover it in lights, tie do-dads to it, put a star on top, and all you can remember is it has something to do with a baby and good will towards men?"
"Well, on Terra the trees come green." He corrected, "And people give each other presents too…"
She scoffed.
He made a face at her, "Oh, come on Philly, I left when I was like eight. Give me a break."
"Alright, fine, tell me more."
Peter cheerfully went on in his jumbled detail, telling about the fragments of Christmas things he remembered as a boy back on his home planet. Nodding along with the infectious enthusiasm Peter seemed to be radiating, the pilot sipped the hot chocolaty drink the Terran had concocted for them.
Maybe this wasn't so bad after all…the tradition was almost starting to make sense.
Two minutes later…
"Whoa, wait a sec. You're telling me there's a guy that breaks into folk's homes, eats their food, drinks their milk, and then leaves gifts? Why?"
"People leave out cookies and milk as a thank you for the presents. Santa Claus doesn't steal stuff."
"Why the presents then?" Philly asked, "What's he get out of all this?"
"Nothing." Peter answered with a self-assured smile, "He rewards nice kids with stuff they asked for and give the naughty brats lumps of coal."
"How does he know if the kids are naughty or nice?"
Hesitation, "…He watches them…"
"He watches them." She echoed, nodding in mock understanding.
"It's not like that…it's more like…well…it makes sense on Terra."
The Zeldonian took another sip of the steaming mug, "how big is that starship of his then? It's got to be massive to fit stuff for an entire plaint's younglings."
Peter cleared his throat, hummed a tune, and finely said, "Santa doesn't have a ship. He rides in a sleigh…pulled by flying reindeer."
Philly perked up interested, "You never told me there's winged deer on Terra."
"There's not."
"Then how…"
"With magic." He snapped. "The reindeer use magic to fly."
"Pulling a sleigh, a fat man, and all the presents for all the children of Terra behind them…how long is the trip anyway?"
Peter sighed thinking; maybe this wasn't such a good idea, "One night."
"Impressive." The pilot said with such seriousness that Peter couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not. Just to be one the safe side he pouted slightly.
The Zeldonian tucked a wet strand of blue hair behind her ears. Her pointed ears. Peter's mouth morphed into a smirk as his brain made a connection.
"Do you know who makes the toys?" he asked in an innocent tone.
The pilot took a long gulp of the mug, eyeing him over the rim, "Nope." Another swallow.
"Elves."
"Elves?"
"Elves." Peter confirmed, "They're a short, pointed ears, whistles while they work…"
The Zeldonian rubbed the tip of her pointed ears, narrowed her gray eyes at Peter, grinning like he'd just figured out her deepest secret.
"Do Zeldonians ever make toys?"
One of her brows rose, while her eyes became half-lidded. Un-amused.
"Let's go back to that tree fetish, shall we?""
The man raised his chin in a slight defensive indication, "It's not a fetish. The tree is festive. The tree is decorated. The tree brings people together."
Philly smirked at him, happy to be back on offence, "You have no idea, do you?"
"Not in the slightest. But it's something I used to celebrate with my mom when I was a kid. On Christmas Eve we'd go over to my Grandma's house to have dinner with whatever family was in town. On Christmas day we would spend it together with a movie marathon." He gave a soft laugh, a remembering smile fondly fingering the device he always carried with him. "She gave me the Walkman for my present one year..."
His eyes were fixated at the tree, but something in his expression told Philly the man was decades in the past, nearly a whole galaxy away. He was tracing the Walkman with his thumb pad and pondering that tree like it had all the answers; she didn't want to break the trance. Also Peter so rarely talked about his home world without some joke she didn't get, Philly wanted to hear more.
She was disappointed.
"But, anyway, that's everything I remember." The Terran admitted, somewhat melancholy.
…
…
"So when is this Christmas thing anyway?"
"Beats me," Peter shrugged, "the trees here just reminded me of Christmas trees, so I thought 'why not?'"
They laughed. They clinked mugs, "why not indeed."
…
…
…
Many years later…
"Why the fek is Quill dragging a green Borovice through the ship?"
"Oh, it's some Terran custom. He'll this every once in awhile, just go with it. It's actually kind of fun."
"Fun isn't breathe'n paint fumes and side-steppin a fat, overly-decorated tree."
"…"
"What's so funny?"
"Well…would you rather if he'd used Groot?"