A/N: Following the completion of my story Oblivion, I found I still had many ideas surrounding the characters, post-war as well as "deleted scenes" of sorts that didn't make it into the final story. I don't have plans for a full sequel, but still wanted to write and share them. They are presented here as a random collection of odds and ends, each individual stories so you can read one or read them all. No genres are off-limits here. I will try to include dates or other indications of time-frames for cohesiveness.

If you haven't read Oblivion, I highly recommend doing so before continuing. If you have, welcome back, and thank you for reading!

December 1988

[Post-Oblivion]

Jingling.

It was a light and familiar sound, fluttering on the quiver of chilly winter wind. Metallic and melodic, it danced through the open window on a string of whistling gales, stirring the fine paper shōji into a percussion beneath it.

The sound drew Anubis's attention away from the steam coiling out of the kettle, bringing him to glance over his shoulder in its direction. He paused a moment before turning out of the kitchen and skimming the dining area. Empty.

Jingling.

Walking toward the windows, the metallic song grew louder. As he reached the door, he took a resolving breath, then reached forward to draw it open.

The graveyard stretched out before him, blanketed in powdery white. Snow was an unforgiving medium, immediately betraying any unexpected guests, and yet as he peered into the wintry landscape, he found only a small trail of tiny footprints; their only visitor had been a little rabbit scurrying back into the underbrush.

Jingling.

Leaning out of the doorway, Anubis's blue-green eyes shifted across the porch in search of the sound, and finally its origin was revealed: clusters of small golden bells, secured to the porch columns by shiny red ribbon. He gazed at them for a moment before a small laugh perked on his lips and he rolled his eyes at himself. Of course.

The bells were one small part of a grander design of sparkling décor Iris had been dressing the house in, preparing for something she called "Christmas." Holidays were not entirely foreign to Anubis, to be sure, but this was one with which he was unfamiliar, and he found its associated trimmings outrageously odd. Their home was bedecked in warm shades of crimson and gold with dashes of emerald green, and a tree placed in the living room was hung with glass baubles and small lights tucked in its branches. It was a vibrant display he did not quite understand, but he also could not deny that watching his wife cheerfully tie ribbons and bells and glittering what-nots around the house was incredibly endearing.

This merriment was not limited to the Koma household; a trip to the market revealed the town was decked out much the same, and there was an overall sense of joy in everyone he encountered. In the midst of this liveliness it was hard to believe that the mortal world had provided enough greed and hatred to feed the Dynasty.

As he turned away from the door, Anubis heard a new sound beneath the soft ringing of the bells: laughter. He turned back to look out into the cemetery again. Iris emerged from the skeletal trees, wrapped warmly in a heavy grey wool cloak, long waves of brown hair pouring out from beneath its hood. Another figure accompanied her, dressed in a black kimono with several additional layers of dark grey and silver hair catching the winter sunlight as they stepped out from beneath the trees. Dais offered his hand to the caretaker to support her as she stepped over the more perilous, root-covered walkway of the cemetery.

Anubis crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway to watch them. Catching glimpse of the smile cracked on his wife's face, he smiled to himself. After all this time, he found he was still in awe of her. She was a luminous presence, even in the bleakness of the dead of winter when all life around her had shriveled away.

Approaching the house, the twosome looked up to find him standing in the doorway.

"It's a little cold out here to have the door wide open, isn't it?" Iris asked, stepping up the veranda stairs and rustling the bottom of her dress to kick loose the bits of snow clinging to its hem.

"I made tea," Anubis offered. She smiled a bit and reached out to hug her arms around his sides, greeting him now with a soft kiss.

As the caretaker continued inside, Anubis caught Dais's furrowed brow. A moment later, he had turned his head as if listening over his shoulder.

"Merely bells." When the man turned back to him, Anubis nodded. "I thought the same thing." Dais chuckled dryly.

"We still have not accepted this new life, have we?" It was more admission than question, and Anubis could only nod in agreement.

"Close the door." Iris's voice was slow and deliberate, rousing Dais to move inside and allow Anubis to slide the door shut behind him.

The man allowed his eye to roam and examine the unusual embellishments of the house now. He seemed to take particular interest in the tree, strolling to it to inspect the thick ivory silk ribbons cascading down its branches. Leaning closer to admire the ornaments tucked within, all ivory, gold, and crimson, he found each was different; from hand-carved shapes to etching and hand-painted images, every trinket was unique and charming in its own way.

"Do you like it?"

Dais straightened up and looked to the kitchen to find Iris standing in the doorway, teacup gently cradled in both hands.

"I do not know what it is supposed to look like," he replied, "but I suppose it is attractive, for a dead tree." She laughed.

"There isn't anything it's supposed to look like, it's a Christmas tree," Iris giggled. She sipped lightly at her cup and observed as he turned his interest to the tree again. "We could put one up for you, you know." Seeing the skeptical look she received in response, she grinned. "Oh! Before I forget."

The caretaker scurried off down the hall into the bedroom, returning moments later with something in hand. As she walked to join him, he found the object resembled a boot, crafted from crimson silk with a fine pattern embroidered throughout it.

"You need to hang your stocking." Receiving a bewildered expression in response, she nodded just past him. "Over there, with the others."

Dais turned to face the direction in which she had nodded, finding the tokonoma had not been spared from the lively décor. There were two other such stockings already hung on the alcove's wall, both of crimson silk the same as his but different in design; one had been embellished with colorful gems among its embroidered crimson pattern and an ivory silk bow, while the other had more distinct embroidery mimicking lilac blooms in gold thread.

Anubis watched with a slight smirk as his comrade meandered toward the alcove. He was surprisingly receptive to this, and in fact seemed far less confused by it than Anubis himself had been when she requested it of him. Dutifully, he stepped into the tokonama and, finding a free hook beside the others, hung the stocking.

"And this will appease the ghosts?" Dais remarked matter-of-factly as he stepped back out of the alcove.

"Sorry, what?" Iris's pokerface managed to avoid betraying the confusion behind her words.

"The ghosts."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"That is the purpose of these preparations, isn't it? To satiate the ghosts."

The caretaker's face now clearly exposed her puzzlement. "I never thought I would say this, but this is a ghostly tradition I am not aware of. You're going to have to enlighten me."

"There is the chained one, the candle flame, the giant, the hooded phantom—"

"Oh my god, you're talking about A Christmas Carol." She stopped just short of planting her face in her palm.

"Aren't 'carols' songs?" Anubis joined at his comrade's side, both faces reflecting sheer bafflement now.

"No—yes, they are," Iris corrected herself, "but A Christmas Carol is a book. The protagonist is visited by four ghosts, that of his old business partner, and the spirits of Christmas Past, Present, and Christmas Yet-to-Come." She shook her head a bit. "Dais, that's just a story. It's fiction."

"I thought all such traditions were seated in fiction?" Dais countered. His tone was sincere and genuinely confused, and as her eyes settled on the man's earnest expression, she found herself unable to be as frustrated as she wanted to be. She let out a small sigh.

"We are not going to be visited by any ghosts, okay?"

Golden light crawled through the open window, escorted by chilly, crisp air. It had been threatening to permeate the room for hours since sunrise, and had finally reached over the sill to wake the man from slumber. Begrudgingly, Dais peeled his eye open.

The usual sounds of morning birds were absent, silenced by the winter snowfall. Instead there was another melody, soft and cheerful and trilling through the house itself. The former Warlord stretched and cracked his neck as he sat up. He lingered for only a brief moment longer before slinking out from beneath the blankets.

Sliding the bedroom door open, he was greeted by a symphony of sensations: the smell of roasting meat, a waft of comforting, warm air, and that bright melody he now recognized as singing. Iris emerged from the kitchen, revealing herself as the source of the song as she carried a tray with a tea kettle and cups to the table. She had forgone her usual casual attire for a long-sleeved gown of emerald velvet, and long, large curls poured down her back. Noticing Dais, she straightened up and turned, and he found her face illuminated with light, peachy blush.

"I see you decided to rejoin the living," the caretaker teased. She motioned him to the table before passing by him in a path headed for her bedroom.

The man smirked a bit to himself and strolled quietly toward the table. Anubis had already found his seat, though he looked no more enthused to be awake than Dais felt.

"Far too early," Dais remarked.

"For both of us," Anubis agreed.

"Oh, stop it." Iris returned from the depths of the hall with two parcels in hand. "It isn't even that early." Before taking her seat, she offered one of the packages to Dais, the other to her husband. "Merry Christmas."

Turning the small parcel over in his hand, Dais noted it had been carefully wrapped in a fine, glossy paper, ivory with gold patterns throughout. This was a tradition he understood, it had been well-documented in the various books he had read, though now in practice it took him by surprise. He glanced up to find Anubis was equally tentative, and finally his eye settled on Iris's ever-patient expression.

"You going to open them, or just look at them?" she mused, reaching out to take the kettle into her hands and filling their tea cups.

Pop. It was a unique sound, the sound as a piece of tape broke away from the paper it secured. Anubis was the first to begin peeling the wrapping away, careful to follow along its folded lines. His wife struggled not to giggle at his caution, quickly sipping at her tea to maintain her composure.

A sleek black case lay beneath the elegant paper, held closed by gleaming silver clasps. The man's brows furrowed briefly in puzzlement. He turned it on to its side to pop the clasps and draw it open. His puzzled expression dissolved into something softer, knowing, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I thought you could finally learn to play it," Iris remarked as he removed an elegantly carved wooden flute from the case.

Shrrrrrrrrrk! The sound drew both Anubis and Iris's attention back across the table to their companion. Dais's steely eye moved up, almost embarrassed as he sat with shreds of wrapping paper in each hand, his attempt to open his gift not nearly as graceful as the wrap tore down its length. A silent beat passed, and finally Iris laughed.

"You're allowed to tear the paper," she assured him, nodding.

After a moment of consideration, he pulled at the tear to complete its path downward. Tugging the remnants of the gift wrap away, nimble ivory fingers coiled around the contents: a leather-bound book. It was clearly old, its leather aged and pages more cream than white. Opening the cover, he found English text on the first page: Frankenstein; Or, the Modern Prometheus.

"Mary Shelley's Frankenstein," Iris chimed in, noticing his eye scanning the title page. "She originally published it anonymously, so the first edition doesn't have her name." Watching him thumb to the next page, she continued, "arguably the first true science fiction literature ever written." A sweet smile crossed her face. "It's my favorite book."

The statement brought Dais pause. His time in the mortal world was still largely spent relearning human emotions, classifying sensations he had not felt for what he knew to be centuries. This was one he could not identify. There was warmth, and a small flutter in his stomach, and his heart seemed to swell against his ribs. The slightest smile came across his face to meet hers.

"Thank you."