Twelve Ways To Spend One's Christmas Eve

Nine Ladies Dancing

"I hate you," he mumbles, dusting off his hands and grabbing the tray, turning to place them in the oven.

"You sure about that?" her smirk widens as she repeats his words. "Because I seem to recall - "

"Alright, I get it," he shuts the oven door and rolls his eyes. "You're smarter than me."

"Says the boy at medical school," Anna scoffs.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he comes to stand in front of her, and leans in. Anna, expecting a kiss, closes her eyes, only instead of Jonathan's lips, she feels something cold and slimy hit the top of her head, emitting a resounding crunch as it does so. 

"Egged!" Jonathan declares, already in fits of laughter. Slowly, Anna opens her eyes, letting out a squeal as she feels the egg drip down her hair. 

"Oh my God," she gasps, another squeak escaping her lips when the liquid begins to run down her back. "Jonathan!"

He pauses in his laughter as though he's about to say something, only to glance at her and collapse back into fits of laughter. 

Anna watches him incredulously for a few seconds, then lets her eyes narrow. "Oh," she growls, reaching for the flour sitting beside her on the counter, "it is so on."

Within moments, Jonathan's entire upper body is covered in white dust, and he's looking up at her disbelievingly. "Anna," he chokes out, sounding much like she did only a few seconds ago.

"Yes?" she smirks.

"Really? The whole thing?"

Anna glances at the bag in her hand, which is now empty, and shrugs. "That's what happens when you crack an egg onto my head."

The shock is gone from Jonathan's expression, in its place something that's actually vaguely terrifying. "Oh, you wanna go?" he asks, grabbing the sugar from the counter. Anna is already backing way, slipping off the counter and moving slowly in the direction of the living room.

"Uh, okay, Jonathan," she says, eyes flitting nervously to the pack of sugar in his hand. "No need for that, since we're even now - "

Her words are cut off by a shower of sugar being deposited atop her head. She waits, almost patiently, for Jonathan to empty almost the last of the sugar onto her, before giving him a supremely unimpressed look. "Mature," she deadpans. "Real mature."

Jonathan gives her a grin, and looks like he's about to say something, but she's already rushing across the kitchen to snatch the butter from the fridge, opening it and smearing two fingers of it into his hair.

"Anna!" he near-screeches, dodging her hand, which has already rearmed itself with butter. "Mom's gonna kill me!"

"You started it," she declares in response, covering him in more butter. "Do you surrender?"

"Never!" Jonathan responds, even while another dollop of butter is dispensed into his half blonde, half white (from the flour) locks.

"You sure about that?" she laughs wickedly, reaching for the bowl that contains the remnants of the cookie batter and promptly placing it upside down onto his head.

"Okay, okay, you got me!" he says, voice muffled by the bowl. 

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I surrender!"

"Sorry, a little louder for me, my ears aren't what they used to b - "

"Anna!"

"Okay," Anna laughs at his childish tone, removing the bowl from his head to reveal a pout underneath. "Aw," she ruffles his hair, and flour flies everywhere. "Is someone a sore loser?"