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Porlyusica didn’t like people. She made it very clear, and the few humans she did interact with were well aware of the fact. So she didn’t know why someone was knocking on her door less than 30 minutes to sundown.
“This better be important,” Porlyusica snapped, throwing the door open.
“I would think Hanukkah qualifies as important,” Makarov quipped. He had a small satchel with him and looked slightly more dressed up that usual.
Porlyusica sighed but gestured for her friend to enter. “I had almost thought you forgot.”
“The latkes and sufganiyot on the table say otherwise,” Makarov pointed out, trying and failing to keep a smirk off his face. Just like he said, two plates filled with latkes and sufganiyot were sitting on the table. An unlit menorah stood tall on the center of the table.
“Oh shut up and take your shoes off.” Porlyusica took Makarov’s bag from him and began emptying it onto the table, taking out a box of matches, some dreidels, and a lot of gelt. “I don’t even know why I made all that, you shouldn’t be eating such unhealthy things at your age.”
“It’s Hanukkah! Let a man live a little!”
“Just because it’s a holiday doesn’t mean you get to clog up your arteries!” Porlyusica paused, her arm still in Makarov’s bag. She sighed. “Oh, who am I kidding! I’m two years older than you and I still eat the dang things like I’m still a kid!”
“ There’s the Porlyusica I know!” Makarov crowed. He hopped onto one of the chairs at her table and stuffed a sufganiyot into his mouth. “Mmmmm, yours are still the best.”
Porlyusica rolled her eyes and hung Makarov’s bag on her coat rack. “Tell that to my mother. She always told me that I didn’t put enough jam in the middle.” Despite her harsh words, Porlyusica grabbed a sufganiyot of her own and bit into it, relishing the taste.
“She’s wrong.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead!” Porlyusica said, glaring at her friend.
“I never said anything bad about her! I’m sure she was a very lovely lady!” he protested, quickly backpedaling. “I just…think she has an incorrect opinion on your baking.”
Porlyusica laughed. “I’m just messing with you, I never liked her all that much to begin with.”
“Well that’s not nice,” Makarov grumbled, taking a couple latkes from the serving plate to drown his sorrows.
“Oh lighten up Maky,” she joked, lightly kicking Makarov under the table. He rolled his eyes but laughed.
“I have an idea for how we could lighten it up,” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.
Porlyusica snickered. “You could just say you want to light the menorah.”
“I want to light the menorah.”
She held in another snicker and walked to the window. She pulled back the curtains to confirm the sun had set and was pleased to find it had. Porlyusica turned around and saw Makarov already holding a match. “Oh no you don’t!” She dove for the matchbox, pulling it out of his hands just before he lit the match.
Makarov looked at her, puppy dog eyes on full blast. However, Porlyusica wasn't having it. “Remember what happened last year?” she accused, gesturing to the burn mark on her ceiling.
“I—you got me there,” he muttered, handing her the match he still had. Last year, against her better judgement, Porlyusica let Makarov light the menorah on the last night. Makarov, being Makarov, decided it was a good idea to use his Giant magic on the flames to make them bigger to be “more festive.” Said huge flames ended up setting the wooden ceiling on fire and they almost had to call Natsu and Juvia for help. It was pretty safe to say Porlyusica wasn’t about to let Makarov light the menorah again.
Carefully, Porlyusica lit the match and then lit the shamash , the center candle slightly raised above the other eight. As she lit it, she and Makarov recited the Shehecheyanu . “Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.”
Porlyusica blew out the match and put it down in favor of holding the shamash , which she used to light the furthest candle on the right side of the menorah. She and Makarov recited another blessing upon the candles. “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah light.”
Having lit the candle symbolizing the first night of Hanukkah, Porlyusica returned the shamash to its position in the center of the menorah. The two friends recited the last blessing for the candles. “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time.”
“Woo! Hanukkah!” Makarov cheered. Porlyusica laughed. While there were more blessings and hymns and psalms to recite after lighting the candles, Porlyusica and Makarov were not the most strictly observant Jews and pretty much only did them on the last night of Hanukkah.
“Is it dreidel time?” Makarov looked at Porlyusica with pleading eyes, but she was already piling the gelt into two stacks of ten gelt, one group for each of them.
“Yes, you old fool. Pick which one you want to use.”
He deliberated over the options before choosing the orange dreidel he chose every time. He considered it lucky. Porlyusica picked a pink dreidel that matched her hair. They each put one piece of gelt in the center of the table and the game began.
“Darn, shin,” Porlyusica announced after her dreidel stopped spinning. She put one of her gelt pieces in the center.
“I got nun,” Makarov said.
“Shin again! Really?” Porlyusica groaned, putting another piece in the middle.
Makarov laughed. “That’s what happens when you don’t have a lucky dreidel! Aw, shin.” He grumpily put a gelt in the center while Porlyusica laughed at him.
“That’s what happens when you’re a braggart. Ha! Gimel!” Porlyusica grabbed all the gelt in the middle and added it to her pile.
“Up-bup-bup! Don’t forget you have to leave a piece in the pot,” Makarov said, adding a gelt of his own to the center.
“I know, I just forgot,” Porlyusica grumbled, putting a piece back.
“Aw man, I got shin again.” Makarov put another piece in.
“Ugh, same,” she said, adding her own.
“Nun!”
“Hei! Give me half of those!” Porlyusica cried. Makarov slid her two of the gelt.
“Dang it, another shin!”
The two continued playing dreidel until Makarov eventually ran out of pieces.
“No fair, I kept getting shin!”
“That is how one would lose at dreidel, I’m glad you understand,” Porlyusica deadpanned. Makarov gave her the stink eye.
“I’ll get you back for that, you old crone,” he threatened.
“I would like to remind you that I am your doctor.”
“And by ‘get you back’ I meant ‘get you a back rub’!” he added quickly.
“Sure. Anyway, get out.”
Makarov looked at the clock. “Already? It’s only—”
“Don’t make me get my broom.”
“Aye, sir!” he squeaked. He grabbed his bag and began to put everything back in it, but sped up the task when he saw Porlyusica grab her broom. Makarov was moving so fast he nearly knocked over the menorah.
“MAKAROV!” she roared, storming at him with the broom.
“Oh no!” Makarov ran out of the tree house, Porlyusica chasing him out with her broom.
“And don’t come back!”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night!” he called back, his running figure barely visible in the dark.
“Unfortunately!"