Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 22:38:20 -0600 From: Bob Cradock Subject: Dark Knight Before Christmas (01/01) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU [This takes great liberties with the FK timeline, with the intellectual property of Moore, Geisel, and Parriot, and with any semblance of meter. No offense meant to any of the above, or to your favorite faction. Permission to archive at www.fkfanfic.com. (c) 1998] Dark Knight Before Christmas ---------------------------- All the humans in Toronto liked Christmas a lot but the vamps who lived just below T. O. did not. Janette hated carolers outside the Raven whose cheer scared off customers seeking a haven. "Such outfits these people wear this time of year! You'd not catch me undead in a blouse with reindeer!" Screed griped, "Constant trips to the shiny-things dealer mean a bloke gets no peace to enjoy a nice squealer." Vachon quickly burned out on lights that would blink cause he never could manage to stay quite in sync. Moore's "Stockings were hung by the chimney with care/ in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there" always dampened the mood of a certain Nick Knight: "Why can't *I* make the whole world so glad in one night? I can fly just as well as the jolly old elf, but I'm sure I'd miss some kids in spite of myself. Then they'd be disappointed, without dolls and tanks", he gloomed as he piled on more and more angst. But the one vampire whom Christmas made the most cross was the one who was sort of Nick and Janette's boss. LaCroix hated Christmas and Hanukkah'd annoy him. He scorned equally both the Jews and the goyim. He snickered at efforts to make others gleeful. He sneered at the ornaments hung by the treefull. He snarled at ring-jinglers, spat at whoopee-luges. He was mean enough for a whole scrum full of Scrooges. The partying, singing, and general egg-nogging made him long for a genuine Roman-style flogging. And he always became inconsolably cranky when he flew o'er the megawatt glow of Chez Schanke. He tried spreading pain, an emotion more suitin' him. Wrote a terrible Christmas song under a pseudonym. But his anti-carol backfired, for within a year, people actually *liked* "Grandma and the Reindeer". It was not that his heart was two sizes too small. For if what he had could be called a heart at all, it was normal, needing neither to shrink nor to grow. His heartbeat, however, was awfully slow. He decided his December dissatisfaction must move from mere mutterings to misanthropaction, when he saw the most dishy M.E. in the east switch from doing autopsies to carving roast beast. He grinned as he rolled up each elegant sleeve, "I know what I'll do. I'll strike Christmas Eve. I'll show you, you simpering human jackasses. I'll come while you sleep or attend midnight Masses. I'll take all your presents, your stockings, your trees. I'll take all that brings you your joys and your glees. I'd prefer those menorahs and creches removed, But I only touch things ACLU-approved. And I'll limit myself to just this mega-city so when others get gifts you'll wallow in self-pity. Then when on Christmas morning the sun begins shining, I shall be laughing and you will be whining." Forgoing the skylights he sped through the doors, stripping houses right down to their rugs or their floors. He hit every mansion, apartment, and garret. Took tree-hanging caddies, took rings eighteen karat. He stashed all their goods, quickly hand over fist, and was just about done with the last on his list. When a noise just behind him brought him to a pause had there been a small voice crying out "Santa Croix"'s? "You came wike you pwomised! I bewieved that you would! But what awe you doing? Don't you think I'm good?" Little Tracy Lou Who struggled with certain speech but LaCroix thought she looked juicy as a ripe peach. He fancied a drink ere he went off to bed, so he drew very close to the girl and he said, "There's a light on this tree that won't light up in red-" Then he looked in her eyes and he yanked back her head. When up on the roof there arose such a clatter he turned from her neck to see what was the matter. As the fireplace belched forth a loud whooshing sound down the chimney "Saint" Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in black from his head to his foot and his blond hair was covered with ashes and soot. "You've failed, dear LaCroix. I've trumped you, my master. You stole all their things but I stole them back faster. Being one house ahead, you could not feel my presence as I emptied your caches and replaced their presents. Not that you would have had great success any way, for objects can't make or break this holiday. Whether pagan day-lengthening or festival of light or a birth long ago on a Bethlehem night, they celebrate hope though the darkness is deep. That kind of faith is what they can, will, *must* keep. When I was a human I knew just that feeling, and it can't be stopped by a bit of gift-stealing. Their trust in what's good would go on, maybe muted, but damned if I'll stand by and let you dilute it!" "But damned you *are*, Nicholas, and you can't go back. So pardon me while I enjoy my wee snack." As LaCroix bared his fangs like a ravenous dog, Nick flicked on the gas with the pointed yule log. It burst into flame and before it could burn him, he thrust it right through LaCroix's unguarded sternum. The girl leapt away to her newfound defender. LaCroix hissed and shrank to one pitiful cinder. Nick made her believe she'd not seen what she did, and planted the thought in her "I'm a *good* kid!". Though he could tell someday resistance she'd get, she hadn't developed whammunity yet. He led her back into her bed nice and soft then flew back to end his long night at his loft. After re-giving gifts that the Nightcrawler stole his one gift to himself was LaCroix's lump of coal. Next evening as sunlight gave way to streetlamp, Janette toasted her status as new senior vamp. Screed thanked Vachon for his gift of a rat. Myra kissed Don again 'neath his mistletoe hat. And by candlelight over a just-for-two feast, Nat sighed as Nick thirstily drained the roast beast.