Christmas Saga 3: And Good Will Toward Men
By d_Galloway
MARS, CIRCA 1960s:
The martian, dressed in their traditional green jumpsuits and large green helmets taht perfectly matched their green, humanoid forms, escaped from the supply closet. Voldar, martian warlord and anti-Christmas spokesperson, barged into Santa’s Mars workshop, having already defeated the martian leader, Kimar, and capturing the martian santa, Dropo. His weapon raised, Voldar prepared to finish off the jolly old man, who just sat there staring at his attacker.
Suddenly, the children leaped out of hiding, firing various toy weapons at the martian. Little wooden soldiers marched forward, while flagrant native american stereotypes pounded on wooden drums. Voldar, despite being a full-grown martian adult armed with a laser cannon, was rendered helpless against the assault, falling back in a veil of tears.
Finally, Kimar, king of the martians and supporter of Christmas everywhere, entered the workshop, along with the recently-escaped Dropo. “Cease fire!” he shouted. The children stopped their pathetic attack while Voldar cowered in the corner, sobbing like a beaten toddler. Two other martians grabbed Voldar and dragged him away, thus saving Christmas on Mars for many years to come.
Until today…
“And that is why I’m so awesome,” said Sinistral.
The rest of the RPGC staffers clapped, except for Merlin (who thought he was even awesomer). “Okay, now that he’s done, it’s time to plan this year’s Millenial Fair,” said Merlin. “Mr. Sinistral, stand up again and read the notes.”
Sin stood up yet again. “It’s the same thing as last year; a few new shrines, new entries into the library, etc. However, there is one more thing…we need someone to operate a spare booth.”
The rest of the junior staffers suddenly found themselves unable to move, while Galloway raised his hand, his eyes closed for some unsuspicious reason. “Alright, Galloway, you get the booth,” said Merlin. He passed Galloway a small folder. “Here are all the ideas we haven’t used yet.”
Two martian jail guards hopped happily into the martian prison, a bleak structure made up of wierd shapes and nuclear curtain-barred jail cells, singing “Jingle Bells” and acting generally merry and cheerful. Within the cell, Voldar growled and cursed, the very sound of their merriment driving him to madness. “Merry Christmas, Voldar!” shouted one of the guards.
“Oh, shut up!” said Voldar. “Once I escape, I will make certain Santa Claus and Kimar pay for this!”
“I’d like to see that!” said the other guard. “The nuclear curtain will keep you from ever passing through. And since all your accomplices left…”
Suddenly, the entire prison was rocked by a huge explosion, originating behind the guards. The two were thrown into the nuclear curtain, vaporized almost immediately upon contact. Voldar ran for cover under his bunk, hands over his green helmet. Several figures, dressed completely in futuristic battle armor, entered the prison, quickly deactivating the nuclear curtain surrounding Voldar’s cell.
“Who are you?” said Voldar.
“We represent a kindred spirit,” said the armored soldiers. “We have a proposition from our master.” One of them lowered a small device, and an audio recording started to play:
“Voldar, I have heard of your hatred for Christmas. That is why I have ordered my men to retrieve you. We have a way to end Christmas on both Earth and Mars. Join us, and we will make sure you get your revenge.”
Voldar let out a cruel smile at the recording. “I accept!”
Droppo’s workshop had no elves or workers; only a mechanical press capable of spitting out any toy instantly, a large control panel consisting of nothing but buttons, and a fuse box that was incredibly weak against a slight tweak of the wrench. Droppo himself, a fat martian in a red santa suit and cap, skipped into the workshop, singing christmas carols while prancing like an idiot. He made his way to the button console, and pressed the combination of switches for a XBOX 780.
Almost immediately, the machine started to spark flames and explode. Droppo grabbed the nearby fire extinguisher and quickly put out the destroyed machine. “W-What happened?!” he stumbled. He pressed a button on his belt, opening up a communication channel. “Chief, the workshop has been sabotaged!”
“This is indeed troubling,” said a voice. “Voldar has escaped as well. I’ll be down there with a security force in a few minutes.”
Droppo released the button, only to be grabbed by several of the soldiers.
The tall, impressive form of Kimar entered the room, along with several air gun-wielding soldiers. On the ground was a note, written in Martian:
“I have captured Droppo. Soon, I will be on my way to Earth to destroy Santa Claus!”
“This is troubling,” said Kimar. “Everyone, ready the ship! We must stop Voldar at all costs!”
Galloway, Weiila and Wilfredo sat at the cafe table, enjoying some lunch. Galloway was looking at the files Merlin had given him. “God, these are terrible!”
“Now you know why I never ran a booth at that fair,” said Weiila.
“I mean, ‘Is He-Man Gay?’” said Galloway. “‘Why American RPGs Suck Except for those Made by Bioware?’ ‘Triva question and answer?’”
“I have a trivia question!” said Wil. “Why are so many heroes unheroic nowadays?”
Galloway stared angrily at Wil. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
“If you mean how much DC sucks now, and how all the heroes kill criminals and change sides now, then yes,” said Wil.
Galloway’s eyes narrowed while Weiila hid in absolute terror. “Maybe it’s because CURRENT TASTES IN HEROES AND COMICS HAVE CHANGED SINCE THE SIXTIES! Maybe people just got sick of flawless superheroes who always managed to stop every major crisis within five seconds! Maybe people got tired of a ‘black and white’ approach to hero-villain relationships! Maybe people got tired of the Superfriends! Or better yet, maybe people got tired of you old-school bastards who do nothing but complain about every little change to come into comics, all the while doing nothing but driving people away from comics!”
Wil’s eyes bugged out in horror. “Uh-”
“That’s right, I could have enjoyed comics!” said Galloway. “Then I ran into people like you, who do nothing but complain about my generation’s comic book characters! Maybe we enjoy having our heroes deeply flawed and troubled! Maybe we enjoy the first Batman and Joker over the Golden Age ones! It’s a good thing I didn’t run into you before Justice League; otherwise, you would have ruined that for me, too! I hate you, Wil! I hate you and you old-school comic book fans from the deepest reaches of my heart! I hope you die a painful, agonizing death!”
Wil was left speechless, along with the rest of the cafe. “That was going a bit overboard, Galloway,” said Weiila.
“I know,” said Galloway. “I’ve just gotten sick of Wil spending the last six months complaining about the Infinite Crisis. It was pretty obvious it would only screw things up further; the DC universe is beyond repair.” He then returned his attention the file. “Hmm, this sounds reasonable. ‘An RPGC Christmas Play.’”
“That sounds…interesting,” said Wil. “Oh well, I need to be going. Nel and I are supposed to go adventuring this Christmas.” Wil quickly teleported out of the cafe, leaving Galloway and Weiila.
“Why not just do ‘A Christmas Carol?’” said Weiila. “We haven’t done that one in a while, it’s easy to perform, and it has only a handful of parts for kids.”
“Sounds like an idea,” said Galloway. “Now all we need is the-”
“WE?!” said Weiila. “I have plans this year, Galloway! It’s my first christmas free from that damn chibi curse!”
“…Oh,” sid Galloway. “Well…that’s nice…” His eyes began to tear at the memories he and the chibified Weiila had shared in the past. “Well, guess I should get the RPGC Players.”
Galloway teleported out of the cafe, leaving a very happy Weiila. Then she got the bill for Galloway’s five sandwiches and Wil’s extremely expensive salad.
Galloway re-materialized in front of the RPGC Players headquarters, only to find several large signs reading “QUARANTINED!” Beneath the front foor was a paper that read:
“The RPGC Players have been struck with a strange illness that will incapacitate them until the day after the Millenial Fair. If a play is desired, there is one other major group that can be hired.”
Galloway’s eyes narrowed when he read what group that was.
The RPGC Task Force HQ was bustling with no activity whatsoever. The only decorations were a small tree in the corner, barely managing to survive the extreme cold of the underground bunker. PC Glenton and GG Crono were playing cards at the meeting table, with Darkness Beckons’ weapon lowered towards Glenton’s neck as a cheating deferment. kiro was under a large blanket, shivering from the freezing room, while Heaven’s Soldier scanned the computers for any sign of life. Mabatsekker, meanwhile, sat by the door, using his catgirl porn to keep warm.
Suddenly, the front doors of the bunker came crashing down, as someone smashed his way inside. The Task Force prepared for battle, but stopped when they saw it was only Galloway. “What do you want, ex-member?” said GG Crono.
“First off, I WANTED to rejoin,” said Galloway. “I just had some personal issues to deal with first, what with Naar destroying the cosmos and all.”
“Who cares?” said Mabat. “You’re not a member now, and won’t be again, not after the Weiila incident!”
“…Maybe I should have left you to Nightmare the Clown,” said Galloway. “Also, if I hadn’t gone into space, we’d all be dead!”
“…Why are we mad at Galloway?” asked kiro.
“Because whenever he shows up, something bad happens,” said Glenton.
“Speaking of which, I’m calling in some favors,” said Galloway. “I need help with my booth this year.”
“Is it one of those…regression things again?” asked Heaven’s Soldier. “Because we’re not really into that stuff.”
Galloway facepalmed Heaven’s Soldier, and then himself. “For the last time, it’s-”
(next three words lost)
“-Also, I’m running a play this year. We’re doing a presentation of ‘A Christmas Carol.’ If Captain Picard could pull it off, I’m sure the seven of us can.”
GG Crono’s response was immediate. “No! We’ve got…crime…to solve!”
“…I was one of the founding members of the third RPGC Task Force,” said Galloway. “I KNOW the holidays have little crime here. Unless you want to go to the REAL world…”
“NO NO NO!” all six shouted. “WE’LL DO ANYTHING YOU SAY!”
“Alright,” said Galloway. “Let’s rehearse in southern Alberta for no apparant reason!”
Meanwhile, in southern Alberta, Trisha made her way to a grocery store, ears covered by the hood of her sweater. After grabbing enough food to feed an army of genetic hybrids, and waiting in line for thirty minutes, she reached the checkout stand. The clerk took a long look at her face, and pointed to a small placard on the check register that read “No Animal Hybrids.”
“But…why?” asked Trisha.
“Because you…things do nothing but take!” said the clerk. “Not a single one of you has a job, you all live in an abandoned warehouse, and you killed several dozen people six months ago!”
“That was a saiyan!” said Trisha.
An old lady behind Trisha joined in. “Saiyans are cartoon characters, you freak! Get the hell out of here!”
The rest of the store started joining in, brandishing weapons from out of nowhere. Suddenly very afraid, Trisha made a mad dash out of the store, landing with a thud just outside the door. Her hood fell open, revealing her ears to the rest of the town. The rest of the townsfolk joined in, descending on the terrified woman.
“So…Glenton, you’re Scrooge,” said Galloway. “Seems pretty appropriate…”
“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” shouted GG Crono.
Everyone turned their attention to the mob gathered around a grocery store. “It looks like a massive riot!” said Heaven’s Soldier. “Let’s use this opportunity to get out of Galloway’s lousy play!” The six members of the Task Force rushed into battle, Galloway tagging behind them.
(to be continued)
Thank you, Wil, for that lovely concept. I’ll make sure to mention you when I write my suicide note. Asshole.