The Twelve Days of Channel Awesome - Secret Santa Fic for m3rrys0ngstr3ss
Title: The Twelve Days of Channel Awesome
Rating: R-ish, for cursing, sensuality, implied sex, sex-sex, and lack of a beta.
Word Count: 4,984
Pairings: Phelous/Lupa, Linkara/Insano, Film Brain/Luke, Liz/Scarlett/Marzgurl, Diamanda Hagan/Pushing Up Roses, hinted That Sci-Fi Guy/90’s Kid, implied ATG/Spoony, implied Snob/Jillian, implied MasakoX/Jillian, one-sided Chick/Todd.
Characters: Chester A. Bum. Nostalgia Critic, Oancitizen, Nella, Bennett the Sage, Handsome Tom and 8-Bit Mickey, ERod, ATG, MikeJ, Benzaie, JewWario, Harvey Finevoice, The Makeover Fairy, Angry Joe, Paw, The Other Guy, RolloT, Ed Glaser, Linksano, Dominic.
Warnings: Random holiday drabbles full of fluff and strange references. Heterosexual love. Drunken attempts at Shakespeare. Waterfowl. Massive consumption of alcohol that is not to be imitated. Bondage. Possible dub-con. Breaking the fourth wall. References to stalking.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and nobody. No offense is intended to the people whose alter-egos are contained herein. The poem Oan quotes drunkenly is “The Phoenix and the Turtle” by William Shakespeare.
Summary: Channel Awesome Christmas in the Big House AU. Shenanigans ensue. It involves pretty much everyone I’m comfortable writing and way too much happens to adequately explain in a summary.
A/N: Secret Santa gift for m3rrys0ngstr3ss. Happy Solstice/Chisthaunakwanza/Gurnenthar’s Ascendance, I bring you the gift of 12 drabbles!
As usual when left to my own devices without a prompt, I went fluffy and weird, and threw in some random historical references, and then things just got out of control. Hopefully this is somewhat coherent and makes at least somebody besides me laugh. As I continued to write, the drabbles got crazier and crazier, and things got more and more out of hand. I tried to limit myself to drabbles of 100-300, then 100-350, and then I ended up writing one that was over 600 words and just gave up on limiting myself. And then the cast list blew up.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good … 3:30AM!
1. The Lord of Misrule
“I’m the Lord of Misrule, Mr. Ma-Critic!” Chester cheered, bounding around the room.
“No you’re not, Chester, you’re just wearing a paper hat from one of those Christmas crackers.” Critic grumbled, searching through the mound of presents under the giant tree in the lobby of Channel Awesome’s headquarters. He was searching for the ones that said “To: Nostalgia Critic” or, in the case of the Chick’s “To: My Asshole Boss (Critic)” or FilmBrain’s gift to him “To: The Best Boss Ever!”
“You don’t understand, Mr. Ma-Critic! You see, I was once a fancy historiman in a nice warm college!” Chester beamed with pride. “I had thirteen degrees from the President of Books. Anyways, I learned all about the Twelve Days of Christmas, and I’m the Lord of Misrule this year!”
Critic crawled out from the cave of presents. “What are you talking about, Chester?” he asked, holding up a present from Guy that, judging from the curved and very phallic shape from underneath the wrapping paper, could only be one thing.
“It means that beggars are made kings and kings are made beggars! So that means you have to go sit out in the snow and try to steal from the nice people who ring the loud bells, and I get to stay nice and warm inside and sit in your chair and do reviews!” Chester grinned. “Also, you owe me a bird in a hair tree!”
“Pear tree. Pear tree, Chester. And no, I’m not going out in the snow.”
Chester pouted. “But … I’m the Lord of Misrulings …” he wibbled.
Critic took pity. It was Christmas after all. “Look, Chester … what if you stay inside this Christmas? You can sleep under the stairs next to the kitchen and eat all the food you want. Just don’t do anything too crazy, ok?”
“OH MY GOD, THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BEST CRIRSTMAS I’VE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE!!!” Chester squeed.
Critic watched him run around in circles with glee before getting dizzy and leaving to make a sandwich.
2. The Phoenix and the Turtle (Dove)
What had started as a few reviewers coming outside to dance around as some new snow fell turned into a playful scuffle, which had turned into a team effort, which had turned into an all-out war. It seemed like every contributor was out, bundled up in hats and coats and gloves and scarves and boots, hurling snowballs at each other with cries or rage or fits of laughter. Alliances were forged and, just as quickly, broken. Friendships were tested and rivalries forgotten.
“Ow.” Phelous said dully, shaking the remains of a snowball from his hair. “Argh.” He said without much conviction.
“GOTCHA!” Lupa roared, tackling the Canadian from behind a snowman. He buckled when she flew onto his back, and landed face-first in a pile of snow as a result.
“Aww yeah, score one for Team Rothrock!” Lupa grinned as Phelous twisted around to look her in the eye. “You’re coming back to base with me, spy!”
“Spy? I’m not a spy! And since when were we playing Live Action TF2?” Phelous said, voice muffled slightly by the snow and his voluminous scarf.
“Since I said so!” Lupa said, sticking out her tongue and hauling Phelous up onto his feet. “And you’d better cooperate, Mr. Sneaky Pants, or I’ll be the Bad Cop when we interrogate you.”
“What does that mean, ‘Bad Cop?’ You pretend to kick me in the balls?” Phelous asked as Lupa led him away from the battlefield.
“No, it means you only get two marshmallows in your hot chocolate … instead of three!” Lupa said this like it was serious business.
Later, when Phelous was sitting by the fire, “tied up” with several scarves, and Lupa was sitting on his lap and feeding him hot chocolate with the threatened TWO marshmallows, he decided that “Bad Cop” wasn’t so bad after all. He wasn’t quite sure how, but somehow he’d ended up with the best girlfriend ever.
Later, a very drunk Oancitizen stumbled into the room and quoted what sounded like Shakespeare at them:
“… love did shine … turtle saw his … right, yeah, right … flaming in the phoenix’s sight … either was the other’s mind … mine … Either was the other’s mine!”
They shooed him away - “Don’t you see? It’s brilliant! You’re an orange flaming bird of fire, Lupa!” - and locked the door.
3. French-Esque
“Bonjour!” trilled a voice, knocking insistently on the door.
The Snob opened up, staring in confusion at the sight that greeted him: three men dressed as French maids.
“’Allo!” giggled the leader, who hadn’t even bothered to shave off his goatee: Benzaie. The Snob would know that smirk anywhere.
“Erm, bonjour?” attempted the second, who upon closer inspection turned out to be a sheepishly smiling JewWario. “Look, can I just be Japanese maid? I’m more comfortable with that.” He winked at the Snob. “Konnichiwa, Goshujin-sama!”
“How can you be comfortable in this get-up?” squeaked the final one, a skinny, mousey guy with glasses. “I cannot believe you talked me into this, you perverts!”
The Snob struggled to recall this one’s name … MasakoX?
“Well, somebody lost the poker game to Team NChick, so it’s us who had to dress up like this.” JewWario ruffled MasakoX’s hair. “Just be glad they didn’t make us wear those corsets and feather boas. I mean, I know I’d be just fine in those, but you’d probably faint dead away.”
“As interesting as this is,” the Snob drawled, leaning in the doorframe as Masako blushed crimson. “Why are you three here at all?”
“Oh, Monsieur, we are here to clean your house!” Benzaie said, voice very high-pitched. He brandished a feather duster teasingly.
“For Christmas!” JewWario purred, somehow striking a sultry pose in a skirt and towering heels.
“Well, thanks, but you should probably take your sexy maid act elsewhere, I’m a married man and -”
“Since when has that stopped you?” Suddenly Jillian was in the doorway as well, eyeing the three guests up and down appreciatively. “Let the ladies clean, Brad, they only want to help out!”
The Snob shrugged and got out of the way. As the maids trooped past, Jillian grabbed Masako by one of the many ribbons festooned on his dress. She reeled him across the room and sat down on the couch. Somehow he ended up on her lap, shooting nervous looks at her husband as he did so.
“Don’t mind me,” the Snob said, pouring himself a glass of wine and handing another to Jillian. “I’m in the mood to watch something today.”
4. Blackbirds?
“Dude, the 90’s were AWESOME, man!” 90’s Kid grinned, punching the air.
“You know … they really were.” That Sci-Fi Guy smiled, glancing over at the pile of DVDs he, 90’s Kid, and ERod had pooled for their evening of unbridled geekiness. There was popcorn, soda, loads of movies, and two great guys making him feel welcome in his new home. This truly was AWESOME.
90’s Kid and ERod had started to list off notable geeky 90’s media.
“The X-Files!”
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer!” 90’s Kid punched the air. “Buffy is totally badass!”
“Babylon 5,” that Sci-Fi Guy smiled wistfully.
“The Matrix!”
“Dudes, Jurassic Park!”
“Quantum Leap, well, that started in ’89.”
“Close enough.” ERod contested. He smiled, “The Iron Giant.”
“The Rocketeer.”
“Gattaca!” that Sci-Fi Guy grinned.
“Naked Lunch, dudes.”
They turned to stare at 90’s Kid.
“What, just because I’m totally radical means I can’t be cultured, too? Lame, guys.” 90’s Kid crossed his arms. “William S. Burroughs was, like, the man.”
That Sci-Fi Guy groaned. “Oh god, I just remembered …”
“What?” the other two asked in unison.
That Sci-Fi Guy stared into the distance. “The Phantom Menace.”
There was a long pause.
“Oh, dude, I am like, so sorry,” 90’s Kid patted that Sci-Fi Guy on the back.
“It hurts us all,” ERod said solelmly.
“Hey, dudes, I just had a radical idea!”
“Oh no,” that Sci-Fi Guy whimpered.
“Relax, man, I’ve got this.” 90’s Kid leapt to his feet and started rummaging around the pile of DVD’s they’d assembled at the start of the evening. “Here we go!” he put something into the disk drive and settled back on the couch.
The Empire Strikes Back began to play. The original version, without CGI bullshit.
“Dude, I could kiss you,” the ERod said, heaving a sigh of relief.
That Sci-Fi Guy did kiss 90’s Kid, on the forehead, but still. 90’s Kid blushed and squirmed a little, intrigued … but not wanting to make things weird for ERod.
Bennett the Sage burst into the room, a cage of blackbirds in hand and a frozen turkey tucked under his arm. He raced to the other exit, yelling “Don’t ask! Just … don’t ask!”
About a minute later, Handsome Tom entered the room, 8-Bit Mickey perched on his shoulders. Handsome Tom was also sporting a blinking red reindeer nose and wearing a headband with antlers.
“Have you seen -” they began.
The trio on the couch pointed out the other door.
“Onwards, to glory!” 8-Bit Mickey cried, adjusting the antlered headband on Tom before they tramped after Bennett.
After a moment of silence, ERod paused the video. “So, um, you’ve both been here longer than I have, and I’ve heard, uh, rumors about what happens when people do crossovers?”
“Oh man, you too?” that Sci-Fi Guy asked. “Yeah, I had a crossover with Marzgurl the other day, and then once we stopped filming she came to my room in this lacy thing and started waggling her eyebrows at me …”
“What did you do?” ERod asked excitedly.
“I, uh, well,” the blond shrugged, smiling awkwardly. “I’m not that into girls, to be honest. I mean, I was flattered, but … no.”
“I get ya. Well, I half-get you, I guess. I’m into both.” ERod grinned.
“Dude, you too?” 90’s Kid reached over. “High five, man! Bisexuality is AWESOME! … no offence, dude.” He said, beaming at that Sci-Fi Guy with new enthusiasm.
“None taken.”
“So,” ERod squirmed. “Does this count as a crossover, or …?”
“Let’s see how things go,” that Sci-Fi Guy said, turning the movie back on. “Plus let’s wait a while in case those three come rushing through again. I’d rather not get walked in on.”
5. The Fabulous Pheasant
“Question: What do the 5 gold rings in the song ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ mean?”
“That’s a very good question. Now, in the original song they didn’t mean rings like you’re thinking, they meant some very gay birds called ‘pheasants’ that were so unbelievably FABULOUS that they were born with gold rings of feathers around their necks. Which proves that homosexuality is perfectly natural and saying otherwise means you advocate the shooting of anybody who wears those hipster feather earrings. Which I do.” ATG clicked a shotgun menacingly before placing it back underneath the bar. “I’m coming for you, hipsters! … and I mean that in the worst possible way.” Guy licked his lips slowly and fluttered his eyelids, gasping obscenely and gripping the bar for support. “Nothing gets me hotter than you androgynous music-loving second-generation hippies. Now, where were we?”
“Hello, I’m a British person, and, uh … oh my, I seem to have been teleported into some kind of pub …”
“Hello there,” Guy leered at the new guest, a confused man wearing a suit and tie and clutching a mug. “Have you been roofied, by any chance?”
“What? Oh, no, not at all, this happens to me all the time, I’ll blip back home eventually.”
“Oh, pity. Want me to top off your … mug?” Guy asked, pausing just long enough to indicate he’d like to “top off” the newcomer in a sexually deviant way.
“You’re welcome to try!” the man, whose name was MikeJ, said, returning Guy’s grin. “Incidentally, who’s that man you’ve got tied up to the wall behind the bar with Christmas lights? And where did you find that lovely ballgag he’s wearing?”
“Oh, that old thing? Got the gag from the dominatrix I shoved down the stairs. And don’t mind the man, he’s my Christmas treat for after the show.” Guy nodded at the camera before topping off MikeJ’s mug with something much stronger than tea. “You’re welcome to join us afterwards, if you like, I could use an extra pair of … hands.”
MikeJ shrugged. “Cheers, mate!” he beamed, clinking his mug against Guy’s glass.
Guy turned back to the camera.
“Now then, back to the gay gold birds and their fabulous rings. A more conventional kind of ring is thought of today, like a cock-ring. Guess why the man behind me looks so uncomfortable? I’ll give you a hint … it’s not a pheasant!”
MikeJ had to suppress a laugh, nearly spewing his drink all over the counter.
Behind Guy, Spoony tried to say “fuck you, you robe-wearing asshat, just wait until I revert into SWS!Spoony at midnight, then you’ll get cock-teased and tied-up and left to wait!” Because of the gag, however, he could only make muffled “mmmmphr!” noises and drool a little. Tonight was going to be a long night.
6. Big Fucking Egg
SadPanda set the giant egg down on the coffee table reverently before Welshy.
“What the fucking hell is that?” Welshy asked, peering at the thing. It was the biggest egg he’d ever seen, purple as irises and speckled with dark green spots. It looked like something out of a cartoon.
“Forgetaboutit.” SadPanda slurred, lying down on the floor for no apparent reason. Well, there was a reason: with Panda the reason was … there was no reason. Welshy had to adjust his usual means of thinking when it came to Panda.
“Well, I can’t forget about it, it’s on top of my coat now. What if I want to go outside?”
“You know, I was talking to that Chester guy downstairs. He’s very profound. I think we should have him on the next episode of Panda Q&A.” Panda said, addressing the ceiling.
“There is no ‘next episode’ of Panda Q&A, remember? You made that up. You never get any work done, Christ, I have to do all the work around here and yet you’re still the one people remember!” Welshy groaned: it was too early to get worked up and angry like this. “Where did you get the giant egg, Panda? And please, keep it short, I don’t need another three-hour monologue about your epic adventure to the supermarket or the park or your childhood experiences with crayons.”
Panda rolled onto his side and leaned on his elbow, gazing at Welshy curiously. “It was a gift.” Then he rolled over onto his other side and started to snore.
Welshy swore and tapped the egg experimentally. It didn’t do anything. He tried googling “big fucking egg” and “purple egg” and “giant mystery egg” and even “dinosaur egg” before giving up, wrapping it securely in his coat, and getting onto the floor next to Panda. He draped his arm around the man like he was a teddy bear (instead of a Panda) and cuddled up to his on-again-off-again roommate/lover.
They woke eight hours later to a dimly-lit room, a clock that read “5:16pm” and a sticky, purple and green baby dragon chittering to them from on top of the coffee table.
“Well -” Panda started.
“… Motherfucker.” Welshy finished.
7. Swans A-Swimming
Linkara really didn’t understand why Insano thought that the end of December was the perfect time to launch an attack of robotic swans on the city. He’d given up trying to locate the logic in his nemesis’ plans ages ago.
“Soon, the world will tremble at the name of Doctor Insano, and his army of robotic feathered friends!” Insano cackled, riding the largest swan, a black one with eyes that shot laserbeams. The swan fired in Linkara’s direction.
Linkara rolled out of the way, covering his head with his arms as one of the modern art sculptures in the park exploded.
“No great loss!” Insano said, urging his swans onward. “When I rule this pathetic city, the only sculptures will be of me!”
Linkara rolled his eyes and started to run for the pond, slipping and sliding on the icy path. The pond was his only chance.
Thankfully, the swans gave chase, Insano yelling orders shrilly. Linkara began to carefully walk out across the frozen pond, arms outstretched as he tried to recall the few times he’d skated as a child.
Insano and his robotic swans were assembled by the docking station for paddleboats, hesitating.
“Come on, you stupid birds!” Linkara yelled, hands cupped around his mouth. He was nearly in the middle of the pond. The ice creaked ominously under his feet. Linkara gulped.
Insano considered the pond, his yelling nemesis, and his robotic swans. Then all of them charged onto the ice. Linkara sprinted for the other side of the pond.
CRACK.
Linkara made sure to rescue Insano from the icy water and splintering ice, as the scientist’s robotic swans floundered, shorted out, and sank as best they could in five feet of churning muddy water.
“My s-s-s-swans …” Insano stuttered, shivering uncontrollably.
“Come on, let’s get you back to HQ.” Linkara said, taking a spare winter hat from his pocket and putting it on Insano’s head to warm him up. “Put you by the fire and get you all bundled up … don’t want you to get sick.”
“You don’t?” Insano asked as Linkara steered him back to the hotel they called home.
“Of course not!” Linkara said.
“Hmmm … interesting …” Insano said, adjusting the bobble hat.
He didn’t follow up with that, though, and Linkara didn’t press for details.
8. Milk: It Does a Body Good
“So, y’see … y’see … you see …” the Chick waved her finger towards Linksano’s glasses. “It’s all verrrrrrrry simple. I like Todd, like him mmmlot, wanna fuck ’im … anyways, I like Todd but he dun love me back. He loves … Lupa … bitch … stupid … red-haired … sexy bitch … she dun like him at all, ’cause he stalks her like a teenage vampire and steals her hair and stuff … gross … I do that to him but it’s not gross wh-wh-when I do it because I love him and he’s gonna love me back soon, goddamit!”
Linksano nodded slowly, because he was extremely drunk and moving quicking made him naeusous. “I understand. I used to sneak into Spoonette’s room when I was younger to test my science hair-care products on her lovely locks … that was when I got my first restraining order,” Linksano sighed dreamily. “I miss Spoonette …” his goggles slid off, revealing tears welling up in his eyes. “MY WHOLE REALITY WAS EATEN BY THE ENTITY!” he wailed, clinging to the only person who was nearby: RolloT.
RolloT patted the scientist on the back and pointed at the Chick’s glass. “Why are you only drinking milk? You haven’t had any booze tonight at all, but you sound completely wasted!”
“Because the author felt uncomfortable writing me drunk because of real-life issues, both with my real person and the author’s real family. But she needed me kinda-sorta-drunk for this scene and she had writer’s block, that’s why.”
“What?”
“Don’t look at the fourth wall,” the Chick said, waving her hand at the gaping hole in reality next to their table. “There’s a weird college girl on the other side who puts the words in my mouth for a Secret Santa Gift.”
“Ok … continue?”
“So, so, so anyways, anywaysssssss what I was trying to explain was that Todd … sexy, mofo … Todd dun like me! He likes … lusts … loves Lupa … bitch … and she likes Ph-ph-phall … that dude who reviews the scary movies! And they fuck like … every night … bunnies … they’re fuckin’ like bunnies, man,” Chick poured herself another glass of milk. “Bunny man … heh heh … Donnie Darko … Harvey … bunnies …”
“I think I’ll have to cut you off, ma’am,” said the vaguely-British bartender solemnly.
“Don’t tell me how to live my life!” the Chick roared, slamming her glass down and standing up dramatically.
Ed Glaser woke up from his slump at the bar and looked around, bewildered. He hadn’t drunk that much, he must have forgotten to sleep for two days again. “Seriously … I’m Ed Glaser?” he said as the Chick staggered out with RolloT and Linksano, singing “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
“FIVE GOLDEN RINGS! … And a partridge in a hair-tree! Nine ladies dancing … eight maids a milking! Seven swans a swanning …”
Ed shrugged and went back to sleep. The bar was comfortable, he was awesome, and it was Christmas: life was perfect.
9. Ladies’ Night
“MINION!”
“Yes, beautiful Joker-faced Mistress?”
“Do the Dance of Joy!”
“With pleasure!” Nella squeed and did the Dance of Joy. Lupa joined her, grinning enthusiastically.
Diamanda Hagan watched them curiously. Perhaps it was the large quantities of alcohol she’d been plying her guests with for the past four hours. Perhaps it was her devilish charms. Perhaps Insano had turned on a “worship Hagan” ray in another misguided and pathetic attempt to woo her. Perhaps …
… perhaps they really liked her?
Hagan shook her head and suddenly stopped, catching sight of something even more distracting then the gleeful geekiness of Nella and Lupa.
Iron Liz and Scarlett were making out heavily, groping each other’s breasts as they desperately attempted to suck each other’s faces off. They were still on the dancefloor, spinning slowly in circles and just barely keeping up the appearances of a box-step. Hagan felt her jaw drop and didn’t care. Scarlett’s hand slid down Liz’s back, under the waistband of her skirt …
“Sure are sexy, aren’t they?” Roses asked, perching on the arm of Hagan’s chair.
“What?” Hagan blinked, glancing from Liz and Scarlett to Roses. “I … um …”
“Ooooo, I love this song!” Roses squealed and slid down onto Hagan’s lap. She began to squirm experimentally. “You know, I’ve never actually done this before, let me know if I’m doing something wrong, ok?”
“F-f-f-fine …” Hagan gasped as the perky young woman gyrated around on her lap. “Oh sweet Steven Moffat …” she gripped the arms of her chair tightly, scanning the room for other couplings.
The girl who wore cat-eared headband … Kitty or something, Hagan had drunk quite a lot as well … was dancing sheepishly with Dena, who’d had some very interesting things to say about horror movies. Hagan made a mental note to have more discussions with that one later.
Meanwhile, Marzgurl - hair bleached white and streaked with sparkles - had managed to sidle up to Liz and Scarlett, who were welcoming her into their staggering groping huddle.
“Hey, I’m up here!” Roses chided, thrusting her chest towards Hagan’s face. Her bird tattoos peeked out over the top of her dress enticingly.
“Oooo, hypnotic boobs!” Hagan grinned. “My favorite kind!”
10. Two Kings A-Lurking
“Are they gone?” Film Brain whispered.
“Shhhhhh!” Luke hissed, clapping a hand over his companion’s mouth. They were crammed into the closet of one of the spare rooms. They were also dressed as two of the Three Kings, whom they’d been playing in the ill-advised and explosive failure of a Nativity Play put on by the well-meaning but very drunk Team NChick.
(The other “King” had been Paw, who’d misunderstood the instructions and shown up dressed as Elvis. The less said about that, the better.)
“I don’t know about you, but I’m afraid to die in really nasty ways, so kindly keep your British mouth shut unless you want them to find us.” Luke murmured into Film Brain’s ear. His breath was warm, tickling Film Brain’s skin.
Film Brain adjusted his crown, glad that it was so dark in their hiding place. He was starting to get a very poorly timed erection, and he wasn’t sure how Luke would react to that. Film Brain folded his robe (“kingly garment”) over his front in an effort to conceal the bulge between his legs.
There was the sound of thundering footsteps and shouts of “Where are they?!” and “Time to resurrect the War of 1812!” and suchlike things. The sounds soon died away, leaving the pair in silence.
Luke shifted from foot to foot. “You know,” he whispered softly, putting an arm around a startled Film Brain. “We could be hiding for a while … we should do something to occupy ourselves.”
Film Brain blinked. He couldn’t see Luke’s face, did he really mean …?
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, hoping against all hope that this was his lucky day.
“What do you think?” Luke asked. Then he located Film Brain’s face with his hands and kissed the startled Englishman.
The door flew open.
“GOTCHA!”
Film Brain and Luke jumped about a foot in the air. Then they threw their kingly bathrobes at their captors as a distraction and fled the scene, taking the stairs two at a time and bounding across the floors.
11. Pay the Piper
“Dollface, why don’t you go back uptown where you belong? This ain’t no place for the likes of you. Go home before you get yourself hurt, and stop asking questions about the Piper …”
“I roll Insight! … um, which of these dice do I use for that?” the Makeover Fairy searched through her pile of pink and sparkly dice, brow furrowed with concentration.
“That one there, babe, and don’t forget to add your modifier.”
“That’s a … plus two, right?” the Fairy checked her character sheet.
“Yep.”
“Am I still tailing her?” Joe asked. “I almost lost her at the train station, but I’m still tailing her, right? Can I see the Piper’s enforcer?”
Harvey rolled some dice. “… yes, yes you do. You’re halfway down the block, hiding in an alleyway. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see them pretty well.”
“Oooo! I use “Feminine Wiles” to charm him into giving up information!”
“You’ll have to roll pretty high for that, sweetheart, this guy’s got serious stats.” Harvey said, shuffling papers behind the screen of folders he’d created to conceal his GM paraphernalia from the group.
“When do I get out of this jail cell again?” Paw asked.
“Tomorrow at 11AM.”
“But then all the good stuff will be over with!”
“Either break your ass out, bribe a guard, or sit tight and wait it out. I told you not to break into a house without a warrant, but you just had to kick the door in …” Harvey shook his head. “Honestly, it’s a miracle the Piper ain’t hung the lot of you out to dry. You’ve had some very lucky rolls, my friends.”
“You’re lucky, Paw, at least you’re not chained up in a warehouse by the docks!” the Other Guy pointed out, shaking his character sheet across the table. “Say goodbye to Agent Franklin Jones, because at noon the Piper’s gonna come by and bash his face in with a lead pipe! It’ll be like … like Clue, man, “The Piper, with the lead Pipe, in the Shady Warehouse.” Can I come back as a zombie?”
“Sorry, barkeep, no.”
“What about a dinosaur?”
“What?!”
“Never mind,” the Other Guy shook his head. “Poor Agent Franklin, I feel bad for the guy.”
“Twenty-seven!” the Fairy squealed, pointing down at her dice. “I seduce him with that, right?”
Harvey rolled some dice of his own. “You knock him off his feet, babe! He’s all yours. What do you want to know?”
“I want to know who the Piper is, where his headquarters are, and what he’s done with Agent Franklin Jones of the FBI!”
“Oh, hey, thanks!” the Other Guy said. “Maybe it’s not too late for Franklin Jones after all!”
Paw smiled to himself: they’d never suspect that he was actually the Piper!
12. The Little Drummer Boy
The party had been going on for almost twenty-hour hours. Some had blamed Chester for running around yelling about Twelfth Night and how people used to believe that the next day began in the evening. Others chalked it up to end-of-Holiday adrenaline rushes. Most, however, were just enjoying the party for what it was: a fantastic party. Everyone had taken up an instrument or two or five during the course of the party, some reviewers had actual experience with the things they were playing, but when in doubt, those who didn’t headed for the drums.
“Beat drums! Beat drums!” Critic roared, banging on the cymbals enthusiastically. He wasn’t just drunk, he was also still unbelievably gleeful about presents and Christmas and spending so much time with people who weren’t trying to kill him. Also, he’d snorted something Guy had given him for Christmas and he was seeing lots of pretty little green fairies in the air and he was pretty sure he could see sounds.
Midway through the “song” he spotted the Nostalgia Chick staggering past the stage, a collection of empty and semi-empty wine glasses clutched in her hands. “WOOOMAAAAN! WOOMAAAAN! WOOMAAAAN!” he dove off of the stage and started chasing after her. She ran to Todd, who ran to Lupa, who ran to Phelous. Then Phelous and Lupa punched the Critic down and started making out on the nearest table. Todd attempted to join in, slipped on a puddle of beer, and fell under the table, blissfully unconscious. Critic glomped the Chick, who dropped all of her wine glasses onto his feet … just as the clock struck twelve and the flatscreen TV in the corner showed Times Square lighting up.
Everybody sober and awake enough to notice screamed: “Happy New Year!” and the party continued into the early hours of 2012.
~ The End ~