"Bob?"

"Yeah?"

"Your vampiric vision can see in this pitch dark, right?"

"Yep."

"Good, you're lead. Achmed?"

"Yes, sitt?"

"Where did we leave the torches and pitchforks from the last time we had to deal with Gudanov?"

"Utility room in the basement, sitt. We'll probably find all the neighbors on their way down to collect their, um, accoutrements."

"Right. Time for an angry mob, I think, Blood-style. Bob, I heard you lick your lips."

"Sorry, you said blood."

"Angry mob! Look, Am, an angry mob!"

I climb-- slightly shakily-- off the ladder (apparently, it isn't Christmas without tinsel on the ceiling; the things I do to get my bear to let me eat cake), and peer out the window.

Edward's right. Huh.

"You want to go and join them, then?"

Edward nods, and produces a scaled-down pitchfork from somewhere.

"Okay, then. Ride on my shoulder, and we see where this mob's going. So long as it isn't shopping-- we did enough of that last week."

"Angry mob sir." Reports Inga.

"Again?"

Inga nods.

"Have they gone into the forrest yet?"

"No."

"Good, then just handle it the usual way." I tell her.

"Then, download and print all the fanfic on shriftweb and fire a round of pamplet dispersal missles over the mob?"

I nod. "Like I said, the usual. I don't want them going into the forrest, the forrest hates angry mobs and I wouldn't anything to happen to the local experimental sub...err...people."

"Very thoughtful of you sir."

"Yeah. Plus, I just upgraded the pamplet dispersal missiles and want to see how they work."

"This is taking far too long. How long have we been waiting in this line Deimos?"

My minion, who has taken the form of a female child to help us blend in, looks at her watch. "Ten seconds boss."

I look at the line ahead and see several snotty nosed, bothersome children in front of us waiting their turn to sit on this Santa Claus's obese lap and whine about the pathetic toys they want. Looking around, I only see a couple of elfs. They don't look much like elves, are wearing stupid-looking shoes, and appear totally unarmed.

"This Santa Claus must be powerful indeed to have so little protection. I haven't sensed a single ward, and these so called elves look worthless. I suppose it was wise of me to stand in this line and take him by surprise. How long has it been now?"

"20 seconds boss"

A paper airline shatters my window at hurricane speed and imbeds itself in the wall opposite my desk. I put down my angry rake and pull it out of the wall without tearing it. Heh. A saucy bit of Willow/Faith fic. Well, alright...

No, no, no, the castle's barely in sight, and already the mob's getting distracted by pamphlets. Curse that Gudanov and all his mad scientist ilk.

"Achmed, put that down! Eris knows what subversive propaganda he's firing at us!"

My faithful houseboy doesn't even look up. "I'm sorry, sitt, but . . . well, Kendra . . . they never did enough with her . . ."

Oh, no. Fic-bombs. Bombs of fic. Maybe even fic that bombs. I turn around, looking for support.

"Oh, for--Bob!"

He does look up. "What! I'll let you read it when I'm done. It's a new Wes/Gunn, current season. Gunn's saying something about a bucket."

Fine. I can't fight this. Gudanov wins this round, but, as Goddess is my witness, one day, you mad fiend, you'll--

Huh? What's that?

I crouch down and pick up the bundle of pages slowly, recognizing names. "Oh, sweet mother," I whisper. "It's a new Domestic Piranhas." I look around furtively, afraid someone will take it from me, then I lean against Bob--useful sturdy prop that he is--and begin reading.

Spike... with Giles... wow, that's hot... it seems an odd thing to use second person for, but never mind... ooooh... season two... my favourite... huh... is that physically possible?... Faith as well... her on top... oh, dear me... Mr Gordo/mystery... I like this... I want more... it's like crack...

Even a fictional, magical city can have its mean streets, its dark nights of the soul and I was heading out to investigate a possession when the fic bomb came through the window of the Sang Sacre police station. Ho hum, Spuffy. Tell me something I don't know, I asked the mook or mookette who was the unknown bomber. I was gonna throw it out, but, my God...so haunting, yet so perverse. Oh, well, an exorcism isn't much good till the priest gets there, I rationalized.

Finally, after a wait of ages we are next to see this 'Santa Claus'. The fat man in red looks at my disguised minion and makes a friendly 'come here' gesture. "Ho. Ho. Ho. Come here and tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

I grip the hilt of my sword and address Santa. "You business is with me, not my minion."

Santa looks confused, but recovers quickly. "Um...Ho. Ho. Ho. Then you tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

"I'd like to dance in a pool of your blood Santa." I draw my sword and strike in a single fluid motion. The stoke slices neatly through Santa's stomach and the followthrough slices a giant candy cane in two.

To my dismay there are not oozing entrails pouring from Santa, just some white fluffy stuffing.

"Holy shit!" yells Santa as he pulls off his beard and falls over backwards in his chair. "I'm not even really him, you freak!"

Behind me I hear lots of yelling and shrieking as children, people, and fake-looking elves run all over the place.

"Where can I find the real Santa?!" I demand showing him the pitch black, pointy end of my sword.

"Uh. The north pole." Says the cowering imposter.

"Run and tell him that I will be coming for him."

The imposter runs away from the Santaland display as my minion and I exit. "Well Deimos, it looks like we'll be going to the North Pole after all." Once we get a little distance away I casually fire a little ball of flame into Santaland and watch as it explodes into flames.

We make our way out of the mass of shoppers while being drizzled on by the overhead sprinklers. I can see why people like to avoid the mall during the holiday season.

Next thing you know, CSI: The Blood will be showing up to investigate.

t looks for the damned Bunny-B-Gon