The result was an evening of insults from one generation to the other and back again on a variety of topics ranging from what was considered decent music, to politics, to the proper ingredients for an omelette. For her part, Lady Croft had spent the evening doing her best at playing hostess. This was not at all an easy task for her as she had little use for social graces and had decided to give Winston, her more gracious butler, the night off.
This left her at quite a disadvantage when it came to the proper decorum. She felt a profound sense of gratitude from her absent servant when the first guests arrive wearing tuxedos for it was he that suggested she wear her evening gown instead of the ripped jeans and t-shirt that she had originally planned.
The whole affair nearly gave her an anxiety attack. Midway through dinner she began to feel her nerves twitching inside her. By the time dinner had come to the mince pie she suddenly realized that she was on her fifth rum and eggnog. Her mind wandered back to all the perilous situations she had been in whilst retrieving rare antiquities. She recalled death defying leaps across enormous chasms, gun battles with people trying to stop her, and sprinting through caves with walls falling in all around her. Somehow, though, none of these things seemed to frighten her as much as the room of people she was with.
It was a little after midnight when the last of her guests finally left, at which point her consumption of rum and eggnogs had hit a climax. She was so into her cups by the time she had reached her bed she didn't notice the scratching sound that was coming from the fireplace.
Had she actually been sober she would have reacted quickly and efficiently in regards to the sound but as it was, it took her some time to even realize there was a sound react to. When she finally heard it she could only manage to prop herself up by one arm and stare curiously across the room. Though it was a large room and dark, the dimly lit Christmas tree next to the festively decorated fireplace gave off enough light to see the surrounding area. She half expected to see a rat crawling around on her baseboard but there was nothing there.
The young lady let out a sigh of relief and once again returned to the security of her pillow. She had hardly had time to close her eyes, however, when the scratching returned.
Lara sat up in bed. She couldn't be sure but it sounded like there was something clawing its way down the chimney. What's more it sounded like it was was getting louder. Twisting around, she reached under her pillow where she kept her twin nine millimeter pistols for just such an emergency. She hastily grabbed them and swung back around pointing them at the chimney, waiting for whatever it was.
Her mind filled with all the horror movies she had ever seen. Images of gory half-human creatures with long claws and dead eyes ready to devour the first victim they saw. The scratching grew louder and louder. Now she could see black soot slowly falling from the chimney into the fireplace like black snow. Her heart pounded.
To her astonishment it was not a long black claw that emerged. It was a shiny black boot. A moment later, a second one appeared.
The young lady chuckled slightly to herself. Her overload of alcohol from earlier in the evening seemed to be doing a number on her. This was not some grotesque monster hell bent on slaughtering her. It was a simple burglar. A simple burglar that had broken into the wrong house.
As quietly she could, Lara slipped out of bed. Steadying herself as best she could she pointed her twin pistols at the fireplace, cocked the hammers back on each one, and waited. At the same time, a small grin crept onto her face. She couldn t wait to see the poor person s face when they realized the mistake they had just made.
It didn't take long for a pair of red flannel pants to appear above the boots. After that came a red fur lined coat. Next was a head with a big white beard and red stocking cap followed by a very large canvas bag.
For a moment Lara almost most admired him. She would never have guessed that a very old fat man could have made it past her outdoor security systems, not to mention up onto the roof. And how someone his size got down such a narrow chimney she didn t know.
But the admiration soon faded as the man turned around and began to take a special interest in her Christmas tree. He poked at the branches and felt the pine needles and even took a second to adjust one of the ornaments that was hanging precariously off the end of a branch. He seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that there was a very irritated young lady training a couple of deadly pistols at him.
"You can just stop right there." She ordered in a stern voice.
The man did stop but turned toward the lady in an almost nonchalant manner. "Oh, come now, Lara." He said. "Do you really want to shoot me?"
"That depends on who you are and why you're here."
The man looked surprised by the question. "You mean the red suit, the beard, and the sack don't give it away?"
Lara rolled her eyes. "The only thing that outfit tells me is that you're a nitwit."
"Oh?" Replied the other, somewhat taken aback by the young lady's attitude.
"For one thing," she explained, " here in England we have Father Christmas. You've made the mistake of dressing up as his obese, nicotine addicted North American counterpart."
All of a sudden the old man burst out into a flurry of humongous gafahs. "So I've gained a little weight over the years." he replied indignantly and patting his belly. "It s all those cookies the kiddies leave for me. And I'll have you know I stopped smoking back in 1982."
Lara stared back at the man in measured disbelief. He wasn't just a burglar, he was insane too. It was kind of a relief in a way. It meant that seeing a fat man in a red suit coming out of her chimney on Christmas eve had nothing to do with her own impairments, alcohol induced or otherwise.
"What's your name?" She asked a little nicer tone than before. It was such a bizarre situation she really didn't know what else to say. She hoped that he was one of the poor confused insane people that could be reasoned with, or at least subdued by old episodes of People s Court rather than the type that liked stealing and ripping people's throats out.
The man sighed a little at the question but decided to comply anyway, if only to get Lara to relax enough to put her guns away.
"I'm Santa Clause." He admitted. "Also known as Kris Kringle, St. Nick, and so on. Are you satisfied now?"
"Hardly. I -"
"You what?" Santa interrupted. "You don't believe in me? You believe in yetis."
"I've seen yetis." Lara responded.
"And now you've seen me." The other replied, placing his large sack on the floor. He stuffed his hand deep inside and began to rummage around. "Now I know what you've always wanted."
Get your hand out of that bag and step back. Lara warned, taking a step closer.
"What do you think you're doing?" Santa asked. He suddenly looked far less jolly than he had a moment before.
"I'm about to start shooting at you." Lara answered coldly. So get your hand out of that bag.
For a moment the Christmas icon stood motionless, contemplating the situation. Then, in a wild turn of emotion , he let out a long and boisterous, almost earsplitting laugh.
"Oh, Lara," He scolded merrily, once he had regained control of himself . "You do make me laugh. You can't shoot me. I'm practically immortal."
The young gun slinger wasn't convinced. It felt like he was mocking her in her own house and that was unacceptable. Pistols still at the ready, she stormed forward until she was right next to the jolly old elf.
"What if I were to fire from here?" She asked placing the muzzle of one of her guns next to his temple.
The old man shook his head "It won't do any good." He explained.
"Shall we find out then?"
The man let out a second bout of laughter. "You know what this reminds me of?" He asked, as if he were completely unaware of the weapon next to his head. "Remember when you were ten and you were trying to shoot that soda can down with an air rifle and you nearly shot Rupert Dudley s eye out."
"That wasn't my fault." Lara said. "How was I to know he was hiding in the bushes? Besides... The young lady stopped in mid reminiscence. It occurred to her that no one else had been around to witness the event. Moreover she had sworn Rupert to silence so that she wouldn t get into trouble and sealed it with a kiss. The young boy had been so enamored with her at the time that he agreed out of sheer lust. As far she knew he hadn t ever repeated it to anyone else since that day. Her suspicion about the old man s intentions were growing worse by the second.
How could you possibly know about that? The young lady asked.
"Exactly," the other chuckled. "I know about it because I'm Santa, and you re just about to shoot me."
"That's right," Lara said indignantly, still holding her pistol up to his head. "The fact is, I don't care if you're Santa, Father Christmas, Doctor Who, or the prime minister, if you come sneaking into my house, I'm going to shoot you. It's as simple as that."
"Now look," Santa snapped. He was becoming a little miffed. "I just came here to leave you a Christmas gift. That's all I do. That's my job, and I'm going to do it."
"You're not leaving anything, and you're not taking anything." Lara warned. "You're just going to take your hand out of that bag and leave it for the police. Then your going to get out."
Santa slowly took his hand out of the bag. But instead of raising it and its companion into the air in a gesture of surrender tightened it around the top of the sack.
Lara wasn t fooled for a second. She had spent too much time around people who wanted to kill her not to know the warning signs. She tightened her grip on her pistols and pushed the one next to the intruder s head a little bit closer to drive the point home.
I said, leave the sack. She repeated sternly.
"So you want the bag, do you?" Santa replied. "Well, then, you can have it."
With that, the formerly jolly holiday icon swung his pack forward with all his might, connecting hard with the young lady's head and side and sending her falling backwards on to the floor. The impact sent both pistols flying from her hands in opposite directions.
Santa stepped forward so that he was standing directly over the top of the young lady, staring down at her menacingly. "You can have my sack, Miss Croft, when you pull it from my cold dead fingers."
Lara's eyes narrowed angrily. If he wanted a fight, he was about to have one. She rolled to the side and kicked upward, connecting with the back of Santa's leg, throwing him off balance. He tumbled forward and landed hard on the ground next to her and forcing his hand off of the bag.
"You're too old." Lara mocked as she picked herself up off the floor. "Maybe next year, old man."
She scanned the room for her weapons so that she could take back control of the situation. She spotted one across the floor under a large picture window. It s silver metal plating was gleaming brightly in the moonlight.
But as she began to move away to retrieve the pistol she suddenly became aware of a tightening feeling around her ankle. For a moment she thought that she had sprained it in the fall until she noticed a festive red glove wrapped around her foot.
"I haven't even started yet." Santa quipped. He jerked his hand backward pulling Lara off balance until she plummeted face first onto the floor.
Before she could catch her breath Santa scurried forward and grabbed the young lady by the wrist. He secured his other hand around her neck and then pushed her arm up her back.
"I learned this one from Vince McMahon. He explained. Now you listen to me, Missy. I have a job to do and I'm going to do it. I'll deliver these gifts if it's the last thing I do."
Lara pushed herself up with her free hand until she was able to balance her body on one knee. Then, with a quick twist, propelled her elbow backward into Santa's eye sending the old man rolling off to the side clutching his face in his hands.
The young lady made her way back to her feet. She took a moment to shake off the numbing pain that had begun to shoot through her arm. She reached down and grabbed the old man by the white furry lapels on his red coat, drug him up to his feet, and slammed him hard into a nearby oak dresser.
"If that's the case," she said, leaning close into his face and staring him in the eyes, "then it will absolutely be the last thing that you ever do." She swung her knee upward toward the man's groin but at the last minute he managed to slide sideways, averting the attack.
Lara's knee impacted with full force into the oak dresser sending a new wave of pain exploding through her body and forcing her to release her grip on the man.
Santa slipped away and backed up to where his bag had landed. He reached inside and pulled out a long rope garnished with tinsel. He jumped forward trying to catch the young tomb raider off guard as she reeled backward in pain.
Lara only caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. She whirled back around and grabbed Santa s arms just as he was bringing the tinsel rope down around her. With a quick twist she turned him round incapacitated him with his own rope.
"If you want to deliver gifts here, Lara groused at her captive, you'll have to use FedEx like the rest of the world, otherwise you're trespassing. Get it?"
Santa didn't respond. He just grinned eerily. He had just managed to work his hand down into his coat pocket. Lara reached down to grab at what ever it was but the moment she relaxed her grip on the rope Santa was able to free himself enough to have full mobility of the appendage. His hand jumped out of pocket and before Lara knew what happened she could feel something cold and wet being sprayed in her face. She stumbled backward, trying to cover her face. At the same time she could feel herself getting weak. Then, everything went dark.
When she next opened her eyes she could feel herself tied tightly to a chair next to her bed. Across the room, Santa was busily arranging some packages under her tree next to the fire place. All the while, humming "Santa Clause is Coming to Town."
The young lady groaned under the tension of her restraints attracting the man's attention. When he saw her he burst out laughing in his traditional "Ho Ho Ho".
"Good your awake." He addressed his captive. "That peppermint knock out spray is usually only for the kiddies that stay up late trying to get a peek at me. It puts them out all night but it seems to have worked on you for long enough.
Lara struggled to break free from her holiday fetters but without any success except to make Santa belt another round of "Ho Ho Ho's"
"I hate you." She managed to squeak out."
Santa wagged his finger at her. "I don't think you really do." He chided. "Your just mad that you lost.
Lara grunted at the insinuation. "I don't know." She posited. "How many people can say they went toe to toe with Saint Nick? Still seems like a win. Besides." She began to scowl. "There s always next year."
Santa laughed again. "In that case I'll be ready." He warned with a jovial wink. In the meantime I got you a few things." He pulled his bag closer and stuck his hand inside.
"I used to not give out anything but coal to naughty children but I've been getting soft over the years. I left you a few things under the tree but I thought you'd get a kick out of this."
He pulled his hand out of the bag along with a video game case. "I suppose for you this would be like a lump of coal." He said tossing the game onto the bed next to her. "It's the latest addition of Uncharted."
"Why don't you just let me get kicked in the head by horse?" Lara invited
Santa chortled again. "That s just for Larson. He quipped backing up to the edge of fireplace. I also got you the Jeremy Kyle box set." Then, before anything else could be said, he placed his finger on the side of his nose and instantly disappeared out of sight.
And Lara heard him exclaim as he flew off the roof. "Merry Christmas to all and thanks for the fight!"