A/N: Okay, okay, I know. I've sunk. But it's Christmas Eve by half an hour, and its this or finishing Catch-22. And if I'm completely honest, I'd much rather do this.
So here it is. Prepare yourselves for …
A Mediator Christmas
*
It was Christmas Eve when I found that I had less than 12 hours to buy presents for just about everyone. Yeah, you heard me. EVERYONE.
Mum, Dopey, Andy, CeeCee, Father Dom, Adam, Doc, Jesse, Sleepy, even Paul freaking Slater!
Oh, you get the point.
A second had passed after I managed to stop freaking out, and I opened my wallet to find …
Nothing. Zilch, zip. And there was no way I could wheedle anything out of Mum or Andy, not only were they tight as hell, but I had already kinda borrowed a bit for these classic black Prada pumps.
… A bit meaning a couple of hundred.
Okay, I know what you're thinking. Bad Suze, very bad Suze! And you're right. Totally and completely right.
But you weren't there, you didn't melt under their black pump-y goodness! God, the relief I felt once they sat in my collection. Seriously, you have no idea how divine they look next to my suede Chanel boots, I mean, bitch-face Kelly Prescott would be off her face and rabid if she saw them.
But that's beside the point. The point, children, is that I had absolutely no clue what to do about the shitty problem I was up to my neck in.
And how did I manage to forget about the joyous time that is Christmas?
Well, that's a good question. A very good question. Of which I can't answer, because I don't actually know myself. Maybe it was the fact that I now had a living breathing boyfriend, whose lips were so utterly divine, or maybe it was those blasted Prada pumps, which are also very divine.
But, OH MY GOD, HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO?!
Ahem. Moving on.
Meanwhile, in a place that wasn't too far away from where Suze Simon was currently having a panic attack, there was a boy, nay, a man, was busily at work, making his Christmas present for …
"Jesse de Silva." A wide grin appeared on the flawlessly sculpted face of one Paul Slater. He sat hunched over his desk, craft scissors and glue in hand, busily super-imposing his face over Suze's on all the photographs Jesse had given him.
That's right, readers; Jesse de Silva and Paul Slater had been having a sordid affair with each other for the past six glorious, sex-filled months.
Upon meeting each other in a gay bar (which they went to completely by accident, of course), and finding they didn't want to hit each other, but rather, feel each up, they decided female genitals weren't for them.
They had been planning on eloping for several months, and found that Christmas was the day that fitted in with their busy social calendars. I mean, a Thursday. What actually happens on Thursdays? There's nothing good on T.V., and it's not exactly a romantic day to have a date, is it?
But anyway, much smart cunning and mature decisions were made, and stealing a car and driving to Canada seemed to be the best option so far. Paul was enthusiastic about option two, which was streaking through Carmel, egging Suze's house, cutting up all her shoes and stealing HER car to drive to Canada. Jesse, enthusiastic about committing as little crimes as possible, gently told him that maybe they should go with the first option.
Paul sulked for a while, until Jesse covered himself in whipped cream (including, you know, his erm … disco stick) and they had a jolly old time together.
They, unlike the extremely thoughtless and idiotic Susannah Simon (now Suze, I don't think the readers would appreciate that hand gesture very much) had gotten Christmas presents for everyone, and very excited about the day after tomorrow when they would run away together for nights of non-stop butt sexagge.
Back to Suze's room …
I was sitting on the floor, in sobbing hysterics, surrounded by my shoes.
I had been looking for a pair that I could maybe sell on eBay to a nice, pretty, clued-up chick about my age who would take care of them, but after raiding my shoe closet, I discovered there was NOTHING I didn't want, or could do without.
God, this is the worst Christmas ever.
Even worse than the time when I was dragged by my mother to this divorced teacher's place, whose son kept trying to feel me up. Then they forced me to sit through two hours of absolute, cold-blooded TORTURE; Broadway Hits on DVD.
Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not one for show tunes. Actually, I hate them, and I'll probably scream if I ever hear Patti LuPone sing again.
But, you know, at least I didn't have to buy anyone presents.
Maybe I could … make stuff! Yeah, home-made cards or something! It's the money that counts, or whatever the hell the saying is.
Jumping to my feet (not really, I kind of … tried to get up, but fell back down because I was still wearing one kitten-heeled Jimmy Choo shoe), I got out a stack of paper and some colouring pencils. Green Peace might kill me, but hey, at least my friends and family wouldn't.
I am such a genius.
In Carmel, CeeCee Webb and Adam McTavish enjoy a delicious ice-cream together, sitting in the park and breathing in the fresh air, when suddenly …
"Oh my God, Adam, a bird just pooped on your head!" CeeCee shrieked, pointing wildly at Adam's head, which indeed had bird faeces on it.
"Oh." Adam said despondently, but brightened suddenly. "Did you know that that means I get good luck for the rest of the year?"
"Yeah, well, there's only another six days of that, tool." CeeCee rolled her eyes, and Adam dulled considerably when he heard this. After a few seconds of this, CeeCee cut in, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "Uh, earth to McTavish? Are you going to go get that shit off, or are you just going to sit there?"
"Oh, right. How do I get it off?" He asked, completely dead pan. CeeCee gawped, and then flailed her arms, a vein now visible in her temple.
"I don't know, use a freaking tissue or something!" She exploded, and false realisation dawned on Adam's face, slowly.
"Ohhhh, I get it, now. Can I borrow a tissue, CeeCee?" He asked, struggling to hold back the grin which was tugging at the sides of his mouth. Seeing this, CeeCee's eyes narrowed, and she took off a shoe.
"What're ya doing, Webby?" Adam questioned innocently, and CeeCee let one last blood-thirsty scream before chasing Adam through the park. Adam laughed as he ran, and CeeCee, only having one shoe on, was finding it difficult to keep up.
Adam ducked behind a tree, and CeeCee, panting, followed.
She stopped immediately at the sight which was in front of her.
Lights were hung about on the trees, and in the small clearing in the centre, sat a little table, with two plates of steaming dumplings (A/N: Yes, dumplings! Leave me alone …) on it. Adam stood to the side, looking shy and a little nervous.
"Merry Christmas, Webb." He managed, and CeeCee flung her arms around him, kissing his face hard until they were on the ground. Adam looked up at CeeCee, in awe as she licked her lips and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"Merry Christmas to you, McTavish." She murmured huskily, before hungrily ravishing his lips.
And so, upon Christmas morn, Suze awoke to find no boyfriend, no friends, and a family who all seemed to be in bed. She looked at her shitty cards, which were spread out all over the floor-
"Hey! My cards are so not shitty! You're shitty, you- Who the hell are you anyway?" I yelled, hopefully looking very scary and imposing with my hands on my hips.
Well, Suze, I thought that'd be obvious.
"Well, obviously not, smart ass, if I can't tell who you are." I mocked, sticking my tongue out as I began to make inappropriate gestures and movements.
Sigh. You humans are so crude and ungrateful. Suze, I hope you know that I mean this in a business sense more than a personal sense-
"Blah, blahdy, blah, get ON with it, will ya?"
… more than a personal sense, but, I own you, Susannah Simon.
"What. The. Hell. Are you, like, a pervert or something?" I wrinkled my nose, looking around. "Where is your voice coming from anyway?"
Jesus Christ, you idiot, I'm God!
My mouth hung open for a couple of seconds, before I regained my senses.
"Seriously? Shit. I mean, sorry. I didn't mean to say shit, Your Honour. Or Your Highness. Or … whatever."
Bloody hell. That's okay.
"Wait a second … God curses? Man, that's cool! I can't wait to tell Jesse …" I trailed off at the realisation that I didn't have a clue where Jesse was. "Hey … God?"
Sigh. Yes, Suze?
"Would you happen to know where my boyfriend Jesse de Silva is? He's like, really hot, and Spanish, and he used to be dead and-"
Yes, I know who he is. He went off with Paul Slater to get married in Canada. They've been getting it off behind your back for six months now.
I'm not completely sure what happened next, because I blacked out a little, but I'm pretty sure a lot of it was me screaming and I may or may not have egged Paul Slater's house.
*
So … yes, it's god-awful, and I hope you can forgive me for posting it, it's very un-funny. I promise I'll delete it if people hate it. And also, please ignore any grammatical errors, it is currently 1am, so I'm sure you'll excuse me, haha.