Miss Lara Croft Jumped out of her bed with a start. There had been a
great clang from downstairs. "Burglars." she said to herself as she
swiftly she turned to face the clock. "At 2 am on Christmas morning too."
In a flash she was up and into the weapons closet where she grabbed her shotgun and several rounds of ammunition. Then, she fixed her holsters in place around her pajama bottoms and picked up her 9mm pistols. "Well now," she said confidently, "lets go adventuring."
Silently, she crept out into the hall and peered down below. Next to the darkened Christmas tree she could see a figure moving in the shadows. Now her suspicions were confirmed. It did not move fast enough to be Winston and no one else should have been about at that time of night.
So, with a flurry of bullets from her pistols, sending the would be thief scattering behind the tree, Croft leapt over the railing and rolled behind the couch. There, she deployed the shotgun and went to work blasting at the tree until the unknown man's cries of surrender echoed though the large room.
"Stop!" he yelled. "Please, I give up."
Cautiously, Lara stood up and moved toward the figure with her shotgun still at the ready. "Plug in the tree," she ordered, wanting some light. The intruded obeyed and in the next moment the area was flooded with light.
Now the shadowy figure was revealed for what he really was, an old, fat, bearded man in a red fur coat. "Who are you!" Croft yelled angrily.
"I'm Santa Claus." The man responded, "I'm here to put gifts under your tree."
"I think you're a bit off course." The tomb raider said, "This is England. We have Father Christmas here. You're an American fantasy."
The jolly old elf scrunched his face angrily. "Father Christmas is sick," he explained, "I'm just filling in. And that did not include THIS." The man swiftly pointed his finger up to his temple where a small stream of blood was flowing.
"Pish tosh!" responded the other, "I could have killed you. Aren't you suppose to be quieter than a mouse."
"Aren't you suppose to be quieter than a mouse!" mocked Santa. "Yes, but I never expected to be in a war zone either. Just for that.I'm taking all these presents and giving you coal!"
Lara smiled menacingly. "Are you saying I haven't been a good girl this year?" she asked.
Claus's eyes bugged out. "You're kidding, right?" He retorted. "Let's look at the last year. You know, before you tried to kill me. Last summer, you gave that poor guy, Devon, a whale of a hard time, not to mention his boss! And - "
"I'm sorry," the young lady interrupted, "but I was trying to keep the world from ending."
"That may be," Santa argued, "but I think you could have done it in a nicer way."
Croft lifted an eyebrow. "A nicer way? Do you mean, like send out an e- mail saying please don't do anything to make God angry? Some how I doubt that it would have worked."
The old man shook his head. "Alright then, let's talk about what you've done to that poor Larson."
"Let's not." Lara huffed. "It would only cause trouble."
"Well, I can see arguing with you is a waste of time!" Santa yelled, packing up his bags and heading for the chimney. "And by the way! You look ridiculous with those holsters strapped around you pajamas like that!"
Lara opened her mouth to yell back but he had already gone. So, with a hint of fatigue in her eyes the young lady turned to go back to her bedroom. But before she could go two steps she heard a voice call out from behind her.
It was Winston. "So there you are miss," he scolded, "Why do I have to tell you, every Christmas that we must wait until morning to open the gifts?"
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
In a flash she was up and into the weapons closet where she grabbed her shotgun and several rounds of ammunition. Then, she fixed her holsters in place around her pajama bottoms and picked up her 9mm pistols. "Well now," she said confidently, "lets go adventuring."
Silently, she crept out into the hall and peered down below. Next to the darkened Christmas tree she could see a figure moving in the shadows. Now her suspicions were confirmed. It did not move fast enough to be Winston and no one else should have been about at that time of night.
So, with a flurry of bullets from her pistols, sending the would be thief scattering behind the tree, Croft leapt over the railing and rolled behind the couch. There, she deployed the shotgun and went to work blasting at the tree until the unknown man's cries of surrender echoed though the large room.
"Stop!" he yelled. "Please, I give up."
Cautiously, Lara stood up and moved toward the figure with her shotgun still at the ready. "Plug in the tree," she ordered, wanting some light. The intruded obeyed and in the next moment the area was flooded with light.
Now the shadowy figure was revealed for what he really was, an old, fat, bearded man in a red fur coat. "Who are you!" Croft yelled angrily.
"I'm Santa Claus." The man responded, "I'm here to put gifts under your tree."
"I think you're a bit off course." The tomb raider said, "This is England. We have Father Christmas here. You're an American fantasy."
The jolly old elf scrunched his face angrily. "Father Christmas is sick," he explained, "I'm just filling in. And that did not include THIS." The man swiftly pointed his finger up to his temple where a small stream of blood was flowing.
"Pish tosh!" responded the other, "I could have killed you. Aren't you suppose to be quieter than a mouse."
"Aren't you suppose to be quieter than a mouse!" mocked Santa. "Yes, but I never expected to be in a war zone either. Just for that.I'm taking all these presents and giving you coal!"
Lara smiled menacingly. "Are you saying I haven't been a good girl this year?" she asked.
Claus's eyes bugged out. "You're kidding, right?" He retorted. "Let's look at the last year. You know, before you tried to kill me. Last summer, you gave that poor guy, Devon, a whale of a hard time, not to mention his boss! And - "
"I'm sorry," the young lady interrupted, "but I was trying to keep the world from ending."
"That may be," Santa argued, "but I think you could have done it in a nicer way."
Croft lifted an eyebrow. "A nicer way? Do you mean, like send out an e- mail saying please don't do anything to make God angry? Some how I doubt that it would have worked."
The old man shook his head. "Alright then, let's talk about what you've done to that poor Larson."
"Let's not." Lara huffed. "It would only cause trouble."
"Well, I can see arguing with you is a waste of time!" Santa yelled, packing up his bags and heading for the chimney. "And by the way! You look ridiculous with those holsters strapped around you pajamas like that!"
Lara opened her mouth to yell back but he had already gone. So, with a hint of fatigue in her eyes the young lady turned to go back to her bedroom. But before she could go two steps she heard a voice call out from behind her.
It was Winston. "So there you are miss," he scolded, "Why do I have to tell you, every Christmas that we must wait until morning to open the gifts?"
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!