You'll walk unscathed through musket fire,
No ploughman's blade will cut thee down,
No cutless wound will mark thy face And you will be my ain true love,
And you will be my ain true love
"It's cold sir"
Monochrome turned around, wearing only his thin military coat over his civilian clothes.
It was snowing softly upon a small group of people including him.
He trembled slightly at the cold and stared at his visible breath.
He closed his eyes.
This was Berlonoque in the winter. The city of Berlonoque, the Monochrome capital.
Graham Schultz stood towering over the others in the group, his height was impressive, and deadly. He held two papers,
held them out for the others to look at. He breathed in silently through his nose the cold crisp air, it didn't effect him,
but it hurt the people around him. Graham's blessedly warm tobacco pipe stuck out of his mouth and let out steady puffs of unholy smoke. Schultz adjusted his standing figure and shifted his feet a small distance over the snow, crushing it,
he could almost feel that layer of snow, the rough first layer of snow that served as the base for other flakes.
He began talking and explained what was on the paper, battle plans and new tactics, but, Monochrome couldn't focus on that,
the leader looked out into the horizon, couldn't see beyond the far snowy fog that seemed to plague the city. To one side of the group, the city capital stood, dressed in lights and warmed, coated in the white snow, seeming not to mind as cold soft drops from the sky piled on it's roof.
Monocrome flinched as a drop fell on his face, he strayed a few feet from the group. The snow got heavier.
"So far, we've only penetrated through the necessary soldiers we need to take down the Eastern Pacific dolphinaic rebellion.
They call themselves the EPDR, and they aren't going to stand us in their land.", speaks an old, bearded, yet, sturdy man wearing a blue coat speckled with honors and medals, completed with rank straps on the cuffs of his sleeves. He seemed to twitch at every breath. The years have started to wear him down, but he stood strong, and a brilliant tactician. His name was Epsilon, 68, but still working.
"Not pressured enough. Have these attacks completely destroyed each speck of rebellion? Or killed just enough to make them flee"?, Schultz and his intimidating eyes looked at Epsilon, through round, fogged spectacles.
The old man didn't move."Completely destroyed them each skirmish"
"Good", Graham sighed after, folded the paper map, stood higher and towered over them like a bowling pin over small pebbles, coughed, and walked a short distance, looking over the foggy city. "If I find out you're lying, you'll be removed of command. Understand?"
Epsilon nodded. "Indeed so"
"Salem, what are your thoughts?"
Monochrome turned, he was staring at a seemingly endless white horizon of storm and snow. "EPDR stands no chance against our navy, which Epsilon has so spent his time and soul organizing and training. Do your best Mead. Dismissed at your will"
Epsilon Mead gave a weak salute, tugged on his worn, rough navy officer's regulation hat and walked off as the wind blew his 'not so robe-like' trench coat. Soon,
he disappeared into the fog as a black moving blob marching into the city gates. Trudge, trudge where his steps, and the wind was at his back. Not a word was said as the elder vanished into Berlonoque.
Terry Willisly looked at them all with his monocled eye, a confused, 'what are we supposed to do now' face glanced them. Willisly was the commander of all ground armed forces as Mead commanded all armed oceanic forces. Terry was a short, mustached man with dark eyes who preferred doing rather than explaining. He was strict, vigilant, swift, cunning.
Yes, he was short, yet stubborn.
The silence died as wind howled around them, and Willisly opened his mouth an began to speak.
"What now? Nothing? Just stand here to die in the cold? I say not! I'm going of to enjoy some ashure, or drink some coffee, in the warmth of the capitol building here"
Graham's deep, booming voice echoed into Terry's ears,
"We're not done yet here Willisly"
Monochrome stood there, not focused again, staring into the gray sky and droplets falling, feeling the cold slush and air. He whispered a song he had heard before...
"And as you walk through death's dark veil,
The cannon's thunder can't prevail,
And those who hunt thee down will fail,
And you will be my ain true love,
And you will be my ain true love... Daphne?"
Graham stood high from his slouch, looked at Salem as Monochrome faced the opposite way from the group. "It's cold sir".
The snow in New York City brought good will and memories to all it's citizens. Christmas was an important event for Americans, very important for New Yorkers, as a huge tree was lit in the center of Rockefeller square. The city was a huge maze of buildings, illuminated in bright lights. The buildings reached into the dark cloudy sky,
the scene was different in the Central Park Zoo. Four penguins tried to keep warm and their 'party' together.
"Skippah, have you a strange feeling this year? It seems as if there's a mysterious aura today"
The leader penguin replied not. All he did was stare at a warm fire made possible by the scientist, Kowalski.
"Enjoying the easily controllable fire, I created? Did I mention it was created by me? Me!" bragged the tall penguin.
Private stared at them, sat on a cinder block, a makeshift chair for a cinder block table, drank the annual eggnog.
"Nah! Mai eghnaug!" the scarred penguin from the other side of the room cried at Private.
"Private, don't drink the eggnog...", Skipper's eyes were lost in the fire again, as if they were telling him something, then, Kowalski turned the television on.
"Christmas special anyone? It's a Wonderful Life? A Christmas miracle? A Christmas Carol?"
"Go ahead, Kowalss.."
Immediately, the television was turned up on to any of the choices he said, Wonderful Life to be exact.
"Such as sad, beautiful story" Private said, rubbing his flippers together to create warmth in the damp, cold, 'underground' penguin headquarters.
Just as George Bailey runs home, a knock on the penguin's door banged throughout the room.
"I got it!" Private offered.
Skipper yelled, "No!"
The door opened.
A bespectacled, whiskered, tall dark figure puffing out putrid pipe smoke stepped into the room, his wet, snowy boots leading the way. "Frohliche Weihnachten, Pinguine"
Alright, I think I should make it clear that this is just a short story, not going to be continued unless I get multiple asks to. But enjoy this anyway!