A moment later, one of Yomi's security guards, a silver-bearded senior commander, entered the Conference Room. Walking to the commissar's right side, he whispered something in her ear.
"You're kidding," she murmured. "Them?"
"I wish I was, Koyomi-chan," he replied. "They insist on presenting their gift themselves."
She made a face as if eating a sour persimmon. "Have they been searched?"
"Thoroughly, as was their gift. They're clean."
She patted his arm gently. "Thanks, Papa, I'll break the bad news to her." She waved her hand at Chiyo. "Begging the Chairperson's pardon, I request a little interrpution of the meeting for a moment. I found out the directors of the People's Art Center have a gift they wish to give to you in person."
"Really?"
"Yes, comrade. My security people have cleared them for entry."
Chiyo folded her hands on the table. "Well, let them in." She bowed her head. "Just so we can stop all this yelling for a moment," she mewed.
The senior commander gestured to the guards at the doors, who opened them wide.
A tall, gaunt figure trudged his way into the Room. Decked out in Victorian garb covered in dusty grey powder, he dragged a pair of chains made of construction paper. Three cardboard boxes, painted to look like safes, were glued to the front of the jacket he wore. His mouth was open, a rag tied around his jaw and skull, the tied ends sticking up like mock rabbit ears. His arms lung limp by his side. His spectacles reflected the ceiling lights above him.
He made his way to the end of the conference table, fixed his spectacles. Kaorin, sensing something strange ahead, hugged Toyo-kun close to her.
"Ahem-ahem," he said, clearing his throat. He raised his arms above his head, shaking his outstretched hands. "EBENEZER SCROO-OO-OO-OO-OOGE!!" he wailed.
"BOO!" said a lighter, giggling voice from behind him. A smiling woman popped out from behind Kimura, dressed in green velvet. A furry Santa Claus hat lay upon her head, her hands gloved in red velvet. One hand lay on Kimura's shoulder, the other held a small cardboard box.
Chiyo blinked for a moment. "Um...ah...Mister and Mrs. Kimura?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, lowering his arms. "It's a high honor to be in your prescence." His gaze met the eyes of the commissars. "As well as the rest of the Politburo."
"Um..." Chiyo said, rubbing an earlobe. "Thank you...Kimura-san. Pardon my asking, but aren't you about two months late for Halloween?"
Kimura tilted his head for a moment, then chuckled. "That's a good one, ma'am. But...but this isn't a Halloween costume."
"Well," Yomi mumbled to herself. "You'd fit right into the season in any case."
"I'm supposed to be the ghost of Jacob Marley," said Kimura, now holding the box.
"And I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past," said his wife, her hands folded below her.
Rachel slurped up the last of her noodles. "Miss Kozlov? Pardon my interrputing your stew, but...um..."
The Major nodded, lay her bowl on one of the trays. Swiping her lips with her hand, she walked to Kimura's side. "You wish to present a gift to our Great Leader?"
"Indeed," he said, standing upright as he opened the box. "On behalf of the People's Art Center, it's management and staff," he cried. "We formally invite our glorious Chairperson, her parents, the Politburo and their families to our opening night production of Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol'" He presented the box, filled with tickets to the Major, bowing as he did.
"Um...well..." Chiyo sputtered. "Gee...this is unexpected. I do thank you for your generous gift."
"Just doing our duty as revolutionary artists, nothing more," he replied, as Kozlov took the box from him.
"Let's give her a rousing cheer, honey," Mrs. Kimura said with a beaming smile.
They raised their left fists in the air. "Long live the Chairperson," they cried.
Tomo made a gagging gesture with her finger.
"For once," Nyamo mumbled, "I agree with you."
Chiyo blinked, gulped. "I...ah...thank you for your support, comrades." She gave a hesitant salute in reply. "I...really appreciate this..."
"It's our pleasure," said Kimura, bowing his head.
"She's so cute," Mrs. Kimura added, folding her hands in glee.
They spun around toward the door, walked out arm in arm.
"Isn't she just adorable, honey?" she asked as they left the room.
"The country's never been in better hands!" he bellowed with pride, as the guards closed the doors behind them.
Yomi shut her eyes, bent her head down as she rubbed her temples.
"That's the weirdest act of patriotism I've ever seen," murmured Kagura.
"May we never see another one like it," Yomi groaned.
"I...love...bun-nee-ee-ee-ees," Kaorin cooed.
"What's wrong with you, Kaorin?" asked Nyamo. "You're scaring me here."
"Oh please," Yukari said. "You call that scary? That's not even close to being scary."
"I like fuzzy animals," she replied, turning to face Nyamo. "I never had a pet as a kid, and I always envied those who had one. Our glorious Chairperson has her dog Mister Tadakichi. Comrade Sakaki has that sweet little Maya. And now Comrade Osaka has this fellah right here." She gave the rabbit's left ear a playful tug. "You all are sooooo lucky."
Sakaki grinned. "Well, you should save up your money and buy you a bunny."
Tomo shot her a shocked look. "Did...did you know what you just did?" She pointed a finger at her. "You just uttered an...an...an advertising slogan!" She stood up, her fists on the table. "Only lackeys of a capitalist regime dare to spit out such drivel! How dare you bring such anti-socialist pollution into this room, you...you...you...that's what you are!"
"Actually," Osaka said, finger in the air. "That was just a little poetic advice she gave to Kaorin."
"Huh? What?" Tomo barked.
"Well, in advertising slogans, they usually trademark them poems 'n stuff to get people to buy their stuff 'n things. And Sakaki never put no trademark symbol on whut she said. Otherwise, you'd see that tee-em symbol come out of her mouth ev'ry time she'd said that. Not only would that look gross to people, but it'll be mighty unsanitary as well."
Tomo blinked. "Y'know...for some reason...that makes sense."
Sakaki raised her eyebrows, puzzled.
"Folks," Yukari said, cracking her knuckles. "What Kimura just did wouldn't scare the dumbest elf in Santa's workshop. You need creativity to be really scary, and he just doesn't have it."
"And what does this what to do with the meeting?" asked Nyamo.
"Hmmph, typical Sensible Faction reaction. You should know me better than that." She turned to face Chiyo. "You want scary? No sweat, kid, I'll give you scary."
She stood up from her seat. "Mishkin, Dijon mustard. Like right now!"
As the head waiter scrambled for the small bottle, Yukari pulled out of nowhere a thick bundle of black wool, parts of it coiled tight like springs. She tied it in a loose knot under her chin, then climb onto the table again. She swiped the half-eaten pickle from the plate, grabbed the mustard bottle from Mishkin's outstretched arm.
"Where'd that wool come from?" Rachel asked.
"None of your business, babe," Yukari said, dipping the uneaten pickle end into the mustard. She painted the number seventeen – backwards – on her face with the mustard, tossed the bottle back to Mishkin. The pickle dropped into her plate.
She spun around, catching the Politburo off-guard and gasping.
"HA-A-A-A-A-A!" She roared with a gutteral screech. Her eyes rolled upward, hands raised to her face, curled like claws. "Seventeen-seventeen," she chanted like some dark mantra, wiggling her fingers as if they were worms.
Nyamo closed her eyes, let out a loud yawn.
Yukari stopped in mid-chant, turned to face Nyamo. Here eyes returned to normal. "Huh?You're...you're...not...scared?"
"What you're doing isn't even silly by your faction's definition. It's just boring and stupid."
"Stupid?" she said, shocked. "Stupid? Are you serious?"
"No," she said smirking. "Just being...sensible." Yukari's clawed hands balled into fists.
"Hey," Tomo yelled. "Why don't I have a number?"
Yukari hummed to herself, pointed at Mishkin. "Toss me up that ketchup bottle," she barked.
He grabbed it from a tray, tossed it to her. She caught it in one hand, opened it with the other. She scooped up her half-eaten pickle, dunked the uneaten end in the bottle. Yukari leaned over Tomo's head with a flourish, wrote the number 204 on the commissar's forehead.
"There," she said, tossing the bottle back to him. "And triple digits as well."
"Thanks, Yukari," Tomo said, turning to face Yomi. She grinned a know-it-all grin, stuck her tongue out at her.
Yomi's face went deadpan. "You STILL won't see my pictures, Tomo."
"Ah...whatever," said Yukari, devouring the rest of the pickle.