Swat Kats: A Christmas Feral
From Whiplash Productions
Copyright Jazz: Swat Kats and any related trademarks are copyright Hanna- Barbera, not yours truly. The innocent story that this fic is modeled after is obviously Charles Dickens' book, so stop confusing my timeless pieces of literature with his, people, it's getting rather annoying.
*Author's Notation: Yeah, so instead of leaving the holiday alone, like I should've, I decided I just had to churn out this seasonal coal-worthy story that's just asking to be shot down on sight. The setting is in the Dark Swat Kats universe, hence the only way I could rationally explain Feral's odd/flipped behavior, and the madness just sort of goes from there. Happy Holidays everyone!
--------------------------Christmas Eve, the Dark SK Universe . . .
"Ho hum. Hum ho. I just adore Christmas!" Commander Feral chimed, sprucing up his office with various decorations.
Steele sat in the corner, that usual smug, rotten smirk on his face.
"Oh boss," He sneered, "Can I have the next two weeks off? It is Christmas, ya' know?"
Feral considered for a moment then grinned happily at the Lt. "Well, sure! I don't see why not! Just work here for, say, ten more minutes and then you can have the next two weeks off." He replied cheerily.
"Score!" Steele hooted, doing a little dance.
There came a sudden knock on the door, and a less than amused Felina opened her uncle's door.
"Uncle? You here?" She asked, a dullness to her voice.
"Up here, Felicia!" Feral hummed, stringing up the ribbon.
"It's Felina," She said flatly.
"That's what I said, wasn't it? Ah well, what is it that you'd like?" Feral questioned.
Felina sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a list. She glanced over them boringly and then looked up at the commander.
"I'm having a party tonight, since it's Christmas Eve and all, and I was wondering if you'd care to join." She said matter-of-factly.
"Sure!" Feral replied giddily.
"There'll be booze," Felina added.
"Fine!"
"We're ordering adult channels,"
"Great!"
"We'll probably commit a few crimes in our drunken state,"
"Sounds fun!"
Felina twitched involuntarily, her hands clenching the list of wrongdoings that she'd cooked up just to see his response.
"I don't get you, Uncle!" She finally exploded, "How can you always be so accepting! Can't you ever say 'no' to anyone?"
At that very moment, Chance and Jake ambled into the room, dressed as Christmas trees and carrying bells and a donation tin cup. Upon entering, they began croaking out Christmas carols. The room was dead silent when they finished, all eyes fixed on them.
"Ahem, yeah, well, uh, we're the Singing Evergreens, and we're here collecting money for oursel-er, the greedy -I mean!- the needy. So, ah, donate!" Chance spoke up, holding out the tin.
"Oh! Collecting for the poor! I just love this part!" Feral chirped, sliding down his ladder and coming up to the two trees, wads of cash in his paw.
"Uncle, would you donate a little something for me too . . ." Felina asked.
"Okay, Fana," Feral nodded, bringing out yet another wad of cash to put in the over-flowing tin cup.
"It's Felina,"
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"
"My ten minutes are up! Whoohoo!! See ya' around, suckers!" Steele sneered, shutting all his books and high tailing it out of there.
"Wow! How wonderful it is to see a kat so possessed by the holiday spirit!" Feral cooed.
"Possessed, yes. By a holiday spirit, I think not." Jake murmured.
"Right on! Thanks a lot, Sa-ap . . . S' 'appy, New Year! Eh heh . . ." Chance grinned.
"Don't mention it, boys. And say, about that little accident we had a while back, it was completely my fault. You boys don't have to pay a dime of the damages, and I'd like you to come back and be Enforcers with us!" Feral stated, smiling.
The two mechanics just looked at each other.
"Uh, we'll have to think about it . . ." Chance finally spoke, barely able to contain his snickers.
"Y-yeah, affirmative," Jake put in, backing out the door before a small snort could escape him.
"All right, you do that then. Goodbye!" Feral waved, as the two giggly kats jolted out the door.
"Argh! That's exactly what I'm talking about, Uncle!" Felina growled in frustration, "You're just too nice!"
"Bah, ho hum!" Was Feral's only reply, continuing with his decorating.
--------------------------Later that night . . .
Feral was sitting comfortably in his living room, a warm glass of milk by his side, staring dreamily at the fireplace. He'd just returned from the office, after giving everyone an extra special Christmas bonus, and making a quick detour on his way home to read the Christmas story at a nearby orphanage. Yes, Feral was very much content as he nestled in his recliner, drowsily watching the flames crackle. Suddenly, a ghostly incarnation swirled to life in the fireplace. It was the face of a kat, well groomed, and shiny to boot.
"Feeerrraaaallll . . . .Feeeerrrraaaallll . . ."
Feral's drowsiness left him, as he looked around for the haunting voice. He was shivering from head to toe, and he grabbed his glass of milk threateningly.
"Wh . . .Who's th-there! I'm warning you! I have a glass of milk!" He stammered, twisting around in his overstuffed chair.
The face in the fireplace melted away, and soon after the creak of floorboards could be heard. Closer, closer still they squeaked, as all Feral could see beyond the firelight was darkness. Fearing the creaking would soon be upon him, Feral lashed out with his warm glass of milk, sending it spewing into the darkness. To his horror, the milk caught onto an invisible presence in the room, creating a white, dripping form of a kat not two meters from where he was.
"AAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEYYYYYYAAAAA!!!" Feral screamed, leaping out of his chair and flying to his room.
"YEOUCH!! It burns! It burns!" The figure screeched, trying to wipe the steaming milk from its invisible form.
In his room, Feral locked his door, took out his shotgun, put on his commando hat, and held a position under the covers of his bed. Once again, he heard the definite sound of footsteps approach his door. As they drew nearer and finally stopped just outside his door, Feral swallowed hard and mustered the courage to make a bold challenge.
"I'm with the Enforcers! They'll handle this!" He barked.
"Oh come now, Ulysses, not that old line," A frail, cynical voice emanated from behind him.
Giving a shriek, Feral twirled around and let loose a barrage of gunfire until he realized the only thing behind him was his dresser; the emphasis of that statement being, *was*. Gasping for air, the big kat's hands shook uncontrollably, and when he turned back around, he dropped his gun all together.
There, in the middle of his room, stood a glowing manifest of a kat, well aged, and a harp fastened in his hands. Feral was dumbstruck, for he knew whom the kat was.
"O'Malley! My old squad car partner! You were the nicest guy to ever wear an Enforcer uniform! B-But, your dead!" Feral stuttered, his jaw open.
"That's right, lad, I'm dead and gone now. And what has my niceties done fer me now, eh? Nothin'! Absolutely nothin'!" O'Malley barked.
"What?" Feral asked, dumbfounded, "But that's not true! You inspired me to be the nice guy I am today!"
"Bah!" O'Malley retorted, "Nice guys always finish last, Feral my boy! Why, when I died, me own kids sold my estate and used the money to gamble away their nine lives."
" . . .But that's what you wanted them to do. It was in your will!" Feral charged.
"Only cause me wife changed it!" O'Malley said gruffly.
"Your comrades! They all came to your funeral to pay their respects!" Feral countered.
"Respect!? To whom? Me, or my sister's homemade doughnuts that were in the reception area?" O'Malley grumbled.
"Those were really good, come to think of it," Feral mused.
"The reason I'm here, Feral, is to show you what a waste it is to try and be nice to people. Just look at me!" O'Malley stated.
"O'Malley, you look wonderful! You've got your golden harp there, probably some wings or something, and you can do that nifty invisibility thing!" Feral said merrily.
"Oh sure, it looks good now, but think about the long run! I have to listen to that boring, if not annoying, harp music for eternity! Not only that, everyone is just so peachy and nice to everyone else up there, it's driving me bananas!" O'Malley bellowed.
"That's not a very good thing to say about, up there," Feral whispered, pointing up.
"Well, I figured I'd come down here and try to straighten you out before you get too nice for your own good, anyway." O'Malley retorted, "You'll be visited by three spirits tonight, Ulysses. They're, ah, all I could find on such short notice, so be patient with 'em, alright?"
And with nary a poof, O'Malley disappeared. Feral scratched his head in puzzlement. Was he really too nice? He shook his head bemusedly and gave a simple smile.
"Bah, ho hum!"
Turning out his light, Feral then retired back into his sheets, his shotgun beside him and his commando hat still on. He nestled into the covers, and stuck his thumb contently into his mouth and dreamed of Christmas morning. The clock on the wall ticked away, in the meantime, and at midnight, it blared to life.
"Wake up, mortal!" An annoying voice screeched into Feral's ear.
Startled, the big kat fell out of bed and landed on something small and bony. Muffled curses and incantations could be heard from under Feral's bulk, and the big kat struggled to get up and see what menace had awakened him from his sleep. Lo and behold, there plastered to the floorboards was the small red form of the Pastmaster!
"Kats alive! The Pastmaster! . . . Are you alright? You look a little flushed?"
The Pastmaster growled, but it soon turned into twisted sobbing.
"I'm the Immortal Sorcerer of Christmas Past!" He cried, tears forming puddles around him, "And you dislocated my hip!"
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Feral said very apologetic, "Here, let me put you on my back."
"No! Don't touch me!" The Pastmaster screamed like a kitten, as Feral reached down and hoisted him onto his back.
"See? Much better," Feral beamed.
"Infernal mortals with their stupid height . . ." The Pastmaster grumbled, getting a little woozy from being so high up on Feral's back.
"So, um, what are you doing here again?" Feral questioned.
"Silence! I must concentrate or both of us will disintegrate during the transport." The Pastmaster snarled.
"Oh, my bad." Feral hushed, folding his hands together.
Moments later, after the Pastmaster babbled out some strange incantation that Feral didn't bother trying to follow, a vortex appeared and the Pastmaster beckoned the big kat to go in.
"C'mon already! I've done this millions of times." The Pastmaster fumed.
"Sure there isn't any sort of harmful side-effects?" Feral questioned, eyeing the spiraling cloud cautiously.
"Just look at me, you dolt! I'm perfectly fine, now aren't I?" The Pastmaster shrieked.
Feral didn't say a word, just bit his lip. Taking a deep breath, holding his nose, and shutting his eyes, Feral leaped into the vortex.
"Open your eyes you nit-wit! We're here!" The Pastmaster's scraggly voice shouted in Feral's ear.
Peeping one eye open and then the other, Feral released his grip of his nose and looked around in bewilderment. The scene he saw before him was a quaint country setting, with snow powdered over trees and buildings, just a real homey setting all around. Feral scratched his head.
"Um, you did say you were the something-something of Christmas Past, right?" He questioned unsurely, still looking around.
"Yeah, I'm stuck with this gig until I can pay off this big fat guy in a red suit. Infernal weasel took me for all my money last week." The Pastmaster grumbled, "Never should've tried to bluff with only a pair of twos."
"Erm, well then, where are we? I didn't grow up here, in the countryside. Heck, I've never been outside of Megakat City before, there's just so many nice kats in it!" Feral chirped.
"What?!" The Pastmaster screeched, nearly re-dislocating his hip, "By the tome of time, can't this foolish author get anything right! Back in the pretty vortex, o' fleshy one!"
Once again another vortex appeared, and Feral was prodded into it by a shrieking Pastmaster. This time around, the setting took a drastic turn. They were in Megakat City all right, and it looked to be wintertime here as well. The neighborhood was obviously not the best, and snow covered the alleyways as small pieces of trash blew through the air. A newspaper smacked into Feral's face, but he peeled it off and gasped at the date.
"Incredible!" He gasped, "Why this . . . this was the year . . ."
"Quite your senseless ramblings idiot, and let's find whichever one of these punks is you!" The Pastmaster growled, searching the desolate streets, "Hey, does that shack look familiar?"
Feral looked towards the said building and was immediately drawn to it. He stood outside it, astounded, touching it to see if it was real.
"By George!"
"Who?"
"It's Fuzzy Shin-Dig's Pad!" Feral proclaimed, stepping back to look at the flashing neon sign, "Good ol' Shin-Dig . . . Hey, can we go in? I think I hear Disco Duck coming on!"
The Pastmaster groaned, but snapped his fingers nonetheless, and the two found themselves amidst some grooving kats showing some funk on the dance floor. They all seemed to be laughing, directing their mirth towards a particular fellow unsuccessfully attempting to dance. Feral peered around, looking for the object of everyone's attention.
"Why, it's me, spirit!" Feral proclaimed, pointing himself out.
The Pastmaster peered around the smoky, flashing-light encased area, until his eyes fell onto the young Ulysses Feral. His scowl deepened.
"Good grief, mortal! What sort of foul bird had nested itself on your skull?!" He exclaimed.
"Silly spirit, that's my prize-winning afro!" Feral chuckled merrily, "My niece doesn't believe this, but I actually hid my unicycle inside it once. Ah, good times . . . good times . . ."
"You imbecile! That's nothing to be proud of!" The Pastmaster commented, flailing, "Just look at you! You're a joke! Everyone's making fun of you!"
At that instant, the young Ulysses changed into his extra tall pumps, which he pulled out from his humongous hair, and slipped them on. He towered above the entire dance floor, as he started getting into the groove. Unfortunately, his noggin bobbed a little to close to the lowering disco ball, and he was knocked out, tumbling to the floor as someone cried out "Timber!"
"What? No," Feral dismissed, "They were always just a happy group like this. Why, every time I was with them in the room, they'd always be laughing, those jolly kats! Haha!"
The Pastmaster fumed, grabbing hold of Feral's head. "You incessant idiot! Just listen to what these so-called 'friends' of yours are so mirthful about!"
The duo suddenly zoomed in on a clique of kats situated at a table. They were chatting back and forth constantly, but Feral still managed to pick up on the subject of their conversation.
"Yeah, he's such a freak! What primordial bird nested on his head, anyway? Kats, a-live, I heard he keeps his *unicycle* in it! I mean, that is so way too big."
"I know, Skip! And those outrageous shoes! I mean, yah, I so totally own a pair, but since seeing *him* wearing them, I'm going to have to burn them now!"
"Teehee! But come on now, everyone, he did give us all his major credit cards after we agreed to let him buy us a cherry coke! Still, we'll ditch him once we get him to hand over the keys to his car."
The cruel group burst out in laughter and went on with their merriment as Feral slowly turned away.
"Ha ha! You see!" The Pastmaster rubbed in, "All they ever did was use you for their own means! And very well, I might add. Hmm, yes, very well indeed . . . I could use some more blood suckers at the lair come to think of it."
"I . . ." Feral started, his back still turned, "I never did see that car again . . .Oh spirit! I don't wish to see anymore! Send me back to my bedchamber, so that I may stew and reflect on this instance. I only hope my self-help videos will be able to pull me out of this emotional pitfall in time for Christmas."
"Fine! Have it your way, you merry menace!" The Pastmaster growled, holding up his watch, "But heed what you've seen here! Your friends despised you, your horrendous hair-do betrayed you, and disco was ultimately your downfall! . . .Oh, and being a nice push-over doesn't help either. Yadda- yadda."
Feral turned around. What met him was a bedpost, and his teeth gnashed together from his skull impacting with it. Nothing, though, could compare with the pain of his fond memories distorted to show that hurtful perspective he'd just witnessed. Still, Feral felt a need to be nice, as he sat down on his mattress, rubbing his jaw.
"Bah, ho hum."
--------------------------
To be slaved over until it's finished . . .
From Whiplash Productions
Copyright Jazz: Swat Kats and any related trademarks are copyright Hanna- Barbera, not yours truly. The innocent story that this fic is modeled after is obviously Charles Dickens' book, so stop confusing my timeless pieces of literature with his, people, it's getting rather annoying.
*Author's Notation: Yeah, so instead of leaving the holiday alone, like I should've, I decided I just had to churn out this seasonal coal-worthy story that's just asking to be shot down on sight. The setting is in the Dark Swat Kats universe, hence the only way I could rationally explain Feral's odd/flipped behavior, and the madness just sort of goes from there. Happy Holidays everyone!
--------------------------Christmas Eve, the Dark SK Universe . . .
"Ho hum. Hum ho. I just adore Christmas!" Commander Feral chimed, sprucing up his office with various decorations.
Steele sat in the corner, that usual smug, rotten smirk on his face.
"Oh boss," He sneered, "Can I have the next two weeks off? It is Christmas, ya' know?"
Feral considered for a moment then grinned happily at the Lt. "Well, sure! I don't see why not! Just work here for, say, ten more minutes and then you can have the next two weeks off." He replied cheerily.
"Score!" Steele hooted, doing a little dance.
There came a sudden knock on the door, and a less than amused Felina opened her uncle's door.
"Uncle? You here?" She asked, a dullness to her voice.
"Up here, Felicia!" Feral hummed, stringing up the ribbon.
"It's Felina," She said flatly.
"That's what I said, wasn't it? Ah well, what is it that you'd like?" Feral questioned.
Felina sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a list. She glanced over them boringly and then looked up at the commander.
"I'm having a party tonight, since it's Christmas Eve and all, and I was wondering if you'd care to join." She said matter-of-factly.
"Sure!" Feral replied giddily.
"There'll be booze," Felina added.
"Fine!"
"We're ordering adult channels,"
"Great!"
"We'll probably commit a few crimes in our drunken state,"
"Sounds fun!"
Felina twitched involuntarily, her hands clenching the list of wrongdoings that she'd cooked up just to see his response.
"I don't get you, Uncle!" She finally exploded, "How can you always be so accepting! Can't you ever say 'no' to anyone?"
At that very moment, Chance and Jake ambled into the room, dressed as Christmas trees and carrying bells and a donation tin cup. Upon entering, they began croaking out Christmas carols. The room was dead silent when they finished, all eyes fixed on them.
"Ahem, yeah, well, uh, we're the Singing Evergreens, and we're here collecting money for oursel-er, the greedy -I mean!- the needy. So, ah, donate!" Chance spoke up, holding out the tin.
"Oh! Collecting for the poor! I just love this part!" Feral chirped, sliding down his ladder and coming up to the two trees, wads of cash in his paw.
"Uncle, would you donate a little something for me too . . ." Felina asked.
"Okay, Fana," Feral nodded, bringing out yet another wad of cash to put in the over-flowing tin cup.
"It's Felina,"
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"
"My ten minutes are up! Whoohoo!! See ya' around, suckers!" Steele sneered, shutting all his books and high tailing it out of there.
"Wow! How wonderful it is to see a kat so possessed by the holiday spirit!" Feral cooed.
"Possessed, yes. By a holiday spirit, I think not." Jake murmured.
"Right on! Thanks a lot, Sa-ap . . . S' 'appy, New Year! Eh heh . . ." Chance grinned.
"Don't mention it, boys. And say, about that little accident we had a while back, it was completely my fault. You boys don't have to pay a dime of the damages, and I'd like you to come back and be Enforcers with us!" Feral stated, smiling.
The two mechanics just looked at each other.
"Uh, we'll have to think about it . . ." Chance finally spoke, barely able to contain his snickers.
"Y-yeah, affirmative," Jake put in, backing out the door before a small snort could escape him.
"All right, you do that then. Goodbye!" Feral waved, as the two giggly kats jolted out the door.
"Argh! That's exactly what I'm talking about, Uncle!" Felina growled in frustration, "You're just too nice!"
"Bah, ho hum!" Was Feral's only reply, continuing with his decorating.
--------------------------Later that night . . .
Feral was sitting comfortably in his living room, a warm glass of milk by his side, staring dreamily at the fireplace. He'd just returned from the office, after giving everyone an extra special Christmas bonus, and making a quick detour on his way home to read the Christmas story at a nearby orphanage. Yes, Feral was very much content as he nestled in his recliner, drowsily watching the flames crackle. Suddenly, a ghostly incarnation swirled to life in the fireplace. It was the face of a kat, well groomed, and shiny to boot.
"Feeerrraaaallll . . . .Feeeerrrraaaallll . . ."
Feral's drowsiness left him, as he looked around for the haunting voice. He was shivering from head to toe, and he grabbed his glass of milk threateningly.
"Wh . . .Who's th-there! I'm warning you! I have a glass of milk!" He stammered, twisting around in his overstuffed chair.
The face in the fireplace melted away, and soon after the creak of floorboards could be heard. Closer, closer still they squeaked, as all Feral could see beyond the firelight was darkness. Fearing the creaking would soon be upon him, Feral lashed out with his warm glass of milk, sending it spewing into the darkness. To his horror, the milk caught onto an invisible presence in the room, creating a white, dripping form of a kat not two meters from where he was.
"AAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEYYYYYYAAAAA!!!" Feral screamed, leaping out of his chair and flying to his room.
"YEOUCH!! It burns! It burns!" The figure screeched, trying to wipe the steaming milk from its invisible form.
In his room, Feral locked his door, took out his shotgun, put on his commando hat, and held a position under the covers of his bed. Once again, he heard the definite sound of footsteps approach his door. As they drew nearer and finally stopped just outside his door, Feral swallowed hard and mustered the courage to make a bold challenge.
"I'm with the Enforcers! They'll handle this!" He barked.
"Oh come now, Ulysses, not that old line," A frail, cynical voice emanated from behind him.
Giving a shriek, Feral twirled around and let loose a barrage of gunfire until he realized the only thing behind him was his dresser; the emphasis of that statement being, *was*. Gasping for air, the big kat's hands shook uncontrollably, and when he turned back around, he dropped his gun all together.
There, in the middle of his room, stood a glowing manifest of a kat, well aged, and a harp fastened in his hands. Feral was dumbstruck, for he knew whom the kat was.
"O'Malley! My old squad car partner! You were the nicest guy to ever wear an Enforcer uniform! B-But, your dead!" Feral stuttered, his jaw open.
"That's right, lad, I'm dead and gone now. And what has my niceties done fer me now, eh? Nothin'! Absolutely nothin'!" O'Malley barked.
"What?" Feral asked, dumbfounded, "But that's not true! You inspired me to be the nice guy I am today!"
"Bah!" O'Malley retorted, "Nice guys always finish last, Feral my boy! Why, when I died, me own kids sold my estate and used the money to gamble away their nine lives."
" . . .But that's what you wanted them to do. It was in your will!" Feral charged.
"Only cause me wife changed it!" O'Malley said gruffly.
"Your comrades! They all came to your funeral to pay their respects!" Feral countered.
"Respect!? To whom? Me, or my sister's homemade doughnuts that were in the reception area?" O'Malley grumbled.
"Those were really good, come to think of it," Feral mused.
"The reason I'm here, Feral, is to show you what a waste it is to try and be nice to people. Just look at me!" O'Malley stated.
"O'Malley, you look wonderful! You've got your golden harp there, probably some wings or something, and you can do that nifty invisibility thing!" Feral said merrily.
"Oh sure, it looks good now, but think about the long run! I have to listen to that boring, if not annoying, harp music for eternity! Not only that, everyone is just so peachy and nice to everyone else up there, it's driving me bananas!" O'Malley bellowed.
"That's not a very good thing to say about, up there," Feral whispered, pointing up.
"Well, I figured I'd come down here and try to straighten you out before you get too nice for your own good, anyway." O'Malley retorted, "You'll be visited by three spirits tonight, Ulysses. They're, ah, all I could find on such short notice, so be patient with 'em, alright?"
And with nary a poof, O'Malley disappeared. Feral scratched his head in puzzlement. Was he really too nice? He shook his head bemusedly and gave a simple smile.
"Bah, ho hum!"
Turning out his light, Feral then retired back into his sheets, his shotgun beside him and his commando hat still on. He nestled into the covers, and stuck his thumb contently into his mouth and dreamed of Christmas morning. The clock on the wall ticked away, in the meantime, and at midnight, it blared to life.
"Wake up, mortal!" An annoying voice screeched into Feral's ear.
Startled, the big kat fell out of bed and landed on something small and bony. Muffled curses and incantations could be heard from under Feral's bulk, and the big kat struggled to get up and see what menace had awakened him from his sleep. Lo and behold, there plastered to the floorboards was the small red form of the Pastmaster!
"Kats alive! The Pastmaster! . . . Are you alright? You look a little flushed?"
The Pastmaster growled, but it soon turned into twisted sobbing.
"I'm the Immortal Sorcerer of Christmas Past!" He cried, tears forming puddles around him, "And you dislocated my hip!"
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Feral said very apologetic, "Here, let me put you on my back."
"No! Don't touch me!" The Pastmaster screamed like a kitten, as Feral reached down and hoisted him onto his back.
"See? Much better," Feral beamed.
"Infernal mortals with their stupid height . . ." The Pastmaster grumbled, getting a little woozy from being so high up on Feral's back.
"So, um, what are you doing here again?" Feral questioned.
"Silence! I must concentrate or both of us will disintegrate during the transport." The Pastmaster snarled.
"Oh, my bad." Feral hushed, folding his hands together.
Moments later, after the Pastmaster babbled out some strange incantation that Feral didn't bother trying to follow, a vortex appeared and the Pastmaster beckoned the big kat to go in.
"C'mon already! I've done this millions of times." The Pastmaster fumed.
"Sure there isn't any sort of harmful side-effects?" Feral questioned, eyeing the spiraling cloud cautiously.
"Just look at me, you dolt! I'm perfectly fine, now aren't I?" The Pastmaster shrieked.
Feral didn't say a word, just bit his lip. Taking a deep breath, holding his nose, and shutting his eyes, Feral leaped into the vortex.
"Open your eyes you nit-wit! We're here!" The Pastmaster's scraggly voice shouted in Feral's ear.
Peeping one eye open and then the other, Feral released his grip of his nose and looked around in bewilderment. The scene he saw before him was a quaint country setting, with snow powdered over trees and buildings, just a real homey setting all around. Feral scratched his head.
"Um, you did say you were the something-something of Christmas Past, right?" He questioned unsurely, still looking around.
"Yeah, I'm stuck with this gig until I can pay off this big fat guy in a red suit. Infernal weasel took me for all my money last week." The Pastmaster grumbled, "Never should've tried to bluff with only a pair of twos."
"Erm, well then, where are we? I didn't grow up here, in the countryside. Heck, I've never been outside of Megakat City before, there's just so many nice kats in it!" Feral chirped.
"What?!" The Pastmaster screeched, nearly re-dislocating his hip, "By the tome of time, can't this foolish author get anything right! Back in the pretty vortex, o' fleshy one!"
Once again another vortex appeared, and Feral was prodded into it by a shrieking Pastmaster. This time around, the setting took a drastic turn. They were in Megakat City all right, and it looked to be wintertime here as well. The neighborhood was obviously not the best, and snow covered the alleyways as small pieces of trash blew through the air. A newspaper smacked into Feral's face, but he peeled it off and gasped at the date.
"Incredible!" He gasped, "Why this . . . this was the year . . ."
"Quite your senseless ramblings idiot, and let's find whichever one of these punks is you!" The Pastmaster growled, searching the desolate streets, "Hey, does that shack look familiar?"
Feral looked towards the said building and was immediately drawn to it. He stood outside it, astounded, touching it to see if it was real.
"By George!"
"Who?"
"It's Fuzzy Shin-Dig's Pad!" Feral proclaimed, stepping back to look at the flashing neon sign, "Good ol' Shin-Dig . . . Hey, can we go in? I think I hear Disco Duck coming on!"
The Pastmaster groaned, but snapped his fingers nonetheless, and the two found themselves amidst some grooving kats showing some funk on the dance floor. They all seemed to be laughing, directing their mirth towards a particular fellow unsuccessfully attempting to dance. Feral peered around, looking for the object of everyone's attention.
"Why, it's me, spirit!" Feral proclaimed, pointing himself out.
The Pastmaster peered around the smoky, flashing-light encased area, until his eyes fell onto the young Ulysses Feral. His scowl deepened.
"Good grief, mortal! What sort of foul bird had nested itself on your skull?!" He exclaimed.
"Silly spirit, that's my prize-winning afro!" Feral chuckled merrily, "My niece doesn't believe this, but I actually hid my unicycle inside it once. Ah, good times . . . good times . . ."
"You imbecile! That's nothing to be proud of!" The Pastmaster commented, flailing, "Just look at you! You're a joke! Everyone's making fun of you!"
At that instant, the young Ulysses changed into his extra tall pumps, which he pulled out from his humongous hair, and slipped them on. He towered above the entire dance floor, as he started getting into the groove. Unfortunately, his noggin bobbed a little to close to the lowering disco ball, and he was knocked out, tumbling to the floor as someone cried out "Timber!"
"What? No," Feral dismissed, "They were always just a happy group like this. Why, every time I was with them in the room, they'd always be laughing, those jolly kats! Haha!"
The Pastmaster fumed, grabbing hold of Feral's head. "You incessant idiot! Just listen to what these so-called 'friends' of yours are so mirthful about!"
The duo suddenly zoomed in on a clique of kats situated at a table. They were chatting back and forth constantly, but Feral still managed to pick up on the subject of their conversation.
"Yeah, he's such a freak! What primordial bird nested on his head, anyway? Kats, a-live, I heard he keeps his *unicycle* in it! I mean, that is so way too big."
"I know, Skip! And those outrageous shoes! I mean, yah, I so totally own a pair, but since seeing *him* wearing them, I'm going to have to burn them now!"
"Teehee! But come on now, everyone, he did give us all his major credit cards after we agreed to let him buy us a cherry coke! Still, we'll ditch him once we get him to hand over the keys to his car."
The cruel group burst out in laughter and went on with their merriment as Feral slowly turned away.
"Ha ha! You see!" The Pastmaster rubbed in, "All they ever did was use you for their own means! And very well, I might add. Hmm, yes, very well indeed . . . I could use some more blood suckers at the lair come to think of it."
"I . . ." Feral started, his back still turned, "I never did see that car again . . .Oh spirit! I don't wish to see anymore! Send me back to my bedchamber, so that I may stew and reflect on this instance. I only hope my self-help videos will be able to pull me out of this emotional pitfall in time for Christmas."
"Fine! Have it your way, you merry menace!" The Pastmaster growled, holding up his watch, "But heed what you've seen here! Your friends despised you, your horrendous hair-do betrayed you, and disco was ultimately your downfall! . . .Oh, and being a nice push-over doesn't help either. Yadda- yadda."
Feral turned around. What met him was a bedpost, and his teeth gnashed together from his skull impacting with it. Nothing, though, could compare with the pain of his fond memories distorted to show that hurtful perspective he'd just witnessed. Still, Feral felt a need to be nice, as he sat down on his mattress, rubbing his jaw.
"Bah, ho hum."
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To be slaved over until it's finished . . .