A/N: Merry Christmas everybody! This is my Christmas pressie to all my lurvely reviewers. RatedPG13 for a reason - some dirty language in this one.
Disclaimer: Own plot, Felle the X6and co-own the lyrics to The Twelve Days of Christmas Gone Wrong with my cousin, Reivyn, but nothing else. No offence intended by our rather gory lyrics to both of the carols. If you have a problem with it, don't read.
Italics are the song lyrics to the carols.
Mistletoe Magic
Max walked out into one of the few squares in T.C. with real sunshine and relatively fresh air. Some transgenics had actually found a dejected looking Fir tree and decorated it.
It had some shabby silver and blue tinsel draped on its branches. The tinsel had definitely seen better days. Imagine something that's been boiled and burned, chewed for a good few days, swallowed, and went through the entire digestive system dragging everything disgusting with it.
Now magnify that twice.
At least the baubles were relatively new. Also silver and blue, they hung 'casually strewn' on the branches as well. The star had been fashioned by Joshua.
It was bright gold with plenty of glitter, and if you got close enough you could see delicate lines on it depicting a tiny portrait of each transgenic in Terminal City. It had taken weeks, and everyone was proud of it.
Max sighed. It was about 6:30 in the evening, and most of the transgenics were filing out of their apartments to join the planned Christmas party.
"Ms. Max, do you like it?"
Max smiled down at the fun-loving X6, Felle. She was only five, but already she had perfect speech, hearing, and most importantly, impeccable manners.
Alec had taken a shine to Felle, and most of the time they could be seen cooking up some prank or another. She could have been his twin – she too had dirty blonde hair that looked more like a deep auburn-ish gold in the setting sun. Her hazel green eyes had already inherited that infamous sparkle of mischief and fun that could only be gotten by being an original prankster.
The brunette ruffled her hair. "It's lovely, Felle. Did you help?"
The X6 nodded. "Yup. I helped to hang the baubles. Those silver ones on that side are mine," she added, pointing to the area indicated.
Max beamed. "Beautiful."
Suddenly, Felle's eyes grew wide, childish laughter escaping her in fits of giggles. She darted away just as hands covered Max's eyes.
We wish you a crappy Christmas, we wish you a crappy Christmas, we wish you a crappy Christmas and a shitty New Year.
Bad tidings we throw, at you and your kind. We wish you a crappy Christmas and a shitty New Year.
"My ears!" Max shouted, wriggling wildly. "My ears! They bleed."
"Aw, Maxie. I'm just giving you a rendition of what those Ordinaries – who are so against us – are singing outside our city limits."
With that, Alec removed his hands from Max's eyes and continued to serenade her with the latest ghastly carol.
On the first day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: a Russian made RGN-3.
On the second day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
Max raised an eyebrow. "Cute."
Alec ignored her.
On the third day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
On the fourth day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
Max watched, and heard to her immediate annoyance that most of the male transgenics had started to sing along. But what really ticked her off was the fact that Mole was singing as well, cigar askew.
On the fifth day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
On the sixth day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: six Molotov cocktails, five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
On the seventh day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: seven smoke grenades, six Molotov cocktails, five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
"I've been scarred for life," Max moaned as she buried her head in her hands.
On the eighth day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: eight bombs a-ticking, seven smoke grenades, six Molotov cocktails, five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
On the ninth day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: nine special babies, eight bombs a-ticking, seven smoke grenades, six Molotov cocktails, five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
On the tenth day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: ten perverted fools, nine special babies, eight bombs a-ticking, seven smoke grenades, six Molotov cocktails, five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
"Dear God, I know I'm not really a believer – hell, I don't really believe in anything. But PLEASE. I'd do anything to make them stop. Just make them stop!"
On the eleventh day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: eleven rotting eyeballs, ten perverted fools, nine special babies, eight bombs a-ticking, seven smoke grenades, six Molotov cocktails, five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, I sent my enemy: twelve horny dogs, eleven rotting eyeballs, ten perverted fools, nine special babies, eight bombs a-ticking, seven smoke grenades, six Molotov cocktails, five groin-guards, four M252s, three severed fingers, two Fort 12s and a Russian made RGN-3.
The last verse ended to rousing applause as Alec and Mole smiled and bowed to the populace.
Max ended Alec's brief moment of fame as she slapped him upside the head. He scowled at her.
"What the hell was that for?"
"That was for scarring me for life, making me pray to God and making my ears bleed."
"You better add one more to that list."
Max frowned at the goofily happy face that was now plastered on Alec's face. "Why? What?"
Her eyes followed his finger upwards, and when she saw what she did, she cursed so badly all of the transgenic mothers in the throng covered their children's ears.
Someone – Max swore she would personally hunt down and murder that someone – was holding a sprig of mistletoe above them. The sprig was attached to a painfully obvious black pole, and that someone was bobbing the sprig up and down.
"Oh for God's sake," Max recognised the voice as Felle's. "Just hurry up and get on with it already!"
The pole bobbed with more violence as it continued going relentlessly up and down.
"Well, Maxie," Alec purred in her ear as he pulled her close. "You know what tradition dictates."
Max's retort caught and died in her throat as Alec bent down to kiss her.
Tender and sweet, Max was shocked to find herself kissing him back. She was even more shocked to find that she was disappointed when he pulled away.
Deafening applause.
"You go, Felle!"
"Way to go Felly me gal!"
"Ingenious!" Max heard Biggs shout above the throng. "She gets it from me, y'know."
Max honestly couldn't care less about what they were saying. She couldn't even hear them. Her world was still spinning wildly and recklessly, her senses still dulled and her mind still fogged.
"Merry Christmas, Max." Alec whispered against her ear as he pulled her back into his arms to kiss her again.
Now that is what Christmas really is about.
A/N: Merry Christmas everybody!