A/N: Written for the 'Witchblade Bah-humbug Contest' at Mythtime. Takes place after 'Legion', with minor spoilers for the same.I own nothing and am making no profit. (that should be obvious from the state of my bank account) The rules for the contest are as follows:

Quotes that must be used verbatim within the story:

1. "How do you know that's not just a really, really big lemon snowcone?"

2. "Jingle this." or "Holly jolly, my ass." (Author's choice on this one)

3. "Imagine what that would look like with tinsel dangling from it."

Items that must appear in the story:

Fuzzy pink bunny slippers

A plumber named Duie Pyle

A can of cheese whiz.

Visit the website, check out the other contestants, maybe try your hand. We'd love to have you.

www mythtime com/IANspiration/xmasstory/xmasstoryone htm

(just replace the spaces with periods to create the link)

Chapter 1 Bah Humbug

Snow was falling, covering New York with a pristine white blanket. Too bad the city was still filthy underneath… Sara stared out the window of the patrol car and tried not to sigh. It had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet. She was stuck pulling a double, partly because her captain hated her guts, and partly because of the annual holiday-created manpower shortages.

Not that Sara minded working through Christmas. Let some poor schmuck with a buttload of brats have the time off.

"… best time of the year. I don't know if there'll be snow, but have a cup of cheer. Have a holl-"

"Damn it Jake! What did I tell you about the radio?" Sara growled as she reached over and flipped the knob until the soothing, at least to her ears, sounds of Megadeath filled the car again. "Holly jolly, my ass."

"Awww, come on Sara." Jake whined, "It's Christmas. Why can't we listen to Christmas music?"

"Because I hate it."

"Christmas or Christmas music?" Jake arched his brows upward in question.

"Yes." Sara crossed her arms and glared at her rookie partner. He was being an even bigger idiot than usual.

"You're a real Grinch, you know that?"

Sara rolled her eyes, "Oh please. The green guy caved like the wuss that he was. I, on the other hand, am still a card-carrying member of 'The Bah Humbug Club'."

"I don't get it. Why do you hate Christmas so much?"

"Gee, I don't know," Sara paused as if giving it serious thought, then continued with contempt dripping from every word, "maybe because it's the biggest rip-off in the history of mankind?"

"It's the celebration of the birth of Christ." Jake shot back, appalled at the blatant negativity coming from the other side of the car.

"Who was born when?" Sara raised a brow, "I'll give you a hint, it wasn't December."

"Ok, ok, yeah, the historians say he had to have been born somewhere in August or September, but it's the thought…"

Sara cut him off, "That counts? Really? Somehow I don't connect a guy born in a barn with a huge sale at Macy's."

"So your problem is the commercialization of a spiritual event?" Somehow that wasn't the answer Jake had been expecting. Sara had never struck him as particularly religious.

"Shouldn't it be? I mean really Jake, what are we going to spend the whole night doing?"

"Patrolling?"

"And why are we patrolling?" Sara asked in the same tone used to speak to very small children.

Not sure where this was going, he gave the most obvious answer, "Because people will be committing crimes?"

"Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner." With the carnival barker impression Sara was doing winner sounded more like whi-nahh. "Give that man a crappy butter cookie Santa with red sprinkles!"

"Ewwww, those things are nasty," Jake shuddered in distaste.

"So's the entire human race." Sara replied flatly. "That's why two thousand years after the so-called 'Prince of Peace' was born; we're still slaughtering each other."

"Harsh Pez, real harsh," Jake sighed, "And not exactly true. There are good people out there. It's just that our job doesn't bring us into contact with very many of them."

Sara stared at him as if he had sprouted a second bottlebrush head. "If the angels really came to town, I think they would come up with fewer good people than they found in Sodom."

Jake tried to think back to Sunday bible school for the number, but came up with a big fat blank. To cover his ignorance, he glossed over the count, "Just because you don't,"

There was a momentary flare of heat from Sara's wrist, and then her partner's voice faded behind the strength of a Witchblade induced vision. The falling snow became feathers, as brilliant and sharp edged as glass. Some of them were edged with rubies.

No, not rubies, blood.