CHAPTER 8

Maka spun the now empty glass along the table. "One more, please."

"I think you've had enough."

"I'll tell you when I've had enough, Tsubaki!" As her friend stared wide-eyed, Maka became more demurred. "Now please, serve me."

The weapon rolled her eyes. "It's not even alcoholic cider-but really, I think that stuff will rot your teeth at this rate."

"I'd deserve it," Maka said, her chin pressed against the kitchen table.

"Now, now, no more self-pity." Tsubaki lifted Maka up under her arms, having her stand again. "Get your mind off of gift planning, and put your mind onto something else." She smiled. "Would you like to help me make gingerbread cookies?"

Maka grumbled.

"Good-I'll get the cookie sheet." She pointed onto the cookbook she left on the table. "You grab the ingredients listed on this page. If you need more, they are in the pantry in the room next door."

As Tsubaki removed their empty glasses from the table to the sink, Maka slumped her shoulders, held the cookbook by half of its pages-just letting it stay open as she dragged it and her feet into the pantry, not caring about either its spine or her own. She opened the door, flipped the light switch-and was greeted to perfectly arranged bins of ingredients, each labeled in clean, big, and black letters, alphabetized and then organized by size and even calorie count. After a moment, she chuckled despite herself, happy that at least Kid's penchant for order made it easier to organize.

Maka cradled the book on her arm, reading each ingredient as she removed its container from the shelf. "Baking soda, molasses, ginger, cinnamon, brown sugar. Wait, I don't see any brown sugar. Hmm...A, B, C...Oh!" She sprinted down the other end of the pantry. "S-sugar, brown! Typical, Kid!" She took as many ingredients as she could in her arms, and walked back towards the entrance-until she saw a bottle of hot sauce on one shelf. Getting a wicked grin, Maka snatched it, too, and returned to the kitchen, depositing the canisters onto the table-but keeping the hot sauce in her pocket.

Tsubaki was waiting for her, opening another bag of flour from using the remainder of the previous bag for her earlier cooking.

Maka risked a glance at Tsubaki. "Okay, so if I suck at gift-giving-"

"You do not suck-stop that," Tsubaki said with a smile.

"What have you done when you couldn't brainstorm a gift for someone?"

Tsubaki did not meet her eyes, drawing the returned cookbook to her to start measuring ingredients.

"Such as for Black Star, maybe?"

Tsubaki sighed, gruffly. "Maka."

"Sorry! I just...Well, he can't be easy to shop for."

"Based on how many pieces of furniture he breaks in a year, not really."

"His bed again?"

"I tell him to stop bouncing on it," Tsubaki said, as she tossed down some measured flour into the bowl, sending its dust flying into the air. "But no matter how many times he bashes his head on the ceiling, he keeps breaking the bedsprings!"

Maka backed away, beginning to regret bringing up the topic. "Any...non-furniture gifts you have gotten him?"

"A necktie," Tsubaki muttered, tossing more ingredients haphazardly into the mixing bowl.

"And you mock me for buying my partner girly headbands?"

Maka met Tsubaki's glare, totally not regretting the opportunity for her remark. Tsubaki could not maintain her stare, as she broke out laughing at how superior Maka looked. "Okay, fair point," she said, holding up her hands.

As Tsubaki turned her back to get a smaller measurement cup, Maka glanced into the mixing bowl, removed the hot sauce from her pocket, and poured a bit of it into the bowl. She took the mixing spoon and quickly stirred a bit of the contents. "Tsubaki, I'm adding the molasses!"

"Thanks!" she said, still hunting for the cup. "But really, Black Star is not that hard to shop for. And he really liked that necktie!"

"You ever get him to wear it?" Maka asked, as she finally added the molasses, took a whiff of the contents, and grimaced. Not spicy enough-she poured more in.

"At the formal dance last month, actually."

"Really?" Maka now looked up, not noticing how much hot sauce she was adding to the contents. "I thought Nygus forced him to wear it."

"You would be surprised how amenable Black Star can be," Tsubaki said. As she turned, Maka hid the bottle behind her back, replacing its cap. "You just need to give him incentive."

"Such as?" Maka asked, interested in Tsubaki's gift-giving advice.

"I made it part of a larger gift, so he would be willing to try out all of them: I got him a collection of neckties."

Maka's eyes widened. "Is that why-?"

"Yes: that ugly light-up snowman tie he wore last Christmas was one of those gifts!"

Maka was stunned. "That's how you got him to wear a suit to dinner?!"

"See? If you give Black Star a reason to think something will be fun and allow him to standout, he'll listen." She studied the mixing bowl. "Maka, I think you added too much molasses."

"Silly me!" Maka said with a wide smile. "I guess we can add some more flour and just double the ingredients, right?"

Tsubaki returned her smile: "Might as well-more for us until the others return!" She started to stir the contents. "Anyway, I wanted Black Star to dress up better than he had at other occasions, so I purchased nine different ties-all of them really tacky."

"Like that one with the neon colored stars on it?"

"And the one with jack o'lanterns."

"And that one with superheroes on it?"

"Exactly! And eventually when the fancy party came around, the only one he had not yet tried was the tenth tie I snuck in: an attractive, crimson silk tie." Her eyes softened as she kept stirring. "He looked rather handsome in it, didn't he?"

Maka returned her smile. "That's one way to get him into a monkey suit."

She chuckled. "That's what he called it, too!"

They then heard a crash behind them, as Patty kicked opened the door to the kitchen and entered. "I knew I smelled ginger! Tsubaki, can I lick the bowl?!"

"Oh, I don't know, Patty," Tsubaki began, concerned. "Maka has been helping me, and I thought-"

"No!" Maka put up both hands. Both weapons looked at her. "Um, what I mean is, is that...It's the holidays! Patty really should lick it." She took the spoon from Tsubaki, and handed it to Patty. "Merry Christmas!"

"Thanks, pigtails!" Patty said, clutching the spoon.

Tsubaki studied Maka, and smiled. She had feared that the gift-giving fiasco was troubling her friend, but was surprised to see how well she was getting it off her mind by focusing on improving someone else's life. Tsubaki always admired Maka for her dedication to others, because she thought-

"Fuck!"

Tsubaki left her reverie, as she saw Patty cover her hands over her mouth. "Are you alright?"

Patty shook her head, and dashed to the sink. Tsubaki looked down at the mixing bowl-had her preparations made her friend ill? "Patty! Don't vomit into the sink!"

"I'm not, god damn it!" she shouted, as she ran water. Then Patty shoved her head under the stream, desperately trying to suck up water like drinking from a fountain.

Tsubaki cringed. "Is my cooking so bad before I even start?" she said, her eyes softening in worry.

Then she heard giggles, as Maka sauntered over to the fridge. "Here, Patty-" she tossed a carton of milk at her. "That stuff will help with hot sauce gingerbread dough more."

Patty caught the carton, then after staring at it, glared at Maka. She kept her eyes on her, as she ripped-not pinched, ripped-half the carton's top off, and still stared at her enemy as she guzzled the drink.

"Maka!" Tsubaki lectured her. "That was awful!"

"Hmm," Maka said, shrugging. "Must have been the ginger-it packs a punch."

She barely caught the spoon as it was tossed to her. "You can make the next batch, then!" Tsubaki shouted, struggling to look with disapproval and not laugh at Patty's misfortune.

"Fine, fine," Maka said. "But it'll still be a bit spicy, just like Mama used to-"

She collided with the floor, the empty carton of milk beaning her in the head.

"Patty!" Tsubaki chided her. "Can we have one Christmas Eve without battery?!"

"I don't want any more spice than I am having right now!" Patty screamed, milk drooling from her numb mouth and marking a path onto the floor as she paced out the room and slammed the door.

Maka lifted herself up, clutching her head. "Oh, I need so much ice now." She looked at Tsubaki. "What did she mean by 'enough spice'? Did you feed her something spicy, too?"

Tsubaki avoided eye contact, blushing a bit. "Oh, you know Patty-she just says things!" She forced a laugh, as Maka continued to study her while procuring a plastic bag to stuff with ice for her aching skull. No wonder Black Star hesitated to mock Patty, Maka thought: how could a cheap cardboard carton hurt that badly?

o-o-o

This was quite a pickle, he thought.

Kid had one foot placed firmly into the subway car, and one placed still on the platform. On the one hand, the subway car to the 8 train looked filthy: he was pretty sure those moldy remains of a hamburger just winked at him. On the other hand, should he enter the car, at least he would get away from that dreadful noise the saxophonist dressed in the blue fur outfit was playing.

"In or out, jackass!"

Kid looked down the platform at the conductor. "My apologies, but I really am at a crossroads!"

"You'll be cut in half if you don't get on or off!"

"Is that a promise?" Kid said, a hopeful smile forming on his face.

The can of soda hit against his temple. He stared at the passenger seated across from him: she had her nose buried in a book, a scarf covering her face to obscure him from reading her expression. With that action, Kid stood up straighter, marched onto the subway, if only to give this person a piece of his mind. The doors shut behind him, and the train took off almost instantly. Kid felt himself lean back, yet with perfect reaper balance, was able to re-achieve equilibrium and stay on both feet.

"Pardon me," he said to the woman seated across from him.

Gosh, her headphones are certainly noisy, he thought-even without his enhanced hearing, he here every syllable of the simplistic lyrics emanating from the apparatus.

"Pardon me!" he shouted.

"Piss off," the woman said, keeping her attention to her book.

"I simply wanted to ask-"

"Shut up down there!" cried another passenger seated further down the car.

"Yes, thank you," Kid said, ignoring him. "I wanted to ask," he continued to yell, "why it is that you threw your soda can at me! It was quite rude of you to do-"

She pelted another one at him.

"Really, this is too much! I expect better behavior from people in this city! I have been very accommodating with you, and I-"

Then he noticed her nose ring. It was only in one nostril.

"Alright, then," he said, a sadistic smile forming on his face as his hand reached towards her. "How about I remove that asymmetrical monstrosity by ripping that ring off you—"

She wrapped her fingers around her wrist. Next thing he knew, he was seeing the world upside. He did not understand how she was able to send him flying to the end of that car, as he landed on his head. The man at the other end of the subway car moved his feet back a bit before Kid's landing, giving him the space to rest there.

The woman removed her headphones. "N.O.T. graduate, class of 2000. Try to touch me again, and I'll send you running home crying to your daddy." She replaced the headphones, and continued reading.

Kid sighed. He was coming to realize why, in the time since retrieving his weapons from this city, he so rarely ever returned to New York.

o-o-o

"Hello there, kiddies!" Lord Death exclaimed. Since Kid had departed, the father had felt bad about letting his only Death Scythe on duty carry her bet alone-so he put on foam antlers with blinking lights strewn around them. The sight did not faze Soul and Liz—actually, Lord Death was rather under-decorated based on the season, especially compared to the more surprisingly adorned sight of Azusa standing beside him.

"Yes, welcome." The Death Scythe for East Asia had her arms crossed to hide the ugly sweater she was wearing, yet she could do little to hide the blinking red nose glued to her face.

"Uh, hi, Death Scythe Yumi," Liz began. "Why are you—"

"I lost a bet. Leave it at that."

"Spirit had to tackle the Christmas Day emergency missions," Lord Death whispered, holding up a foam hand over his non-existent mouth, "but he managed to get back at Azusa for taking his space by—"

"Move on!" the irate Death Scythe shouted. The three others in the room stood straighter, hands to their sides.

"Right," Soul said, clearing his throat. "Lord Death, I too request a change to my Christmas Eve assignment."

Lord Death and Azusa looked at each other, her nose still blinking as she spoke: "Soul, new Death Scythes generally have Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off. It is a tradition that we try to enforce at the Death Weapon Meister Academy, in order to adjust new recruits slowly into their more active roles before the inevitable separation of them from their meisters."

"Oh, nice job breaking that to him gently, Zu-zu," Lord Death muttered, as he glanced away from her glare.

"I understand, Death Scythe." Liz was surprised to hear how formal Soul spoke to Azusa. "But I make this request explicitly on behalf of my meister."

"Who, me?"

"No, Lord Death," Liz interrupted, stepping forward. "We understand that Kami Albarn is still conducting black op missions, her most recent coordinates being somewhere around Mexico City."

"And how would you know that?" Azusa said, her eyes narrowing at Liz.

"Just….something I read," Liz said scratching her cheek with her middle finger.

"Why not send another Death Scythe to sub in?" Soul asked. "What about Tezca?"

"It's…complicated," Lord Death said, rubbing the back of his head.

"In any case," Azusa continued, her glasses shining light into Liz's eyes as she opened her folder to consult her notes, "my most recent update from Agent Albarn confirmed she is maintaining radio silence in order to infiltrate the site."

"Which would be?" Liz said, holding a hand over her eyes to block the sheen.

"That information is class—"

"Teotihuacán."

All turned to Soul.

"What?" Soul smirked at Azusa. "Badass secret agent in Mexico City? Probably near the Avenue of the Dead, just a few miles away in Teotihuacan?"

"Have you been 'reading' as well, Soul?" Azusa interrogated him.

"No-just anytime 'death' is in the title, it seems kind of obvious, if cliché."

Azusa slammed her folder shut in one hand, as she marched to her fellow Death Scythe, her tallness allowing her to stare down at her shorter counterpart. "Black ops missions forbid interference from DWMA students, Death Scythes or not. Furthermore, should you interfere, by our rules you will be stripped of every last soul you acquired, including that of the Witch Arachne, and I will personally see you drummed out of this Academy. Do I make myself clear?"

Despite the sweat building on his forehead, Soul maintained his smirk. "All of that would have been clearer if not for the blinking red nose," he said, poking at it. Azusa slapped his hand away.

"Well, that was fun," Liz said, having walked over to Lord Death, leaning an elbow on his side. "Hey, boss man? Mind if me and Soul saunter down Mexico way to lend Maka's mama a hand?"

"No prob," Lord Death said, shrugging. He held up a foam hand to high five Liz as she walked down the platform, took Soul by his arm, and tipped her hat to Azusa.

"Oh, hold up!" Soul said, as he reached behind him, snatching the folder out of Azusa's hand.

"And Merry Christmas!"

"You too, Death Scythe!" Lord Death said, waving. A dumbfounded Azusa stared down the hallway, then turned to stare down the Grim Reaper himself.

"Could you please take protocols more seriously?"

"Why should I?" Lord Death sneered, crossing his arms. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't exactly have the most reliable Death Scythes around at this time of year."

Azusa's mouth hung open. "What?! Compared to the others at your immediate disposal"—she started counting on her fingers—"one pervert, one cosplayer, and one who periodically smashes toilets—"

"I've been meaning to ask about that, by the way, concerning the prohibitively high plumber costs we have had—"

"Quiet!" Lord Death backed up. "And you are going to imply I am not reliable, while you send Evans to screw up a mission?!"

Lord Death simply shrugged. "Well, you haven't done the best job decorating the Chamber for the holiday season."

"That is not in my job description!"

"I believe it is, somewhere between completing all paperwork in triplicate and—"

She took a step forward, and Lord Death again backed away a bit more. "Why did you allow them to go?!"

Lord Death stopped tilting backwards, and leaned forward. "Because it's Christmas. If you expect any better answer than that, then this conversation will just become circular."

Azusa inhaled deeply, and while determined that the argument indeed would persist without advancing, still continued to glare at Lord Death, who began to glance periodically at his wristwatch, wondering how much longer before he himself could just head home already.

Then a thought came upon her.

"Well," she said, marching back to her monitors, "if one Death Scythe is going to break protocol, then two more violating procedure cannot be any worse."

"Ooh, Azusa," Lord Death said, placing a hand over where his mouth would be. "You naughty little rule-breaker, you!"

Upon receiving her death stare, he stood straight again, rotated around, and slinked back to the eggnog he left at his coffee table. Azusa looked to the monitor-and shut it off. What was left was a reflective surface. She exhaled onto the mirror, and wrote out "60,000." She said aloud, "Roku-man." She paused, and smiled despite herself, as she then said aloud, "Hmm, ro-kuma. Apt number for him, then."

The mirror shone, before dissolving into blackness. Azusa studied the screen, having anticipated that it would be more likely to hear her colleague than to see him.

She heard grunts.

"Okay, okay, I'm getting it!" a voice called out. "Jeez, stop waving the mirror around-it's not like I'm not the only one here to pick it up!"

Grunts persisted, with more hostility.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?!"

"Happy to hear your voice," Azusa began, "even if I can't see you."

The noises ceased.

"Oh! Azusa! Feliz Navidad, pal! What's up?"

"Kami is around Mexico City, and now two academy students have followed her without permission to assist in a three-star black ops assignment. I am sorry to ask this, given your condition right now, but are you-"

"Hey, I'm not too far from there! Let me pay off Enrique's bar tab, and I'll-"

"You're drinking on the job?!"

"What? It's not like I can exactly imbibe right now. Think of me as my meister's designated driver."

Azusa gave a grunt of disapproval.

"Just tell me the location, and I'm out!"

Azusa narrowed her eyes. "Teotihuacán, the Avenue of the Dead."

Silence persisted.

"Cool! One ass-kicking Christmas then!"

She heard something crash in the background.

"What now?" she bemoaned.

"Hey, I said I was having an ass-kicking Christmas, right? Can't have one without a bar brawl! Oh, Enrique's giving that biker guy a wedgie! Sorry you can't see this, Azusa, but trust me, I'll send you some snapshots. Death Scythe, out!"

The mirror shone bright again, then dissolved back into its monitor functions capturing surveillance footage. Azusa pinched the bridge of her nose, really hoping that sending another Death Scythe would not compromise Kami's mission further.

o-o-o

"I thought Sid's snow digging skills would pay off-" Black Star dodged another reindeer back-kick. "I just have a bad sense of direction!"

"Funny! Kid didn't tell us that!" Rupert shouted.

"Santa, see, this is why you need to take me off the naughty list!" Black Star did a back flip, flying through the air, as two reindeer came at him, instead bashing their heads into each other and entangling their antlers into each other's. "Then you could give me a compass like you did Kid!"

"Ho, Black Star," Santa said, ever jovial even when combating his own reindeer-his mind-controlled friends-with the threat of an early demise hanging over him. "It was not that type of compass, my friend."

"Whatever," Black Star continued, backing away as more reindeer-Vixen? Nixon? He could never keep track of those names-snorted, then stampeded at him. "When I'm done"-he slid across the snow, stretched out his arms, knocking all eight legs and their holders to the ground, then uprighted himself and turned to re-face the red-coated jolly man-"I'll have worked off three lifetimes of naughty list stardom!"

"That's admirable though misplaced spirit!" Santa said, punching his fist into the air-and sending a flying reindeer crashing to the ground, colliding at the feet of the still seated black cloaked figure.

Santa met the shining red eye of that man. "Ya-ho-ho-ho!" the tall, muscular, and portly man uttered. "I welcome you back, my friend, to my workshop!"

The black cloaked man arose, a clattering sound greeting his three opponents' ears. Rupert narrowed his eyes, Black Star remained unimpressed, and all Santa would say was, "Ho! It sounds like you need more milk and cookies-poor calcium, eh?"

"Papa…" the hooded figure uttered.

"Ho, my child," Santa said, marching forward. "But I'm afraid that is my chair in which you sit. I mean, look at the legs of it, for Pete's sake! The snow will cause all sorts of water damage, my jiminy. Now, let's get this chair back to my workshop, my dear, and we'll fix it up there. What do you say?"

Santa held out his hands to the cloaked figure.

The cloaked figure rammed a hand through his chest.

"Santa!" Black Star shrieked. He was already within inches of the cloaked figure, as his foot connected with his head, knocking him back-but not dragging back Santa at all. In fact, Santa was so heavy, that he stayed in place-and, really, looked hardly impressed with the injury, poking at the offending appendage still lodged within his torso. It was the cloaked person's arm-all bones. A bony arm with a bony hand. No, not even a hand: it was a cloven hoof.

Black Star looked disgusted, seeing a bit of blood dripping out of Santa's wound and onto the pure snow. He turned his attention to the one-armed cloaked figure.

Black Star smirked. "Looks like you could use a hand, buddy. And probably a fashion statement."

The cloaked figure shrieked in pain, clutching the bony socket from which his arm had been torn.

"I mean, you steal Lord Death's cloak? Seriously?" Black Star paced around the figure, as the figure walked around him. "But then wear some dead reindeer's antlers?" The cloaked figure groaned particularly at that remark. "And the one red eye? Puh-lease! You think you're a cyclops now? Buddy, I know some one-eyed people, and you aren't half the man they are. Hell, the one I know isn't even a man!"

Black Star kept an eye on Santa as he circled his opponent, Rupert tending to Santa, who waved him off. Santa even tore the arm out of his chest-exposing a hole through his chest.

"Oh, dear," Santa whispered. "Rupert, procure the first aid! Again!"

"Y-yes, sir!" The usually unflappable Rupert snatched his small box from his coat jacket, and removed one bandage: one candy-cane decorated bandage. He placed it around one edge of the wound, careful not to touch the wound.

"Ho, thank you, Rupert," Santa said, falling to one knee. Rupert did his best to catch him with his arm around his shoulder. "Would you kiss my boo-boo?"

"Hell no!" Rupert screamed.

"Ah, give him a kiss-kiss!" Black Star mocked. If Santa was still standing after that, he figured he could joke around. Still, he was curious. While keeping his eye on his opponent-getting annoyed at how long the chance for combat was taking-he asked: "So, how you still standing, Santa?"

"The stuff of magic, my friend," Santa replied. "And a bit of peppermint, too."

Black Star paused, as he and the cloaked figure both elicited a questioning grunt of "Huh?"

Santa held up a hand, indicating that he wanted them to watch. With each inhale, the soft laughter of children was heard. Everyone but Santa-even the hypnotized reindeer-searched around the tundra, yet could see nothing. Black Star then traced the sound: "It's...coming from that big honking hole in your stomach?"

"Ho…" Santa tried to laugh, grimacing from the pain.

Then something amazing happened: a small head poked out from the wound.

"What the…" Black Star muttered.

The little one pulled itself upward, its hands-well, more just arms, with rounded ends-and caked overalls. Caked on, because they were made of frosting, held up by gumdrop buttons. And rounded hands because they were made of gingerbread.

Rupert hated this part.

It was a gingerbread man. And the little man reached down a hand to help up another one-a girl, identified by her licorice pigtails. And she helped another person up, and he another, and so on.

Black Star stared in disbelief, feeling his stomach turning over. Each gingerbread man had a peppermint candy cane in hand, which it snapped in half.

The cloaked figure shook his head: God, was he sick of seeing this, even all these years later.

From each peppermint candy cane poured out sawdust, which filled the hole. With each inhale, the dust was lent form: first, into a skeletal structure, of bare but powdery bones appearing inside the wound. Then nerves formed. And then muscle. Then skin. Finally, the remnants of his red cloak.

Rupert grimaced: all these years later with this partner of his, he still was disgusted by the sight.

"Ho!" Santa cried, stretching back his back, as gingerbread men crawled from the previous wound and down his back, belly, and legs, eliciting more giggles from the jolly old elf. "Thanks, friends!"

"Merry Christmas, Santa!" shouted the gingerbread men, as they took off in every direction, away from this scene of saving their friend, to parts unknown.

Everyone but a jovial Santa stared in disbelief.

"Okay," Black Star asked. "Just...what the fuck was that?!"

"Black Star," Santa began.

"No! Like, what the actual fuck?! Did I just see gingerbread men-"

"Yes."
"Repair you?!"

"Yes."

Black Star inhaled and exhaled furiously. "Gah! And I thought Black Blood was creepy! I mean, you aren't going to have a gingerbread man grow out of your back and lift up girls' skirts, are you?!"

"Not since the '60s," Santa said, resuming his boisterous chuckling. "God, LSD is a hell of a drug."

Black Star felt his eye twitching. "What...what the hell have I gotten myself into?"

Rupert could not help but laugh, happy that something broke the loudmouth ninja. Then he stopped. "Black Star, look out!"

Black Star's eyes widened, as he flipped up, avoiding a similar chest-buster attack from the one-armed cloaked figure."

"Black Star!" Rupert shouted, tossing the cloaked figure's still bloody-or sawdusty?-arm to the ninja.

With it, Black Star blocked each and every blow from the figure's remaining arm.

"Rule of my academy, buddy!" Black Star shouted, flipping around the figure, sweeping a kick under his legs and knocking him to the ground. "Anything can be a weapon!"

The figure pulled back his arm and struck at Black Star-who dodged it, and took the dismembered arm, and with its index and middle skeletal fingers poked the figure in its eyes.

"Well, in one eye, at least!" Black Star said. "Now you have gone from Cyclops to Oedipus!"

"Ho! Good allusion, Black Star!"

"Thanks! I do some reading, you know!"

With that distraction, the figure knocked Black Star down, as the ninja's grip on the arm loosened, letting it fall to the snow. The righted himself, while the cloaked figure reached for the arm, re-attaching it to his torso.

"Papa…" the figure again croaked.

Black Star finally wised up. "Dude, this guy's your son?"

"No, Black Star, no more than any other child." He giggled. "I have the paternity tests to prove it, believe me!"

Black Star raised an eyebrow. "Huh. I got a friend whose dad would love you, man."

"No, Black Star. I am Father Christmas! This monster is just mocking my name!"

"You laugh, Papa," the figure again uttered. "You turned me away…"

"You are nothing more than a corporatist shill!" Santa suspended any attempt at jollity, his voice becoming a guttural shout of barely comprehensible syllables. "You spoiled child! I cursed the day Bobby May created you!"

The figure froze. "You deny me?"

"You were never one of my reindeer!"

Black Star's eyes widened. "What?! That red-eyed bastard is a reindeer?!"

The figure removed its hood. His head was primarily a skull, bits of skin and muscle still attached to its skull, both of its eyes still in their sockets but diseased with pus and cuts. The antlers were not worn on top of his hood, as Black Star had initially thought: they were a part of his head. And with those red eyes staring at his three enemies, so too was pointed at them a blinking red nose.

"Whoa," Black Star whispered. "Is that...Rudolph?"

The reindeer sneered. "May I play?"

o-o-o

WRITER'S NOTES: CHAPTER 8

As another holiday trope, I borrowed a scene from the Garfield Christmas special in which the grandmother adds hot sauce to the meal. I imagine Maka likes some spice to her food-gives her something to talk about with Ragnarok regarding spicy drinks.

You know that Mystery Science Theater 3000 song, "A Patrick Swayze Christmas"? That was going through my mind when writing this fic. While I include many traditional holiday tropes-people unable to get the proper gifts for each other, decorating the house, embarrassing Christmas outfits-I also wanted an ass-kicking Christmas, something more akin to stories where Christmas is in the background, like in Die Hard or Iron Man 3. (The certain Death Scythe who Azusa calls echoes my sentiment. Any idea who he is? The "kuma" remark was my poor attempt punning based on rudimentary comprehension of Japanese-and after the pun inherent to "42-42-564," I anticipate that some meisters and weapons' mirror phone numbers have to have some pun inherent to them.)

Then again, I also wanted something that would have a darker re-imagining of the Christmas season. After seeing the mess that is Sword Art Online and being deprived of an epic fight between Kirito and Zombie Santa, I needed something to correct that pitiful series. As Rudolph is the product of a commercial company making up a new reindeer, I decided he would be a suitable villain against Santa. Plus I have watched the Thor films too many times, so now Santa is going full on Odin, what with the guttural yelling that consists of barks and grunts rather than actual words—and then, after I made these plans, I find someone already changed Odin into Santa and Loki in Rudolph, so once again, there is nothing that hasn't been done before thanks to the Internet. :D

I'm trying to wrap up the story as quickly before Christmas-most of the later chapters are fully written, but I am cheating a bit to get to the end of the story, hence why the dues ex machina of magic tools is used to explain why Soul and Liz arrived so quickly in Teotihuacán while Black Star has barely gotten through his fight against Rudolph. Then again, the manga has some loose play with how these characters travel such distances so quickly-such as Spirit and Stein to Italy to save Maka and Soul from Crona-but this is the second fic after the Thanksgiving one in which I use magic automotive tools as an excuse, so I can't abuse that cheap trick so often.

I toyed with adding another line for the one man on the subway with Kid, given the number of death threats I have received from commuters on the New York City subway system-but I couldn't figure out an instance, so instead a N.O.T. alumnus kicks Kid's ass. Yes, he should have been able to handle himself in the fight, and I am ignoring logic for the sake of humor. If I were to offer a realistic justification, however, Kid is having a troubling night given the New York atmosphere, his focus on his gift for Liz and Patty, and because, when someone does knock some sense into him, he's not going to claim someone's soul just because she is asymmetrical...I mean, I hope he wouldn't…

Standing in the middle of the subway, not getting on or off, is something I took from the comedian Kent Jones, formerly of The Daily Show and The Rachel Maddow Show-he played a country hick on a radio program I used to listen to, and the character did the same thing.