— Lady Z —
The sight of the old, blue phone box makes me smile, and I wave to Cor. Taking another sip of hot cocoa, I stand still for a moment, listening to the conversation buzz around me. It's good to be home. This brings a song to my mind, and I hum it under my breath. ♪ I'll be home for Christmas... ♫

I startle as the door flies open, and Wyrm enters. Unlike the new faces, I'm well acquainted with this one. He's my sister Lady A's close friend, after all. I cross my arms and smirk at him. "Of course the cookies aren't poisoned." My tone is injected with a large dose of sarcasm. I nod towards the mess on the ground. "Also, you're going to have to clean that up."

____

I spot Lady A, the Silvermoons, and Lady Z (I have no idea if she's a different person than Mountie, to be perfect honest, so now I have no idea how to address her.)

OOC: She's not Mountie, no. I had a character named Mountie in another story, and Lady Z is different. However, aside from Mountie, she's the closest character to being a doppelganger of me. She's Lady A's sister, and it's kind of a tradition to bring her to the Mansion parties. I shall have to put up her profile soon. Sorry for the confusion!

After witnessing the very dramatic and violent entry of Our Booky, I smirk slightly at the idea of the cookies not being poisoned. "Somehow, someway, Booky... they probably are."

Noticing the Xenomorph corpse laying in the doorway, my inner explorer/80's geek side come to the surface and I hurry over the limp form of the creature. "Ah hee! So they do exist!!" I pull out my custom sonic pen and do a quick scan of the body to be filed away in the TARDIS's memory banks.

Once completed, I meander back over to where Lady Z and Lady A are standing. "Good evening, ladies! Tis a pleasure to see you both here." I bow ever slightly and tip my non-existent hat.

I smile at Abby’s reply about her musically inclined child. “The more the merrier!

I start in, “Sing we now of Christmas. Sing we here Noel,” although I should probably pick a different song since those are the only words I know.

“Of course you can have the peel Lady A. Except I must ask what you want to DO with it?”

At that moment our conversation about peels and their possible applications is interrupted by the arrival of a southern gentleman with a startling amount of hair. I’d go over and talk to Cor since I recognize him right away… except now that he’s proclaimed himself single in no uncertain terms. Since I’m also single (and female) talking to him might give the wrong impression… so I just give a little wave and flash a shy smile.

An uneasy silence settled onto the room, only to be shattered by a hysterical masculine voice shouting outside about the demise of his rutabaga stand.

[OOC]I laughed way harder at that reference than I’d like to admit. Props to you.[/OOC]

After the blast, and subsequent disembowelment, the donut I’m holding has lost its appeal so I set it down discretely. “Um, hey Booky! I don’t think we’ve been in the same room together in Ditto Town in YEARS! How’s it going? When you’re not blowing away monsters I mean.”

[OOC]No worries Mountie… I just haven’t been around enough to know who’s who.[/OOC]

Varna is happy to get help with the last of the decorations - it is true that even she needs a ladder to put the star at the top of the tree. But finally everything is in place, while the first guests are already arriving.

She is greeted by many of her friends, and greets them happily back.

Carol singing? She loves carol singing. She doesn't know the one they're singing now, though. Hopefully they'll sing some of her favorites later - like "It came upon a midnight clear ..."

"Bah hummybug."

I, Humdedum, part time Grinch, part time Harbinger of Chaos, scowl at the partying masses. My fingers are numb from the journey through the frozen streets of Ditto. Contrary to popular belief, the gently drifting snowflakes are not making me sentimental. In fact, the grimy slush from the side of the road combined with the melting ice have turned my trainers into an unforgivingly wet, sloppy mess.

I head over to the main refreshment table. Slosh. Slosh.

There's juice, and biscuits, and various chocolates and sweets. I bypass them all, and head straight for the massive punch bowl in the middle.

"These darn partygoers," I mumble, reaching into my coat pockets, fumbling through car keys and cough drops and possibly a chopstick and a screwdriver, before my fingers curl around a familiar velvet pouch. I tug it out and roll the contents onto the tablecloth: an array of small, coloured glass bottles, unlabeled. Perhaps I should have labeled them though, because I can't remember which is which.

Oh well. Anything to stop this obnoxious holiday partying.

I twist the cap of a dark green bottle and tip the contents into the punch bowl. I think it's a sedative. Or possibly a laxative. I can never remember.

Next to go in is the red bottle; a thick, sticky fluid drips out, slow and reluctant. I'm 70% positive that it causes a human being to become extremely noise-sensitive and reclusive. The other 30% of me wonders if this is a love potion. Or poison. Love poison?

My aubergine bottle has frozen completely solid, so I toss it back into my pocket and turn to look at the small crowd that has gathered.

Someone is eating a clementine; I can smell it from over here. Everyone is talking, smiling, enjoying the company of their friends and family. Everyone is so happy. I contemplate the repercussions of throwing a soggy shoe at them, just to burst their pretentious little bubbles of holiday cheer. I tell myself that they are all delusional fools who have bought into the over-commercialised hype. Just when it couldn't be worse, they start singing!

"Bah hummybug." Being a Grinch is never fun. I lurk in the shadows, and watch the punch bowl with hawk eyes.

"Why, eat it, of course!" Lady A said in reply to Ara's queery. "Thank you very much, Abby."

With that, she went on to prove her point by beginning to nibble her way through the dragon-shaped peel as if it were the best treat ever. And perhaps for Overladys, it is.

"...and hello, Sweetie! ...ew. Yes, clean that up. Now," Lady A turned abruptly to face Cor again, "Why, Cor, how good to see you again! You look very well this festive eve."

Just over Cor's shoulder, she could see Varna putting the finishing touches on the decorations.

"Ooo, look! I must say, Varna and Bob have done a wonderful job on the Christmas tree this year. I haven't really had much time to do any real decorating of my own, so it seems so nice to be able to come here, sit by the warm fire, and just enjoy the twinkling lights and festive spirit. At least, it would be, if someone hadn't KILLED A XENOMORPH RIGHT AT THE FRONT DOOR."

She took a sip of her cider and sent a glare in Wymir's direction, before sitting down by little Molly.

"How are you miss Molly?" she asked, smiling at her. "You're getting so big! How old is she now, Abby? I lose track of dates with all this traveling."

— Lady Z —
"Good to see you as well, Cor!" I smile. "It's lovely to see your blue phonebox once again—I've missed it dearly. I see you're still travelling the galaxies? And who is your current companion?" I pluck his sonic pen out of his jacket pocket. "Glad to see this thing still works. You're going to have to make me my own one of these days."

[OOC: Enjoyed your post, humdedum, and your reference to the rutabaga merchant, Bookwyrm ]

Erik is astounded at all the hustle and bustle; there's a lot to watch and he's still new enough at this fatherhood thing to be a little concerned for the safety of his child.

"I think someone just spiked the punch bowl," he whispers to Abby. "Good thing I brought backup." He reaches into Molly's bag of supplies and pulls out a plastic soda bottle. Molly immediately recognizes the Mountain Dew logo on its side and begins squirming, reaching for the caffeinated beverage.

Abby chuckles. "Just what she needs, more energy."

The proud mother smiles at Lady A's inquiries about her daughter. "Can you believe it, she hatched three years ago now? They grow up so fast," she sighed, "Before long she's going to be flying circles around us."

Erik's reply to this is interrupted by the chime of the mantel clock. It's midnight. "Merry Christmas to one and all!" he calls out.

The baby in question, having been allowed a bit of soda, catches sight of Lady A. Here's someone she knows! She smiles and almost leaps into Lady A's arms, but Molly is inexperienced at judging distances and Abby has to snag her before she falls. "She really likes you. Would you like to hold her?"

[OOC: Aww, thanks stargazer! I think I've forgotten how to write. In any case, this can be practice.]

After lurking in the corner for five, ten, thirty minutes, I realise that no one is helping themselves to the punch. Disappointed, I make my way back outside and find a suitably dark, dirty, and stereotypically suspicious ginnel. At least here, the snow won't further dampen my clothing.

As I flick a match to flame, I tell myself that Van Gogh was unappreciated in his time, so was Bach, and Poe. I light a cigarette, and face the reality that I am not Poe, but I am still a struggling writer in this harsh world of critics and conglomerates. I desperately suck on my cheap nicotine product, clawing for a mental relief, for those few brief seconds where I can lay aside my worries and imagine that all is well. The feeling never comes. It hasn't come in a long, long time.

Disgusted, I drop the cigarette into a bin and watch the last, sad flame fizzle out. I'm spluttering and choking, but at this point I can't even tell if it's from the tobacco-stained smoke or my own tears.

I need something stronger.

There's a tavern down the road, so I hunch into my coat collar and half-run there, squinting my eyes against the bright reflections from the glistening snow. The tavern is welcomely warm. I find an empty stool and order a pint of Eighty Shilling. My perfectionist nature insists that I order my drinks in alphabetical order. I tell it that Eighty is technically an ale, so I can still have a brandy after this. And possibly a beer. And possibly more, depending on how much money I have left on me.

I turn to size up the bloke sitting next to me. He's huge, practically engulfing the tiny red stool he's perched upon. Well, he may be huge, but I'm desperate.

"Hey, mate, have you got a ciggy on you?" I ask deferentially. "Haven't had a good one in months," I try to explain.

He glares at me with glazed, red-rimmed eyes. It looks like he's been on that stool for days. Just when it looks like he's going to ignore me, he mutters, "What do I get in return?"

"Uh..." I reach into my bag and pull out the first sheaf of paper that I can separate from the rest. "A story. Uh. An original one, actually, about these two siblings, yeah, and one gets kidnapped, and the other one has horses...," I swallow, aware of how mindblowingly lame this sounds. "It's called Restart."

"Don't want no story," he growls, but then suddenly he perks up. "You know what you could use?"

I shake my head.

"A punch to the face!" Before I have time to comprehend, his fist comes swinging from the side and catches me in the jaw. I go flying off my stool and land on the floor. Others are starting to look over, eager for a show, eager to see some loser-artiste get lobbed over the head again. I begin tugging out the contents of my bag and throwing it outwards, as if they will deflect any future attack.

"Here!" I cry. "Here's one! It's about a boy, whose parents own a restaurant, and he falls in love with a bad girl..." It's not working.

"Uh, you guys might like this one," I continue. "It's about this guy, he goes to war, against the wishes of his family, but ends up joining the CIA, and meets this other lady--" I start to wonder why I ever thought these would be compelling storylines.

No one looks angry anymore. Just...bored.

"Okay," I say gently, propping myself up by an elbow, pulling myself back to a stand. "Okay. I'll leave now. I'm sorry." My lip is bleeding; I can taste the bitter, metallic liquid dribbling down my chin. I can't even imagine how terrible I must look.

I ease backwards towards the door, hands in the air. "I--I think there'll be a zombie story coming up. Um. If any of you are interested. If not, th-that's okay too."

I lean back into the door and feel the cold air swoosh in over my head and under my arms. "Right. Okay. Bye, then."

"Merry Christmas," I mutter to myself, sliding against the outside of the door, sinking until I feel my bum land in the snow. The cold is refreshing this time, though, it's soothing. Numbing. I like being numb. I can't feel the ache in my fingers from desperately jabbing at a typewriter for hours, can't feel the soreness in my heels from walking here, can't feel my jaw, or my lip, or anything really.

It's pretty, and the stars are shining, and I realise that I am now lying down across the road surface, staring up at the sky, at the falling snowflakes, against the glare of the streetlamps. Everything is so bright, those white flurries, those two headlights approaching.

It's loud - the whistling wind, the honking horn, the screech of tyres. I don't move.

"Heh, thanks, as do you, miss." I step aside slightly as Lady A scolds Booky for killing a xenomorph inside the Mansion. "At least he actually killed it instead of keeping it as a pet."

I turn my attention to Lady Z as her older sister makes her way over to some of the other partygoers. "Yes, it has really been too long since we've seen each other." I pause for a moment as I snag a bottle of ginger ale. "Mmm, still traveling here, there and everywhere like in the old days. As for a Companion, I'm currently companion-less. In the market for one, as it were."

I playfully act distraught that Lady Z has possession of my sonic pen and quickly retrieve it. "Perhaps, Zee. Perhaps.... Though I can't be making sonics for everyone. What would the galaxies be like if everyone had one of these?" I toss the pen in the air and catch it before answering my own question. "Chaos! Sheer, confounded chaos! Though, it would give me a steady job..."

[OOC: I wondered if anyone would catch that reference. ]

"Very well, I'll just tidy the mess away myself," Bookwyrm said and snapped his fingers in a dramatic gesture. The Xenomorph and the associated mess of biological matter vanished in a flash of white light. "So good to see all of you again, it has been a long time. And always nice to see everyone when we aren't being called together to fight yet another apocalypse."

He plucked a cookie out of the package and ladled up a glass of punch.

"Hmm, the punch is spiked, but not the good kind of spiking. Pity. Someone should do something about that," he said and added some liquid from a flask crafted from a diamond.

"Get dressed, ye merry gentlemen, let nothing be exposed! I can tell that it's Christmas cos all the shops are closed!"

I, Hummy, am officially late, but that will definitely not keep me from the partying. There are a lot of people here that I don't recognise, but maybe the people I DO know can introduce them to me. Like...

"Lady A!" I squeal, running over. I hugtackleglompattack her. "I haven't seen you since, like, FORVER!" I wave my arms for extra emphasis.

"Who else is here?" I ask, looking around. "Oh, there's Cor. COR! HI!" Is that a TARDIS? I totally need to check it out later. With or without permission.

"And I guess Jackalope is Joe?" I try to use my best deductive skills. "That was quite an entry back there. Um. Is someone going to clean up all that broken glass?"

To my chagrin, I don't believe that I've met anyone else in here. Well, officially met. I don't think crying over their awesomeness and whimpering 'why can't I just be like you?' whenever they post actually counts as meeting someone.

Well, it's either going to be an awkward night or an awesome party. Luckily, me being Hummy and all, I'm not exactly afraid to make my presence known.

"Merry Christmas, guys! And ladies!" Then with a wink and a hip tilt, in a much lower voice, "Especially the ladies." I may just be a teenage girl, but Cor has got nothing on me. Except for the fact that he's an actual male. Hmm.

"But no, seriously people, you're all awesome and I hope you have a great holiday!" I give a vague, flourished wave and head towards the punch bowl.

"Booky! Hey!"

A young woman of average height with ginger hair and brown eyes rushes through the door, her arms rather loaded with an enormous bowl of homemade eggnog, a ladle and several dozen glass cups. Carefully, she sets the bowl on a table and begins arranging glasses around it.

Anne smiles brightly as she looks around at the lively party. In addition to the usual crowd of humans, there are a few more exotic creatures and humans who behave like exotic creatures. "Well, so I'm fashionably late," she mutters to herself. "That's what I get for not keeping a proper calendar."

Having done her duties by the eggnog, Anne begins making a curcuit of the room, greeting her friends. "Hi, Joe! How are you? Merry Christmas, Cor! Lady A, you look lovely tonight! Lady Z! It's been so long."

On her way to the cookie tray, she stops to hug Hummy. "How have you been, dear?"

"There's another one!" I slam on the brakes and our truck goes spinning in the slush. "Command, this is humdedum, we've just collided with another subject. Status pending."

I hop out of the car and run to see a crumpled form lying next to the front tyre.

"Hello?" I call. "Can you hear me?"

The form rolls over to reveal a rather gaunt man with a bloody face.

"Am I in heaven?" he asks warily.

"I'm flattered, but no," I tell him. "My name is humdedum, and you need to come with me."

"That's funny," he rasps. "My name is Hum. Similar to yours."

"You need to come with me."

-----

The man sits huddled in the passenger seat, a blanket draped across his shoulders, fingers curled around a cup of hot tea.

"All these years of struggling to survive, wandering from one motel to the next, and no one wanted to read my stories," he explains. His eyes flick over to me. "Is that why you took me? You want to read my story?"

I let out a puffy cheeked sigh. "Yes. No. It's really complicated, okay?"

"I'm good with that," Hum croaks. "I write complex plots."

"Oh, sure." I can't help but roll my eyes. "I don't think a random kidnapping counts as super complex."

He sniffles, and I instantly feel twinge of guilt. "Sorry."

Hum coughs. "You don't have a ciggy on you, by any chance?"

I can't help but think that my Struggling Author Ego is pretty darn messed up. And beat up. If he's like this, I dread to ponder what my other egos are like - I especially dread encountering my Crazy Teenage Ego, second only to tracking down my Dark Devious Side.

Focus, humdedum. Focus.

"Do you need a neurofen or something?" I finally say. "Looks like you took a couple of knocks."

"Just need something to write," he whimpers, curling into himself.

"Right. Listen, mate, when we get this all sorted, I promise that you can write to your hearts content, possibly more than you even want to. But right now, I need you to help me. And that means you need to keep a sharp lookout, yeah?"

I'm enjoying singing spontaneous carols with everyone. Varna requests the next one.

"It came upon a midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold!"

After that song, I sort of want to try a clementine peel. Lady A get is clearly getting a lot of enjoyment out of hers. Unfortunately, there are still a lot of alien guts in close proximity. Maybe some other time. What I could really go for is some punch. Singing all those carols has made me thirsty so I head over to the bowl. "Varna, do you want anything?" I ask as I head over.

"I hope you have a great holiday too!" I exclaim with a laugh at the young woman who's in line ahead of me. "Although I don't think I've met you before. I'm Ara, or Anna, or Aravanna if you want to be formal. What's your name?"

*****

Lucid knew he was riding through the rough part of town, but he didn't really care. Most people don't attack a man who's clearly armed with a crossbow. They're even less likely to bother you if you're riding a horse with six legs. The extra pair of legs made the creature stranger and thus more generally avoided than even a dragon would have.

Lucid himself wasn't very remarkable, or very clearly visible in the dark virtually unlit alley. He seemed bored and headed nowhere, but he was really watching and listening closely. He always did, even if he didn't know what he really expected to observe.

Suddenly the door of a tavern opened and a stick of a man stumbled out. For a moment his face was illuminated by the light that escaped with him and it was clear from the dark shinning substance on his face that he was bleeding. Lucid was across the road in the shadow of a tall narrow building and tightened his grip on the reins. Champion, his equine mount, felt the signal and froze, his breath escaping with a puff into the frigid night.

Nobody followed the man out. He sank into the snow after a moment and Lucid resolved to go over to him and at least ask if he needed a handkerchief for his nose, or a ride home since he was clearly drunk, but Lucid never got the chance. A truck barreled down the narrow street and only just managed to get enough traction to keep from running the drunk over. Another figure sprang from the truck and had pulled the man up from the ground and shoved him in the truck before Lucid could even get his bow armed. The truck sped away into the night, screeching in protest against the slick pavement.

"Well that was unexpected, wasn't it Champ. Shall we follow them? It's Christmas after all." Champion snorted and the two of them set off after the tire tracks at a good trot. Thanks to the fresh snow, it didn't take much imagination to track the truck.