Twas the Night Before X-Mas (Fic Exchange 2010)
Better late than never, right? The prompt I was given by samuraiter was this: Gambit. At the mansion. Playing Santa. And dressed as Santa. The presents he gives (and their recipients) are up to you. :-) Bonus points if somebody gets coal in their stocking.
I'm afraid the prompt woke the Mad Rhymer from his catatoniac state and well...yeah. Here it is. Merry Christmas Sam!
Disclaimer: Would you claim credit for this? Really? Of course I don't own any of the recognizeable characters here. Nor did I write the classic poem 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.' Seriously. And let's not even talk about money. Since I'm not getting a red cent for this drivel. 'Nuff said.
Twas the night before X-Mas.
Twas the night before X-Mas and all through the Manse,
Not a hero was watching, not even a glance.
The spandex was hung by the chimney with care,
In the hopes that The Brotherhood soon would be there.
The New Mutants were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Valkyries flew right through their heads.
And Jean in her nightgown, and I in my flannel,
Had just settled down to watch the Playboy channel.
When out on the grounds there arose such a clatter,
I leapt from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Blew open the shutters and blasted the sash.
The moon on the X-panse of new-fallen snow
Gave the glitter of sunshine to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eye should appear,
Gambit in red and white fur, black boots, and a leer.
With a bit of a chuckle and mischievous wink,
I knew in a moment just what I should think.
More spangles and buckles than I’d ever seen,
And he whistled and shouted and called us by name!
“Now Logan! Now Cyclops! Now ‘Crawler and Jeannie!
Professor! An’ you, Rogue. Come on, Piotr and Henry!
To de top of de stair, to the end of the hall!
Hurry it up, before dey wake one and all!”
As I strove bravely to blink the sleep from my eye,
The Cajun strode up the lane, shameless this guy.
Right up the marble steps to the front door he came,
He was laughing and jeering and calling us lame.
And then in a twinkling I heard him inside,
Banging and clanging, impossible to hide.
As I pulled down the shades and reached for my pants,
I could hear the mad Santa continue his rants.
He came up the staircase, still nimble of foot,
He smelt much of bourbon and his hat was all crook’d.
A big bag of who-knew-what was slung on his back,
I could only hope there was nothing hot in the sack.
His eyes-were they bloodshot? His hands so unsteady?
His hair was all windblown; his cheeks were quite ruddy!
His mouth kept on moving, narrating his show,
His frothy fake beard threatened to fall like the snow.
The butt of a cigarette was clamped ‘tween his teeth,
And the smoke formed a cloud sort of like a wreath.
He smiled to one and all without a trace of shame
Though the tip of his beard had caught a small flame.
He was lecherous and charming, his typical old self.
Nothing but a parody of the traditional old elf.
With a wink to my wife and a nod of his head,
I resigned myself to Remy instead.
He fell silent at last, and set to his work,
Pulling each goody from his pack with a jerk.
And laying each gift in it’s recipient’s care,
He made sure each one of us got our fair share.
Then there was only one package for us to see,
He had a single red stocking addressed just to me.
But I wasn’t fooled. I could tell just by the feel,
The bastard had left a lump of coal in the heel!
-- The Mad Rhymer what rhymes at midnight.