The RPC Christmas Carol

T'was the night before Christmas, and...wait.
Wrong introduction.
Sorry.

AHEM,


It was the day before Christmas, and Varjak Paw was in a fine begruzzledment. She
didn't want any cheer, she didn't even want any cookies. She just wanted to be left alone.
All this hustle and bustle, just infuriating! A few brave carolers knocked at her door. She yanked
it open and hissed at the children, venom in her red eyes. That didn't stop them. "Good King
Wencelas--"
"SHUT UP, STREET URCHINS! YOU MIDDLE-CLASS, RAISIN-LICKING,
BOTTOM-WIPING POODLE PRUNES! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M BUSY?!"
A girl at the front protested. "We're just singing. If you don't like it, you can stick it up your--"
"RABID CHILD! RABID CHILD ON THE LOOSE! SHUN THE RABID CHILD!"
The girl was confused. "What? I'm not--"
"HELP! THE RABID CHILD IS ATTACKING ME!"
When some of the adults weaving through the streets started to stare, the boy tugged at the girl's
sleeve. "C'mon, Becca." The girl stuck her tongue out mutinously, but walked with her friends back into the street.
Varjak snorted. "Darn children. I hate Christmas! Bah humcat!!" Her employee, Vixen, looked up in surprise. She laughed,
"What? You can't seriously hate Christmas! It's the happiest time of the year!" She batted her eyes dreamily for emphasis.
"I spit on your happiness, Vixen. Get to work!" Varjak sneered in reply. Vixen drooped a little.
***
"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! What are you doing?!" Varjak Paw seized Vixen by her coat collar and yanked back. Vixen
yelped. "It was just getting a little cold, Miss Paw! I was only--"
"RABID EMPLOYEE! RABID EMPLOYEE ON THE LOOSE!"
"Miss Paw...?"
"Ten bloody moneys outta yer paycheck, coal-thief!" Varjak snarled. "Don't put more coal in the fire without my permission!"
"Please, Miss Paw, where's your Christmas spirit?"
"Dunno the meaning of the words."
***
Vixen trudged out of the building, sighing dejectedly. "Ten bloody moneys outta me paycheck...what am I going to tell my family? And little Branch?
I promised them the best Christmas ever." Meanwhile, Varjak Paw didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. She sat in her office, counting her money shrewedly.
"Bloody moneys...bloody coals...bloody children...bloody rabies..." she mumbled all the while. She flopped herself halfway on her desk, lazily drawing
her hands over her stacks of money. The rattling of chains roused her from her trance, and she sat up. Schink, shink, ftink, came the ringing. She glanced
around suspiciously. "Stay back...I'm warnin' ya!" she called into the darkness, paranoia setting in as the chains got louder. "I'M WARNIN' YA!" Suddenly,
HE emerged. Otter! Her old partner! But how could it be? She'd shot him between the eyes with her AK-47! Why was he alive and walking?! His body was
covered in huge chains and locks. "Z-zombie!" she cried. "Rabid zombie!"
"Be not a doofus, Paw!"
Varjak Paw was bewildered. Here was Otter, her long-dead business partner, sneaking up on her, covered in chains, telling her to not a doofus.
This was questionable.
"You're one bad mamma jamma, Varjak, so I'm getting my ghost buddies to open up a can of whoopin' on you!" Otter declared.
"WAT"
"Did I stutter?" Otter flashed some obscure gang sign before going on. "Tonight, you will be visited by three more ghosts! Hopefully
they will not drive you to suicide, and you will learn your lesson--always have Christmas spirit!"
"That's impossible," Varjak cried. "I'm hallucinating! WHO SPIKED MY RASBERRY FIZZ?!"
"Yo mama!" Otter retorted.
Varjak flinched at the sharp remark as if it burned her. Otter had never been that fast at a comeback when he was alive.
"Remember!" Otter howled as his figure disinigrated into dust. Varjak coughed.
"Ew. Zombie dust."
Varjak slipped into her bed, still thoroughly convinced it was a hallucination her mother had conjured up when she spiked her rasberry fizz.
Little did she know she was about to get the surprise of her lifetime!

"Wake up already!"

Varjak Paw blinked awake. "Sqwa?...Morning?"
"No, idiot."

In front of her was a beaming princess wearing a sparkly tiara and a dazzling dress.
"Did you skin Edward and are you wearing his pelt now?"
"Hahaha! How silly!" The princess giggled. "...Yes. But that's not the point. I'm here to teach you about the Christmas spirit...and the Christmas past."
"Well isn't that cliche." Varjak Paw shot back cynically.
"Watch it, punk." she snapped. "By the way, my name is Alleycat."

Alleycat sighed. "H'okay, that's all I needed you to see. Are you a happy little elf now?"
"NO! BLOODY WITCH!"
Alleycat threw her hands up, playing the diplomat. "Whoa, there! I'll just be off then! But beware of the next two ghosts...!"
In a puff of smoke, she had vanished.
Varjak scowled as there was a whirring and a buzzing and she had the feeling that her head was detached from her body. "Bah humcat! Just a hallucination!" she repeated firmly when she realized she was sitting in her bed again.

And once again, Varjak Paw was woken up by an acid trip.
This one happened to be a girl sitting on the foot of her bed, grinning madly, wearing a crown and holding a torch.
Was it Lady Liberty?
Varjak noticed she was dressed in a robe of some sort of animal skin--snow leopord?--and velvet. She had a thick beard.
This was not Lady Liberty.
This was Lady Gaga.
Varjak tossed her head back and wailed. "WHY?! WHY?!"
The girl flicked her fingers through the fire experimentally, waving them through too swiftly for the heat to catch up.
"So I'm guessing you already know why I'm here," she began.
"Because my mom spiked my drink..."
"NO, MORON! I'M HERE TO TEACH YOU CHRISTMAS SPIRIT! And I'll START by taking YOU to the Christmas of the present!"
There was a tingling and a whooshing and Varjak had the feeling her feet were smothered in jelly. They found themselves in a modest, if not shabby kitchen, with pale walls set aglow with the flame. A scrawny turkey withered away in the center of the table as a family settled around to eat. Varjak recognized Vixen, her bloody rabid employee, helping a tiny child slice her piece of the small dinner. The child coughed, trembling, and Varjak saw she had a crutch clamped in one hand. The dinner was meager compared to what Varjak snacked on.
"I pay that bloody rabid employee too much."
Vixen said a prayer as the family tucked in. The smallest child, the one with the crutch, coughed again as she ate. Vixen exchanged a despairing look with her oldest child as the coughing continued.
"See that, jerk?" The ghostly Lady Gaga look-alike twined her fingers through her beard. "That could be you. But it's not, because you're a nasty old miser who hates spending a cent. Where will that money be when you're dead?"
Varjak hesitated, realizing she was right.
She took one last long look at Vixen and her family as there came a tingling and a whooshing and she had the feeling her feet were smothered in jelly.
The Lady Gaga girl waved a mock salute. "See ya! And if for some reason you need me again, ask for Alexis!"
And with that she was gone.

This time Varjak was ready. She had a baseball bat hidden under her pillow and her money was stashed in her socks. There was no way those creeps could get to her--or her precious, precious money! She didn't dare to go back to sleep, sitting upright in her bed, eyes darting nervously.
She knew a ghost would come.
She knew everything about everyone.
SHE WAS INVINCIBLE! MONEY WAS POWER! SHE HAD MONEY! SHE HAD POWER! SHE WAS--
A low growly sort of sound suddenly boomed in the hallway. Varjak jumped, but immediately slid her hand under the pillow, gripping the hidden baseball bat. She heard the growly sound again.
"O-Otter?" she whispered, more to herself than to whoever was there. "Suburbs?" she added timidly, recalling her long-gone, long-forgotten former employee.
The growling grew louder, and Varjak could've sworn she saw a shadow stretch across the wall. With a squeak, she sprang from the bed, holding her baseball bat in front of her.
"Stay back!"
The growling came again, then...silence.
Sweet, sweet silence.
"Boo."
Varjak screamed, whipping around only to tumble back in terror at the sight of a ghastly, evanescent figure clothed in ragged black robes. He--it?--carried a scythe in one hand, and the hood of the robes hid his--its?--face. Varjak held up her baseball bat, trembling, only to wach it be disinigrated at the ghost's finger tips.
This wasn't even Lady Gaga...
OR EVEN MILEY CYRUS...
this was...
this was some kind of evil...
some kind of evil called...
educational television.

The dark figure appraoched silently, its sickly odor wreathing around its feet in a red-black cloud. Varjak struggled to cry out "BLOODY!" this, or "RABID!" that, but all that came out was a squeak. She scooted desperately away from the advancing ghost, quivering all the way.
"P-p-please! L-leave me alone! I haven't d-done a thing t-to you! You c-can even t-take m-my money!"
"Dude, chill out."
Varjak stared, jaw dropped as the hood fell back to reveal the face of the ghost. He was grinning at her; he had blue-grey eyes and shaggy reddish-brown hair.
"Yo, I'm Socky, here to freak you out and teach you Christmas spirit simultaneously. Whoop de doo."