Social Porgs Roasting Over An Open Fire - The RPF Merry Sithmas

A haggard man with a wild beard and wilder hair shambles over to the bar. He blinks his vacant eyes slowly as he removes a twig from somewhere behind his left ear, and scratches his beaten up coat.

"Water," he croaks, with a voice clearly beaten down by the years. The bartender obliges. The glass is clean.

No, wait, is that a smudge?

He turns to one of the Michael Bublé voiced droids, which has decided to sing along with the music.

"You know, I used to be somebody on a Star Wars message board," he says.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas/Just like the ones I used to know..." replies Michael Bublé's voice.

"Head honcho, even."

"Where the treetops glisten and children listen/To hear sleigh bells in the snow..."

"I gave it all up to go write a thesis."

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas/With every Christmas card I write..."

"But I guess that's ancient history now. How's the party treating you?"

"May your days be merry and bright/And may all your Christmases be white..."

"You know, it's nice to just relax and talk to someone like this."

"Look, can you shut up already? I'm trying to sing."

"Oh."

 

A silver tinted apparition of a man suddenly appeared in the midst of the festivities. This man appeared to be in his late 60s - early 70s, with graying long black hair and a long grizzly salt and pepper beard. He had glowing silver eyes that looked as if they were a focusing crystal in a lightsaber, black armor and a silver cape clasped with medallions emblazoned with a red insignia of some sort. As the apparition walked forth, his cape billowed behind him, movement slightly restricted by the twin saber pikes carried on his back - one pitch black and one shining gold.

"Quite the disturbance in the Force indeed... snow on Korriban," mused the Force Ghost to himself, "Apparently somebody seems to be even more flamboyant than myself. Quite the accomplishment..."

He smiled and nodded.

"Quite the accomplishment indeed."

 

A bat-like form hangs from the rafters, arms crossed as though he had been positioned for an eternal rest.

But it is not a bat.

It is a man.

The man awakens and drops down, maneuvering his position on the way down to land firmly on his feet. He rubs his eyes, ruffles his dark cloak, walks towards the bar with a spring in his step and the widest grin etched on his face.

Darth Anark pulls up a seat next to the Dawn Herald, giving her a respectful nod as he does so, and grabs a large crystal glass. He whips out a vile of reddish-brown liquid and empties it into the glass. He swigs the drink back and it is gone in one big gulp.

He looks around suspiciously, examining the room - hoping there aren't actually any porgs in here...

 

A doorway invisible to the present guests, materialised several metres across from the bar, and a muscled male human, flannel shirt, faded blue jeans, face only a mother and one telepath could love, brown hair in an untidy pony-tail, the current Necroscope, Jake Cutter, stepped through with both his arms tight around the waists of his two female companions, lowering them to the sand-sprinkled ground.

His last words to them, had been in the French Riviera on Earth, and within the weightless, abyssinian black, Moebius Continuum that they had just emerged from, respectfully, and had been, "For ****'* sake, you again?" and "You're gonna want to shut your eyes for this."

Both dazed-looking women tottered around on their heels to face him as he released them and stepped back through the doorway that seemed to have been cut into the world.

"Sorry about this," the ex-SAS man apologised, "I just need a few hours to finish off Castellano, then I will be back for you. Just make yourselves at home." He looked about the locality, taking in the carved out wall opposite them, with the bar with the shelves chock full of shiny upside-down glasses nearby. "Huh. Looks like some kind of party going on."

The embroidered cowboy boot of his lead foot, retreated beyond the boundary of the Moebius doorway, prompting the portal to flash out of existence, leaving the two remaining E-Branch agents alone.

The blonde woman, Mary Formal, was in a black sleeveless mini-dress, whilst her brunette companion, Liz Merrick, was in boot cut black jeans and a short-sleeved black t-shirt with a bright yellow Batman logo across her chest.

"Okay, that went well." Mary lied, referring to their mission to capture Jake and escort him back to England; taking in their surroundings with a scowl. "Where the hell are we?"

"If I had to guess..." Liz shivered and cast a hard glance towards the open entrance beyond which she could see snow-and-tinsel-covered statues, and from where the wind that was chilling her, was being funnelled. "...err, apart from an Ice Bar in one of the Triple Ex movies, I got nothing."

Mary looks past her companion, and spies something. "Uh uh, superhero landing, superhero landing." She nods to the centre of the room.

"Apparently it is self-service."

"Let's hope that they have something warm."

 

In the darkest corner of the rafters, a pair of yellow eyes reflect the light of the festivities below. The Kaleesh cyborg observes from his preferred "happy place", conveniently positioned just above the bar where he can literally drop in for a drink if the mood suits him. He had seen Darth Anark loitering around in another section of the rafters; an observation that had left him a bit disgruntled, but he lets it go, glad Anark has vacated the premises of his own volition.

He had seen Lady Bellorum come in, griping about the cold. He doesn't much care for the extreme chill either, which is one more good reason--among others--why he is up in the rafters. Heat rises, after all. Another good reason is that, up here, there is little chance of him inadvertently getting caught under that blasted tree parasite somebody thought it was a good idea to kiss people under. Mistletoe, is it? Roggwart scat, says Grievance Vexx.

 

"Did somebody say roast porg? I've been shoveling snow all day and I could inhale a couple of those. How about an Andorian ale to wash that down, and a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster for a chaser? That'd hit the spot on a cold night."

 

The E-Branch girls climbed up onto back-supporting stools at the bar, their purple droid bartender mixing their drinks and loudly announcing their arrival to the patrons present, after scanning them with a thin fan of red light.

"Weighing in at 132.27 pounds, the princess of E-Branch, Liz Merrick!!"

She blushed as the droid prepared an Americana coffee for her, adding boiling water, milk, and a shot of rum, by the tart smell, to give it some bite.

She smiled gratefully, and wrapped both hands around the black mug.

Mary shut her eyes against the scan fanning down her face.

"Weighing in at 121.25 pounds, the doyen of the U.N.C.L.E., the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, the Girl from UNCLE, Mary Formal!"

Mary swivelled in her chair to face the cavern, crossing bare legs offered hardly any coverage by her outfit, smirking and punching the air with one arm, then turning back to the bar to find the opaque brown glass bottle of the cream licquer, Baileys, with a spiralling yellow straw coming out the top.

She nodded at their droid, whilst Liz blew gently on her coffee. "I like this bartender!"

The Arcan pressed her lips around the straw and pulled in a draught of the lovely drink.

Christmas indeed.