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The Coyote paused in his decent down the long staircase that led deep into his sex dungeon. Something wasn't right. He couldn't recall starting his latest Christmas story with a reference to the original DitD. Nor did he remember having such a long staircase. Or a dungeon. Especially not a sex dungeon. He paused…again, apparently, his ears flattened back, and sleepily poked at his prose. Who, he wondered, using a lot of commas, perhaps more than needed, had been messing with his story?

Surely, he surmised, it must have been Asterbury. Why, that lunkhead was always causing all sorts of delightfully spunky mischief around Christmas-time. No doubt he was trying to help the poor scavenger out, by writing some of this year's silly tale for him ahead of time, and—

“Asterbury!" The Coyote sighed, running his hands over his ears. “I thought I told you to keep your damn hands off my computer." When there was no reply from the staircase that suddenly seemed especially long, he growled. “Asterbury! I know it's you. No one else would use words like lunkhead, or phrases like spunky mischief! This isn't a fucking Archie comic!"

“Well, not with language like that!" A syrupy sweet yet somehow deranged voice echoed back to him, and the staircase grew ever longer, like gazing into a funhouse mirror. Christmas lights glittered within garlands strung along its railing. “But…uhh…gimme a minute, Scavenger, I'm…aaaahhh! B-Busy!"

“I don't care what you're busy with." The Coyote descended a little further, but for ever stair the stepped down, three more took it's place. “Quit extending the damn staircase! I've got appointments, you know. I gotta get the hospital for my IV meds, and then I gotta make it to the airport for my flight."

“Oh, yeah! Ooooh, yeah!"

“Yeah, you better be excited. I don't have to let you go with me, you-"

“Jingle my bells, baby, jingle my bells!"

“What?" The Coyote rubbed his forehead. “The fuck I will, you little pervert. Those had better still be in your pants when I finally get down there."

“Uuhhh, I'm gonna…deck…right in your halls! Gonna…bedazzle your ornaments!" The urd'thin gave a low moan from somewhere out of sight. “Ooooh, I'm about to Jack Frost all over your every, glittering light!"

The Coyote's ears shot up. Oh, no. “Asterbury! I swear to Santa's bulging sack, if you're fucking my Christmas tree, I'm gonna punt your dirty decorations into the next universe! Put your candy cane away, or your eggs are gonna be nog!"

“How many years in a row are you gonna make that joke?" Asterbury's voice drifted up the stairs, but The Coyote couldn't pinpoint it's location. “You could have said you'd roast my chestnuts! Besides, no one's got the hots for your tree! Nah, I'm givin' somethin' else my summer sausage! Just…hold onto your dumpster, Trash Puppy, I'm almost done!"

“Damn it, I don't have the time or the patience for this shit, this year."

The Coyote stretched his arms out, curling his fingers. Using the potent, continuity-defying Christmas Magic that imbued him whenever the plot required, he grasped the faux-story's veneer that Asterbury had plastered over his house, and tore it away like excess wrapping paper. The world crumpled and crinkled up, and The Coyote tossed it into a conveniently placed dumpster labeled “Asterbury Hijinks." The rumpled world bounced off the overflowing pile of other problem scenarios and rejected sexual antics that filled the bin, and settled on the sprawling pile of trashed plots laying around it.

“There." The Coyote dusted his hands off. “That's better."

The staircase was back to normal, as was the rest of his house. A tall, plush snowman sat on one step, while two more guarded the landing at the bottom. A trio of large stars shining with white light hung from the ceiling. Downstairs, more snowmen were everywhere. They smothered tables and shelves, adorned the walls, stood sentinel near doors, and from handles. His mother had collected them since before he was born, and every year around Christmas-time they magically appeared to bring holiday cheer to all. And by magically appeared, he meant his mother roped everyone into spending a day or sixteen placing all around the house.

In the front room, their Christmas tree shed a peaceful glow, slowly rotating. It was new this year, after the lights in the old one just wouldn't work any longer. Ornaments covered its every bough. Some of them were brand new while others older even The Coyote, however impossible that may seem. And every single one of them was completely unique, another idea his mother had long ago. It insured an equally unique and always spectacular Christmas tree. The Coyote just wished they got to display the thing for longer.

“Uhhh…That's it…just…a little more!" Asterbury's voice emanated from the kitchen again.

The Coyote sighed and followed the sound. “If you're fucking the toaster again, I'm plugging it in!"

“Nah, that bridge is already is burned!" Asterbury started to cackle, only to cut himself off. “Damn it, I had something better. Lemme do my line again."

“Not only no, but hell-"

“That relationship is toast!"

The Coyote growled, dragging a hand down his muzzle. “I hate you so much."

“We're best friends, and you know it!" Asterbury made a few sexually charged, erotically erotic grunting sounds. “Hey…Coyote…"

The Coyote thumped his fist against the wall as neared the kitchen. “Stop adding your shitty fanfic quality writing to my story!"

“Oh, your Christmas stories always suck anyway!" Asterbury laughed, the sound echoing around the kitchen. “Anyway, you know how people always say, fuck the universe?"

“I'm not sure I've actually heard anyone say…that…" The Coyote trailed off when he entered the kitchen, inadvertently gazing upon nightmares and madness.

Asterbury stood on the center island, with his pants around his ankles, facing away. In his hands, he gripped a swirling void. Through the dark emptiness, the coyote caught glimpses of all the infinite possibilities of existence crashing against one another, like waves breaking over other waves. Universes smashed together, some destroyed, others melding into new realms of existence. Time itself coiled and looped, feeding into itself even as it began again, even as it collapsed.

Tendrils of darkness coiled around Asterbury's arms, caressing him like a lover. More coils circled around the urd'thin's waist, urging him onward. Another ruffled the bushy fur of his tail. Worst of all, gray furred butt was just about coyote head high, with his fuzzy urd'thin balls bobbling under it with each lazy thrust. Nearby, on the floor, sat the discarded silver platter that once protected the hole in existence created in a previous Christmas story.

The Coyote's jaw dropped, and his ears went flat. He whimpered, but like a horrific and gruesome train derailment, he could not look away.

Asterbury glanced over his shoulder, his face drawn in twisted combination of gleeful grin and blissful grimace. “You look like that horrified dog meme!"

That snapped The Coyote out of it, and he surged forward to grasp Asterbury's hips and try and yank him off the counter, and out of all existence. “Get your damn dick out of the space-time continuum this instant!"

“Too late, scavenger!" Asterbury squeezed the time-space rupture tighter, thrusting swiftly into it. “I'm…uuhhh…about to have…aaaah! A big bang!"

“Don't you dare!" The Coyote tugged Asterbury's hips back harder, but all he succeeded in was helping Asterbury pump himself more vigorously.

“How can…I not?" Asterbury panted, his tail buffeting The Coyote's face. “Do you know…how hot it is…to have sex…with every possible existence, universe, and time stream…all at once?"

The Coyote batted at his tail, snarling. “Get your tail out of my face! I refuse to let you have revenge-sex with the cosmos in my kitchen!" He pulled on Asterbury's hips, trying to hold him back, but it only seemed to provide the urd'thin all the more motivation to finish off.

“It's not revenge-sex, it's…aahhhhh! UHHHHH!" Asterbury cried out as he came, thrusting forward and holding himself inside the infinite, swirling void. “Aaaaaahhhh! I'm world-seeeeding!"

“God-damn it." The Coyote let Asterbury go, and turned away. “This is why I don't invite you to these stories."

Asterbury slumped over the void, which caressed his back with tendrils filled with infinite stars. “We both know…" He panted, stroking one of the cosmic tentacles. “Your readers…would miss me…if I didn't invite myself."

“Will you just pull out of that thing so I can seal it back up before it tears apart reality as we know it?" The Coyote glanced back at the urd'thin, still buried in infinite universes. “Actually, if this is what our existence has come to, maybe it's better off eviscerated."

“Oh, I've come to some existences, alright. I've just come to all existences!" Asterbury cackled and eased himself out. He crouched down to pull up his pants again. “You should be thinking me! I'm sure you'll be writing about whatever new universe I've just spawned next year, whenever National Forget All Your Old Stories And Start A New One Month rolls around again."

The Coyote picked up the silver platter, thumping it against his hand. “I don't even want to think about what manner of twisted little abominations might populate any universe you just fathered." Before Asterbury or the time-space continuum could protest, The Coyote slapped the platter against it, sealing it up once more. Then he plopped the whole thing into the Plot Hole box from a previously story, locked it up, and stuffed it into a cupboard. “I'm gonna have to childproof this thing, one of these years."

“Don'tcha mean, Asterbury-proof?" The urd'thin did up his pants, catching his breath.

“Well, you're a child." The Coyote dusted off his hands, turning towards the urd'thin. “There's Thing One taken care of. Now for Thing Two."

“Hah!" Asterbury waggled a finger. “I get that reference. Not your usual pool to draw from, Dr Seuss, and it's not even his Christmas story. But I guess we can't always stay in our lane. So what's Thing Two?"

“This." The Coyote stepped forward and kicked the urd'thin in the balls as hard as he could.

“AWWWRRHHH!" Asterbury's swirling-ink eyes popped out under his little horns, and his ears went flat back. He dropped to his knees, muzzle scrunching up as he grabbed himself. With a long, low groan, he crumpled face-first onto the floor. “Oooohhhhhhh! That's…definitely…Things One and Two…"

The Coyote barked laughter. “Alright, that one wasn't bad. Merry Christmas, ya little shit."

“M-Merry…awwww…Christmas…" Asterbury coughed a few times. “Forgot…how much it hurts…in your world."

“Uh huh." The Coyote stepped on Asterbury's butt, using him like a stepping stone as he made his way back out of the kitchen. “You lay there and think about what you did…or at least, how much it hurts to piss me off. I gotta go get needles stuck in me, and talk to my doctor about the blood clot issues. Then we gotta meet Valyrym at the airport, so…be there on time, or we're leaving you and your cracked ornaments behind."

The Coyote walked towards the front door, then paused. How many of these, 'Coyote visits the hospital' scenes had he done, anyway? A lot. Maybe even too many. This time, he didn't really feel like writing about himself getting IVs put in, or having long talks with doctors. And how many scenes could he have with Ayly knocking over Christmas decorations, or Valyrym breaking things, and causing trouble for nurses? Nah, he thought, he'd done enough of that in years past.

“You know what?" He glanced back to the stricken urd'thin. “Let's just skip ahead. Use your time-jump powers and get us to the airport, will ya?"

“Maybe when my balls feel better…" Asterbury rolled to his back, rubbing his crotch. “Have you got any ibuprofen?"

The Coyote shook his head. “Nah, I can't take that stuff anymore. The doctor made me stop when I went on those blood-thinner injections twice a day. You know what?" The Coyote rubbed his hands together, grinning. “I'll do it. Your powers make me nauseas, anyway, and I may as well use mine while the plot says I can."

With a deep breath, The Coyote clapped his hands twice, and sent Christmas magic into the world. It swirled around him in waves of white snow and glittering lights, and swept asides aside. A flurry of images washed over his mind, all the scenes he wasn't bothering which, flashes of himself in an IV chair, of Valyrym knocking over expensive machinery with his tail, aggravating the nurses, and Ayly hanging from Christmas decorations. In it's place, the snow brought a new scene, replacing all the hospital surroundings with long lines of check in desks and baggage check counters in an airport.

“There!" The Coyote dusted his hands off. “Now I can skip retreating all those jokes. Hey, Valyrym!" The old black dragon stood nearby, once more youthful and revitalized for the holiday season. Blue edged his muzzle, frills, and wings, and his eyes shone vibrant and gold. “How's it going, buddy! Gimme a hug!"

Valyrym turned around, and his tail smashed into a self check-in kiosk. It toppled over, crashing into another just like it. The second machine fell into a third, and soon, an entire row of valuable electronic devices lay broken upon the floor.

The dragon gasped. “Oh no! I've knocked over all this expensive machinery with my tail!"

The Coyote sighed, putting a hand over his face. “Damn it. Well, at least Ayly didn't—"

“Wheeeee!" Nearby, a little black and purple hatchling had clambered all the way up a wall, and leapt out onto a giant holly wreath hanging above a check in counter. Some of the supports broke and the whole thing swung out over the lines of people snaking back and forth between extendable barriers. The hatchling clung to it as swung back and forth like a festive pendulum. “Wheeee, Christmas decoration ride!"

The Coyote grimaced, shaking his head. “At least we didn't re-do the whole, nurses get annoyed with Valyrym—"

“Hey, you stupid dragon!" A woman in nurse's scrubs marched up to Valyrym, jabbing a finger into his chest. “My co-workers and I are trying to get to a nursing conference, and you just knocked over all that expensive machinery we were about to use to check in!"

“And that's the whole list." The Coyote folded his arms, gritting his teeth. “So much for skipping-"

Then the last wires holding up the Christmas wreath snapped. It collapsed to the floor at The Coyote's feet, with Ayly riding it all the way down. The little dragon popped up in instant. “Hi Coyote!" Then she picked her way out of the broken wreath, glancing back at it. “It was Lellumgurb!"

“Hello, Ayly." The Coyote crouched down, stroking her head. “Isn't Amaleen watching you?"

The little dragon lowered her voice, nuzzling his palm. “She had to shit."

The Coyote's ears flattened back. “There's no way she told you that! And you're not supposed to say that word!"

Ayly blinked, and blinked again. “It was Lellumgurb!"

Sighing, The Coyote stood back up. “You can't just blame Krek for everything you do, that you're not supposed to do. And where is he, anyway?"

“Talking with those ladies!" Ayly flicked her tail towards a trio of vixens standing in the first class line, in the distance. A black gryphon with silver highlights stood near them, showing off his wings impressive span. “Lellumgurb likes to fart with ladies!"

The Coyote burst out laughing. “Didn't know he was into that…"

Valyrym laughed as well, shaking his head. “I think she means, flirt with ladies."

Asterbury limped his way over, now wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. It was green, and had two fancy sleighs on it, one mounting the other. Text made of Christmas lights read, “Sleigh ride." He stood alongside the coyote, then shrugged. “I dunno, I bet old Coal Lumps is into some pretty freaky shit."

“Don't swear in front of Ayly." The Coyote turned back towards the others. “Will you two watch her? I'm gonna try and get checked with the machines Valyrym didn't do destroy."

Valyrym glared down at Asterbury. “What are you doing here, anyway?"

“The Coyote invited me!" Asterbury bounced on his toes.

“I find that hard to believe." Valyrym curled his tail, hissing. “I'll warn you right now, at the first sign of jellyfish, I'm breaking your neck."

“And if you do, it'll really knock The Coyote's glasses off!" He clapped his hands, cackling. “See? We can do callbacks just as well as the Scavenger can!"

As The Coyote walked away, he gave them both the finger. He got in line behind the nurses who had gone to use the next section of check-in machines. The nurse just ahead of him was a shapely doe, her short tail peeking out from her blue nurses scrubs. After a few moments, she glanced back at him. He smiled and waggled his fingers in a friendly wave. She smiled back…though when she looked down at his shirt, her expression darkened and her ears pinned back.

“Ugh! Nice sweater, pervert." She shook a finger at him. “You're lucky I'm a caregiver, or I'll really plant my hoof right in both your dirty coyote balls!" Instead, she smacked her knee into his crotch, just hard enough to make him grunt and hunch over, canine balls aching. Then she snorted and turned away. “Merry Christmas, you horny perv."

“Whaa…?" The Coyote rubbed himself, whimpering, confused, in pain, and –

“Slightly turned on," Asterbury said, joining him with Valyrym and Ayly.

“Stop putting words in my mouth." The Coyote straightened up, shifting his weight a few times. “Or…fingers on my keyboard, or whatever-"

“You want me to finger your keyboard?" Asterbury raised his voice, gasping. “The doe's right, you are a pervert!"

A few other people turned, staring at The Coyote, or disapprovingly shaking their heads. One even muttered something speciest about coyotes.

“I don't even know what I did." The Coyote glanced at his shirt. Which, as it turned out, was now a bright green Christmas sweater. Strange, he didn't remember putting that on. Bright golden text read, “Jingle these bells, baby!" With an arrow pointing towards his crotch.

“What?" The Coyote tugged at his sweater, growling. “I wasn't wearing this! I wasn't wearing a sweater at all!" He sighed, and waved his hand over it. “I'll just fix it."

Now, his sweater read, “Jingling balls rocks!"

“Damn it, Asterbury!" The Coyote slapped the urd'thin over the head, making him yelp. “Cut that out, or I'm gonna replace you with Vetkol."

“Oh, of course, because everyone who's read Maiden Squad on your lousy Wattpad is dying to see what kind of creative profanity he could come up with in one of these stories." The urd'thin rubbed his ears. “Yanno, all 3 people who actually bothered to read it."

The Coyote just rolled his eyes, fixing his sweater. “Your dialogue could use some serious editing." This time, the image that ended up on his sweater depicted a line of male reindeer all harnessed up. In the foreground, lines of golden bells were strung, each set of bells strategically placed to cover up the reindeer's testicles. Text read, “Jiggle Bells!" He changed it to 'Jingle bells', and then decided it was close enough.

When the machines were ready, The Coyote approached one, scanning the screen. “Insert credit card…okay, got it."

He pulled out his card and put it in, but nothing happened. He retracted it, and still nothing happened. The canine tried a few more times, and finally got it to recognize him. Only, when he tried to enter his city, the screen wouldn't accept any inputs. He tapped it, swiped it, banged on it, all to no effect. In frustration, he thumped his fist against the screen. This time, his reservation popped up, asking if he wanted to confirm his flight change, now scheduled to take him to the North Pole.

“Been there, full of zombies, didn't like it." He tapped at the screen to no available, unable to get it to change back to the original destination. “I hate these stupid machines." He sighed, banging his fist against it again. “Then it's going to want me to print my own baggage tags, to affix them to the bags myself, and half the time I get an uneven seal and get nervous its gonna come off, and my bag's gonna get lost. And these stupid touch screens never work right, and half the time the card scanners don't work, either. I don't know how anyone can-"

“I'm done!" Ayly walked away from another machine, with her boarding pass in my muzzle, and her tail curled in the handle of immense wheeled suitcase, already properly tagged.

“What the shit?" The Coyote rubbed his forehead, sighing.

“Don't worry about her suitcase." Valyrym waved at his granddaughter, smiling. “It's mostly filled with bottles of eggnog and boxes of Christmas cookies, anyway."

The Coyote rolled his eyes. “Well, at least she won't be smashing the place up on a sugar rush again." He turned away from the machines. “Actually I was trying to figure out how she got done so far. Never mind. I'm going to go check in at the counter. They can fix everything for me."

The gate agent was a snooty looking lynx with tufted ears. He took The Coyote's ID, swiped it, and then glanced up. “Going to the North Pole today, Sir?"

“No." The Coyote shook his head. “Chicago."

“Then why did you change your destination to the North Pole? You know, a day of flight change has a penalty fee-"

“It was an accident." The Coyote folded his arms, scrunching up his muzzle. “Your machine's broken."

The lynx slowly turned his head to gaze at all the damaged machines Valyrym knocked over. “Mhm…I noticed."

“Uh…right." The Coyote scratched at one of his ears. “Anyway, these two are traveling with me." He gestured to Valyrym and Asterbury.

The black dragon arched his neck. “What about the others?"

“Amaleen's in charge of getting Ayly and Krek there." The canine waved to Amaleen, who had returned and was trying to drag Krek away from the vixens. She waved back, and then seized the gryphon's testicles, forcing him to walk backwards towards the ticketing counter. “See? It's just easier to let her deal with the Black Bird. And Ayly wants to go with Lellumgurb."

Asterbury moved to his tiptoes, whispering to Valyrym. “What he means is, he's cranky this year and he couldn't be bothered to write a bunch of characters."

Valyrym whispered back. “He's always cranky."

The Coyote growled, rubbing his eyes. “I'm tired, okay? One of these days, I'm just gonna skip to the end of these stories. They've gotten way too bloated, and as much fun as they are, they've gotten more exhausting to write than anything else." He patted the ticket counter. “Hand over those IDs I had made for you."

Asterbury snapped his fingers, and two ID cards materialized out of the air, dropping into the lynx's hands. He swiped them, then stared at the dragon. “I'm sorry, but emotional support animals aren't allowed in the cabin anymore."

“What?" Valyrym jerked his head up, growling. “I am not his emotional support animal!" He tilted his head, gazing down at the snow. “Am I?"

“Well…" The Coyote shrugged. “Gray area."

Asterbury cackled, patting the dragon's foreleg. “Pictures in the Snow says you are! So, it looks like it's the cargo hold for you, lizard."

The airline employee's computer beeped. He made an odd news, a cross between a meow and a bark. “Meearrk! I'm sorry, Mr…Asterbury, is it? But it says here, you're a known asshole? We've recently adopted a no-assholes policy, I'm afraid I can't let you board the plane."

“Bahahaha!" The Coyote poked Asterbury's muzzle. “You got no-fly listed for being an asshole."

“And, I'm sorry, Mr…Coyote?" The lynx blinked. “Your name is the same as your species?" He rolled his eyes. “Disney character much?"

“Hey!" The Coyote growled, flattening his ears. “Well, I'm not going to use my real name in one of these stories."

“Whatever you say, Scrooge McDuck." The Lynx handed him his ID back. “The point is, since you're a known associate of an asshole, that makes you an asshole by proxy, and I'm afraid we can't let you board, either."

The Coyote pinched the top of his muzzle, just beneath his glasses. “Urrrrg. I do not have the patience for this, this year. Asterbury! Fix this."

“Can do, good buddy!" Asterbury reached into a pocket in his pants, and retrieved a long-bladed knife with a black handle.

“Not like that!"

“Oh, right." Asterbury pulled the knife away, only to somehow pull a full-size chainsaw out in its place. “Gimme a second to get this thing going!"

“Definitely not!" The Coyote grabbed at it, pushing it down. “Ugh, I forgot about your damn Tardis pockets. There's no way you can get any of that stuff through security. And…and no murdering anyone this year! Just…I dunno, bribe him or something."

“Ah, just petty crime this Christmas?" Asterbury shrugged, walking around behind the ticket counter. “Hey, Lynx Boy. Howsa about you let us all board, and in return, I melt that kitty-cat candy cane in my muzzle?"

The lynx blinked, stared down at Asterbury, and then turned to his computer. He quickly printed out three boarding passes and handed them over. “Enjoy your flight!"

The Coyote took them, and quickly walked off as Asterbury knelt down behind the counter. “Finally, turning my most multi-faceted villain into a sex maniac at Christmas time pays off!"

“Bet you never thought you'd type that sentence, huh Coyote?" Valyrym laughed, padding along at the canine's side.

“Can't say that I did, no."

“Oh! Now that I have a moment." Valyrym paused and wrapped his forelegs around The Coyote. The dragon pulled him tight in a warm, almost smothering hug. “Merry Christmas, Coyote! It's good to see you again."

“You too, Valyrym." The Coyote happily snuggled in against his favorite dragon. Don't tell the others. He nuzzled his chest, patted his scales, and then gave a contented sigh. “Merry Christmas."

Valyrym pulled back after a while, releasing The Coyote. “So where are we going, again?"

The Coyote flattened his ears. “Chicago. For Midwest Furfest. We've been over this like, a million times."

“Haven't you already been there, though?" Valyrym tilted his head.

“In reality, yes. But in the Christmas Story verse-"

Valyrym held up a forepaw. “Let me stop you right there. I'm going to have to draw a line at, Christmas Story verse. I realize you've assembled quite the little continuity here over the years, but trying to keep track of what parts of this world are based on your reality, and what's been made up just for the story is beyond my ability to comprehend." The dragon licked his nose, then tossed his head. “No, I take that back. I could parse it out if I had a flow chart, I just don't care anymore."

“Hah!" The Coyote made his way towards the security line. “Yeah, me either sometimes."

“Speaking of which, I got you a present, actually." Valyrym glanced over his wings towards the ticketing counters. “The magic vermin helped. Actually, he made it possible. But you'll have to wait and see what it is, when the time is right."

“Aww, you didn't have to get me anything." The Coyote smiled as he got into the exceedingly long security line. “Thanks, though."

Nearby, Amaleen strolled past, with Krek following just behind her. Ayly rode upon his back. The three of them wounded their way back and forth through the nearly empty line for higher class passengers. The Coyote stared at them all, his jaw dropping.

“How'd you get there?"

Amaleen flashed him a smile as she walked by. “Business class upgrade! See you in Chicago!"

Krek flared his silvery crown feathers, and glanced away. “I'm sorry, I don't talk to economy class dumpster-divers."

“Fuck you too, Krek." The Coyote laughed, shaking his head. “Lucky bastards."

“Coyote said a swear!" Ayly pointed at him with a paw, calling back. “I wanna say a swear too!"

“Only if you direct it at Krek!"

Ayly swatted the back of Krek's neck. “Fuck you, Assbutt!"

“Ayly!" Krek twisted his head around to give her a horrified luck.

The Coyote cupped his hands around his muzzle to shout after them. “Whatever she learned, I assumed she learned from you!"

Valyrym nudged the canine with a wing. “I hope you've got a ticker going to count all these call backs."

“Ooooh, my god."

“Now you sound like Bob Burgers." The dragon snorted.

The Coyote jerked his head up. “What?"

“Bob Burgers. You know." Valyrym eased forward when the line moved. “From the TV show."

“I know who you're talking about." The Coyote folded his arms, groaning. “I had this exact same conversation with Asterbury, last year."

Asterbury suddenly popped up between them, wiping his muzzle with a wet wipe. “We sure did, Scavenger! See, I thought the characters name was Bob Burgers, but The Coyote convinced me it was actually Belcher Burgers."

“No, it isn't." The Coyote squeezed his eyes shut. He was already dreading this. “It's Bob."

Asterbury scratched the base of a small horn. “It's Bob Burgers, after all? Then why did you spend all that time arguing with me?"

“No, it's not Bob Burgers, you idiot." The Coyote growled, waving his hand. “Well, it's called Bob's Burgers, but that's not-"

“His name is Bobs?" Valyrym cocked his head. “What a strange name. Does he have multiple personalities?"

“No, no." The Coyote flicked his tail, moving forward in the line. “It's with an apostrophe, it's Bob's, possessive."

“Oh, got it." Valyrym shrugged his wings. “But Bob's Possessive is a pretty strange name, even for a cartoon."

“No, the name of it isn't Bob's Possessive, I meant-"

“He means Bob is possessive." Asterbury poked the dragon. “He's horribly jealous of his wife. It's really the crux of the show."

“No it isn't!" The Coyote smacked the back of one hand into the other. “Okay, First."

“Isn't that Who?" Asterbury smiled up at the Coyote.

“Don't you fucking start." He jabbed the urd'thin's nose.

Asterbury lowered his voice, whispering to the dragon. “Fucking Start, I think he's playing shortstop."

Valyrym cocked his head. “What's shortstop?"

“No, What's on second!"

Valyrym blinked a few times. “But what's shortstop?"

“Yes, he's playing shortstop, that's what I just said."

“Alright, listen here, Larry and Curly." The Coyote grabbed Asterbury by an ear, and Valyrym by horn, shaking them both. “You two can continue your little routine, after I spell a few things out for you. First?" He let them go when they fell silent. “The name of the TV show is Bob's Burgers. Second? The name of the main character in the show is Bob Belcher. Third, if you stooges keep this up, I'm gonna make like Moe and smack you both around. Clear enough?"

Asterbury rubbed his ear. “That's what you used your dramatic moment to make clear? I wonder, is this a bad time to tell you that Who's On First was Abbot and Costello, not the Three Stooges."

“I know who it was! That's not the point." The Coyote shook a finger at Asterbury. “This is the point!" Then he jabbed the urd'thin right in the eye.

“OW!" Asterbury stumbled back, grabbing his face. “Why, I oughta…"

“Nyuck nyuck nyuck," Valyrym laughed.

“Every fucking year," The Coyote said, turning away. “I think it's worse when you're both here!"

Valyrym licked his muzzle, glancing at Asterbury. “Yes, you should really stop aggravating the trash puppy on his favorite holiday."

“Thank you, Valyrym." The Coyote smiled back at him over his shoulder. “More or less."

“You're welcome." The dragon turned his attention back to Asterbury. “Now…Who's on first?"

“Ooooh my god." The Coyote's shoulders sagged.

“Yeah, Who's on first, that's right." Asterbury rubbed his hands together.

“No, I mean…what is it?" The dragon followed the canine when they all moved forward.

“No, no." Asterbury shook his head. “What's on second! Who's on first."

The Coyote turned and pointed to Asterbury. “Look out, that guy says he's got a bomb!"

A wolf police officer nearby lifted his walkie talkie. “Swarm, swarm!" He pointed to Asterbury. “That guy, that guy!"

Security poured out from every corner of the place, tackling the urd'thin. Nightsticks and tazers were deployed, and the urd'thin's squeals were lost beneath all the cries of 'stop resisting' and 'where's the bomb' and 'he's on the asshole list, kick his ass!'. The Coyote took a step back and watched as few dozen security agents and police officers beat the shit out of Asterbury, tazing him often for good measure. Tourists paused to take pictures. Locals took selfies with the scrum behind them. A reindeer police officer even took video of himself tazing Asterbury in the crotch. Repeatedly.

The Coyote smiled. “Merry Christmas, Asterbury."

*****

The Coyote walked through the first class section of the plane. Amaleen, Ayly, and Krek were already boarded, and enjoying the first class amenities. Amaleen was enjoying a 17-course meal, along with two entire bottles of champagne. Ayly had her own personal baker, whipping up cookies as fast as she could eat them. And Krek was getting a handjob from a flight attendant.

Valyrym nudged the Coyote, whispering. “We really should have booked first class."

“I'm sure Asterbury will oblige you if you ask him nicely enough." The Coyote laughed, glancing back at the urd'thin. The little bastard had healed himself already. “You know, you should have kept the crutches they gave you. We could have made Tiny Tim jokes."

“Oh, yes, timely!" Asterbury waggled his fingers. “How hilarious that would have been."

Valyrym snorted. “I'd just as soon he keeps his Tiny Tim in his pants, anyway."

“Bahahaha!" The Coyote burst out laughing. “That's it, Asterbury's dick is Tiny Tim now."

“It is NOT!" Asterbury growled.

The Coyote glanced back. “Microscopic Mike?"

“Ooooh, hah hah, Dumpster Dog! Well, at least mine…" Asterbury trailed off, staring at Krek and the flight attendant. “You know…I think that's actually a meth head, dressed as a flight attendant."

The Coyote looked over. A few freshly lost teeth littered the cabin floor around Krek's paws, along with a collection of glass pipes that kept spilling form the flight attendant's vest every few hand-pumps. “Huh…yeah, you're right." He giggled, looking away. “Nobody tell him!"

“Merry Christmas!" Valyrym whispered to the others, waving a paw. “It's a venereal disease!"

When The Coyote reached his row, he took a moment to stow his carry on in the overhead bin. By the time he'd finished, Asterbury had already plopped himself into the aisle seat. The Coyote tugged on one of the urd'thin's ears. “Move it. I got that window seat."

“I know." Asterbury batted his head away.

“So?" The Coyote jerked his thumb at the aisleway. “Move your fuzzy ass so I can get to it."

“Nuh uh." Asterbury tucked his legs up against the seat. “Just squeeze past."

“Fine, fine."

Before The Coyote could do so, Valyrym put a paw on his shoulder. “It's a trap!"

The Coyote blinked, tilted his head, perked a single ear, and stared down at Asterbury. “I don't know which way you want me to take that joke."

“No, not that." Valyrym hissed, shaking his head. “A reference trap."

Everyone's favorite trash-puppy gave an exhausted sigh. “I refuse to do an Admiral Ackbar….oh. You just did it. Damn it."

“Nah, it's a Fight Club reference!" Asterbury patted his lap, grinning. “C'mon buddy, squeeze by."

The Coyote snorted. “The ass or crotch scene, on the plane? That's the scene you wanna reference?"

Asterbury spread his arms in open invitation. “Let's do this!"

“No." The Coyote reached down and grasped Asterbury's arms, hauling him up. He set the urd'thin down in the aisle, then moved in quickly to take his seat. “We're not doing a Fight Club reference scene."

“Technically, every scene you do with us is a Fight Club reference scene, isn't it?" Asterbury followed The Coyote, and dropped into the middle scene.

“How do you figure?" The Coyote glanced over, baring his teeth with a little growl. “That's Valyrym's seat."

“Yeah, but how else am I gonna make him get up 6 times during the flight if I don't sit here?" Asterbury cackled as the dragon grumbled, easing into the aisle seat. Then he flattened back his ears. “How the fuck does that work? He's a quadrupedal dragon, sitting in a human seat."

“That's the part that irks you?" The Coyote gestured to the three of them. “With all this?" He pointed to the front to where Amaleen, Krek, and Ayly were. “And all that? And the other shit we've done over the years? Your big concern is, how does the dragon sit in a chair?"

“Wait, I'm sitting in the chair?" Valyrym glanced down at himself, only to realize his spine, tail, and hind legs were now all bent at impossible angles for a four-legged creature, leaving him sitting in the same position as a human. Er…an anthro. Or whatever. “Oh god, my bones!" He jabbed at the button to call the attendant with a single claw. “Doctor! I need a doctor."

An arctic fox with black glasses perched on his white muzzle turned around in the seat just ahead of Valyrym. He was dressed in a slate gray business suit and jacket, though, considering he was a fox, he was probably bottomless. “I'm a doctor, how can I help you?"

Asterbury snorted, folding his arms. “Ppsssh, Doctor of Law, anyway. That doesn't count."

Behind them, a buck with Christmas lights strung along his antlers stood up. “I'm a doctor."

Asterbury rolled his eyes. “Doctor of Applied Sciences? Please. Why don't you apply for a better degree?"

“Bahahaha!" The Coyote barked laughter, then shook his head. “Alright, that's enough of this joke before I have to look more doctorates."

Asterbury nudged him with his elbow. “Or before you offend the readers that are ten times smarter than you, Mister No Degree?"

“That too."

“Isn't anyone going to help me with my bones?" Valyrym whimpered, struggling to twist his mangled hind legs back into the proper form.

“Oooh, can do." Asterbury turned towards the dragon, licking his muzzle. “I'll help you with that bone, alright."

The Coyote grabbed Asterbury in a headlock and pulled him back into his own seat before he had a chance to deliver any harmony to Valyrym's bone thug. “Val, you've never had a problem with sitting like that in the scenes where you're in my car."

“I just assumed you shrunk me until I could sit on the seat!" Valyrym squirmed and wriggled. “Oh, no, I'm going to need one of these wheel-cart things for paralyzed cats!"

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Asterbury wriggled free of the Coyote's grasp. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that the scavenger here just pulled a Bone Thugs and Harmony reference out of his pop culture dumpster? And that he worked it into a joke about blowing a dragon?" Asterbury flattened his ears. “I can't tell if I'm impressed or horrified!"

“I'm a doctor." An older human man in with distinct, silver-white hair and a beige trench coat leaned down from the aisle. “I just wanted to wish you all, good luck."

The Coyote's ears shot up. “Holy shit, it's Leslie Nielson! Oh, no, we're in Airplane!"

“What's Airplane?" Valyrym glanced over at The Coyote.

“Oh, no." The Coyote face-palmed. “Here we-"

The Doctor turned his gaze on the dragon, his voice flat and even. “It's a 1980 American Satirical disaster film, but that's not important right now."

“But what is an airplane?" Asterbury nudged the Coyote, grinning.

“It's a is a powered, fixed-wing aircraft that is propelled forward by thrust from a jet engine, propeller or rocket engine." The Coyote shook his head. “But that's not important right now."

Asterbury stared at the story text. “Why did the font change?"

“Because I just copy/pasted it from Wikipedia." The canine chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Of course, if it doesn't transfer to SF the same way, that joke might not land, but…"

“What's SF?" Valyrym cocked his head.

“It's short for San Francisco, but that's not important right now." The Doctor patted Valyrym's neck. “I just wanted to wish you all, good luck."

Valyrym stared at him. “Didn't you already say that?"

“Yeah." The Coyote snorted. “He does that." He raised his voice. “Thank you Doctor Rumack, that will be all."

The doctor gave a single nod. “I am serious. And don't call me Shirley."

The Coyote groaned, thumping his head back against the headrest. “No one called you Shirley, or asked if you were serious."

“I am serious." Dr. Rumack shook a finger at the Coyote. “And don't call me Shirley."

The Coyote heaved a sigh. “I asked for that, didn't I."

Dr. Rumack took two steps away, then paused and glanced back. “Stay away from the fish."

“Thank you!" The Coyote waved him onwards. “The scene's over now."

The doctor nodded, and walked off. Then he paused, and glanced back. “I just wanted to wish you all, good luck."

Asterbury cackled. “I like that guy!"

“I don't." Valyrym growled, still fussing with his shattered and twisted hind legs. “And must you keep using the same joke, over and over? Where did you get your humor degree, The University of Family Guy?"

The Coyote scratched his muzzle. “Is that a good joke? I can't tell if that's a good joke or not."

Asterbury waggled his hand. “C+."

“I'll take it." The Coyote pointed at Valyrym, and a whirling flash of snow, holly and Christmas lights, the dragon's body was whole again. It was also three sizes too small, in a tiny Grinch reference, and Valyrym now sat atop the seat. “There? Happy?"

“Yes, this is much better," Valyrym said, his voice now far higher in pitch than before. “Hey! Why do I sound like I've been sucking down helium all day?"

“Ahahaha!" The Coyote nudged Asterbury. “He sounds like someone neutered the Taco Bell Chihuahua!"

“Hah!" Asterbury clapped his hands. “That's good! I was gonna say he sounds like he's been blowing the Goodyear blimp, but yours is funnier." His ears drooped. “You know what's sad, though? That dog's totally dead by now."

“Awwrrr…" The Coyote's ears drooped, too. “Poor little obnoxious yappy piece of shit."

“You know, you totally skipped my line, earlier." Asterbury poked The Coyote in the arm.

“Oh no." The Coyote's voice was as monotone as he could make it. “What a terrible tragedy."

“We're all in your head!" Asterbury threw his arms wide, then dropped them, grunting. “See? It's totally ruined now."

“What the hell are you talking about?" The Coyote folded his arms, watching the airport slide by as the plane taxied.

“Earlier, we were gonna do a Fight Club scene!"

“No." The Coyote flicked his tail. “We weren't. You were gonna do a fight club scene."

“You, me, we, it's all the same. That's the point. I was trying to say, you're already doing a Fight Club reference."

“Oh, right." The canid scratched his muzzle. “You did say something about that. Fine, I'll bite."

Asterbury leaned closer, purring. “Please do!"

“Not literally, you depraved shit-monger." The Coyote shoved him away. “It's an expression."

“Oooh, kinda like, it'll really knock your glasses off?" Asterbury cackled, bouncing. “Or kinda like saying, this story's a real shit on the floor!"

“Ugh." The Coyote put his head in his hands. “I gotta start writing you out of these things. Will you just get to your damn line already so we can move on to the next scene?"

“Right, right, right." Asterbury kicked his feet a few times like an oversized child. “So, I was saying, we're already doing a Fight Club reference." He paused and nudged the coyote, waiting.

The Coyote grunted, rolling his eyes and begrudgingly playing along. “How's that?"

“Because, we're all just in your head!"

The Coyote just stared at him. “You're right, the timing's off. Also, spoilers much?"

“This whole thing's just in your head!" Asterbury blinked, then grumbled to himself. “Damn it, I shoulda just said it like, four pages ago. And oh, no, the villain spoiled a movie from 20 years ago! However will you deal with the riots? Why, there must be at least one person out there who's dying to see it, that doesn't already know the big twist! I better not tell him the soap's made of human fat or he might write you a very sternly worded letter!"

“Soap made of human fat?" Valyrym scrunched his muzzle. “That's disgusting…I think I'm gonna be sick." He clutched his belly, groaning. “I need a doctor."

“NO!" The Coyote snarled at the dragon. “We're not starting that aga-"

“I'm a doctor." Leslie Nielson leaned in from the aisle. “I just wanted to wish you all, good luck."

The Coyote groaned. “Get lost, Frank Drebin."

Asterbury leaned over to Valyrym. “Is it me, or are his references getting older and older?"

Valyrym whispered back. “Just like the yote himself."

“I am serious." The doctor paused. “And don't call me-"

“No one called you Shirley!" The Coyote balled up his fists, biting back a scream.

Leslie Nielson stared at him, unblinking. “………….Shirley."

“AAAAAAAAAH!" The Coyote screamed and jumped to his feet. “That's it!" He stormed past Asterbury and Valyrym and into the Aisle. “I'm about to make you Dracula, cause you'll be Dead and Loving It!"

Asterbury made a thumbs-down symbol. “That one gets an F."

“Well, you can go “F" yourself, Asterbury!"

“AIR MARSHAL!" The arctic fox in the business suit sprang up out of his seat. “We have a threat!" He tackled the Coyote to the floor, trying to wrestle his arms behind his back. “STOP RESISTING!"

“Aaah!" The Coyote squirmed beneath the fox. “Get your tazer out of my back!"

Valyrym snaked his head down towards the coyote. “That's definitely not his tazer."

The Coyote's eyes widened. “That's it! This scene is over! Asterbury, do your thing!"

“Can do, good buddy!" Asterbury stood up, and started unbuttoning his pants.

“Your other thing!"

The urd'thin stared down at his crotch. “Huh? Even I only have one of them!"

“Not that!" The Coyote snapped his teeth. “Just fast forward us to the next scene."

Asterbury sat back down, folding his arms. “Thought that was your deal this year?"

“Stop resisting!" The Fox dug something into the Coyote's back. “You're under sexy arrest! You have the right to remain horny! Anything you say can and will turn me on!"

“Asterbury!" The Coyote snapped his teeth. “Do it now, or I'm Beetlejuicing you out of this story and replacing you with Vatch!"

“My Chocolate Strudel?" Asterbury's eyes lit up.

“And you won't get to share a scene with him this year!"

“Fiiiine." Asterbury lifted his hands, waving them back and forth. “Bippity-boppity, bippity-boppity, bippity-boppity-The Coyote Fucks Hobos!"

“What? You little-"

And then in a blizzard of snow and twinkling lights, the scene faded out before The Coyote could voice his objections.

*****

That evening, in real life, The Coyote went out with his parents to one of their favorite Christmas destinations. Yes, usually in this segments he goes by The Writer, but he doesn't feel like being The Writer, alright? Cut him some slack, ya filthy animals.

They went to a local pub, where he had a few beers, and some delicious pizza, and simply relaxed, enjoying life and the holiday season. Then they walked main street, which as always was absolutely stunningly decked out in Christmas lights and decorations. There were walls of shining color everywhere, and strings of cascading white draped from every eve. Santas, reindeer, and snowmen decorated every storefront. A cold breeze ruffled his fur.

The city's Christmas tree and City Hall exterior alike flashed and flickered with scintillating patterns of brilliance. Christmas music drifted all down the street. They bought treats and lovely coffee to sip while they strolled. The Coyote took lots of pictures and videos, and for at least a few hours, all his many real-life worries fell away.

For at least a few hours, it finally felt like Christmas.

Ears up.

Tail wags.

*****

“Ugh." The Coyote dragged his carry-on down the jetway, sighing. “I can't believe we're in Wichita."

“Oh?" Asterbury walked at his side, grinning. “Finally fulfilling a lifelong dream to visit the Air Capital of the World?"

“No, I mean it sucks we got diverted. I thought Chicago knew how to handle a few blizzards, but noooo." The Coyote rolled his eyes, stepping out of the jetway and into the airport. Then he paused, glancing down at the urd'thin. “Wait, what? The Air Capital?"

“Yeah!" Asterbury shoved the canine aside to make room for Valyrym to exit the jet bridge next. “That's Wichita's nickname."

“Are you serious? How the hell do you know that?"

“Wikipedia, Scavenger!" Asterbury flourished a hand. “Wichita is nicknamed the Air Capital of the World, and Kansas is the Sunflower state."

Valyrym snorted as he gazed around the airport, now back to a larger size. “Why the hell do they call it the Sunflower State?"

The Coyote turned towards him. “That's the one you care about?"

Asterbury only shrugged. “Probably because the entire state is nothing but wheat fields. Mile upon mile of wheat fields!"

The dragon cocked his head. “Why wouldn't they call it the Wheat State?"

“Because the occasional sunflower is the only thing that breaks up the horrible, horrible monotony." Then he lowered his voice to whisper to the dragon. “Something about this dialogue tells me the Scavenger's driven through the place."

The Coyote shuddered involuntarily. “I'm still wondering why they'd call a city the Air Capital of anything, let alone the world." He swept a hand over his head as if illustrating a great banner. “We've got more air than any other city, world wild! Most of it's even breathable!"

Asterbury shrugged again, starting into the terminal. “According to the internet, they used to make a shit-ton of airplanes here. Bit of a downturn recently, though."

The Coyote gestured at the invisible banner again. “Visit Not-Hideous Wichita, now with 15% less jet fumes!"

“So, speaking of the Air Capital of the World…" Valyrym nudged the small of the Coyote's back with his muzzle. “Why are we here?"

“Blizzards, I already told you." The Coyote waved at one of the flight status screens hanging nearby. Almost everything on it now showed as delayed. “They're smothering the Midwest, right now, so we got diverted. Hopefully we'll get a flight back out of here in a little bit. You guys wanna check out the restaurants and bars while we wait?"

“It's Wichita, Coyote." Valyrym thumped his tail. “You'll be lucky if they have restaurants. Hell, you'll be lucky to find restaurant, singular."

“Probably true." The Coyote tilted his head towards the gate agent's desk where a long line of irate passengers already waited. “Asterbury, make yourself useful, see if you can find out about any other flights out of here tonight. We'll go find a place to sit down."

The terminal proved a small disappointment. It was small, straightforward, and mostly bereft of interesting places to eat and drink. Some of the places that were still there were already closed for the evening. That restaurant and bar that remained open were jam-packed with travelers who'd been diverted due to blizzards. That left the food court, which was also packed, but The Coyote found a table and flopped into a chair.

“This'll do, for now." He draped an arm over the back of the chair, then glanced around. “Huh…lotta familiar faces here."

Amaleen, Krek, and Ayly sat at another table, not that far away. Nearby, Alia and Valar, both adult and hatchling, sat at another table, with Alia working to keep the two of them apart to prevent another rupture of the space time continuum. Given how Asterbury had been treating the first one, that was probably for the best. All the rest of his various story's casts were there, too. But it was late and he was really tired, and didn't really feel like describing them all. So, if there's a character from a Coyote story you're imagining, yes, they're in the food court. So, just imagine all those memorable characters like, uh, the Queen's butler and that guard Alvaranox befriends, and…geez, who else is there? Oh, right. That bald guy Amaleen used to talk to. And who can forget Sergeant Other Guy. Along with Jimmy Two Fists, and Roberto Three Penises, who only had one penis, and Benigni One Penis, who had three. Plus Teddy Roosevelt, Toddy Reesevolt, Reddy Toosevelt, and everyone's favorite rubber-face funny man, Ernest P Worrel. Also, Jim Varney, the actor who played Ernest P Worrel. Oh, then there was the lazy writer who couldn't bother to—

“Coyote!" Valyrym slapped his paw down against the table. “Are you having a stroke?"

“What?" The Coyote blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, sorry. I sorta zoned out there."

“Yes, I noticed." Valyrym moved closer and settled at The Coyote's side. “So did your whole fanbase, I suspect. Are you alright?"

“I'm fine, I suppose." The Coyote sighed, punching his hand through the veil between worlds, and pulling a beer out of reality. “I'm just…" He cracked the beer open, leaning his head against the dragon's chest. “Tired. Really tired."

“It's quite understandable, with all you've been through lately." Ever so gently, Valyrym stroked the Coyote's ears. “You…You don't really wanna do this anymore, do you?"

“I…" The Coyote sipped his beer, staring out across the food court. All at once, the world froze, and fell to silence. Bit by bit, it dissolved away around then. Not into cold reality, but into a simple, snowy-whiteness. A room built itself around them, a cozy log cabin, with a fire roaring in a stone hearth. Then there was only The Coyote, and Valyrym. For a little while, he simply listened to the comforting sound of the dragon's heartbeat, and the crackling of the flames. When Valyrym stroked The Coyote's ears, he leaned in, savoring the warmth and comfort of his touch. “I dunno, anymore."

“Well…" Valyrym lifted his head, gazing around. “This?" He waved his free paw at the log cabin around. “This says you don't. All those ideas you had, all those little fragments of dialogue and discussion, and now…now it's almost Christmas, and…I think you're just about done with this. Not forever, of course, but…maybe you've done enough of these silly little tales. Or, at least enough of this one."

“Maybe." The Coyote only chuckled, and sipped his beer again. He chuckled, closing his eyes. “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles."

“Hrrm?" Valyrym cocked his head.

“That's why we're in Wichita."

The dragon lowered his head, gazing into The Coyote's eyes. “Are you sure you didn't have a stroke? Your pupils look alright."

“That's concussions, not strokes." The Coyote opened his eyes again, smiling to himself. “And I don't smell toast, so…"

Valyrym snorted. “Should you smell like toast? That would be an awfully odd scent for soap."

“No, I don't smell toast."

The dragon flattened his ears. “You mean you just…take it out of the toaster and cram it into your mouth, without smelling it? Or…or do you mean, you can smell other breakfast foods, but you're incapable of smelling toast?"

“Neither," The Coyote said, laughing. “It's…well, they say when you're having a stroke and something's misfiring in the brain, it makes you think you're smelling toast. And…I don't so….no stroke. I'm perfectly capable of smelling toast, though."

“Ah." Valyrym tapped a single claw to The Coyote's muzzle. “So the only thing you're incapable of doing is shutting off your banter-button. Here I am, trying to give you an out to quit the story early…" He paused, then nudged The Coyote with his muzzle. “For at least the 2nd year in a row, I should remind you…and you're just right back into silly dialogue. It's like the song that never ends, it just goes on and on-"

“And now that's stuck in my head." The Coyote set his beer down on an end table, decorated with cutesy snowmen, then folded his arms. “Thanks for nothing."

“So…Planes, Trains, and what now?"

The Coyote chuckled, laying his head against Valyrym's scales again. “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. It's an old holiday comedy. Thanksgiving, actually, but it's a classic. I was gonna use it for this year's structure, and parody idea. Early on, the main chars…one's a slob who never stops talking but is a total sweetheart…" He leaned his head back to smile up at the dragon. “Played by John Candy, by the way. And the other's a straight-laced jerk, though…it's not totally his fault. I'd be a jerk too if that much comically aggravating shirt kept happening to me. He's played by Steve Martin. They're both great. Anyway, they get stuck together in Wichita, and spent the rest of the movie trying to finish their trip to Chicago. It's really funny, and I definitely recommend it. I was gonna do it this year, but…well…"

“But…" Valyrym said, taking a deep breath. “You got home from the furry con at 11pm, on a Monday, and at 10AM, the next morning, you had to be at a funeral."

The Coyote gulped hard, snuggling up against the dragon. “Yeah. Yeah, that."

“And before that…" Valyrym curled his forelegs around The Coyote's middle, hugging him gently against his body. “You spent three straight months giving yourself two injections a day, in the stomach, in the hopes of clearing up the blood clots in your liver."

The Coyote whimpered, staring at the floor. He stroked Valyrym's paw and nodded once. The shots were finished now, but a few of the bruises had left hints of discoloration lingering along his sides even now. Hopefully someday, that would fade, too. “That…that was unpleasant."

“At least you got to escape it for a little while, hmm?" Valyrym gently and lovingly lapped at The Coyote's ears, as though it was not his creator he cradled, but a beloved family member. “The month began with you at the world's largest furry con, and with snow! It was snowing when you arrived, and it coated the ground with white all weekend long. And I know you loved it."

The Coyote smiled and nodded, and when he wagged his tail, it thumped Valyrym's scales. “Uh huh!"

“And you had an incredible time. Four full days with your best friends in the world, and some old friends you'd never had the chance to meet before." He chuckled, resting his head between The Coyote's ears. “And you got lots of snuggles with your gryphon boyf-"

“Hey!" The Coyote laughed, batting at the dragon. “Shush! That's private."

“Oh no, the secret's out, The Coyote's bi." Valyrym rumbled laughter. “Anyone who didn't know wasn't paying attention, and anyone who gives a shit in the wrong way, isn't your friend. The point is, you had a wonderful time, and you forgot all about your shitty healthy and your oodles of worries and fears and stresses, and you just…lived." Valyrmy sighed, nosing at the coyote's neck. “Isn't that what you said before?"

“Something like that, yeah."

“And then…" Valyrym trailed off, licking his nose. “Stop me if you don't want me to get into the rest of the bad stuff."

The Coyote shrugged. “May as well, I guess."

“And then you came back, and you had two funerals within a week. You went from the best parts of your life straight into eulogies and crying families. They might not have been people you were close too, but no one could make that transition without it taking a mental toll. To say nothing of the physical toll, it took. I know you normally like a week to catch up on sleep and recover from a convention trip, and this time? You spent that week getting up to attend services, and driving across the state to attend more services. You squeezed in a Christmas shopping trip, but given the dark days it was sandwiched between, you got none of your usual joy from it.

“And you didn't get to do your traditions. Never made the pub you usually go to, never got to see Santa on the firetruck. Little things, I know, but I also know the little things are what make Christmas for you. Each little joyful details builds atop another moment of joy, and one by one, they make the season bright. And without them, it, it's just not the same. Worse, when you replace your favorite traditions with funerals, with doctor visits, with needles in your arms, with fatigue and depression…it…" Valyrym shook his head. “It never really feels like Christmas. And before you know it, it's December 21st, and you're…spilling it all out, onto the page, through me."

Valyrym nuzzled The Coyote's ears again. “It's been a difficult month for you, I know, and without near as much joy as hope for. And…and that's just the big things. There's the small things, too. Worried about your health, about your future, like always. About your parents future. About…how you'll care for yourself, if you're still around when they're gone. Or how you'll care for them, when they're elderly? Worries you've had before, but…funerals have a way of bringing them to the forefront. Just like your own mortality fears. And…I know your doctor is talking about that bone marrow transplant, again, and I know that scares the hell out of you."

The Coyote sniffled, flattening his ears. He forced feigned pleasantness into his voice in sarcastic imitation. “Odds of success are better than fifty percent, as long as you don't die during the recovery."

“Yeah." Valyrym hugged The Coyote tight. “And I know you've been freaking out over the realization that you might be about to get the “are you still poor?" phone call from Social Security, and that drives your social anxiety and paranoia and fears absolutely mad. Even though you've done it before, years ago, and it all went smoothly. And…and Coyote, I…I wish…" Valyrym's voice shook, and a few tears brimmed in his golden eyes. “I wish I could fix these things for you, I wish I could take away all your fears, but…but I can't. All I can do is tell you it'll be alright, in the end. So…so for whatever it's worth, Coyote, I promise." Valyrym hugged him tighter still, squeezing the canine against his warmth. “It'll be alright, in the end. It'll be alright."

The Coyote pressed his face to Valyrym's chest, crying softly against him. “Thank you, Val. It…it means more than you know, even coming from someone who only exists in my head."

“And your fans' heads." Valyrym chuckled, rubbing The Coyote's back.

“I guess you've spread like a virus." The Coyote eased back, rubbing his eyes.

“Not the comparison I would have used, but close enough." Valyrym pulled his forelegs back, then set a paw on The Coyote's shoulder. “There's one other thing I can do for you. I can tell you, again, that you don't have to do this, anymore. I think…I think it's starting to feel more like an obligation than an adventure. When you first started this Christmas story tradition, it was just silly fun, a way to make yourself laugh on Christmas Eve. It's still silly fun, but…now I know you're thinking, that you have to write this, and once you feel like you're forced to do something, it's…it's just not fun anymore."

“A Contractually Obligated Christmas." The Coyote leaned his head against the dragon, smiling a little. “I think that's what I'll call."

“It's clever…but maybe it's a little too accurate." Valyrym ruffled the fur on the canine's head. “Tell you what. Why don't you wind this story forward again, whenever you're ready, and Asterbury and I will fetch your Christmas present. I promise, Coyote, you're going to love it."

“Alright…" The Coyote picked up his beer, sipping it. He shifted himself to recline against the dragon, his eyes drifting closed. “Let me just…rest here a while, first."

“As long as you need, Coyote. I'll be right here with you."

The fire crackled, peaceful.

*****

“Whoa, check out Cuddly Scales and Dumpster Dick over here." A vaguely familiar voice drew The Coyote's attention away from his peaceful revelry. He opened his eyes to find the Wichita airport scene had rebuilt itself. A black-furred urd'thin was now staring at him as he snuggled the dragon. “You two really oughta get a room before you fuck."

“We had a room!" The Coyote snarled, glaring at the urd'thin…only to droop his ears when he realized how that sounded. “Wait, that's not how I meant it. And…and besides, we had a pocket dimension all to ourselves, not a measly room."

“Oh yeah? Needed the extra privacy, huh?" The urd'thin bounced on his toes. “You must be loud."

The Coyote snorted, looking the urd'thin over. If Asterbury was one of the taller members of his species, than this urd'thin was one of the shorter ones. His fur was almost completely jet black, with lighter gray streaks across his eyes, and the tips of his ears. Gray rings encircled the length of his very bushy tail. His eyes were like vibrant, burnt-copper coins. He wore a dark green sweater designed to look like an advent calendar, with 25 black-buttoned pockets on it, numbered in bright gold. The urd'thin opened one pocket, retrieved one of at least a dozen candy canes, and shoved it into his muzzle.

Valyrym lowered his head to growl at the new arrival. “Can we help you, Rocket Raccoon?"

“What?" The little urd'thin bared his fangs. “Fuck you, Vraal #2. I'm inspired by Rocket, you're literally just the same character he already wrote years earlier, with a new name."

“I am not!" Valyrym snapped his teeth, then glanced at The Coyote. “Am I?"

“No!" The Coyote waved him off…then re-thought it. “Well…no, no. Doesn't matter. Valyrym, this is Vetkol, Vetkol, this is-"

“Yeah, yeah, Valuable Rims, got it." He pulled the candy cane out of his muzzle. “So, I got a bone to pick with you, sheath-lick." He jabbed the candy at the Coyote. “It's about Vatch."

“What about him?"

Vetkol smirked. “What's with the racist accent?"

From a nearby table, the chocolate-brown furred urd'thin piped up. “Vatch not have racist accent!"

Vetkol flicked his candy cane towards Vatch. “Example A."

“It's not…" The Coyote rubbed his muzzle, groaning. “This might not be as funny a scene as I thought the other day. Look, in the world he comes from, the urd'thin language is structured differently, and—"

Vatch had already gotten up out of his seat, and came out to thump Vetkol on the chest. “Not all urd'thin get raise in human city, learn talk human!"

Vetkol just stared back at him. “So being raised under the city makes you talk like some 1970's caricature?"

The Coyote gave a frustrated growl. “Did Asterbury put you up to this?"

Vetkol flashed The Coyote a grin. “If by, put me up to this, you mean…gave me a buncha badass guns and grenades and shit to take back to Maiden Squad with me, then…actually, no, I stole those from the TSA. But Asterbury did give me these candy canes and suggest I come annoy the dirty, filthy, scruffy, dumpster-fucking scavenger sitting over here with Sad Scales FuckTwat McShitTurd."

Valyrym slowly turned his head towards The Coyote. “What sort of story is he from, again?"

The Coyote flattened his ears. “A fantasy comedy that's actually a scifi mystery. It's…not exactly all ages, but…I think Asterbury musta taken off his PG-13 limiter."

“Speaking of, where is Everyone's Best Friend, anyway?" Valyrym scrunched his muzzle, huffing. “I need him to help give you your present. Just make sure he doesn't send us into any flashbacks or…or…make me step on jellyfish. Or make my damn head explode, again! That hurts, you know."

“He made your head explode?" Vetkol popped his candy cane back into his muzzle. “Damn dude, your story's fucked up."

The Coyote ignored Vetkol for the moment. “Lemme just…Beetlejuice him back over here." He rubbed his hands together. “Eh-ahem. Asterbury, Asterbury, Asterbury!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a low scream echoed through the airport, starting in the distance, getting closer and closer. All at once Asterbury crashed through the ceiling. Debris rained down around everyone, along swirling curtains of dust and snow. Asterbury smashed into the table, shattering it and cratering into the floor beneath. As more bits of broken ceiling and roofing materials cascaded down around them, The Coyote leaned over the broken table to peer into the crater. Asterbury's twisted and battered corpse sat in the center of it. Blood pooled around his head and dribbled between broken teeth. His tail and a single foot twitched, off time from one another.

Valyrym stretched his neck, gazing into the hole. He gave a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God, he's dead."

Asterbury popped up in an instant, his body twisting itself back together, one limb at a time.

“Damn it!" Valyrym snarled, tossing his head. “I jinxed it."

The Coyote watched as Asterbury's broken legs, shattered spine and fractured arms worked themselves back into position with eerie, off-kilter movements. “Ew, he looks like a stop-motion puppet from some canceled Tim Burton movie."

“Oh, good!" Asterbury swirled a finger in the air, and the table fixed itself. He plopped down and sat on the edge of it, feet hanging above the debris-strewn floor. He glanced at Valyrym, Vetkol, and the nearby Vatch. “Summoned right into the convention of V names. Wonderful. Well, at least you've got old A here to clear things up."

Valyrym growled at him. “You're an old A, alright."

Asterbury stared right back. “Even I'm not sure what that means."

The Coyote brushed dust and bits of insulation from his fur. “How the hell did you fall from the ceiling? Weren't you just down the hall at the gate our plane's at?"

“Yeah…" Asterbury scratched at the base of one of his horns. “I thought so, but I dunno how all this, cosmic tethering stuff works. It's your shitty story, you explain it!"

The Coyote snorted, folding his arms. “Yeah. Like that's gonna happen."

Asterbury kicked his feet, gazing around. “You know, I see an awful lot of your characters around here. You sure this isn't some waystation you built in Limbo to stash everyone while you work on other stories?"

“Yes, I'm sure." The Coyote pulled up a chair and sat back down. He pushed another one out for Vetkol with his foot, and the black-furred urd'thin joined them at their table. “I invited everyone from all my stories to the same parties at MFF, so…I guess all their flights got diverted for the same reason ours did."

Vetkol leaned forward, gazing up and down the mostly barrel terminal, filled with people but with few options for food, drink, or anything else. Snow fell beyond the windows. “I dunno, this shitty airport still kinda seems like Limbo to me."

“Nah, I've been to Limbo, smells like almonds and sugar. This place just smells like disappointment. Although…" The Coyote shrugged, giggling. “Well, Wichita, Limbo, is there really a difference?"

“Oooh, take that, Wichita!" Asterbury jabbed a finger in the air. “The claws are really out this year, huh Scavenger? Who's next on your hit list? Look out, Lincoln, Nebraska." Then the gray-furred urd'thin gasped, swiveling towards The Coyote. “Wait a minute. We're stranded in an airport, there's a snowstorm, and there's a lot suspicious characters around?" He folded his arms. “Are we doing Die Hard 2? Because there's no way in hell I'm playing Takagi, again."

“Takagi's not in Die Hard 2, dumbass." The Coyote slapped Asterbury over the back of his head. “You should know that, since you played him last year, and you got murdered."

“Yeah, about a thousand times!" Asterbury rubbed his head, grimacing. “Stupid Easter Bunny had a real hardon for murdering me."

“I mean, doesn't everyone?" Vetkol chomped up his candy cane, and pulled another from his pocket. “You're basically the living incarnation of spam email. You're like an internet scammer, only the scammer might actually have a redeeming quality."

Valyrym rumbled laughter. “You know him well, Urd'thin, for someone who just got here."

Vetkol unwrapped the candy, shrugging. “Yeah, well." He pointed his candy at Asterbury. “Sheath-mold here's basically like gonorrhea. Not everyone's experienced him in person, but everyone hates him. Also, just thinking about him's bad enough to make you burn when you pee."

Valyrym scratched his neck with a wing tip talon. “Is that when gonorrhea does? I thought that was syphilis."

“Have at thee, syphilis!" Somewhere in the distance, a woman dressed like an actual Christmas tree complete with decorations and lights swung a food court tray like a paddle.

Vetkol waved at her from across the room. “Hiiiiiii Esmir!"

Esmir waved the paddle back at him. “Hiiiii, Puppy McWuppy!"

Asterbury waggled his feet. “Is this what your stories are coming to these days? VD jokes? Real sophisticated tale, Scavenger, you must really be scraping the bottom of that dumpster lately."

“Actually," Valyrym said, “that's why we summoned you. We're going to give-"

Asterbury shifted around the table, scooting closer to Vetkol. “So, Coyote. You gonna introduce me to this sexy Black Forest Cake here, or what?"

Vetkol's ears went flat.

The Coyote chuckled. “You know black forest cake is usually brown, right? Or cream colored but covered in chocolate sprinkles? I mean, it's got cherries and stuff too, but-"

“Look, don't overthink my sexy delicious pet names." Asterbury waved off the complaint. “Krek's already my Licorice Muffin, and I couldn't think of any other black-colored deserts. What else was I gonna call him, Seared Steak? Burned Pizza Crust? Besides, I bet he's got something cherry colored somewhere…" He leaned towards the ebony-furred urd'thin, growling playful. “Don't you, Black Forest Cake?"

Vetkol glared at him. “I'll bite."

“Oooh!" Asterbury glanced at the canine, grinning. “There's that expression again, that means he accepts, right?"

“No!" Vetkol snapped his teeth. “I mean, I'll literally bite you if you touch me. In fact, I'll bite off any part of you that so much as ruffles my fur."

“Oh." Asterbury snorted, folding his arms. “Well, that's a real shit on the floor." He turned his attention back to The Coyote. “So, are we doing Die Hard 2 or what?"

“Nah, wrong city and all that. But…on the subject of movie parodies, did you find anything out?" The Coyote folded his arms. “What's the flight situation?"

“Simple." Asterbury snorted, leaning back onto his hands. “There's no way on earth we're going to get out of here tonight." He flattened his ears. “We've have more luck playing pickup sticks with our butt-cheeks than we will getting a flight out of here before daybreak."

The Coyote chuckled and flicked his tail. “Guess we'll find out soon enough."

“Yeah, but by the time the airline cancels this flight." Asterbury pointed at the flight status board. “Which they will, sooner or later. I'd have more of a chance to hook up with Vatch and Vetkol at the same time than you'll have to find a hotel room."

“Are you saying we could be stuck in Wichita?"

“I'm saying we are stuck in Wichita."

“Ooooh, that's what you were gonna do this year." Valyrym thumped his tail, chuckling. “Get us all stuck together in an airport, that may or may not be limbo. Like a metaphor for your creative process on these Christmas stories! Then you were gonna do that movie thing you mentioned…oh!" He thumped his paw against the floor. “Is that what you were just doing?"

“Well, sort of." The Coyote glared at Asterbury. “Dim Bulb over there screwed it up."

“I did most of it." Asterbury threw his hands up. “But you were just quoting dialogue verbatim from a movie none of your readers have seen, anyway. And even if they have, quoting something isn't a parody."

The Coyote rubbed his head, groaning. “Whatever. We're not really gonna do that movie, anyway."

“Well, what are we going to do?" Asterbury swished his tail towards Vetkol. “Can we do him?"

“No!"

“Can I do him?"

Vetkol swatted Asterbury's tail away. “You're just trying to make Vatch jealous."

“What we're doing," Valyrym said, slapping a forepaw against the table for everyone's attention. “Is giving The Coyote his Christmas present." He glanced at Asterbury. “His special Christmas present."

The Coyote gasped, his eyes lighting up. “A healthy body?"

“Oh, geez, uh…way to prepare for a let down there, Scavenger." Asterbury splayed his ears. “Not even I can do that, for you. But…I can give you a very special present. So…" He leaned forward, licking his muzzle. “Unzip, and let's launch this red rocket!"

“Not that!" Valyrym tossed his head. “Gods, you're like a cat in heat. No, the other special present. The one we discussed!"

“Oh, right! That one!" Asterbury stood up and shoved his hands into his Christmas sweater's pockets. “Let's see, where did I put that? Hmm…" He fished around, muttering to himself. “A lego santa, half a reindeer, dildo shaped like Vatch's penis, Vatch's actual penis, Vatch my chainsaw, Universe 73 in a snow globe, Tim Allen's plea deal with Santa's elves…" He glanced at The Coyote, grinning. “He's gonna be stuck there forever, now. Hmm, what else is in here?" He rummaged around some more. “A turtle dove…there used to be three, but this one's a cannibal. Hmm…Vakaal's dance mixtape, the US constitution with a map to Nick Cage's treasure, the US declaration of independence with map to Krek's balls on it, Ernest P Worrel, Vern, a gallon of pure Hungarian Miak…"

Valyrym leaned over, whispering. “Does anyone ever actually get these references?"

The Coyote shrugged. “Fuck if I know."

Asterbury went on. “The original script for Who's On First, both Abbott and Costello, a body pillow with that dirty art of Valar on it, Roberto Benigni's Oscar, a chocolate orange, a fish skeleton for the coyote, and…ah hah! His present."

“I don't want your damn cartoon fish skeleton!"

“Not that. This!" Asterbury pulled a package out of his pocket, and dropped it in front of The Coyote. It was wrapped in dark green and red paper, and strung with bright golden ribbons.

“Oh…thanks…I guess." The Coyote examined the package, then tugged on one of the ribbons. The box fell away, revealing a single, red button sitting upon a black pedestal. Silver lettering encircled the black section.

Skip To The End

The Coyote sucked in a breath, his eyes wide. “You got me a Skip To The End button?"

“Sure as hell did!" Valyrym reached out to pull The Coyote into another big hug. “I told you, you've been working too damn hard on these things. It's about time you treat yourself to…well…not having to do it, anymore."

“And I helped!" Asterbury thumped a thumb against his chest, then huffed. “Damn it. Missed the timing."

“Awww, you're skipping my subplot?" Vetkol sighed, shaking his head. “I was gonna help save Christmas, along with Valyrym's Cousin Valuerim, and Ernest P Worrel! Now I'm just just like all the other Coyote's stories." He glared at the canine. “Unfinished."

Asterbury rolled his eyes. “There's a fresh take no one's heard before." He turned his attention back to The Coyote, nudging the button closer. “You gonna try this thing closer?"

“Damn straight." The Coyote slammed his hand against the button.

A pre-recorded voice, slightly computerized, played from it. “Hey gang, remember that time The Coyote's story ended? We're all best friends!"

*****

The Coyote found himself standing on a rain-soaked hilltop, holding a black umbrella. He gazed around, and realized they were in a cemetery. There was no snowy transition, no glittering lights, no feeling of movement. They were just simply in a new scene. A rather depressing scene, from the looks of it.

“That was anti-climatic." The Coyote swiveled his ears, speaking over the sound of rain pattering against his umbrella. “Usually, when Asterbury hurls us from one scene into another-"

“BLLLRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!" Valyrym projectile vomited egg nog all across the hill side. “HHHRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNGGHHH!"

“Oh, there it is." The Coyote blinked, disgusted yet impressed and slightly baffled by the seemingly never-ending stream of yellow-cream colored puke erupting from the dragon's muzzle. “How…how is that…"

Asterbury nudged The Coyote, whispering. “I filled him up on the way over."

“How the hell did you…never mind, I don't wanna know. So…where's the end of the story?" The Coyote gazed around, shifting his umbrella. “And why did I end it in a cemetery? Oh, who gives a shit, let's just get this over with."

“Right over here, best buddy!" Asterbury strode down the hill in the opposite direction of the dragon's vomit. All the rain bent around him, leaving him completely dry. He came to a stop alongside a mound of fresh, muddy earth. A newly set tombstone loomed over it. “Here we are. It's your grave!"

“What?" The Coyote flattened his ears back. “That's horrible!"

“You're right, you're right." Asterbury nodded, clucking his tongue. “It's not very Christmasy." He clapped his hands twice. A tiny wreath with a single holly berry appeared atop the tombstone. “Better?"

“No!"

“Hmmm…" Asterbury clapped his hands again, and a string of Christmas lights appeared around the edges of the stone. Then more appeared across it, depicting a scene that flashed back and forth between a coyote digging in a dumpster, and the lid falling shut on his head. The coyote's eyes blinked in red X's each time the lid came down. “There! Perfect!"

“I hate you so much sometimes." The Coyote sighed, easing closer.

“What?" Asterbury shrugged. “You died as you lived!"

“You weren't supposed to skip to the end of my story, you idiot!" The Coyote slapped Asterbury over the head. “Just this story."

“Musta been a miscommunication." Asterbury glanced back towards Valyrym, still vomiting.

The Coyote glared at the urd'thin. “You better not be trying to Christmas Carol me. I don't have time to write all that shit."

“On the plus side, I would look badass in a black robe, as the Sexy Ghost of Christmas Past!"

“Knowing you, you'd show up in black lingerie, instead."

“Like I said, Sexy Ghost of Christmas Past." Asterbury leaned up against the tombstone, only to upend the whole thing and topple it over. The sudden movement left the urd'thin off balance, and he stumbled, then flopped onto the pile of earth covering The Coyote's casket. “Whoops. At least I'm not dancing, right?"

“I am not inviting you back next year."

Asterbury rolled back and forth, struggling to get back to his feet. When he made it up, he wobbled around, stepping and stomping all over The Coyote's grave. “Oh, like you're even going to do one of these next year."

The Coyote just glared at him. “I thought you weren't gonna dance?"

“I'm just…uh…getting my grave-legs under me." Asterbury cackled, trodding over the dirt. “Besides, it's not like you've never defiled a fresh grave, I've read An April Funeral!"

“Oh. Right. That." The Coyote moved forward to read the inscription on the stone. “May as well see what this says. Let's see. I died like I lived…"

“Told you!"

“That's not all of it, idiot." The Coyote read the rest of it. “I died like I lived, without any friends, weighing 587 pounds, and bragging to everyone I meet that I wash myself with a rag on a stick." The Coyote blinked, baring his fangs. “What? What the peppermint-frosted shit kind of epitaph is that?!"

“A copywrite-protected one, that's what!" Asterbury hopped back to the grass, shaking a finger at the canine. “I think The Simpsons would like to have a word with you about trademark infringement."

“I sincerely doubt that line is trademarked!" The Coyote grit his teeth. “But just in case, get us to end of the damn story before their lawyers arrive."

“Can do, old buddy!" Asterbury rubbed his hands together. “Hey gang, remember that time The Coyote wrote a Christmas story?"

*****

Top of Form

Snow and silence blanketed the old black dragon as he huddled beneath the skeletal trees. The day was white and cold and made the old beast grumpy. He'd expected warmth, and sunshine. Granted, the old dragon was nearly always grumpy, yet he could not help but think warm sun would have lifted his spirits. Instead, he found himself in the midst of heavily falling snows. The black dragon did not always like the snow anymore for it often reminded him of unpleasant things. Still, there was a time when snow brought him joy, as well. He wished he could simply revel in the snow. Yet he'd expected sunshine and the lack made him irritable.

Bottom of Form

Top of Form

For a little while, the old dragon waited alone. He shook himself now and then to clear the snow that accumulated upon his wings. Though the warmth of his body melted it, the snow was falling faster than it was melting and the barren, leafless trees that scratched at the white sky above him did little to shelter him. Impatient, he paced back and forth, weaving between a few trees, their brown bark now shaded white on one side. For a moment, he considered continuing this unusual journey on his own, yet he feared what might happen should he be witnessed in this place.

Finally, the crunching of boots against snow drew the old dragon's attention. It was a familiar sound in his younger days, but one he had not heard in many years. His frilled ears perked up at the noise, and he flared the spines that decorated his head as he pivoted around on all four paws to face down the human rapidly approaching him. A female, from the look of it. Clad in an indigo cloak and a fur-lined hood that had long since been painted by white by the snow. From inside the hood, familiar green eyes sparkled mischievously at the dragon. The woman soon ran up to throw her arms around the dragon's neck, only for the dragon to step back out of reach with an irritable hiss.

Bottom of Form

Top of Form

"I was told there would be sun," the dragon grumbled, flicking his wings to clear the snow. "Where is the sun, Alia?"

"Don't be grumpy, Valyrym," Alia giggled, snatching one of the dragon's gray-tipped ears in a hand. He yelped a little, and before he could pull away again she hugged his head to her body. "No one should be grumpy at Christmas!"

"I was looking forward to laying in the sun again," the dragon said, pouting a little, then he soon lifted a paw to press it to the young woman's back, returning her hug.

"And now you can look forward to having a snowball fight again, instead."

*****

From outside the story, The Coyote and the others watched the scene unfold. Familiarity tickled at him, but at first, he couldn't quite place it. “This is the ending?" He splayed his ears, watching as Valyrym and Alia made the way out of the little park at the end of the street, and headed towards his house. “Wait, no…No, this is the first Christmas story! Asterbury, you idiot!"

“Yeah, I may have overshot the landing a bit." Asterbury scratched at the base of a horn. "And what the hell's with those lines, and that 'Top of Form' bullshit?"

"Who knows." The Coyote sighed, shaking his head. "SF does really weird things when you copy paste from it, to Word, and back again. That's probably related to the old book mark system. It doesn't matter, though. Will you just get us out of here, already?"

“Where am I supposed to be taking us again?"

“The ending!" The Coyote jabbed him on the nose with a finger. “Of this year's story!"

“Oh, right, right. Gimme a second to sort that out." He shook his head, laughing. “Boy, you really took your Christmas stories seriously back then. Trying to keep Valyrym true to character, making people cry about a faux-reunion…little did they know the real reunion was coming!"

“Asterbury!"

“Oops, did I spoil something you posted four years ago? Tell them to catch up, already." The urd'thin cackled. “Anyway, while you're here…" Asterbury lifted his feet and stomped his boots a few times. Snow crunched beneath them. “Enjoy seeing snow again?"

The Coyote sighed, and followed Beautiful, colorful lights shone upon the snow that smothered everything. Some houses were done up in lines of brilliant white, with others in blue. Many more had lines in flashing rainbow shades. Some had giant peppermints lining their sidewalks, while elsewhere, Rudolph and Santa figures poked out from beneath the white blankets. Everywhere was still, and quiet, as if the snow that steadily fell was absorbing all sound, and gradually, dissolving away existence into pure peacefulness.

“Oooh…." The Coyote tilted his head back, staring up at the falling snow. It dusted his fur, his Christmas story sweater, and dotted his glasses. “Ooh, I remember this! I think…I think this was the Christmas eve it really did snow! It was one of my favorite Christmas memories!" He wandered down the side walk, snow crunching under his boots, happiness in his heart. “I went for a long walk in the snow, with my dad, the evening of Christmas Eve. It was so peaceful, so-"

“Hang on, I think I got it!" Asterbury thumped the Red Button.

“No, wait!" The Coyote whirled around, reaching for it. “I wanna stay-"

The snow swirled, and gusted, and pulled them into another scene. The Coyote snarled, balling up his fists. “Damn it! I wanted to stay there. Now where the hell are we?"

Asterbury tilted the button, examining it. “I think this thing's broken. It only zipped us ahead towards the ending of the same story."

The Coyote folded his arms. “You really suck at this. What am I supposed to do now?"

“May as well see what scene it is, while I get this thing sorted out." Asterbury opened a tiny panel in the ebony platform of the odd device. Inside, stars whirled around. “Hmm…this may take a moment."

Sighing, The Coyote turned back towards the scene. “Watching scenes from my own stories. What is this, a damn clip show? Wait, wait, wait." He glanced at the urd'thin. “First you show me my death, then one of my favorite moments…you are trying to Christmas Carol me! You're doing it backwards, though."

Asterbury waved him off, poking around at the infinite vastness of the cosmos contained in a tiny box with a red button. “Little busy altering your universe, right now."

“Yeah, yeah. Let's see what scene this is."

Top of Form

Together they worked towards their climaxes, Amaleen riding the coyote for all he was worth. Which, he hoped, was a lot. He pulled one of her nipples into his maw, suckling upon it and swirling his tongue. Then he leaned back again, pulling Amaleen forward to give himself more leverage to thrust. As he pulled her towards himself, he worked his hips harder, his tan furred rump rising up off the sofa.

"Your balls are jiggling like a bowl full of Jello," Alia said, watching from her spot sprawled on the floor.

Bottom of Form

Top of Form

"You mean jelly," the coyote giggled. "His belly jiggles like jello, not his balls. And I think you mean jelly, not Jello..."

"Well, whichever it is, your belly is jiggling like it, but so are your balls!" Alia giggled as well. "And I've got a better view of those."

Bottom of Form

“Oh, god! Not this scene!" The Coyote put his muzzle in his hands, groaning. “That's so embarrassing, reading back."

“Bahahaha!" Asterbury glanced over, watching a former version of the coyote bang his own character. “I take back everything I said about you taking these Christmas stories seriously back then. It's like The Revaramek Effect! The comedy was only a smokescreen for crazy, existential mystery…Only here, keeping Valyrym in character for a few pages was only just a smokescreen for you, fucking your own characters!"

“Alright, alright." The Coyote flattened back his ears, trying to drown out his past, embarrassing dialogue. “Move it along."

Asterbury, meanwhile, watched everything unfolding. “Look at you! Really givin' it to her like a champion. And…there goes the knot! Well played, Scavenger, well played!" Asterbury made a fist and held it out. “Go on. Pound it."

“I'm not pounding it." The Coyote shook his head.

“That's not what you said to Amaleen." Asterbury cackled, setting the broken Skip to the End button aside. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, instead.

“You made that joke last year!" The Coyote moved over to stand alongside Asterbury, staring at the phone screen. “What are you doing?"

“Skimming through the rest of this old story." Asterbury licked his nose, scrolling through text. “Oooh, so that's why those sections broke your font and spacing when you copy/pasted them. SF has really weird formatting."

“It really does." He shrugged. “Of course, that might mean the different fonts may not show up in SF, and none of these jokes will land."

“Because nothing cracks up your readers like more formatting and font humor. Besides, you say that as though you think any of your crappy jokes land." Asterbury perked his ears, grinning. “I gotta say, your first Christmas story was so warm, and sweet, almost innocent really…oh. Wait. Now Valyrym's fucking Kylaryn in your back yard." Asterbury clucked his tongue. He scrolled a little further. “And…Alia and Amaleen are playing with…no, kissing his balls at the same time. And…now the ladies are jerking off Voskalar, while Korvarak's banging Nary."

The Coyote flattened his ears back. “I do NOT remember writing that."

Asterbury glanced up at him. “Now you're stripping naked, getting on all fours, and the females are comparing your balls to the various dragons."

The Coyote gulped, rubbing the back of his neck. “That either. That's embarrassing. Just skip that part, will you?"

“Sure!" Asterbury scrolled a little further. “Next up is Alia 'boldly' declaring she wants to ride your muzzle." He rolled his eyes. “Nice extraneous adverb usage, Trash Puppy. And Santa's messy shit, Coyote, this story's half kinks and sex! No wonder your older Christmas stories were way more popular."

“Oh, it is not." The Coyote snatched some egg nog out of the scene, gulping it down.

“Sure it is! This thing's got 58 favs! Last year's story got what, 21?"

The Coyote wiped his muzzle. “Big deal. And I meant it isn't half kinks and sex."

“Do you want me to do a word count and compare kinky, sexy, and naughty scenes with the rest of it?" Asterbury shook a finger. “Remember, all those ball shots count as kinky. Oh, and here we are back to the Amaleen scene." Asterbury nudged him with his elbow. “You old Mary Sue."

“I am not a-"

“You old self-insert fan-fictioner!"

“Is this thing fixed yet?" The Coyote snatched up the Skip To The End button.

“Not quite." Asterbury took it back.

“Well I'm pushing it anyway!" The Coyote yanked it away from him.

Asterbury ripped it out of his grasp. “You're gonna break the damn thing!"

The Coyote grabbed it, trying to pull it free. “Since it didn't work, I'm guessing it's already broken!"

The two of them fought over the device for a few moments longer. With every push and pull, another previous Christmas story scene flashed around them. Krek and Valar and Trouble on the Coyote's bed. The Coyote, Valyrym, and Ayly in The Coyote's car. Ashterbury chain-sawing some deadies. Suddenly, the casing cracked, the button depressed, and everything around them vanished. The Coyote let go, and Asterbury stumbled away. Whiteness surrounded them, still, silent, and empty. The Coyote slowly turned in place, sniffing the air. Hints of almonds tinted it.

“Great." The Coyote sighed, shaking his head. “You kept yanking us back and forth so much you broke existence again."

“It's your fault, Scavenger, you should have just let me Christmas Carol you!" Asterbury paused, tilting his head. “You know, it sounds kinda dirty when I say it like that." He perked his ears, grinning. “Oooh, I wonder if Chocolate Strudel would let me give him the old Christmas Carol when we get back?"

“Ugh." The Coyote shook his head. “Not only no, but Restraining Order No." He walked around a little bit, scrunching his muzzle. “We're either back in Limbo, from Story 4, etc, or we're stuck in something related to that crappy Adam Sandler movie with the magic remote that reminds time."

Asterbury turned the damaged device over in his hands. “Limbo, or Hell, got it. Here's hoping for Limbo."

“Will you just fix that stupid thing? It was supposed to zip me to the end, like…" The Coyote waved a hand. “Six pages ago."

“I'm working on it…" Asterbury trailed off, turning the thing over. “Oh, here's the problem. Forgot to turn it on!"

“What?" The Coyote gave a frustrated growl. “But then how did it…you know what? Nevermind. Just turn the damn thing on."

Asterbury flipped the device's switch to, “ON" and held it out to The Coyote. “Care to do the honors?"

“Thought I already did," The Coyote said, walking over.

“Oh, shut your garbage holster. Last year's story was over 32K words! This one's only half that. By your standards, that IS skipping straight to the end. Ready to get this thing over with?"

“I was ready years ago." The Coyote chuckled, and pushed the button to end the story.

*****

Cosmic forces snatched up The Coyote, and hurtled him through time and space. Where the previous transitions were instant and seamless for everyone not puking up egg nog, this time The Coyote crashed into himself like a meteor streaking through the sky and slamming into a better metaphor. His spirit crashed into his body, and his mind swam, disoriented. People were talking and laughing all around them. He was talking too, but at first, he couldn't understand the words coming out of his mouth. He knew that was a Rush Hour reference, in a vague sense, but that was just about it.

They picked up in the middle of the ending scene. It was set in a giant hotel suite, expanded impossibly to fit every single character from every story he'd ever had. All your old favorites were there, like Captain Two Noses, who had three noses, and Johnny Noseless, whose whole face was a giant nose. Also, Brock Sampson was there, and Patrick Warburton, too. That blue gryphon who got hit in the balls in Pledged in Blood was there, flirting it up with Licorice Muffin. Also, Unnamed Thug was stealing Christmas treats, just in time for Kurt Russel as Santa Claus from that new Netflix movie The Coyote hasn't watched yet to show up and stop the robbery. Let's see…Dr. Rumack was there, wishing everyone good luck, and…

Oh, you want me to do this for real? Even though I've done it in every previous story? Yeah, okay. Why don't you go read those instead? That'd be easier. In fact, if you love random cameos so much, why don't you marry them?

Galvarys was there. “Let us eat ham now," he said, which was totally his catchphrase.

Alvaranox sprawled on a dragon-sized couch. He sighed, and hung his head. “I've probably been dead all along, or some bullshit."

Sunbird strut through the party, buffering everyone with her beautiful golden feathers. She paused, turned around, and smiled directly at every single reader, all at once. “Don't worry. It's all just a simulation, anyway."

Revaramek galivanted about with his mate and his child, because Christmas story reunion. “You see, Christmas Story means," he said, before the author cut him off and moved on.

Arcaydior lay claim to the party, and unlike Revaramek, he had the legal documentation to back up his claims as overlord.

Krek was busy getting a blowjob.

Valar was busy giving Krek a blowjob.

Garnoth and Kaythos were lined up to give Krek blowjobs too, along with that meth head from earlier in the story.

Kylaryn and Ellamyriss were discussing how badass they were, then Nary joined them, and they had a lesbian dragon three way.

Nesh watched and got totally embarrassed about his boner.

Vakaal cranked up the tunes and got the dance party started.

Anyone not mentioned was probably there too, having fun, unless they were left out just to spite you.

Everyone else was gathered around Valyrym's cousin Roy, a totally radical black dragon with extreme red highlights and a crazy attitude and a backwards hat, stood in the middle of the newly dubbed Christmas Gang. They were all discussing this year's Christmas story, 74,000 words of which were skipped over thanks to the Skip To The End Button.

Roy shook his head in disbelief. “I still can't believe Santa Tim Allen turned out to be this year's surprise villain."

The Coyote ran his hands back over his ears. “And I still can't believe he used that drugged egg nog to knock everyone out, and put us all into that Christmas-themed Saw maze, hidden inside the Wichita airport!"

“Well, he does have reason to hate The Coyote." Valyrym stretched his neck. “What with framing him in a previous story, and all. But what I really can't believe is that instead of a jigsaw clown on a tricycle, he used a little Tiny Tim puppet with crutches. That's just bad taste."

“Not to mention slow!" Asterbury slapped the back of his hand against his other palm. “It took that stupid puppet an hour just to catch up with us each time we finished another room."

Amaleen glared at him. “Now that's bad taste."

The Coyote patted Valyrym's shoulder. “I still I can't believe he made Valyrym swim through that Olympic sized pool filled with jello made outta reindeer piss!"

Vatch folded his arms. “And Vatch not believe Santa Asterbury eat Olympic pool full of reindeer piss jello!"

“Right…" Vetkol smirked at Asterbury. “Made him."

“Aaaannyway." Asterbury turned to smile at the black furred urd'thin, and black and red dragon. “It's a good thing Vetkol and Valyrym's cousins Roy and Ding-Ding showed up just in time to rescue us from that Super Meat Boy level Santa put us all in."

The Coyote nodded his agreement. “They really saved our jolly holiday asses! And couldn't believe Vetkol and Roy could jump so far! Let alone so precisely."

Amaleen hung her head. “Shame about Cousin Ding-Ding, though."

Everyone else else hung their heads, too. The Coyote wiped a tear from his eye. “Right into the meat grinder."

Roy whined and sniffled. “Totally not radical, dudes. Totally not radical."

Everyone hugged cousin Roy. “Thanks for saving us, Cousin Roy!"

“Any time!" Cousin Roy hugged them all back, somehow. “After all, aren't we all the best of friends?"

Asterbury fumed at Cousin Roy for stealing, and butchering, his line.

“It's been far out, dudes, but time for me to hit the waves!" Cousin Roy stepped away from the group, making sure his surfboard was strapped between his wings. “Stay far out, broskis! And now, back to my home planet."

On the way home, Cousin Roy tripped and fell into a meat grinder.

“So," The Coyote said, trying to move the scene forward. “What are we all thankful for this year?"

“I'm thankful you keep writing these stupid stories." Valyrym bumped The Coyote with his muzzle. “It's the only screen time most of us get anymore!"

The Coyote glared at him. “Why, I oughta…"

“Nyuck Nyuck Nyuck!"

“And I'm thankful Valyrym didn't step on any jelly fish this year." Amaleen patted Valyrym's foreleg. “And that no one got brutally murdered." She shot The Coyote a glare. “For once."

“What about me?" Asterbury huffed and folded his arms. “I fell through that damn ceiling and broke my everything."

“Oh, you don't count." Amaleen rolled her eyes. “But these things have got so much violence and bloodshed in them lately we can't even include poor Ayly in half the scenes!"

Asterbury smirked at her. “You'd rather we go back to having scenes where The Coyote is railing you? Not sure that's really hatchling appropriate, either."

"Meanwhile," Vatch said, inserting himself into the scene. "Vatch learn he pansexual power top!"

Amaleen stared at him. "I...don't that means what you think it means."

Vatch grabbed Asterbury by an ear, growling. "You suck Vatch now, Bitch!"

"Yissirr, Mr. V!" Asterbury knelt down.

“I…well…" Amaleen turned away, sighing. “At least no one's head exploded this year."

“That's what I forgot to do!" Asterbury snapped his fingers, jumping back to his feet. “Hey gang, remember that time Valyrym's head exploded?"

“Oh, shit," Valyrym said.

Suddenly, Valyrym's head exploded.

“Now that's what I call, a Bob's Burgers!" Asterbury said, cackling. “We're all best friends!"

“No, Asterbury, that's a bad Asterbury!" The Coyote bapped Asterbury on the muzzle.

The urd'thin whimpered and whined like a dog being disciplined, his his jaw trembling.

The Coyote grasped him, and rubbed his nose in Valyrym's splattered brains and gore. “See what you did? Look at the mess you mad! Bad Asterbury!"

“Was that a South Park reference?" Amaleen scooped up the exploded pieces of dragon brain and skull, returning to Valyrym's ruined neck.

“Not…exactly." The Coyote waved his hand, and Valyrym was whole once again.

The dragon shook himself, groaning. He put a paw beneath a horn. “Owww. That hurts, you know. Why does my head always have to explode in these things? Why can't Asterbury's head explode sometime?"

“Actually." The Coyote turned to smile at Asterbury. “That's a good point. Hey gang! Remember that time Asterbury's head exploded?"

“Oh, shit," Asterbury said.

Suddenly, Asterbury's head exploded.

The Coyote cackled. “We're all best friends!"

Everyone laughed and hugged, because they were all best friends. Except for Asterbury, who was dead.

“Come on," The Coyote said, turning back to all his other characters. “Let's go enjoy the party before he comes back to life."

*****

A little while later, The Coyote stood alone in an empty room with his head leaned against the hotel window. The party was still roaring, but his attention was elsewhere. Outside, it was gently snowing. He put a hand against the cold glass, sighing. If only it would snow at home, this year. But there would be no such luck. Already, they were predicting another unseasonably warm Christmas, followed by heavy rain and severe storms. The weather was going to be about as Un-Christmasy as it got.

“At least I got to see some snow, this year." He smiled to himself, wistful, watching the snow dust the world in peaceful whiteness. “Better than nothing."

Valyrym's voice drifted into the empty room. “You don't seem very happy to be at your party, Coyote.

The Coyote glanced back, waving at the dragon. “Party scene, anyway. Think it's more for you all than for me, these days."

“I see." Valyrym took a few slow steps into the room. “Isn't this where you wanted to end it?"

“Ending the Christmas story with a big party scene is tradition, isn't it?" The Coyote shrugged, and leaned his head against the windowpane again. His breath fogged it. “So it's what I planned. But…but then I saw all that snow, a few scenes ago." He closed his eyes, his throat tightening up. “And I remembered that Christmas Eve, when it really did snow, and…I remembered how magical it was. How…how utterly peaceful, and careful, and…and how happy I was, for a just a little while." The Coyote sniffed, licking his nose. “And then I didn't want to leave, anymore. But it was too late, and the moment was gone." He shook his head, sighing. “The moment's always gone. And…you never know if you'll get another one."

“I know that, all too well, I think." The old dragon settled alongside the canine, gently rubbing his back. “It's so easy to lose track of the moment, and let it pass you by. And then all you're left with is uncertainty. Will it snow again, someday? Will…will you see another Christmas? Will you see…many Christmases? We…we can't know what the future holds, Coyote, you taught me that, all the way back in the first couple stories. All we can do is…is enjoy the moment, while it's here. To do whatever it takes to find our joy, and cling to it, as long as possible."

“I know." The Coyote sniffled again, leaning his head against Valyrym's scales. The old dragon wrapped a foreleg around him in tender hug, and The Coyote snuggled up against him. “I know. It was just…when I saw all that snow, when I remembered that moment, I didn't want to go back to real life, anymore. I…I didn't want to go back to all the fear, and the pain, all the uncertainty." He wiped his eyes, his tail going limp. “It just…it scares me sometimes, you know?"

“I know, Coyote." Valyrym held him tightly, nuzzling his ears. “I wish there was more I could do to comfort you, to…to prove to you it'll be alright. To make it alright. But I'm just…"

The Coyote managed a smile. “Some dragon, in my head."

Valyrym snorted. “Well, I'd like to think I'm not just some dragon in your head. I'd like to think I'm the dragon in your head."

“Yeah, I guess you are." The Coyote stroked his scales, sighing. “I don't…I don't wanna go back to reality this year, Val. It's…funny. Sometimes I feel like I've already done too many of this silly things, like I don't want to do this anymore. But…other times, I cling to it, to the escape of it, to the laughter and the snowfall it brings, in my head. I…I know there's no joy without pain, but…right now, this year, I just want the joy."

“Don't we all." Valyrym hugged The Coyote tight, then glanced towards the door. “You know, Asterbury and I had one other Christmas present idea for you, this year."

The Coyote slowly eased away. “So he's not perma-dead, huh?"

“Please." Asterbury leaned against the doorframe, dressed in his bright crimson santa robe. “Like you'd ever be so lucky." He held out his hand, smiling at The Coyote. “Come here. Take my hand, you scruffy old 'yote."

“Go on." Valyrym gently nudged The Coyote towards Asterbury. “I'd do it myself, but I haven't got his powers. Someone decided to make him the god, and me the mortal. Thanks a lot."

The Coyote took a few slow steps towards Asterbury. “You want me to take your hand?"

“It's the only way this works." He held it open, waiting.

“If this is some kind of prank, or shitty joke, I swear to Rudoph's double jingle bells, that I'm not ever writing you into one of these stories again."

“The way I hear it told, you might not ever write one of these stories again." Asterbury waggled his fingers. “We doing this, or not?"

“I talk a big game, but…I think we all know I'll be dashing myself against the Christmas rocks again next year, anyway." The Coyote gently grasped Asterbury's hand.

Asterbury smiled at him, and this time, his voice was gentle, warm, and reverent. “Hey, gang." He slowly curled his fingers around The Coyote's. “Remember that time it snowed on Christmas Eve?"

The Coyote 's eyes widened. He sucked in a breath, and in a cold rush, the whole world went white. The Coyote found himself in a little forested park, down the street from his house. Silence and snowfall smothered the world in perfect peace. His breath came out in steaming clouds. Deep snow crunched beneath his shoes when he took a few steps towards the distant street. A cold breeze ruffled his fur.

“Is…is this…? Are we back in the first Christmas story?" He turned around, only to find Valyrym and Asterbury watching him through a hole in the world, a window back into the hotel room where he'd left them. “What are you…?"

“This is just for you, Coyote." Asterbury smiled, leaning up against the dragon. “We…we know it's been a tough December for you, with fear, and sadness. And we know you've been finding your joy, wherever you can, but…it's a been a fight for you, this year. It hasn't felt like Christmas. Valyrym and I, we wanted to bring you some happiness, in the only way we know how. I found one of your favorite Christmas memories, and I saw how happy it made you. So I put you back in it, for a while. But it's not the story, it's your memory of that night. And we weren't there with you. It was perfect just the way it was."

The Coyote gazed around. In the distance, lights of blue and white shimmered on fresh snow. Reindeer displays sat frozen in playful poses. Somewhere, back in his house, his family was preparing their traditional Christmas Eve snack food feast. When it was over, they'd all go walk together in the snow, for a while. Snow that would last long past Christmas.

He turned towards his friends, again. “So…I'm in a memory?" The Coyote gave an incredulous laugh. “You really did Christmas Carol me."

Asterbury gave a slow nod, smiling. “You gave me the idea, actually. I knew the snow would make you smile, and I hope it makes it feel a little more like Christmas.

“It does." The Coyote rubbed his arms, ruffling up his fur. They were so delightfully cold. “Are you sure I'm not just…losing my mind? Or…or…lost in some dream?"

Asterbury shrugged. “Well…gray area."

Valyrym only smiled at him. “As long as you're happy, does it matter?"

“I guess not." The Coyote sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “How…how long can I stay here?" He took a step towards his friends. “Please, I…I don't wanna go back! At least, not yet. Just let me a stay a while?"

“You can stay as long as you like, Coyote." Asterbury smiled, waving him onwards. “Now…go on. You've got snow to frolic in, and pictures to paint in it. You've got a family waiting for you, here, and in reality. And I know they'll make you Christmas bright. They always do. So go to them, Scavenger."

“Thank you." The Coyote turned away, laughing. “Thank you!"

Valyrym called out after him. “Merry Christmas, Coyote!"

“Merry Christmas!" The Coyote hurried through the falling snow, heading for home, and onwards onto Christmas.

The snow fell, silent.

Ears up.

Tail wags.

*****

Thank you ever so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this year's crazy tale, and I hope it brought you plenty of laughs and at least a little joy. Maybe for a few of you, reading one of these insane stories has become a tradition, just like writing one is for me. I complain a lot, but I really do love my traditions, and this is one of them.

So thank you, from the very bottom of silly scavenger heart, for making me part of your holiday traditions, and for being a part of mine.

It means the world.

May peace, happiness, love and joy be upon you all.