FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Ears up.

Tail wags.

*****

The Coyote was already drunk when December arrived. When the clock struck midnight, and the calendar rolled over to December 1st, he was seated in the hotel bar of Midwest FurFest. At midnight, The Coyote was drinking a hideously blue abomination, and regretting it immensely. The drink, that is, not the fact he was in a bar in midnight, nor the fact he was attending the largest furry convention of all time with some of his best friends. No, there was nothing in the world he would trade those experiences for. But the drink?

The drink was hot garbage. Or at least, cold, raging blue garbage, given that it was served over ice.

“The hell is that?" A white dragon, seated nearby, stared down at the disgustingly off-blue concoction.

“It's called Paw Prints." The Coyote lifted it, sniffed it, and took another drink. The sweet, yet rotten taste left him scrunching his muzzle. “It sounded way better than it tastes. It's got-"

*****

“This story sucks, Coyote."

The Coyote paused in his writing. He swiveled his chair around to gaze at the lazy black dragon sprawled on his bed. “Val. For the last time. It's already the 11th. I've got to write something for Christmas, I may as well start with MFF."

Valyrym cocked his head, staring at the canine. The dragon's tail and a single wing both hung off the bed. He waved a blue-tinged paw. “That part's fine." The dragon flattened back his spines, hissing. “But the way you're writing it is terrible."

The Coyote folded his arms. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

“It means…" Valyrym thumped his spined tail against the carpeted floor. “You're been playing far too much Divinity. It sounds like it's been told in the voice of a drunken fairy tale narrator far too satisfied with his own so-called charms." The dragon tossed his head, affecting a higher pitched voice, with a accent laden with faux-nobility. “The drink, that is!" He thrust an unsheathed claw towards the dragon. “That's your writing, right now. Like you're trying to cram some irreverent holiday fairy tale shit into your Christmas story." Valyrym cocked his head, snorting. “Is that what you're doing? Because you're bad at it."

With a sigh, The Coyote swiveled back to his computer. “That's just how it came out. Besides, it's just one scene, and…it needs a little different feel, I thought."

“And what's with these italics?" The dragon shuddered, his scales clicking together.

“I'm trying to separate this scene with us talking about the story, from the rest of the story."

_ “It's artificial separation, and it's terrible. Besides." Valyrym rolled across the coyote's bed, hissing. “Being written in italics make me feel like I'm stuck on a hillside, leaning over and trying not to fall."_

The Coyote rubbed his muzzle, chuckling. “One of these days, I'm gonna stop inviting you here for Christmas. Now shut up so I can finish this scene."

*****

Upon the recommencement of the opening scene, The Coyote picked up where he left off.

“It's called Paw Prints." The Coyote lifted it, sniffed it, and took another drink. The sweet, yet rotten taste left him scrunching his muzzle. “It sounded way better than it tastes. It's got rum, blue curacao, and pineapple juice. Only…it mostly just tastes like rotten pineapple juice. I should have ordered the Big Bad Wolf."

“Hey, if you want a Big Bad Wolf, I'm sure we can find you one here."

The Coyote laughed, and shook his head. He took another cringe-inducing sip, then set his drink back on the bar table. “Not only do I not need a wolf like that, but even if I was into that, I sure as hell wouldn't want one I just met."

The white dragon took a long drink of his own beer, and then smirked. “What about a female wolf, who'd always wanted to teach a male coyote a lesson, and grab him by his-"

*****

“Wait, I'm confused."

The Coyote grit his teeth. “Didn't I tell you to shut up, Valyrym?"

“So, you're at a furry convention in that scene, right?"

“Yes? It's based on how I really started December."

“Oh, I get that part. But…shouldn't you be…The Writer, in that scene?"

“Huh?" The Coyote swiveled back around to stare at the dragon again.

“You did that last year, right?" Valyrym circled his paw. “You started with a scene about you and I going to the hospital for your infusion, then you cut to a scene about The Writer enjoying the furry con."

“Yeah, well…" The Coyote scratched a tan-furred ear. “Same thing this year. Had my IV day right before I left for the con. Just didn't wanna repeat the same scene."

“And yet, you still have a scene about the convention. It's alright if you're out of ideas, but at least be consistent."

“I'm not out of ideas, And what do you mean, consistent?"

“Last year, you were The Writer at the con, and now you're The Coyote?"

The Coyote turned back to his computer, shrugging. “I don't feel like being The Writer."

“Well, that's fine, but…" The bed creaked as Valyrym shifted his ponderous weight. “I'm confused."

“That's just because you're old." The Coyote smirked to himself. “Do you remember where you are? Your name is Valyrym. Vah-Leer-Rum."

“Oh, lick my sugar plums, Scavenger." Valyrym slapped a paw against the mattress. “I'm confused about how this furry convention works if you're already a coyote. If you're all furries, already, what's the convention for?"

“You're definitely overthinking this."

“And why would anyone need costumes? Do you just wear fursuits over your actual fur, then? Pretend to be other species? As a coyote, would you wear a sheep fursuit, in this scenario?"

The Coyote rubbed his temples, groaning. “You're giving me a headache."

“Oh! I've got it." He clapped his paws together. “If humans wear fursuits to furry cons, do furries wear human suits to human conventions? Did you and your friends drape yourself in some human's skin?"

“That's just creepy." The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. “And didn't you make the same jokes last year?"

“Yes, because you told the same boring story last year!"

The Coyote glared at the dragon over his shoulder. “You keep that up, and I'm going to put you on mute."

“I'm not a television. Or someone on your twitter timeline. You can't mute me." Valyrym cocked his head, smirking. “And isn't your usual running joke in these Christmas tales that you're going to make me incontinent?"

“Not when you're laying on my bed."

*****

Upon the second recommencement of the opening scene, The Coyote decided to return to his usual summation of the best parts of his real life.

For one, long, wonderful weekend, The Coyote escaped from all the stress, the worries, and all the fears of reality. For a little while, he forgot about the ups and downs of blood count numbers, the aches and pains of a body constantly at war with itself, put aside the doctors and the needles and all the possible terrors of the future, and simply…

Lived.

Ears perk.

Tail wags.

It wasn't as cold this year as the previous MFF, but it hardly mattered to The Coyote. Many of his best friends were there, gryphons and dragons and wolves and bats and rats. There were Christmas trees and myriad shining lights everywhere he looked. Ribbons adorned airports, and lighted hollies wreathed walls and deer antlers alike. For everything was ready for Christmas, from the airports he traveled through, to the hotels he visited, to all the thousands of adorable fursuits wandering the halls and convention centers.

There was no snow outside this year, but in The Coyote's head, the snow never stopped falling.

He visited a new brewery with his friends, and cheered on his beloved Cowboys later that night. They won, at last, and though they hadn't been so good this year, he roared just as loud when victory finally returned. They made plans to hit downtown this year, and just like last year, were too busy drinking and having fun to actually get there. After all, there were restaurants to be visited, rooms to be partied in, and rare beers to be tasted.

He walked mile upon mile through mazelike walkways between hotels and convention center, he browsed countless dealers, and picked up a few bits of art, stickers, and a book. For a little while, he snuggled someone special, and when they had to leave, he tried not to cry too hard. When it was his turn to be the one leaving, he again tried not to cry, as always, with varying levels of success.

No joy without sorrow.

No sorrow without joy.

A final beer at the airport to toast another amazing weekend, spent with his favorite people.

And then a plane to carry him home, to rest a while, and dream of the day he could do it all again.

*****

JINGLE BELL,

JINGLE BELL,

JINGLE BELL ROCK!

The song kicked on so loudly and so suddenly that it almost shook the coyote out of his bed. He bolted upright, bed shaking, walls vibrating around him. “What the triple shit?"

JINGLE BELLS SWING,

AND JINGLE BELLS RING!

The Coyote flattened his ears back in vain attempt to save whatever was left of his surely perforated eardrums. He clapped his hands over his pinned ears, then stepped out of bed and headed towards the door on wobbly legs. His stomach flip-flopped, and left him feeling somehow both nauseas, and oddly empty, as if the tiniest part of him was missing. For a moment, he half-wondered if he was hungover, but he hadn't been drinking lately.

Since he wasn't dressed, his only intention was to crack the door open and yell until someone turned the damn music down. After that, he planned to go back to sleep. Somehow, he suspected it had to be Valyrym, or Krek. If so, they were early, but those two were also obnoxious enough to turn up Christmas music that loudly the moment they arrived. Just as The Coyote reached the door, it flew open, and an even louder wave of sound blasted forth, so intense it left him stumbling backwards.

SNOWING, AND BLOWING,

UP BUSHELS OF FUN!

Someone stood in the doorway, but without his glasses, The Coyote could only make out a vaguely gray, red-clothed silhouette. The Coyote growled. “Turn down the music!"

The only reply was the continuation of the song.

NOW THE JINGLE HOP!

HAS BEGUN!

With the door open, the volume was now so intense it left his whole room shaking. Dragon figurines fell off his desk. His computer monitor toppled to the floor. Books shuddered in their shelves. A few tomes spilled out onto the ground. Even his bones felt as if they were constantly vibrating, rattling inside his skin.

The Coyote grit his teeth, then took a deep breath, and screamed his words as loud as he could. “TURN! DOWN! THE!" The music stopped completely just in time to leave him shouting into still music. “MUSIC!"

“Well, you don't have to shout." The gratingly smarmy voice was instantly familiar. “Merry Christmas to you too, you mangy dumpster diver."

“God damn it, Asterbury." The Coyote lowered his hands, and cautiously lifted his ears. He glared down at the urd'thin's bleary, red-wreathed form. “What the hell are you doing here?"

“You invited me, of course!" Asterbury bounced on his toes, twisted glee in his voice. “You invite everyone to your Christmas parties these days."

“Huh…pretty sure I told Amaleen to make sure your invitation got lost in the mail, this year."

“Oh please, you know you always want your best friend Asterbury around!" The urd'thin strode forward, waving a hand in a grand flourish. “Why, remember the time we-"

The Coyote lashed out and snatched Asterbury's muzzle, holding it shut. “No! No flashbacks to things that didn't happen."

Asterbury held up a hand, working it like a puppet. Somehow, his voice came from the puppet-hand, clear and strong. “We're all best friends!"

“Ugh." The Coyote released him with a low sigh. “I seriously hate you sometimes."

Asterbury waved him off. “Of course you don't. I'm the Christmas gift that just keeps giving."

“You're the Christmas fruitcake that's been rotting in the sun since last year."

Asterbury tilted his head, staring up at The Coyote. “You know, you were better at this last time."

“I just woke up! Cut me some slack, candy-cane dick."

“That's more like it! But speaking of…" Asterbury put a hand to the side of his muzzle, leaning in. “I feel its only fair to warn you, your entire Pepperidge Farm is showing."

“What?" The Coyote glanced down, realizing anew that he was naked. “Damn it!" He turned away, making sure his bushy tail smacked Asterbury in the face. “I'm gonna take a shower."

“Gotta get some hands-on time with the old summer sausage, huh?" Asterbury batted the canine's tail away, then folded his arms, grinning. “Guess it really gets you going, being naked in front of your old pal Asterbury."

“Hardly." The Coyote picked up his glasses and perched them on his muzzle, hooking their loops behind his ears. “I think when I get back to Rev, I'm gonna rename you Boner Killer." He glared at Asterbury a moment. The urd'thin's pale gray fur was immaculately groomed and brushed. A few red and golden ribbons were woven in around his neck. He wore a velvety red Santa robe, belted around the middle. “Is that the same robe you wore last year?"

“It's a classic!" Asterbury perked his ears, smiling. “Besides, I washed it. I think." He shrugged, then sniffed at his own robe. “Doesn't even smell that much like zombie elf blood anymore."

“Zombie elf…?" The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. “Oh, god, that's right."

“Yeah, remember?" Asterbury flourished both hands, then spread them apart. A poster appeared between them, depicting Asterbury with a chainsaw on his arm, slicing an undead reindeer in half. “We did the Evil Dead last year!"

“No, we didn't!" The Coyote snatched the poster away and crumpled it up. “We did…uh…what stupid thing did I call it?"

“The Coyote Vs the Trademark Infringement Lawsuit?"

“No, that's what I was trying to avoid." The Coyote tossed the crumpled poster at Asterbury, bouncing it off his muzzle. He went to his computer and pulled up last year's story, scanning through it. “Oh, here it is…The Vile Undead."

“Yeah, that was the shitty name you pulled out of the trashcan." Asterbury picked up the poster, smoothing it out. Now, it had a different image on it. Everyone was hugging Asterbury, atop a castle made out of ice and candy. An ocean of dead elves, reindeer, and other slaughtered holiday icons stretched out behind them across bloodstained snows. In one corner, Santa Claus lay dead from a shot to the head. In another corner, furious elves in green armor were arresting a very confused looking Tim Allen. “Hey Gang! Remember that time we framed Tim Allen for Santa's murder?"

*****

“First!" Asterbury held up a finger. “We've got to do something about Santa."

“Oh...Right." The Coyote handed Asterbury back the minigun, and the urd'thin returned it to his robe. Along with his friends, The Coyote hurried back inside the control room. He stood over Santa's body a moment, then glanced at Asterbury. “Tim Allen?"

“Tim Allen." Asterbury rubbed his hands, and cleared his throat with a growl. “Hey gang! Remember that time Tim Allen appeared out of nowhere?"

Just as Asterbury stepped back, a very confused looking Tim Allen appeared from out of nowhere. He was dressed in Christmas pajamas, red with golden Christmas tree silhouettes on them. Shaving cream covered half his face, and a razor hung from his hands. He blinked, turned a slow circle, eyes widening.

“What the fuck?" He stepped back towards Santa's body.

Asterbury slapped Santa's candy pistol into Tim Allen's free hand. “Here, hold onto this for a moment."

“Okay, Tim Allen..." The Coyote held his hands up in front of him. “You've played Santa three times, so now we need you to-"

The doors burst open, and a squadron of armored elves burst in just in time to see Tim Allen, standing over Santa's body, holding the gun that killed him. “He killed Santa!"

The Coyote blinked, stepping away as the elves swarmed and tackled Tim Allen. “...Be framed for Santa's murder, apparently."

Asterbury whispered to everyone else, while the elves pummeled Tim Allen with their tiny fists and feet. “I think we should go. Follow me!"

*****

The Coyote groaned, rubbing his head just between his ears. “What did I tell you about flashing back to things?"

“You said no flashing back to things that didn't happen!" Asterbury tapped the poster with a finger. “And the Tim Allen thing did happen." The urd'thin smirked up at the canine. “God, how drunk were you when you wrote that?"

“Probably very." The Coyote snatched the poster away once more, and crumpled it up into a tight little ball. “You do that again, and I'm gonna choke you to death with this."

“But we're all best friends!" Asterbury smiled, then clapped his hands. “No, wait, I got a better one. Say your line again."

The Coyote folded his arms. “No."

“So you're into choking, huh?" Asterbury began to undo his robe. “Lemme just get my belt off…"

“I said no."

“Ah, but that's not the safe word, is it?"

The Coyote glared down at the urd'thin. “If that robe opens, I'm kicking you in the balls."

Asterbury paused, blinked, and then snorted. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

The Coyote's jaw dropped. “The fuck?"

“My, my, Coyote, what would Ms. Poppins think if she heard such language?"

“I dunno, but I think she'd probably shove that umbrella right up your a-"

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"

The Coyote dragged a hand down his muzzle, growling. “Why do you keep saying that?"

“It's my safe word!"

“That's it. We're done here." The Coyote walked across the room, to where he'd laid out some clean clothes the night before. He bent over to pick them up. “When I'm out of the shower, I expect you to be gone."

“Are you sure? The way you're showing off your fuzzy gum drops right now makes me think you want some company in the shower."

The Coyote bolted upright. “Stop looking at my damn balls." He tossed his clothes over his shoulder, sighing. His tail drooped. “Since you're obviously not going to leave, at least go make yourself useful, or something."

“Make myself useful, huh?" The urd'thin rubbed his hands together. “Can do, old buddy!"

“By which I mean something mundane." The Coyote shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Make sure we have enough treats and egg nog, or make sure Krek's not drinking it all. Not whatever horrible scheme I can only assume you're concocting."

“Wouldn't dream of a scheme!" Asterbury smiled, tilting his head. “Hey, that rhymed. Don't you have a gnoll in a new story that loves rhymes? Yanno, story #17 that no one's gonna bother reading?" He reached into his robe, and pulled out a candy cane the size of the Coyote's fore arm, then gave it a long, slow, provocative lick. “Ya sure you don't want that company? Bet I can make your snow melt. No, wait, better." He repeated his lick, tongue flicking off the end of the candy. “Bet I can get you to frost my-"

“Jesus, what are you, on a rising quota? Every year you've got to get more and more obnoxious with your innuendo?"

“Better my innuendo than all your ridiculous pop culture references last year, that no one ever got." Asterbury waved the candy cane around. “Oh, I'm going to reference Rick and Morty and The Venture Brothers! I'm soooo clever, I watch Adult Swim." Asterbury chomped the end of the candy cane off. “So do most of the world's douchebag's, big deal!"

“Whatever." The coyote walked to the adjoining bathroom, and opened the door. He glanced back again. “Just remember. No schemes."

“Wouldn't dream of-"

“You pull any of that shit this year, and you're gettin' kicked right in the-"

“Supercalifragilis-"

“Oh, shut the fuck up!"

*****

Between scenes, The Writer had two trips to the hospital. One for his IV meds, and another for a follow up visit with the doctor. The trips left him a little extra tried, and a little extra cranky. Meanwhile, the repeal of net neutrality, along with his usual constant fears of losing access to his medication and health treatments, left him in a dark, unpleasant mood. He didn't really want to write. Nor did The Writer feel like working on something so silly, and nonsensical.

Yet, it was his favorite month of the year, even if a lot of unpleasant things happened lately. And everyone deserved a little silliness in their lives, a little joy around the holidays to make them smile, and laugh.

So The Writer pushed on.

Ears up.

*****

The Coyote lathered up his bushy fur with fresh-scented soaps and shampoos. He wriggled around in the hot water, making sure every inch of fur was rinsed nice and clean. When he turned the water off, he shook himself, then wrung the access water out of his sodden tail while still in the tub. He pulled the curtain back, and stepped out onto soggy towels. The Coyote scowled. His old shower curtain was full of holes, and seemed to serve little purpose now beyond funneling water to specific places on the floor. Sooner or later he had to get that replaced.

He popped open the bathroom door, peeking into his room to make sure it was empty. Satisfied that it was, he wrapped himself in dry towels, then slipped into the room and plopped into his desk chair. The Coyote rubbed his fur dry, scrolling through his Twitter, and his telegram group chats, greeted a few friends, and sent Asterbury a number of obscene gifs.

Glancing at his phone, The Coyote spotted a message from Amaleen, along with an attached image. Ever since he'd given her a phone during her last few visits, she'd grown quite adept with it, and stayed in contact with him on behalf of the rest of his characters. The message was something about a beach vacation, but he decided against clicking it for the moment. He got out of the chair and hung up his towels, muttering under his breath.

“If there's a picture of Valyrym stepping on a jellyfish…"

The Coyote shook his head, laughing. He stepped into his boxers, which for the purposes of this story were suddenly covered in adorable cartoon dragons, and had a loop across the back for his tail. He pulled his jeans on, complete with a similar loop, and then tugged on a clean t-shirt. He'd been to a King Crimson concert recently, and so selected that to be his shirt for this year's story, at least for the moment.

As he dressed, that strange, unsettled, emptiness returned to him. The Coyote scowled, holding his belly. It was an odd sensation, akin in a way to extreme anxiety, and yet it was not fear that left a hole inside him. Even with all his myriad worries and terrors, this felt different. This was as if he was actually missing some part of himself, something he never even realized was there until, all at once, it was gone.

The feeling faded as quickly as it came, and The Coyote was happy to see it go. On the way out of the room, he picked up his phone, and glanced it at again. He was going to check the message from Amaleen, but new telegram notifications drew his attention, instead. Neither of them were from people he knew. The first was from someone simply named EB, with an icon depicting silhouetted and oversized ears. The message simply read, “Surrender." The second was from an account that was already deleted. It read, “See you soon, Scavenger." It also had a picture, an up-close shot of a black gryphon's testicles.

The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. “Fuck you too, Krek."

He was tempted to reply to Amaleen's message and tell her to kick Krek in the nuts for him, but decided to wait. After all, it would be a lot more fun if he got to see her kick the gryphon in person, once they both arrived for the party. He tucked his phone into his pocket, and then left his room.

A quick glance up and down the hallway revealed that no one had yet posted any 'Have you seen this story?' posters for DitD 11. Which was good, though once Valyrym arrived he wasn't so sure the old dragon wouldn't start taping a few up himself. As long as the comments didn't grow too overwhelming, he'd resist the urge to randomly post massive spoilers. If only he could get more of his DitD readers to tide themselves over by reading Revaramek, and-

“Yes, I'm sure all your many readers just can't wait to lose themselves completely in the baffling mind-labyrinth that spawned me!" Asterbury's voice carried up the stairs, followed by a cackle. “I know! Why don't you throw in a dozen or so gratuitous human and dragon sex scenes? That'll lure 'em in."

“Are you still here?" The Coyote made his way down the stairs. “Pretty sure I told you to leave."

“And I'm pretty sure I re-wrote that part while you were in the shower."

“You did what?"

“I threw in that bit about, making myself useful. So here I am, doing just that!" Asterbury was seated at the dining room table. A messy sprawl of wrapping paper, bows, ribbons, boxes, and labels smothered it. A few notebooks covered in scribbled lines of dialogue and description rested atop everything else, alongside a few sketched images. “Don't you worry, Coyote, we're gonna make this the best damn Christmas story ever."

“Oh, fuck me." The Coyote pressed his muzzle into his paws, groaning.

“I've got four scenes outlined for just that!" Asterbury pushed one of the notebooks across the table. “Since it worked out so well in your first tale. Let's see…" He scanned the first page. “This one's about you and Chocolate Strudel."

“There's no way I'm doing anything like that with Vatch."

“No, you're right." Asterbury turned the page. “That scene's about me and the strudel. But this one here, this is you and Amaleen…oh no, wait, that's me."

The Coyote threw his hands up. “Hell. No. You and I not doing that."

“Actually, you're not in that scene at all." Asterbury flipped through page after page of notes and outlined text. “Or this one. Or this one. There's me with Vatch…me with Alia, me with Amaleen, me welcoming Valyrym and Valar to my home for the holidays…Come to think of it, these are all about me."

The Coyote grit his teeth, walking over to the table. “Are you just…Mary Sue-ing yourself into fanfiction of my Christmas stories?"

“I dunno what you mean. These are original ideas! Besides…" Asterbury stood up, his arms spread almost as wide as his grin. “Everything's better with an urd'thin!" As he stood up, his robe fell-half open, exposing the neatly wrapped red and green package now covering the urd'thin's crotch.

“The fuck is that?" The Coyote flattened his ears. He felt like he was passing a horrifying train wreck, desperate to look away yet completely unable.

The urd'thin glanced down at it, tweaking the golden bow atop the box. “It's my dick in a-"

“I know what it is, but don't call it that!" He folded his arms, growling. “You know how many lawyers Timberlake has on retainer for copywrite infringement alone?"

“If it makes ya feel any better, technically it's my sheath and balls in a box. That's not trademarked, is it?"

The Coyote growled. “I meant, why do you have your bits in a damn box?"

“It's festive!" He waggled his hips, tail and box alike swaying. “Besides, thought it would make a great present for Ayls. Or the Strudel. Whoever stops by first." He folded his hands, resting them atop the box. “Whatcha think?"

“I think I want you out of my house."

The Coyote turned away from the urd'thin and padded through the lower floor of his house towards the kitchen. He gazed around, smiling at the sight of everything so nicely decorated. His family's beloved Christmas tree stood in the front room, glittering with shining, rainbow-hued lights. It was laden with countless beautiful ornaments, each totally unique. It held every manner of snowman and Santa Claus imaginable. There were reindeer, and fish, a fox, a dragon, birds and more. Glittering spheres sat alongside lopsided, plastic bead candy canes made by children. Ornaments of metal hung near those of wood, crystal glittered alongside plexiglass. Long before he was born, The Coyote's mother decided she wanted a tree where every ornament was completely unique. Over the years, she had succeeded fantastically.

Some of the ornaments were dated, including one that marked the year his parents were married, and another that celebrated the year of his birth, and that of his brother. Other ornaments celebrated each passing year. Some of those yearly ornaments were extra special to The Coyote, because some of them were years he had not expected to see another Christmas. And yet, somehow, here he was, still alive, still enjoying every bit of his life he could, and still writing another stupid Christmas story.

He chuckled to himself. Might make a good name for this year's installment.

A few presents sat under the tree, already wrapped. By the time Christmas rolled around, there would be plenty more for all his family, but The Coyote dared not set anything breakable under the tree until after his now-infamous holiday parties. It was a wonder yet that the rambunctious hatchlings who visited with their relatives hadn't yet toppled the whole tree over or set his front on fire. The Coyote scrunched his muzzle, thinking he'd better be careful or he was going to jinx himself.

There were plenty more decorations throughout the house besides just the tree. Fanciful wreaths hung on both sides of the front door. The outside wreath was green, like pine and holly, sparkling with lights that matched those on the Christmas tree. More lights adorned the bushes out front, along with two lighted snowmen. One was in the familiar shades of red, green, blue and yellow, while the other was lit entirely in white. The wreath on the inside of the door was also light in white, and its boughs all dusted with faux snow. Colorful ribbons and oversized peppermints and candy canes decorated it, along with various snowmen and other holiday symbols. A banner reading “Merry Christmas" was strung across it. That wreath was a gift from his newly married brother's wife. She'd made it herself for The Coyote's family.

All throughout the ground floor, there were snowmen. The Coyote's mother had been collecting them for years. Now, every December, they descended like a snowy white army to conquer every room in the house. They occupied end tables, stood sentinel on shelves, watched over platters of food on tables, and perched on the mantle over the fireplace. Others embraced flickering candles. Plush snowmen sat in recliners and on the arms of sofas. Glowing snowmen smiled don from walls. A new, white Christmas tree in the living room was topped with a snowmen, and decorated with more of the same. Yet despite their multitude, whenever January rolled around, and they were all packed away again, the house always seemed dispiriting plain without their cheerful presence.

“Are you gonna get on with the story?" Asterbury leaned over the table, scribbling out notes with a candy-cane shaped pen. “Or are you just gonna ramble about your family's Christmas decorations for another ten thousand words?"

The Coyote gnashed his teeth, his tail twitching. “It's seasonal! It sets the mood, it gives them a little glimpse into our real Christmas traditions."

Asterbury only rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I'm sure it really knocks your readers' glasses off."

“Oh, shut the hell up." The Coyote snorted, walking into the kitchen. He muttered to himself. “Before I knock your glasses off." He flattened an ear as he pulled open the fridge. “No, that sounds terrible. I'll knock your ass off." The Coyote pulled out a fresh bottle of egg nog and set it on the counter. “No, that's worse." He went for a cup, trying again. “You shut up, Asterbury, or I'll…knock you! Right…right in the ass."

“Knock me right in the ass?" The urd'thin followed him out into the kitchen, arms folded over his red santa robe. He perked a single ear. “That come out the way you wanted?"

The Coyote poured egg nog into a cup, then took a long drink. He wiped his muzzle with the back of a tan-furred hand, glaring down at the smaller creature. “Shut up, Asterbury. Ass-terbury. Ass-Turd-Berry!" He barked laughter, and thumped the urd'thin in the chest with a dull clawed finger. “Just shut up, Ass Turd Berry!"

Asterbury tilted his head, perking the other ear. “That's the one worth celebrating? That's the best you got?" He flicked his tail, sneering. “Your dialogue is terrible today."

“I haven't had any caffeine!" The Coyote snapped his teeth. “I need to go to-"

“No, we're not doing that." Asterbury waved the idea off. “You've had a scene in the coffee shop the last few years in a row. We're not wasting all those words, this year. Otherwise, between your sloppy dialogue and your boring scenarios, this story's gonna be a real shit on the floor."

“I told you last year, that's not a saying." The Coyote took another drink of egg nog, then refilled his cup. “No one's ever said, boy, that new Star Wars was a real shit on the floor."

“Of course not, because it's brilliant! That moment when you find out-"

The Coyote held up his hands. “I haven't seen it yet, so don't even start."

“That Bruce Willis was dead all along? Gods, gives me chills every time!" The urd'thin shivered, rubbing his arms. “And then it turns out that Rosebud was the name of his childhood lightsaber? Unbelievable!"

“What?" The Coyote blinked, his jaw hanging open. “How many movies are you-"

“And then when Darth Vader found out he was dating the daughter of the bad guy? And Iron Man took away his cool new suit, and then he had to shoot his rabid dog?" Asterbury shook his head, sighing. “And then it turns out that his dad's a god, and he's been planning all along to help the robots free themselves?"

The Coyote put the egg nog away, closing the fridge. “Are ya done?"

“And then the ship sinks, and Luke freezes to death in the water? Did not see that coming." He waved his hands, gasping. “And then mid-credits, Obi Wan shows up, and holds his hand out to the shadows, and says, come with me if you want to live! And then Saddam Hussein takes his hand, and we don't know whose side he's on, anymore!" Asterbury gave a happy sigh, shaking his head. “And then we see him as an old man, at the graveyard, saluting a tombstone. And that's when you realize, it truly was…a Star War."

The Coyote set his cup down, just to put his face in his hands. His voice came out a beaten down groan. “Oooooh my god."

“Who are you, Bob's Burgers?"

“What?" The Coyote lifted his head again.

“Isn't he always groaning 'oh my god' like that?"

“Bob? Yes."

“No, Bob's Burgers."

“Is the name of the show."

“Isn't that his name, too?"

“Bob's Burgers?" The Coyote stared at the urd'thin, incredulous. “You think the character's name is Bob's Burgers?"

“Isn't it?"

“No! There's a possessive apostrophe in there, how the hell could that be a name?"

“I thought it was ironic!" Asterbury clapped his hands once, then jabbed his fingers in the air towards the canine. “Yanno, like Madonna's. Or Cher's."

“Those aren't their names!"

The urd'thin turned away, walking back towards the dining room. “I dunno. I think I'm gonna have to Wikipedia this."

“By which I assume you mean, you're going to go to Wikipedia, and edit the articles to make it look like you're right." The Coyote followed after him. “I'm way too undercaffeinated for this. Hell, I'm way too sober for this."

“Aren't you supposed to be drunk when you right these stories?"

“Ideally?" The Coyote gestured with his mug. “Yes. But since you clearly haven't been paying attention to the last few stories, I don't drink that often anymore. Mostly just at holidays, and at conventions, and sometimes out at nice bars. But since I'm already home from MFF, and I just got my IV meds the other day…and I'm trying to make a dent on this before Christmas Eve, I'm unfortunately sober."

“Already medicated, huh? Good!" Asterbury flopped into his seat. “That means we can eliminate the word-sink that is your usual scene about visiting the hospital."

“Awww." The Coyote's ears drooped. He settled into another chair alongside the table. “But it was really nicely decorated this year. They had a really pretty Christmas tree in the waiting room." He sipped his drink, then licked his muzzle. “Not near as pretty as the one in the private hospital I used to go to, but nice. I was gonna let Ayly climb it, and then topple it over, and-"

“She did that last year."

“Oh." The canine scrunched up his muzzle, thinking back. He set his cup down. “Yeah, I guess she did. I think I've been doing too many of these if I'm starting to repeat myself."

“Oh, you've been repeating yourself since the second one. But that's why I'm here!" Asterbury folded his hands behind his horned head, and leaned his chair back. “To help you get something original! It is Bob Burgers, at least, right?"

“What?"

“Bob Burgers. That's his name, right?"

“No." The Coyote picked up a bit of tinsel and threw it at the urd'thin. It froze in front of Asterbury's face, then twined itself around a single horn in silvery loops. “Not that. I meant, what do you mean, that's why you're here? Usually Ayly and Val get here first, along with-"

“Which you've done too many times already. So I sent them on vacation first, so that you can spend some quality time with your old pal Asterbury." He dropped his chair back down, beaming. “Don't worry, old buddy, I've taken care of everything. We're gonna have a great new Christmas story, and I'm gonna help you write it!"

“Oh, dear god." The Coyote put his head in his hands. “I don't wanna be part of your shitty fanfiction, Asterbury. And after last year, I don't wanna be part of anyone else's shitty fanfiction, either."

“Which is why I'm here to help you write it! So it'll be your shitty fanfiction!" Asterbury rubbed his muzzle. “Seriously though, Bob Burgers is his name, right?"

“No!" The Coyote slapped his hand down on the table. “That's not his fucking name."

Asterbury held his hands up. “Oh, hey, easy now. Who pissed in your dumpster this morning?"

“I'm gonna put you in a dumpster and piss on you, in a second."

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"

“Oooooh, my god." The Coyote thumped his head against the table, only to smack it harder than intended. “Ow."

“Aww, trash puppy go boom boom?"

“That's not a thing."

“What's not?"

“Trash puppy." The Coyote lifted his head, rubbing it. “Trash panda is a raccoon, but no one calls coyotes trash puppies."

“No one?" Asterbury folded his arms. “Well, that's a real shit on the floor."

The Coyote took a long drink of egg nog, then glared at the urd'thin. “How is it that you get more and more obnoxious every year?"

Asterbury beamed, an excited cheerfulness shining in his voice. “Practice!" He tilted his head. “So, if his name isn't Bob's Burgers, what is it?"

“Belcher."

“I did not."

“No, his name is Belcher."

Asterbury blinked, scratching at one of his horns. “Belcher Burgers?"

“No! Bob Belcher!" The Coyote snarled, digging his palms into his eyes. “That's…this whole conversation, it's practically from the show. Teddy thinks his name is Bob Burgers, and-"

“Who the hell's Teddy?"

“His customer!"

“Whose customer?"

“We're not doing this." The Coyote took a deep breath, and let out a long, slow sigh. “Every year, you try and drag me into some shoddy parody of Who's On First, and I'm not gonna do it. It doesn't need to be parodied, or referenced, it's practically a perfect bit of comedy."

“Who's On First?"

“I'm not doing it." The Coyote folded his arms.

“Doing what?"

“Who's On First!"

“What are you asking me for?" Asterbury tilted his head, ears splayed.

“I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, Who is on first!" The Coyote blinked, then snarled, slamming a fist against the table. “Damn it! Alright, now I'm not doing it."

“What?"

“No, he's on second. You know who's on third?"

“I thought Who was on first."

“He was, but they just replaced him. You know who with?"

“I Don't Know?"

“No, he's on third." The Coyote smirked at the urd'thin. “But Who's been replaced with Go Fuck Yourself, I'm Not Doing This Anymore."

Asterbury cackled. “You think they'd put that name on his baseball card?" He clapped his hands. “We're all best friends!"

The Coyote picked up his cup, and finished off his egg nog. “What are you really doing here?"

“I told you! I'm here to help you with your tale. You were out of ideas! You didn't know you could possibly write this year, for your Christmas story. And the state of the world has you shaking in your fur. But…you still wanted to write something, because it's tradition now. So, along comes your old pal Asterbury…" He strolled a few fingers along the table. “To help you with your story! And I've got sooo many ideas to pitch you!" The urd'thin rubbed his hands together. “This is gonna be great!"

“Ugh. Fine." The Coyote held his mug out towards Asterbury. “At least make yourself useful, huh?" He waggled the cup.

“Can do, old pal!" Asterbury reached out, tapping the mug with a single finger. “Bippity boppity-"

“Those are trademarked magic words."

“You wrote a story with a famous holiday reindeer getting kicked in the balls and in a gay relationship! Clearly, no one gives a shit if you use trademarks." Asterbury tapped the cup again. “Just drink your hooch, pooch."

The Coyote pulled his cup back, glaring across the table. “I'm going to have to ban you from these stories, aren't I."

“You can try, but I'm a lifetime ban evader! Why, remember that time I got banned from the nude beach?"

*****

Asterbury strode down the beach, completely naked. He hummed a chipper tune as he walked through the sand, waves lapping at his feet. Valyrym, Krek, Amaleen, and the Coyote followed behind him, looking on with envy and erotic delight at his naked body. The Coyote still had his shorts on, though, because he was poorly equipped and shy about it. Meanwhile, Amaleen was making kissy faces at Asterbury, while both the dragon and the gryphon sported raging chubbers.

“Excuse me, Sir!" Vatch, playing the part of the life guard, ran towards the group. His chocolate brown fur rippled like delicious chocolate icing. His muscles rippled like delicious chocolate…ripples. His neon pink speedo rippled like a rippling thing, and clung to every curve of his winter wonderland. “This no nude beach!"

“What?" Asterbury gasped, agape, mouth gaping in horrified gasp. “Oh no, I've been terribly misinformed!" He turned around, his monstrously sized testicles knocking over a nearby sand castle. “I'm so sorry!"

“Asterbury, you big silly billy!" The Coyote stepped forward, offering his favorite urd'thin a great big loving hug. “We told you we were going to a new beach. Not a nude beach."

Cue laugh track.

Everyone laughed, and everyone hugged Asterbury. Even Lifeguard Vatch, who found the gray-furred urd'thin irresistibly sexy.

Asterbury hugged everyone back. “We're all best friends!"

“OW!" Valyrym yelped. “I stepped on a jellyfi-"

The old dragon was cut off when Asterbury turned to see what happened, and inadvertently struck Valyrym with his two gigantic wrecking balls. The impact knocked Valyrym into the sky, and out across the ocean. “I always hated the coyoteeeeeeee!"

Cut to camera four.

Asterbury stared into the camera, chomping a cigar. “Now that's what I call, lost at sea!"

Vatch was so impressed, that his speedo popped off and flew out to sea, after the dragon. Then he and Asterbury decided to have a sword fight, and-

*****

The Coyote rose to his feet, walked over to Asterbury, and pimp-slapped him across the muzzle so hard it knocked the urd'thin out of his chair. “No!" He shook a finger at the fallen urd'thin. “NO! Bad! Bad!"

Asterbury popped right back up, rubbing his muzzle. “I don't think that counts as constructive criticism!"

“That was even worse than when Krek snuck up to my computer to take over the story." The Coyote glared at him as he retook his seat. “Do not do that again. Last year's flashbacks to things that never happened was bad enough, but there's no way in hell I'm gonna let you flash us over to your shitty Asterbury and Vatch slash-fic!"

Asterbury clambered back into his seat. “That wasn't-"

The Coyote snatched up a sheet of paper, and read the first few sentences out loud. “Asterbury strode down the beach, completely naked. He hummed a chipper tune as he walked through the sand, waves lapping at his feet." The canine shook the paper at Asterbury. “I saw it while you were busy spinning your flashback."

Asterbury snatched it away from him. “Well, it's just a rough draft! You of all people should know-"

“And why does it have a laugh track?"

“It's a screenplay!"

“Or maybe you're just shit at writing."

Asterbury tucked the paper away. “Well if that's how you feel, maybe I won't share my Christmas story ideas with you."

“I sincerely doubt I'll be that lucky." The Coyote picked up his cup, took a drink, and then immediately burst into a fit of hacking coughs, spraying clear liquid into the air. “ACK! UURHHH! RRAAACKK! What…did you…fill this…with?"

“Straight Everclear!" Asterbury pumped a fist in the air. “That oughta get your Christmas motor running!"

“You…shit…ass!"

“Shit ass?" Asterbury scratched an oversized ear. “Your insults are devolving by the moment. Drink more Everclear, it's good for you."

“The hell it is!" The Coyote gasped a few times, slowly collecting himself.

“Oh, a little liver failure never…oh, right. Well, it's good for your readers, anyway."

When he caught his breath, The Coyote thumped his mug down closer to Asterbury. “Espresso, egg nog, ice. Now."

Asterbury gave him a blank stare. “You've all that Christmas magic, why don't you-"

“Because if I'm stuck with you, you may as well do all the work."

Asterbury waggled his fingers over the mug. “Figgity Fogerty Futs, you can suck my nuts."

The Coyote ignored him, retrieving the cup. He sniffed at it, and pleased, took a long drink. “Aaaah, that's better. I can feel the caffeine entering my blood already."

“Nah." Asterbury waved him off, then bounced, his voice a happy chirp. “That's the meth!"

The Coyote stared into the cup a moment. “Fuck it. I need it to deal with you, anyway." He took an even longer drink, then set it down. “So, you said you sent everyone on vacation?"

“Yes! Figured poor Valyrym and little Aylaryl and the rest of the gang could use a real vacation. Not this festering shithole you drag them too every year…" When the Coyote growled, Asterbury amended himself. “And by…festering…shithole…I mean…delightful…candy-filled…" He threw his hands up. “Well who wants to spend vacation alongside some dumpster-smelling scavenger! Other than me, of course! So I sent them to a beautiful, tropical island getaway. Which means this year, it's just you and me, old buddy."

“Oh, Lord." The Coyote drained his mug, and held it out for more. “This is gonna be a nightmare."

“I'll say!" Asterbury waggled his fingers, refilling the mug. “Poor Valyrym just can't stay away from the beach. He's going to step on sooo many jellyfish."

“No, Asterbury." The Coyote set his cup down, then glanced through some of the plot notes Asterbury had already assembled. “We're not doing that. You said we need new material, right? Then we gotta stop doing all the callbacks to the same jokes. And no more flashbacks, either."

“Suppose you're right." Asterbury leaned his head back, horns resting on the back of the chair. “But what do you suppose old Valyrym's up too right now?" The world around them shimmered and wobbled, and existence itself shuddered. “I sure hope he's not stepping on any-"

“I said no!" The Coyote snapped his teeth. “And stop trying to cut away again, this isn't damn Family Guy!"

“Wasn't me."

“Liar." The Coyote pulled out his phone. “Alright, so. If you really have ideas for this year's story, lay 'em on me."

“Okay!" Asterbury leaned forward, all smiles and perked ears. “So, first off…are…you paying attention?"

“Oh yeah." The Coyote scrolled through messages on his phone. “Totally."

“You're actually listening?"

“Uh huh."

“Cause…it looks like you're just reading messages on Telegram."

The Coyote swiveled a single ear towards the urd'thin. “Better?"

“Okay, so. The first idea is…"

“Uh huh. Yeah, okay." The Coyote pulled up Amaleen's message. As he half expected, there was a picture of Valyrym clutching his forepaw to his plated chest, with a squished jellyfish in the background. He shook his head, laughing, and typed up a reply.

“You…you look like you're typing a message. Is…is that a message about my idea?"

With a sigh, The Coyote set his phone down. As if on cue, Amaleen replied. A moment later, and she replied again. Then when the phone went dark, it buzzed a few times. The Coyote set it aside, trying to ignore it's repeated buzzing. “Alright, Asterbury, let's hear these great ideas."

“Great! You're gonna love it. First idea." Asterbury spread his arms in magnanimous gesture. “Imagine this. You're just sitting at home, when all of a sudden…all your favorite DitD characters come to visit you! Even little hatchling Valar! The cute factor will be off the charts, and you'll get some warm fuzzy feels when-"

“Merry Christmas, Valyrym." The Coyote folded his arms.

“Ooh, that'd be a great title."

“That is the title."

“Yeah, you're right, we should go with that." Asterbury scribbled it down, then scratched something out. “That's a lot better than my title, Happy Fucking Christmas, Assholes."

The Coyote rubbed his muzzle. “No, I mean, I already wrote that story. That was the first Christmas story I did." He gestured at the decorated room around them. “That's how all this, holiday Christmas party with my characters stuff got started."

“Oh…really?" Asterbury snatched up the Coyote's phone, and opened up SoFurry. He navigated to Merry Christmas, Valyrym, and scanned through it. “Huh…so you did. Hah, right in the balls. She's right, you deserved it…Wait. Wait. Wait. You had sex with Amaleen?!"

The Coyote flattened his ears, rubbing his neck. “Ah…well…it was…a different time, back then. I was a lot more freewheeling, and-"

“So was she, apparently!"

“I meant in my storytelling! All the stories still had sex in them, I thought no one would read it if they didn't. So I threw in some sex-"

“And you said I was Mary Sue-ing myself into your stories." He set the phone down, smiling at the Coyote. “But you Mary Sue'd yourself right into Amaleen." He made a fist and held it out. “Nice work, Scavenger!"

“I'm not hitting that."

“That's not what you said about Amaleen."

“Will you just drop it?"

“Isn't that what they said when they yanked down your pants?"

“No!" The Coyote growled, yanking back his phone. “How are you surprised by this? Earlier it sounded like you were just writing yourself into these stories."

“I haven't read those." Asterbury tilted his head. “You know I think your writing sucks. Any similarities between my ideas, and yours, are purely coincidental. So, moving on. We take that idea, and expand it. Now, we bring everyone! We'll bring Adult Valar, he can even meet little Valar! We can bring in characters from other-"

“Merry Christmas, DitD-verse." The Coyote snorted. “That was the second Christmas story."

“Damn it." Asterbury tossed aside a pad full of notes. “There goes nine hours of outlining. Okay, so…What if, we do one where…we slim down the focus, just you, mostly, with…let's say, Valyrym, and Ayly?"

“Oh, God." The Coyote sighed.

“I know, I know, it sounds boring, but bear with me." Asterbury waved his hand over the table. “I've got oodles more ideas. So, it seems like a regular Christmas story…it's really funny, but then, BAM! It kicks you right in the feels! Shows people the real you…say…I dunno, Valyrym falls apart and dissolves while he's talkin to you, and suddenly, you're not a coyote, you're just a scared, sad human, and-"

“Pictures in the Snow." The Coyote sipped his iced egg nog coffee.

“That's perfect!" Asterbury clapped his hands. “I was just gonna call it, Scared Sad Human and His Boring Real Life!"

“Legitimate question, Asterbury." The Coyote took another drink, then set his mug down. “Are you trolling me right now?"

The urd'thin tilted his head. “Whatever do you mean?"

“Because if you're just trolling me? I'm gonna turn this story into…Alia, Amaleen and Mirelle Strip Asterbury Naked-"

Asterbury perked up. “I like where this is going!"

“Tie him up…"

“Oooh, kinky!"

“And then see how many kicks it takes to make urd'thin egg nog!"

Asterbury crinkled up his snout. “That's a terrible way to treat poor Egg and Nog."

“You named them Egg and Nog?!"

“I did now! It's festive!" The urd'thin wriggled in his seat, adjusting his crimson robe. “So let me guess. That idea was also a Christmas story you've already done?"

“Yes! The one right before you showed up the next year with all my old villains, and tried to erase me!"

“I wasn't trying to erase you." Asterbury gestured as if shooing away the accusation. “I was just trying to cast you into an infinite limbo for all eternity. Besides, if I wasn't around this Christmas universe before that, I can't be expected to know what manner of garbage you shoveled out of your trash can and onto the page before my time."

The Coyote's phone buzzed again, and he picked it up.

“Must you? I have other ideas."

“And I'm sure they're going to stunners, too." He unlocked his phone, and scrolled through his notifications. There were a few more pictures from Amaleen, depicting Ayly playing in the surf and sand, Krek yelling at an employee of a very shoddy looking hotel, and Valyrym glaring at a plate of seafood that looked dried out and over cooked. “I don't think they're very happy with your choice of vacation destinations."

“I'm not made of money! I had to find a hotel that takes pets, and fit my budget of approximately…nothing."

“Then how did you…nevermind, there's no way I'm going to want to know the answer. What was that about pets?"

“Technically, it's all in Amaleen's name. Valyrym and Krek are listed as her pets."

The Coyote chuckled. “That sounds right, actually." He set the phone down, for the moment, ignoring another set of mysterious messages. “Have you been giving out my number, and my telegram account? I'm getting all kinds of messages from weirdos."

“A furry, getting messages from unknown weirdos?" Asterbury gasped and put a hand over his heart. “Quick, alert the press!"

“Alright, alright." He glanced at the phone again, then scrunched his face when another image of a black gryphon's testicles popped up. “I'm gonna have to block Krek, though. He keeps sending me photos of his balls. Actually, that's probably why he's deleting the accounts and making new ones…sneaky damn gryphon."

“Okay, so. Next idea. This has nothing to do with any of your current stories, I promise. Ready?"

“No, but you may as well get it over with."

“So, get this." Asterbury thrust his hands out, beaming. “You're a gymnastics teacher!"

The Coyote blinked. “I'm what?"

“A gymnastics teacher! And, you're married, with a son. You're trying to push him into gymnastics, but he doesn't want to be a gymnast."

“What the hell does that have to do with Christmas?"

“Who said it has to be about Christmas?"

“It's a Christmas story!"

“Okay, fine." Asterbury swirled a finger in the air. Silver tinsel and crimson ribbons spun up into the air, twisting around him in decorative lines. “So, you wrap some of this Christmas bullshit around your ears and tail, and call it done. And…maybe for Christmas you tell you son, he doesn't have to a gymnast, after all, and you love him anyway. Then hugs, egg nog, and merry Christmas, motherfucka, that's your story."

“Did you just say Merry Christmas, mothafucka?" The Coyote put his head in a head, his elbow propped on the table. “You're terrible at this. I'm not doing a gymnastics based story. And…why does that sound familiar?"

“Okay, forget the gymnastics." Asterbury flicked his fingers, and a tutti-fruiti candy cane flew towards him, unwrapping itself. He snatched it out of the air and stuck it into his muzzle. “Alright, so stick this under your tree. You run an antiques store."

The Coyote lifted his head. “You're drifting further from shore."

“Just hear me out." Asterbury gestured with the candy cane. “We can use Valyrym and all your other idiot characters to play your customers. So people come into the store, and you get involved with their lives."

“What person gets runs an antique store and gets involved with their lives?" The Coyote glared at Asterbury, then splayed his ears, scrunching his muzzle. “Wait, wait…I know this, from somewhere."

“Why not?"

“So someone comes in to buy an old lamp, and all of a sudden…" He waved his hand. “I'm getting them out of a jam? I could see if I was a pharmacist, a pharmacist knows what's wrong with everybody that comes in." The Coyote stared at the back of his hand, then waggled his fingers. “I swear I know this."

“Your hand? I should hope so." Asterbury made a stroking motion in the air. “I'm sure you know it really well. Besides, antiques are very popular right now."

“No they're not." The Coyote shook his head, waving off the idea. “They used to be."

“Oh, like you'd know."

“Like you would." The Coyote rolled his eyes, reaching for his egg nog and coffee drink. “And this still has nothing to do with Christmas."

“When's the last time these stories had anything to do with Christmas?"

“They always have to do with Christmas. Why, last year, we-"

“Framed Tim Allen for murdering Santa?" Asterbury chomped the end of his candy cane off, crunching it up. “Yeah, that was fun!" He waved the half-eaten candy around. “But no one cares. Hell, you could just post a story about nothing, and copy-paste a gingerbread recipe in at the end, and call it done."

“A story about nothing?" The Coyote blinked. That sounded so damn familiar. “Wait, are you just quoting-"

“I got it!" Asterbury thrust the remnants of the candy cane at the coyote. “You manage a circus!"

“A circus?"

“Come on, this is a great idea. Look at the characters." Asterbury finished off his candy cane, and waggled his fingers towards the kitchen. “You've got all these freaks on the show." From the kitchen, a plastic carton of chocolate cookies frosted with green colored peppermint icing floated in and settled before him. “A woman with a moustache? I mean, who wouldn't tune in to see a woman with a moustache? You've got the tallest man in the world, and, oh! A guy who's just a head."

“You are! You're just quoting Seinfeld!" The Coyote took a long drink, then grunted. “Ugh, and you're making me do it with you."

“Hey, if you wanna do it with me, just say so! You do have that nice big bed…"

The Coyote folded his arms, glaring at him. “Oh, stuff it in your stocking."

“If that's where you wanna put it…" Asterbury shrugged. “Alright, so you don't like the circus idea."

“I don't like that you're just quoting Seinfeld!"

Asterbury tilted his head, perking a single ear. “Who the hell's that?" He chomped a cookie, wiped chocolate crumbs from his muzzle, then smiled. “How about this then? I'm in a car accident."

“The world can only hope."

The urd'thin ignored him, gesturing with another green-frosted cookie. “The motorist is uninured. My car's totaled. It's all his fault, but he has no money, and there's absolutely no way he can pay me. So the judge decrees-"

“That he has to be your butler." The Coyote's voice was flat.

“Exactly!" Asterbury ate the cookie, and spoke through it, crumbs splattering his assorted notepads and Christmas decorations. “It's like we're on the same wave length, old buddy!"

“No, we're not. You're just…" The Coyote waved his mug. “You're literally just quoting Seinfeld. There's a whole season long arc where they're trying to come up with an idea for a TV show to pitch." The Coyote drained his egg nog coffee, then set it down, groaning. “Oh, God, that's how all this started. You said you were here to pitch me story ideas. What were you, binge watching Seinfeld last night?"

“Sure was! And yanno why?" Asterbury leaned back and folded his arms. “Because he's my Butler!"

“That doesn't even make sense in this context!"

“It doesn't have too, because it's pretty…pretty…pretty…"

The Coyote put a hand over his muzzle. “Now you're mixing shows. That's not even Seinfeld, that's Curb Your Enthusiasm. Same creator, but different show."

“…Pretty good."

The Coyote ran his hands back over his ears with a long, loud canine whine. “Gods, and people thought my references were obscure."

“Oh, please!" Asterbury shuffled through his notes. “The Evil Dead is ten times as obscure as Curb Your Enthusiasm, and everyone knows Seinfeld."

“Everyone from fifteen years ago, maybe."

Asterbury leaned forward, beaming. “And since you're so old, it's a perfect fit, Scavenger! Especially since it's a show about nothing, and you're struggling to piece together a story about nothing! See? Now I've helped you stitch some references together! All you need now is a parody or two, and Bingo Bango, you're all done and you can get back to polishing your candy cane."

“And let me guess." The Coyote picked up his phone and unlocked it. “You have parody ideas as well?" He scrolled through his messages, scowling. “I think I have a message from-"

“Of course! Why, only the finest, most classic holiday movies will do."

The Coyote perked his ears, his tail wagging, phone forgotten for a moment. “You mean like, Santa Claus the Movie?"

“Ugh." Asterbury made a disgusted face. “Does your Dudley Moore fixation know no bounds? You already referenced that one years ago. Besides, it's trash! Oh, wait, that's why you like it. Coyotes love humping trash."

“It's eating Trash." The Coyote snarled at him, then quickly amended himself. “I mean, no we don't! We don't eat it, or hump or do anything but-"

“Snuggle it inside a dumpster, I know." Asterbury slapped a notepad down with a drawing of an immense house, lined with Christmas lights and decorations. “But actually, I was talking about Home Alone."

“Not sure I'd consider that a classic, exactly."

“And I'm not sure I'd consider coyotes hygienic, but if I'm stuck with you and your trash-odor, you're stuck with my Home Alone parody."

*****

TWENTIETH CENTURY URD'THIN PRESENTS

An Asterbury Production

AYLY: HOME ALONE

Introducing:

Ayly

As: Ayly

Featuring:

Krek

Valar

As: The Wet Bandits

Also Featuring:

Krek

As: The Dirty Ugly Smelly Fat Unattractive-

The Coyote cut off the opening credits with a snarl. “Are you inserting a title sequence into my story just to insult Krek?"

Asterbury shrugged, a hint of a smile flitting across his muzzle. “Maybe?"

“Carry on, then."

Asterbury clapped his hands twice.

*****

Suddenly, Krek found himself on the ground floor of an immense house, far too large for any reasonable businessman to have been able to afford. Confused, the black gryphon stumbled a few paces, glancing around. An immense staircase stretched before him, leading to the second floor. Glass Christmas ornaments littered the floor beneath windows. Paint cans hung from the ceiling. And at the top of the stairs, a little black and purple dragon hatchling stood, beaming down at him.

“Ayly! What are you doing up there?" Krek flared up the silver crown feathers around the back of his head as he padded towards the stairs. “And…how the hell did we get here?"

“Lellumgurb said a swear!" Ayly giggled and bounced in place.

“Hell is not a swear!"

“Lellumgurb said two swears!" Ayly giggled again. “I'm gonna tell Father and the Coyote and Mother and Grandfather and-"

“Hell is not a swear!" Krek ground his beak, flattening back his feathers. “Fuck is a swear! I mean-"

Ayly gasped, her eyes wide. “Lellumgurb said the biiiig swear!"

“Shit! I mean…damn it. I mean…just forget I said that, or your mother will have my balls in a vice!"

Ayly broke into a giggle fit, her purple tipped tail lashing. “Ooooh, I'mma tell momma! Unless…" She lifted a forepaw, gazing at it impassively. “I getta say ten swears. And…drink aaalll your edd nod."

“Fine, fine, but we'll talk about that later! We need to get you out of here. I don't even know whose house this is!" Krek hurried up the stairs, glancing back the way he'd come. “There's glass on the floor, there's wires tied to doorknobs, there's paint cans hanging on strings! This place looks profoundly unsafe for a little hatchling. What is this, the Saw Christmas special? How did you even get up-"

Just as Krek neared the top of the stairs, a heavy paint can swung down from the ceiling and nailed Krek directly in the beak. It hit him so forcefully it jerked his whole head sideways. He stumbled, lost his balance, and then fell back down the staircase. The gryphon tumbled head over tail, wing over wing, yelping and yowling with every new impact. Near the bottom, he flipped over backwards, landed on his head, and instantly shattered his neck. The gryphon slumped into a heap of twitching feathers.

“You give up?" Ayly bounced in place, squealing in glee. “Or are you thirsty for more?"

Krek twitched, eyes opened and fixed on nothing.

“Lellumgurb?"

Krek twitched again, then went totally still.

“…Lellumgurb?" Ayly whined.

The Coyote, standing and watching in the corner, whirled around on Asterbury. “You killed Krek?!"

Asterbury scratched his head beneath a horn, freezing the scene. He stared at the gryphon, then looked up at Ayly, then back to the gryphon. He flattened his oversized ears. “Technically, Ayly killed him." He poked the coyote's belly. “Where's your reference quota clicker? That was Hannibal. The TV show, not the movie."

“I know!" The Coyote swatted away his hand. “But we got bigger problems than cramming in references no one's gonna get. Krek's fucking dead!"

“Oh, I'm sorry!" Asterbury threw his hands up. “Did I spoil the big DitD 11 twist?" He gasped, his eyes wide. “Ooooh, did I spoil it now?"

The Coyote growled. “He's not gonna die in DitD 11."

“Oh, so he is gonna die, just not in 11?"

“I'm not playing this game." He shoved the urd'thin towards Krek's corpse. “Clean this mess up."

“Alright, alright." He clapped his hands together. “Here's what I'm gonna need. A whole lot of plastic sheeting, some tarps, maybe. A bone saw, preferably electric." He walked over to Krek's body, hefting up a hind leg, testing its weight. “A whole lotta trash bags to pack it in. And then we're gonna need a whole lot of acid-"

“Not like that!"

“You prefer lime?" Asterbury dropped the limb down. “We could incinerate him, I guess. Or just bury him out back and frame the McCallister's!"

“No, you little shit." The Coyote followed Asterbury towards the gryphon's body, then slapped the urd'thin across the back of the head. “I meant clean up the situation! Do your stupid reverse time trick from last year."

“Oh, sure." Asterbury waved his hands, turning towards The Coyote. “Now you want me to use my powers, but last year, it was always…" He raised his voice to a mocking, whiny tone. “Asterbury, stop ruining everything, or Stop flashing back to things that never happened, or, you're our best friend Asterbury, and you're sooooo sexy." He dropped his hands, snorting. “I know we're all best friends and I'm sexy, you don't have to keep reminding me."

“Just fix it!"

“Fine, fine, I'll save Licorice Muffin's life." The urd'thin reached into his robe, retrieving an old-fashioned VCR remote. “Someone oughta fix you, ya mangy scavenger."

“What was that?"

“Bingo Bango, suck my wango!" Asterbury pushed the rewind button, and time wound backwards.

Krek tumbled back up the stairs, his neck reassembled itself, and so did the rest of his broken limbs. The paint can swung back towards the ceiling, retaking its place. Krek descended the stairs backwards, and soon, the scene reset. Asterbury flicked his fingers, making a few adjustments to the paint can's placement. Then he shooed The Coyote back to their hidden corner, and offered him the remote.

“Care to push play?"

The Coyote took the bulky, boxy remote, looking it over. “This thing looks like it's from 1990."

“So is this movie! It seemed appropriate."

“Yeah, alright." The Coyote pushed the play button, and the scene sprang back to life.

It played out exactly as before, with Krek swearing up a storm in front of Ayly, and then offering to let her do the same if she'd only keep it to herself. Before long, he was making his climb up the stairs once again, intent on carrying the hatchling to safety.

“Fine, fine, but we'll talk about that later! We need to get you out of here. I don't even know whose house this is!" Krek hurried up the stairs, glancing back the way he'd come. “There's glass on the floor, there's wires tied to doorknobs, there's paint cans hanging on strings! This place looks profoundly unsafe for a little hatchling. What is this, the Saw Christmas special? How did you even get up-"

Just as Krek neared the top of the stairs, a heavy paint can swung down from the ceiling behind the gryphon. The can sailed through the air and struck Krek directly between the hind legs, nailing both black-furred gryphon nuts. THUNK!

“AWWWWWAAARRRRRKKK!" The gryphon gave the loudest, highest pitched squawk the Coyote had ever heard. His green eyes bugged out, going cross, and his beak opened wide as could be. Both forepaws shot back to grab his battered balls, and his head dropped to the stairs, banging his beak. A moment later, and his hind legs gave out as well. Krek crumpled and slid right back down the staircase, one step at a time. Each new step banged his balls, and his beak, and each new thump earned another pained squawk. “AWK! OWWHK! OOOOKH! AKKK!" When he finally slid to the floor, he curled up into a trembling, fluffy pile of whimpering feathers. “Nnrrrhhh! Uhhrrrnn! Mmmrrrhhrrnnn!"

Ayly cocked her head at the top of the stairs, beaming. “Keep the change, ya filthy animal!"

“Bahahahaha!" The Coyote doubled over with laughter, clutching his belly. He didn't care if it broke the scene or not, that was funny. “That's what you get for sendin' me pictures of your damn balls all day, gryphon!"

“Uurrrrrhhnnnnnn!" Krek rocked back and forth on the floor a few times, stretching his hind legs out around his clutching paws, then curled up tighter than before. “M-my...b-baaaaaaalls!"

“Aww, quit yer bitchin'." Asterbury folded his arms. “At least the only part of you that died that time was your sperm count. Besides, the Queen'll be happy not to worry about any bastard fledglings running around, right Coyote?"

“Probably." The Coyote managed to straighten up after his laughter trailed off. “Hey Bird, how long you think you need before you're ready for the next scene?"

“Ooohhhrrrrrnnnn, my baaaaallls, my baaaaaallls!"

“Eh…better give him a good twenty minutes, or so. I'mma get a beer."

“About damn time." Asterbury waved him off. “Maybe you'll be less insufferable if you get a little drunk. Bring me one too, will ya?"

The Coyote wandered out of the scene, into reality, and fetched two cans of beer from his fridge. The beers were called Full Grown Nick, brewed by a Texas craft brewery. They were imperial stouts, redolent with holiday spices, and to The Coyote, tasted a bit like gingerbread in a can. The labels depicted a smug, slightly drunken looking Santa with Christmas lights woven into his beard. When he returned to the Home Alone parody, he handed a can to Asterbury.

“Here ya go. Seemed appropriate."

Just as Asterbury cracked up his beer, someone else cracked open a window in the house. A dragon with a blue tipped muzzle pushed his head through, silver-flecked golden eyes shining with concern as he looked around for his daughter. “Ayly? Are you in here?"

From the top of the stairs, Ayly called back. “Hi Father!" She giggled and bounced. “Krek broke his lumps of coal!"

Valar turned his head, staring at the crumpled, and now sobbing gryphon. “What the hell happened to you?"

Krek rolled towards his friend, trying to wave him back with a paw. He tried to offer a warning about the glass ornaments scattered beneath the window but all he managed was a low, groaning noise. “Nnnrrrrfffh!"

“Alright, alright, I'm coming. I'm sure they're fine, you big baby, but I'll help you up."

“Oooohhhh! Aaaay! Ooooooooout!"

“Oooh, gay out?" Valar snorted. “This is hardly the time, Krek! We can celebrate the holidays in private later, but I'd ask you to not to bring it up in front of my daughter!"

Valar pushed his way through the window, and dropped his indigo front paws to the floor. Glass ornaments crunched beneath his weight, and sharp edges sliced into his pawpads, cutting the dragon to the bone. Valar screamed, tried to shift his weight away, and only ended up toppling through the window and onto the rest of the booty-trapped ornaments. They shattered and cracked under him, sliding through all four paws as he struggled to stand and escape. A few sliced clean through his digits, leaving toes clinging to him by shreds of flesh. Blood sprayed everywhere, dousing the white Christmas tree with lines of bright crimson.

“Aaaaaahhhh!" The dragon screamed again, limping away on bloodied stubs, only to collapse nearby, clutching his mangled limbs to his body. Pulses of blood splattered his black and blue scales. “Aaarrrhhh! Oh, Gods! My paws, my paaaws! Right through the tendons! Ooooh, no, no, no, whyyyyy! I'll never walk again! Aaaaaahhhhh!"

“What the fuck, Asterbury!" The Coyote growled at the urd'thin, waving his beer can at the bloody scene.

“What are you yelling at me for?" Asterbury sipped his beer, shrugging. “I didn't write the movie. It's not my fault your universe takes severe bodily injury a little less cartoonishly than the movie did."

“I'm yelling at you because this is your doing! First you kill Krek, then you maim Valar? This is your great Christmas story idea? Valar spraying blood all over a Christmas tree? Real fuckin' festive!"

“Oh, no, you're right." Asterbury bowed his head. “I'm sorry, Coyote." He glanced up, smirking. “I forgot that maiming dragons was your thing." He waved his beer can at Valar. “Especially him, am I right?"

From the top of the stairs, Ayly called out. “Hey, I'll tell you what I'm gonna give you, Krek!"

The Coyote jerked his head up, eyes wide. “Oh no."

Ayly pulled out a machine gun, seemingly from the Christmas ether. Golden tinsel and bright ribbons were wrapped round the barrel. “I'm gonna give you to the count of ten…"

“Where the hell did she get a machine gun?" The Coyote snorted, thumping Asterbury on the shoulder. “Quit fuckin' with the scene. It's over, already."

“I wasn't." The urd'thin growled at him. “Besides, isn't that some movie the kid watches?"

“Yeah, he never actually has a machine gun, he just…uses it to make them think he does. It's actually some old man with a shovel who saves him at the end."

The front doors burst open, and an old man with a shovel ran in. “You filthy monster! What the hell were you trying to do to that poor little hatchling?" He hefted his snow shovel, and thwacked it against Krek's back. “What, you got a thing for kids?"

“ACK! No! I was trying to help her!"

“Help her out of her dress, I bet!" The old man hit Krek again, even harder. “You sick freak!"

“She's a dragon, she doesn't wear clothes!"

“You make her go naked? You monstrous, inhuman pervert! I oughta beat you to death with his shovel before the cops get here!" With a furious snarl, the old man started to strike the gryphon over and over with his snow shovel.

Ayly continued her speech, as if ignoring everything else. “To get your ugly, yella, no-good, filthy keister off my property, before I pump you guts fulla lead!"

“Okay, Asterbury." The Coyote pointed up at the little dragon with her undersized machine gun. “That's enough. You can stop it now."

“I told you, I wasn't the one fucking with it!"

“One…two…ten!" Ayly's machine gun opened fire, and tiny bullets ripped through the old man and the gryphon alike. Both of them jerked and spasmed from the impact, and blood sprayed all across the floor and walls. It painted wreaths red, and splattered snowmen with gory patterns. Only when her clip was empty, did Ayly stop firing. Both bodies collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around. Smoke drifted from the barrel of her Tommy Gun. “Keep the change, ya filthy animals!"

Asterbury turned towards The Coyote, his head tilted. “Didn't she already use that quote?"

“What in all of Santa Claus' giant, sloppy cookies and milk Christmas shit makes think I care about repeating a quote?" The Coyote drained his beer, and then slammed the can into Asterbury's head, crumpling it up. “You just killed Krek! Again! And, some random old character actor."

“Yer gettin' beer in my fur!" Asterbury wiped at his fur, between his horns, snarling at The Coyote. “And for the last time, that wasn't me!"

“What the hell does that mean?"

“I'm gonna give you to the count of ten!" Ayly called out the same line again, but this time, she was pointing her Thompson at The Coyote and Asterbury. “To get your ugly, yella…"

“Asterbury, what'd you do?" The Coyote held his hand up towards Ayly, freezing the scene.

“I didn't do anything! I think someone else changed the scene."

“What the hell are you talking about? The only people in my Christmas-verse with the power to do that are you, and me. And if it wasn't me, and it wasn't you, then who the hell-"

Ayly unfroze, and continued where she left off. “No-good, filthy keister-"

The Coyote snapped his fingers, and Ayly's gun turned into a candy cane. “Who's messing with my story?"

The candy cane turned right back into a gun. “Off my property, before I pump your guts full of lead!"

The Coyote grit his teeth, his belly twisting up. “Oh, fuck this. I'm tired of people trying to take control of my Christmas story! You're all going in the plot hole box." He seized control of reality, tore himself and the urd'thin out of the Home Alone parody, and then wadded up that part of existence into a little ball. He wreathed it in crystal, like a snow globe. Once they were outside the story, Asterbury and The Coyote existed only in the infinite whiteness of limbo. The Coyote sniffed the air. “Smells like…almonds, and snow, and sugar. I forget that. It's kind of nice here, actually."

Asterbury tilted his head. “You want me to leave you and Limbo alone, for a while? I'd tell you to get a room, but…" He waved his hand at the unending white emptiness. “Yanno. It's Limbo."

“I know. You tried to trap me here, remember?"

“That was before we were all best friends!" Asterbury backed away a few steps. “So, what now?"

“Now, I check my phone." The Coyote tossed the wadded up former scene to the urd'thin. “Do not open that. We'll go back to my place in a minute."

“Yeah, alright." Asterbury tossed the scene back and forth between his hands. “What's the deal with your phone this story, anyway?"

“I keep getting weird messages, and someone keeps distracting me before I can read them." The Coyote glared at Asterbury. “In light of what just happened, I'm assuming I should have checked them earlier. So, I'll do so while we're safe."

“I thought you said it was just Krek, sending you pictures of his lumps of coal?" Asterbury stared into the snow globe. A tiny, bloody, Home Alone parody unfolded inside it, repeating infinitely. “Speaking of which, is Licorice Muffin dead now, or what?"

“Nah, I'll fix all that in a minute." He flattened his ears back, baring his fangs. “Since you clearly can't be trusted to do so."

“Oh, yeah." Asterbury tossed the sphere into the air, waving his hands. “Because trustworthiness is what everyone thinks of when they think of coyotes." He caught the snow globe, snorting.

The Coyote ignored him, scrolling through all the messages he'd accrued via Telegram and text. There were a few more from Amaleen, claiming that strange things were happening, and that the rabbits staffing the hotel were acting awfully suspicious. The Coyote scowled. He didn't like the sound of that. A few more messages from since-deleted accounts showed him more lewd picture like before, close ups of a male gryphon's sheath and testicles.

There were a few more messages from someone named EB, as well, the same person who had sent the message telling him to surrender.

I am willing to share with you, but I do not like being ignored. I wish a summit, immediately. We have Tim Allen.

Very well. If you will not share your Christmas powers, The Gryphon will.

You had your chance.

“Da fuq?" The Coyote tilted his head, staring sideways at his phone.

“That isn't how you spell-"

“Shut your strudel holster."

“Oooh, I'll holster Chocolate Strudel anywhere he wants."

“That was the joke." The Coyote glanced up. “Asterbury, who's The Gryphon?"

“Oh!" Asterbury bounced on his feet, hefting the snow globe. “Is he the one texting you his bits? That was going to be a surprise! Kind of a…Christmas present!"

“I already hate the sound of this, but go on."

“So, you're always The Coyote, right?" Asterbury rolled the previous scene around in his hands. “But most of your readers know, that…technically, a dragon is your primary sona. You just…" He spun the snow globe around a single finger. “Adopted The Coyote for your Christmas stories, cause it's more fitting. Made it easier to start with your real life." Asterbury watched the globe spin. “Do you think they're getting dizzy and puking in there?"

“I guess if the globe ends up filled with vomit, you'll know." The Coyote walked up to the urd'thin, glaring down at him. “Keep going."

“You got it, pal." Asterbury spun the globe faster.

“About The Gryphon!"

“Oh, right. So, you're The Coyote. But you're also The Dragon. And, you're also The Gryphon."

The Coyote sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. “You didn't."

“I figured, your other personas deserve a Merry Christmas too! So, I fetched the old plot hole with that time-space doohickey in it, and used that to split you up into three people! I invited The Dragon, and The Gryphon, for Christmas, but…I think The Dragon may have gotten your laziness, cause last I checked, he was still sleeping on a pile of beer cans."

“Oh, god." The Coyote put his head in his hands, groaning. “And The Gryphon?"

“Oh, he's definitely coming. Though…" Asterbury flicked his ears back. “There's a teensy…eensy…chance…"

“Yes?"

“Well, you've got most of what makes you, you. So I had to fill out your other sonas, just a little, and…" Asterbury spun the snow globe atop is finger again. “There's the smallest chance that I may have accidentally slipped the gryphon a little bit of evil in the process."

“You did what?"

“Hey, I had to! For the purposes of these Christmas stories, you've become the hero, right? So to make him a separate character and let him come to your Christmas party, I had to make him a villain. Cosmic balance and all that."

“The hell you did!" The Coyote snatched the snow globe away, snarling. “We already had a damn villain! YOU!"

Asterbury shrugged. “I was the villain the 4th story, sure! But just like I've changed all-across Revaramek, I've changed here, too."

“Yeah, you've become even more obnoxious."

“That too!" Asterbury beamed, flicking his tail. “The point is, I'm going to take a wild guess and say, your gryphon sona is trying to murder you, to take over your Christmas stories. And probably your other stories, too."

“Ooooh, fuck me."

Asterbury shook his head. “No, I don't think he wants to do that. But…he is a gryphon, so I wouldn't be too surprised."

As if on cue, a new message arrived via Telegram.

Home Alone. Such a classic. Shame about your characters, though. And you should never let hatchlings play with firearms.

“Stupid gryphon." The Coyote snarled to himself, typing up a reply. “I'm gonna…play with you! Gonna play with your balls, with my foot!" He blinked, then splayed his ears. 'Wait, that That did NOT come out right. I meant with…with my shoe!"

“Oh, you mean you're gonna play with his balls, with your shoe? Kinky." Asterbury tilted The Coyote's phone down, peering at the screen. “Did you mean to be holding down the voice to text button? Because you just sent him that whole message."

“Son of a BITCH!" Growling under his breath, he sent Amaleen a quick message. “Vacation might be canceled. We may have a situation here." He glanced up at Asterbury. “Hey, who the fuck is EB?"

“Lemme see." Asterbury inspected the phone, the messages, and the icon of tall, silhouetted ears. “Oh…Easter Bunny!"

“What?"

“Remember, last year's story? How that stupid black reindeer was working with the Easter Bunny?"

“No?" The Coyote sighed, hanging his head. “Wait…sort of. I remember…Rudolph and Comet tried to tell us about it…and I blew it off because it was stupid."

“Well, sounds like he's mad at you for ignoring his subplot last year."

“That's too damn bad, cause I don't got time to deal with his shit this year, either." The Coyote started typing up a reply, then glanced at the urd'thin again. “Wait. Wasn't that whole setting based on someone else's fanfiction? How the hell is he messing with me, now?"

Asterbury scratched an ear. “Well…when I used your time-space doohickey to separate your sonas…I may have also tangled up a few alternate realities, mixed a few stories…"

“Again!?"

“By accident this time, I swear!"

“I'm gonna have to start neutering your powers before I let you visit me." The Coyote growled. “Cause if you do this shit again next year, I'm just gonna have you neutered, period."

“But I need those to sex up Chocolate Strudel!"

“Which is why Vatch would be first in line to think me for neutering you!"

The Coyote sent out a message to the Easter Bunny. Leave me alone. I don't have time to deal with anyone else's crappy story. I'm busy enough in my own shitty fiction. If you come after me, I'll kick your fuzzy little easter eggs into Halloween. Only warning.

“That oughta get him to back off."

“Or really piss him off."

Not long after The Coyote sent that message, he got one back from Amaleen.

Valyrym's ready to leave, anyway. Poor dragon's feet are swollen from stepping on so many jellyfish.

“That joke's the gift that keeps on giving!" Asterbury cackled, dancing a few paces through the vast white emptiness, then back towards the coyote. “Just like my-"

The Coyote slapped him across the back of the head. “Just take us to Valyrym."

“Can do, best buddy." Asterbury hefted up the sphere containing the previous scene. “But what about this thing?"

“Weren't you carrying that around a minute ago? What happened to it while we were looking at my phone?"

Asterbury glanced back the sphere, and the phone a few times. “Continuity error?"

“Works for me." The Coyote tucked his phone into his pocket. “Just ditch that thing. Limbo can have it."

“Adios, poorly written Home Alone parody!" Asterbury took a few steps, dropped the sphere, and then kicked it as far as he could. It sailed away, eventually vanishing in the great nothingness all around them. “Look at that thing go! That's got way better hang time than those severed heads I usually kick around."

“Severed heads, plural?" The Coyote flattened his ears. “I only remember you doing that once…"

“I've been practicing!"

“Where the hell have you been getting severed heads to practice kicking?"

Asterbury shrugged, turning away. “Hobos, mostly."

“What?!" The Coyote gasped, grabbing Asterbury's shoulders. “You've been murdering hobos!"

“Of course not!" Asterbury beamed at the coyote over his shoulder. “I've just been robbing inner city mortuaries and morgues. The hobos were already dead! Anyway, off to the beach cabana we go!"

Before The Coyote could further argue, Asterbury swiped a hand through the air, and the story flashed ahead to the next scene.

*****

At some point, between scenes, the real coyote spent a day doing fun things with his family. He saw the Last Jedi, and loved it. He went to the resort with the immense indoor Christmas Light display, and wandered amidst a million flashes of color and towering Christmas trees, laden with ornaments. They visited another city's historic main street, and its own incredible Christmas displays. All the little stores were done up in layers of shining red, and shimmering white. Windows were filled with countless trees, snowmen, and reindeer. Oversized Santas perched atop roofs. Lights synced to music danced all around another towering Christmas tree. Outdoor markets offered samples of delicious treats. Christmas music drifted through open doors, mingling with the sounds of happy voices and laughter. At the end of the day, he returned home to watch his beloved Cowboys eek out a miracle win, and keep their slim playoff hopes alive for another week.

He went to bed happy, and the next day, resumed his silly tale.

*****

The Coyote wobbled and stumbled when the next scene slammed home around them. His stomach churned and lurched, threatening to return all the coffee, egg nog and beer he'd filled it with. He took a few deep breaths, waiting for the worst of his nausea to pass. When he felt a little better, he gazed around.

They stood at the edge of a vast, white-sand beach. Gentle waves lapped at the shoreline, and the scent of ocean salt filled the air, mingling faintly with burnt gingerbread and overbearing holiday spices. Palm trees with bent and crooked trunks shaded the beach. Haphazardly strung Christmas lights wrapped each palm tree's fronds. A few mismatched ornaments hung from them as well. There was a red glass sphere, a shiny plastic santa hat, a reindeer, a silver star, and so on.

A line of circular cabanas sat along the beach nearby. Turning around, The Coyote realized they were on a tiny island. He could just about see the ocean again on the far side of it. More cabanas encircled most of the island, with a large docks at one end. A larger building occupied the center of the island. The wooden cabanas all looked in bad shape. There were holes in their thatched roofs. Broken shutters hung around dirty windows. Strings of lights circled each cabana, but hung down in uneven curls. Some of the bulbs were dead, others flickered and flashed where they shouldn't have.

The building at the island's center wasn't in much better shape. It was three stories, but its roof bore shredded holes, as well. The windows looked as if they hadn't been washed in ages. Wreaths nailed to doors and walls were made of real pine and holly boughs, long dead and dried. Faded ribbons fluttered in the breeze. Some of the posts supporting its balcony patio were broken. A single, flickering light illuminated a grimy looking rooftop bar. A rabbit dressed in a shoddy looking santa suit leaned over the railing, vomiting up gingerbread and brandy.

“How festive." The Coyote turned towards Asterbury, grabbing one of his little horns. “This shithole is where you sent my characters on vacation?" He shook the urd'thins head, snarling at him. “What the hell, Asterbury!"

The ur'thin wobbled back and forth, then pulled away. “Quit shakin' me, I'm not yer baby!"

“Jesus, Asterbury."

“He's the reason for the season!" Asterbury pulled away, cackling.

“We gotta have a talk about how dark your damn jokes are getting."

“Never seemed to be a problem before." Asterbury shrugged, and started walking down the sandy shoreline. “Not like anyone's reading this slop, anyway."

“Hey, last year's story got at least twenty-five faves!" The Coyote folded his arms as he followed the urd'thin.

“Oooh!" Asterbury waved his hands about. “A whole twenty-five? Why, that's almost one fave for every hour of work you poured into it! What a satisfying reward that must have for all your tireless efforts."

“It's not about how many favs it gets. It's about the satisfaction of completing it, the fun of writing it, and the happiness it brings, knowing I've made just one other person smile around the holidays. That's what-"

“Shut your sap hole, we're here." Asterbury walked up to the front door of the cabana they reached. He reached out and knocked on the door, only for bits of wood to fall away. The whole door swung open. “Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you've been enjoying your lovely vacation!"

Amaleen stepped out first. The older woman was dressed in a colorful, festive dress adorned with Christmas trees and snowmen. Red ribbons were tied around her black curls. She put her hands on her rounded hips, glaring down at the shorter urd'thin. Then without any real warning, she kneed Asterbury in the balls as hard as she could. The impact hoisted the smaller creature off his feet for a moment.

“OOOWWWAAAHHH!" Asterbury crumpled into a writhing, wriggling heap, maw wide open and eyes bugged out.

Amaleen stepped over his squirming form, towards The Coyote. “Merry Christmas, Coyote."

The Coyote covered his crotch with both hands, backing away. “Merry Christmas to you, too. I think."

Amaleen waved a hand at him. “Oh, your sugar cookies are safe." She glanced over her shoulder at the red-robed urd'thin, now rolling around in the sand. “That was for stranding us in this shithole!"

“It looked…better…in the picture!"

“Stranded?" The Coyote flicked an ear back. “You should have told me. I'd have come to get you early."

“I did!" Amaleen rolled her eyes. “I've sent you a dozen messages, at least. I actually thought the rat-dog was blocking them or something so he could keep you to himself this year."

“That's!" Asterbury coughed, rolling to his other side. “Racist!"

“Urd'thin aren't rat-dogs." Amaleen called back to him. “Urd'thin as a people are sweet, hardworking, and adorable. But you? You're a hideous, mangy rat-dog."

“Lemme see your phone."

“It's inside. Come on."

Amaleen led The Coyote into the cabana. The inside was just as bad as the outside, with rickety furniture, a fridge that didn't work, and a TV playing a staticky, looping version of Jingle All The Way, over and over. Ayly sat in front of it, staring at the poor picture, and speaking every line along with the movie.

“I'm not a pervert!" Ayly shook her tiny fist at the screen. “I just want a turbo man doll!"

The Coyote blinked. “How many times has she seen this movie?"

“A dozen, at least. We can't turn the damn thing off, and after the first day, Valyrym and her father wouldn't let her go down near the water." Amaleen shook her head. “You know, on account of all the jellyfish."

“Oh, god." The Coyote rubbed his muzzle, groaning. “Where is Valyrym, anyway?"

“In the next cabana." Amaleen waved her hand at the place. “We had to break down a wall to fit him in. These things don't expand the way your house does." She lowered her voice. “I think they were supposed too, but the rabbits keep screwing with us."

“Rabbits?"

“Yeah, this whole place is run by rabbits." She retrieved her phone from a wobbly table, and handed it to The Coyote. “Here. It's a miracle I've been able to keep it charged. There's only one working outlet in this whole place."

“Huh. I think I have an idea of what's going on, then." The Coyote scrolled through Amaleen's phone. Sure enough, he only recognized a few of the messages she sent him. Plenty more he hadn't seen were telling him what a dump they were stuck in, and asking if he could come get them out. “Yeah, I didn't get half of these." He offered her his phone to let her look through it. “I mostly got…images of Krek's balls."

Amaleen glanced through The Coyote's telegram account, shaking her head. “No, those aren't Krek's balls."

“Yeah, I figured that out, but…" He jerked his head up. “How the hell do you know that from a quick glance?"

“I got to know them pretty good last year, when I had to teach him a lesson for trying to take over your story." She handed him the phone back, smirking. “These don't look near flattened enough. I think someone's screwing with you. And us."

“Yeah, I figured that out, too." He jerked his thumb towards the door, where Asterbury was just starting to get back up. “It's his fault, I think."

“Is it." Amaleen folded her arms, her voice flat. “Seems like that's always the case lately."

“Yeah, so…apparently he wanted to give me other Sonas a merry Christmas too, but accidentally made The Gryphon evil."

Amaleen took a deep breath, and gave a long sigh. “Of course he did."

“And…I guess the Easter Bunny's mad, or something."

“The Easter Bunny?" Amaleen's jaw dropped.

“Yeah, from that subplot we kept ignoring last year."

“Because it was stupid?" She smirked, tilting her head.

“That's the one!" The Coyote returned Amaleen's phone to her, then turned away. “Granted, these stories are always stupid. I dunno how he's involved, exactly, but…I'm gonna guess…ahhh…" The Coyote idly waved a hand. “The Gryphon cut a deal with the Easter Bunny, to help him take over Christmas, if The Gryphon gets to replace me in all these stories. Or something."

Amaleen smirked. “Quite the little plot you've cooked up."

The Coyote laughed, walking towards the TV. “Yeah…shame I can't be bothered to explain it, right?"

“At least that way you don't have to worry too much about plot holes. Just let the readers piece it together themselves."

“Oh yeah, cause what people really expect from these Christmas stories is a coherent plot." The Coyote yipped laughter, then crouched down behind Ayly. “Hey, Ayly, ready to go back to my house?"

Ayly jumped to her feet, and turned towards him. “Coyote! I had a dream that Krek broke his neck and then lived again and broke his lumps of coal and then I shot him and the old man with a shovel."

“You had a dream that what happened?" Amaleen glared at The Coyote, then lifted her knee. “You're gettin' it later, if that's what you're putting that poor child through."

“It wasn't me! We were just trying a Home Alone parody…" He sighed, shaking his head. “You know what, forget it. I'm just gonna blame it all on The Gryphon, and if he causes any more trouble, you can break his lumps of coal."

Amaleen cracked her knuckles. “With pleasure."

“Coyote!" Ayly jumped about, hopping around The Coyote in a circle. “I want edd nod! I want cookies! I want gingerbwead! I want a tax reform bill that actually benefits the working class and the poor more than the millionaires!"

“I'll get you all the egg nog you…wait, what was that last one?"

Ayly tilted her head back, staring up at him. “Gingerbwead?"

“No, after that."

“A new Lellumgurb?" Ayly giggled and dashed towards the door. “This one's old and worn out and smells funny when he's soggy!"

The Coyote scratched his head as Ayly vanished outside. “What the hell have you guys been telling her?"

Amaleen held her hands out, walking outside. “Don't look at me. Who knows what her poor head gets filled with when she spends these holiday tales with Krek. That bird couldn't keep his damn beak shut if…if…" She turned around and poked The Coyote's chest. “Write me something witty."

“Oh, no. If it doesn't work when Valyrym asks me, it's not gonna work for you, either. You're gonna have to be witty on your own." He glanced down the shore, watching Ayly sprint across the sand towards the next cabana. “Is Val in that one?"

“Should be, yes." Amaleen glanced at Asterbury as he staggered back to his feet. “Are you coming?"

“Not for much longer if you keep kneeing me that way!" Asterbury groaned, rubbing himself through his Santa robe. “Think you knocked one of them up inside me!"

“Only one?" Amaleen tilted her head, scowling. “Let me try again."

Then Amaleen wedged her knee between the urd'thin's legs a second time, once more lifting him off his feet. This time the only noise he made was something akin to a screeching squeak, his ink-black eyes popping out over his scrunched-up muzzle. Asterbury's ears flattened back, and he crumpled to the ground all over again. This time he curled up into a tight little ball, groaning and whimpering.

“Better?" Amaleen smiled down at him.

“NNNNRHH! Both…of em!"

“Good!" Amaleen gave a cheerful laugh and turned away, walking down the shore. “Do be a dear and let me know when they've descended so I can do that again."

The Coyote laughed, shaking his head. “You're especially wicked this year."

“After all the shit that little rodent's put us through since you added him to your roster? He deserves a hell of a lot worse than he's gotten."

A little way down the shore, Ayly skidded to a halt in the sand. She whirled around, and ran right back towards The Coyote and Amaleen. “Coyote! Coyote! Coyote!"

“Yes, yes, yes, Ayly?"

“I forgotta tell you what I want for Christmas, and I still dun have edd nod, or sugar cookies, or gingerbread, or a new Lellumgurb, or-"

The Coyote crouched down to put her muzzle and quiet her a moment. “I'm afraid you're stuck with the old Lellumgurb a while longer. But lemme see what else I can whip up for you." He traced lines around her neck with a finger, and a belled harness materialized in the wake of his touch. Pouches hung from it against her body, in each reach of her paws or teeth. Some of the pouches were filled with cookies, others with gingerbread, and another with bottles of egg nog complete with nozzles adapted for the muzzles of tiny dragons. “There. Happy?"

Ayly giggled and bounced. “Uh huh! Wanna know what else I want for Christmas?"

“Sure, Ayly, but it may have to wait until we beat up a gryphon and a bunny."

Ayly's muzzle dropped open, and she gaped at the coyote with wide eyes. “You're gonna beat up Lellumgurb?" Then she giggled, bouncing on her paws. “I wanna help!"

“No, a different gryphon. What are you hoping Santa brings you?"

Ayly scrunched her muzzle. “I thought Santa shot himself?"

The Coyote rubbed his forehead, ears flattened. “I've got to stop bringing you to these stories. Just tell me what you want."

Ayly took a breath so deep her whole black and purple body seemed to expand. She wiggled in excitement, and the little silver spots on her haunches glittered. Then she started hopping up and down, blurting out her reply in a single, long, breathless answer. “I want the Turbo Man action figure with the arms and legs that move and the boomerang shooter and his rock'n roller jet pack and the realistic voice activator that says 5 different phrases including, It's Turbo Time! Accessories sold separately. Batteries not included."

With every word, The Coyote's ears pinned back further and further. By the time Ayly was finished, she flopped over, wheezing and panting for breath. The Coyote glanced back at Amaleen. “We've got to start cutting down on her TV time." He patted the little dragon's side. “You okay there, Ayly?"

Ayly staggered back to her feet, nodding. She sucked in a few more breaths, then pawed at the Coyote's hands. “I want that! Turbo Man! But you gotta go look for it! Every time The Terminator tries to find it, it's always sold out!"

“It's a movie, Ayly, and that's not The Terminator, it's-"

“Uh huuuh, it's the Terminaaaator!"

“No, it's Arnold Schwarzenegger, but he's playing a different character, and…wait." He scooped Ayly up in his arms as he stood. The bells on her snack harness jingled. “How do you know about The Terminator?"

“I seed it on your TV, with grandfather!"

The Coyote grit his teeth as he carried the hatchling to the cabana. “It better have been the edited for TV version, then."

“Nuh uh!" Ayly giggled, swishing her tail as it hung over his arms. “It had swears and blood and dead people and sassy kids and motorcycles and robots and Lellumgurbs and Conan The Barbarian and Tony The Librarian and butts and Turbo Man and boobies and Batman and Saving Ryan's Privates and Gryphon Sluts 6 and-"

“That's it!" The Coyote followed Amaleen into the cabana. An entire wall had been removed, and then leaned back up against the building. “No more TV unless I'm there to supervise what you're watching."

“Coyote, is that you?" Valyrym's voice echoed from the back of the dark cabin. “About time you got here! Did you bring me some ointment for my paws?"

“Ointment?" The Coyote scowled, splaying his ears. “Did you age another hundred years while I was away?"

“No, but he must have stepped on at least that many jelly fish." Amaleen moved aside to let the Coyote past.

Valyrym was sprawled at the back of the dingy room, with his head resting on a Christmas wreath and a few moth-eaten santa hats. The Coyote walked up to him, smiling. As usual this time of year, Valyrym's youth had returned to him. Hints of blue edged his jaw, his frills, and his wings. The gray was mostly gone from his scales, and his gaunt body was once more full and strong.

Just as The Coyote was about to greet his old friend, the black dragon lifted a forepaw to wave it. His paw was swollen and red, all the scales cracked or fallen off completely. His pads looked ready to split open. Dozens of tiny red marks lined each toe, and all across his paw pads.

“Baaaahh!" The Coyote stumbled back. “What the hell, Valyrym? Your forepaw looks like an infected balloon!"

“Nice to see you too, Dumpster Diver!" Valyrym snorted, dropping his paw back down. “You were supposed to bring me some jellyfish-sting ointment."

“First, there's no such thing. Second, most of Amaleen's messages were lost. Third…how in Santa's fat Christmas c-" The Coyote cut himself off when he realized the hatchling in his arms was staring at him. “Candy…cane…did you step on so many Jelly fish?"

“How should I know? Every time I went near the water, there they were again!"

“If you saw them, why would you step on them!?"

“I didn't do it on purpose! I'd try to avoid one, and there was another one, right where I set my paw down! Then I'd yelp and stumble back and step on six more!" Valyrym shifted his weight. “I can barely even get up to go outside to take a piss!"

Ayly stretched his neck to whisper into Coyote's ear. “Grandfather has pee pee problems."

“I do not have pee pee problems!" Valyrym thumped a forepaw against the ground, only to yowl in pain and clutch it to his chest. “OWWWW!"

Ayly whispered again. “Grandfather's inconsequent."

The Coyote smirked. “You mean incontinent."

Ayly gave a solemn nod. “Because he's old."

Valyrym snarled. “Will you just fix this already?"

“Oh…yeah, okay."

The Coyote took a breath, and sent his Christmas magic out into the world. It came in waves of cold air that frosted the windows, that left icicles hanging from outside walls, and sent tendrils of silver and gold tinsel creeping across furniture. The magic brushed Valyrym, and when he sucked in a mouthful of wintry Christmas air, it spread through him. Though it felt cold, it was warm and love at heart, and as it spread through him, it neutralized the jellyfish toxins, and soon, healed his paws. The swelling went down, his scales restored themselves, and before long, Valyrym was back to normal.

“Thank the Gods!" Valyrym rolled to his feet, and then shook out each paw, one at a time. “Where's Asterbury? I'm gonna murder that cackling shit for putting me through that!"

“Amaleen's already murdered his future pups." The Coyote carried Ayly over to her grandfather, and then let her scramble up onto his back. “Here, ride your grandpa a while." He hugged Valyrym's neck, rubbing his scales. “Good to see you, buddy. Merry Christmas!"

Valyrym gave a long sigh, and wrapped a foreleg around The Coyote to hug him against his plated chest. “Good to see you too, Coyote. I hope your year has seen more good than bad."

The Coyote melted into his dear friend's hug, and for a few moments, just let the dragon bear all his burdens. For a little while, there was no one else there, only the dragon who had come to symbolize his writing, and the canine who had come to symbolize the best parts of his life. Valyrym, year in and year out, had a way of seeing into The Coyote's soul. Perhaps it was because he too, was part of The Coyote, or perhaps…there was just an extra vulnerability inherent in confessing all his fears to one of his favorite, and most damaged, characters.

He patted the dragon's scales, eased back, and let the strange, nonsensible world he'd whipped up return to existence all around him. “Eh…there's been a lot of bad, but there's been a lot of good, too. Still get way too many damn needles in my arms, and there's never any way to know how long the medication will keep working. Or if I'll still be covered to keep getting it, this time next year. And on, and on…but you know what?"

Valyrym chuckled. “Fuck it, have fun anyway?"

A bright smile broke across the Coyote's muzzle. “Exactly. That's life. Fuck it, have fun."

“So the usual then, eh Scavenger?" Valyrym ruffled the fur between his ears, laughing.

“Pretty much!"

“Speaking of, you know what would make my life fun, right now?"

The Coyote pulled out his phone, checked the progress of the story so far, then shook his head. “I don't think we have time for a sex scene, Val."

“Not that." Valyrym tossed his head, then snorted. “Well, yes. Definitely that. But I was actually talking about ripping off Asterbury's head."

The Coyote laughed, scratching at one of his ears. “See, the thing about that is, it wasn't actually him this year."

“The hell it wasn't!" Valyrym snarled, stalking towards the door. “He's the one who sent us out here."

“I know, I know, but…I think he meant to give you an actual vacation. I think The Gryphon, or the Easter Bunny has been screwing with it. Probably both of them, to try and keep you all stuck here, so you couldn't assist me when I…" The Coyote tried off when he realized Valyrym was just staring at him in confusion.

“Are you drunker than usual?"

“I wish. I'm stone-cold sober right now." The Coyote retrieved his phone again, located the story, and scrolled to the beginning. “Here. Catch up on what you missed. I'm gonna go find Krek. I don't suppose he's off spelunking in Valar's cavern, is he?"

“Urrgghh!" Valyrym made a disgusted noise, shaking his head. “Must you put it that way? And no, Valar's off in another story, getting to spend some time alone with Trouble. Krek's gone to yell at the rabbits in the main hotel, again."

“Alright. I'm gonna go find him, then." The Coyote headed for the door, glancing back. “Read quickly, and get ready to go. I wanna get this story wrapped up early this year, cause it's gonna be a really busy Christmas Eve for me."

“Oh?" Valyrym tilted his head, staring at the Coyote. “Got a big coyote party planned? Decking out your dumpster for the holidays? Going to share your cartoonish collection of trash? Someone bringing a fish skeleton? A crumpled tin can? A wet newspaper? Oh, let me guess, you're going to firm a circle, and-"

“However you're about to finish that sentence, keep in mind you have a hatchling on your back." The Coyote snorted. “Who clearly knows way more than she should, already."

“I was only going to make a joke about dogs sniffing butts."

“Butts!" Ayly giggled, bounced on Valyrym's back, and then spilled a bottle of egg nog all over him. It trickled down his scales, and across his wing membranes in sticky-sweet rivulets. “Awww…I pilled my edd nod!"

“How did you-" Valyrym twisted his head around, staring at her. “Aren't those the spill proof bottles from last year?"

“Huh." The Coyote shrugged, using his powers to add a new bottle to Ayly's stash. “Must have been a defective lid."

“You're the defective one." Valyrym grumbled under his breath.

“What are you, in third grade? You gonna make jokes about my momma, next? Just read the damn story." The Coyote folded his arms, grimacing. “Or don't, actually. I don't care. Just don't expect me to bother catching you up on my own. I'm gonna go collect Licorice Muffin, and then we can-"

“Licorice Muffin?" Valyrym jerked his head up. “Who the hell is that?"

“That's what Asterbury's been calling Krek lately, I kinda like it."

The Coyote left the others behind, and made his way towards the large building at the center of the island. Decrepit as the structure looked, it was still expansive, and he wasn't sure where to start looking for Krek. The gryphon could be just about anywhere inside it. If he'd gone to complain to management about the conditions, The Coyote suspected he was probably in an interior office somewhere. He walked around to the front of the building. A large, battered sign announced the name of the resort as The Rabbit Hole. Someone had taken a marker and drawn a very crude picture over the name, illustrating a different sort of rabbit's hole.

Just as The Coyote was getting a juvenile giggle out of that, a window in the second floor blew out, and a battered rabbit hurtled through it. The rabbit hit the ground with a cough, rocking around in pain. He coughed up a little blood onto a stained porter's uniform. The Coyote walked over to him, looking him over.

“More two legged anthro rabbits. What is this, Zootopia fanfic?"

An immense black shape erupted through the damaged window, taking part of the wall with it. The Coyote yelped and dashed out of Krek's way as the big, ebony-feathered gryphon landed near the rabbit. With a snarl, Krek shook himself, flaring up his silver crown feathers, then snatched the rabbit's head in a paw. He shook the smaller creature back and forth, hissing at him.

“Last chance, bunny! Tell me the plan, or I burst your skull like a rotten grape!"

The Coyote lifted a hand and waved. “Hey, Krek."

Krek glanced over. “Hey, Coyote." He turned his attention back to the rabbit, and shook him by the head again. “You tell me what Kylaryn is planning, or I'll rip out your bones, one by one, and…no, wait. Wrong scene, wrong story." He cleared his throat with a growl. “You tell me where the Queen keeps her panties, or…no wait-“

The Coyote's eyes widened. “That's definitely the wrong story. Hell, that sounds like fanfiction." A smirk crept across his muzzle. “Kreeeeek, have you been writing naughty fanfiction of yourself and the Queen?"

“Well, someone's got to!" With a snarl, he tossed the rabbit aside. “Since you clearly can't be bothered to write us a sex scene."

“You're in a sex scene in the second Christmas story! And…wait, so…you wrote fanfiction about…trying to find the Queen's panties?" The Coyote scratched an ear. “Now I'm sorta confused."

“I've done no such thing! You must have misheard!" The gryphon turned towards the Coyote, then butted his head against him. “It's about time you got here! Haven't you gotten any of Amaleen's messages?"

“Ugh! No, I haven't! Damn it, I'm gonna have to catch you up too, aren't I."

“No time for that!" Krek turned and bound back towards the cabanas. “I've just discovered this place is a front for the Easter Bunny! He must have tricked Asterbury into sending us here, so we wouldn't be able to help you defend your home, and your Christmas story!"

The Coyote hurried after the gryphon, his ears perked. “You figured all that out on your own?"

“Yes! I've been ferreting out clues and putting things together every since we got here! It's taken me hours, no, days, of detective work, sleuthing, and careful manipulation of conversations with all these rabbits, but I've been one step ahead of them all along!" He paused for the coyote to catch up. “I am, after all, a master spy."

As The Coyote trotted after the gryphon, they passed the rabbit Krek hurled aside earlier. The Coyote crouched down, and took the whimpering creature's phone, then glanced through it. “So…when you say you're a master spy…did you mean you just found someone's phone? Cause there's messages here from the Easter bunny, telling them to keep you all stuck here."

“Really?" Krek glanced at one of his paws. “Well, that's the easy way. If you're a master spy like I am-"

“This also says that my other sona, The Gryphon, is using his powers to forward all the rabbits the story straight from my computer, so that they know where I'm going to be at all times." He found the story file for Another Stupid Christmas Story, and turned the screen towards the gryphon. “Mister Master Spy just saw a phone sitting out and read the story, didn't you."

“About twenty minutes ago, yes."

“Knew it!" He tossed the phone away, hurrying after the gryphon once more. “Not that having a copy of the story is gonna do those long-eared, egg-shitting easter bunny fuckers any good! I make this shit up as I go along!"

Krek glanced back at him. “How did you ever get so charming?"

“Practice!"

“Yes, and doesn't it just show in your smooth use of language, and the fact you never fall back or lean on profanity for your humor!" As they neared the cabanas, the gryphon skidded to a halt. “I hope you have a plan."

“Like I ever have a plan." The Coyote came to a stop next to him, smiling. “I do, however…" He waggled a finger at the gryphon. “Have an idea. A great idea."

“Hopefully one that can wrap up this bloated tale in another few pages?"

The Coyote burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah, like that's gonna happen. Don't worry though, I got a real holiday classic for us to visit real soon."

“Oh?" The gryphon cocked his head. “What is it?"

The Coyote kept laughing, rubbing his hands together. “Let's just say…it doesn't die easily. But first? A beer."

*****

The next day, The Coyote wandered back into the scene, sipping an iced mocha with an extra shot of espresso. “Okay…umm…" He took another sip, glancing around at all his gathered friends. Everyone stood outside a battered, beach side cabana. “Where were we again?"

“What do you mean, where were we?" Valyrym stepped forward, snarling, his spines flared. “You went for a beer, and never came back!"

Asterbury laughed, thumping Valyrym on the shoulder. “That's what your son said! 'Daddy just went for a little revenge, and never came back! Whaaaaaaah!' And now here you are, saying the same thing to The Coyote." Asterbury sighed and shook his head. “It's all a vicious cycle." When everyone glared at him, the urd'thin looked around, shrugging. “What, to soon?"

“First, that's not what happened." The Coyote held up a finger on his free hand. “Second…" He lifted another finger. “That's not how cycles work, dipshit. If it was a cycle, it would be Ayly asking why Valar never comes back. You're doing it in reverse-"

“Is what she said!" Asterbury cackled and held up a hand, waiting. “Come on, someone hit this, that was a perfectly timed 'she said' joke!"

“I'll hit something!" Amaleen strode towards him, balling up her first.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!" Asterbury scurried behind The Coyote. “Keep your dead character away from me!"

The Coyote turned around, holding up three fingers. “And third?" He dropped two fingers back down and flipped off Asterbury. “Now shut the hell up and take us home."

Amaleen put her hands on her hips. “Look at the mighty demigod, cowering behind a canine."

“I'm not cowering." Asterbury peeked his head out around the Coyote. “I'm simply protecting you. Why, if Egg and Nog take another shot, I might inadvertently lash out with my powers and obliterate everyone!"

“Oh, something's going to get obliterated, alright…" Amaleen walked around the Coyote, only for Asterbury to circle to the front of him. She glared at Asterbury over the Coyote's shoulders. “Wait, you named them?"

“Oh, like you never named Val's!"

Amaleen tried to snatch at Asterbury around The Coyote. “I did not name them. Droopy and Saggy were just…drunken nicknames Alia and I gave them."

Valyrym curled his neck, hissing. “You named my balls Droopy and Saggy?!"

“_Nick-_named, anyway…" Amaleen rubbed her forehead. “And I mean, look at them, Val, you are an older dragon…"

Valyrym tucked his head back down, glancing between his hind legs. “They are neither drooping, nor sagging!"

“That's only because The Coyote lets you have your youth back a few days a year!"

“You never notice you have a lot of A-names?" Asterbury reached up to poke The Coyote's nose. “Boop!"

The Coyote swatted his hand away. “Cut that out. And, yeah, I got a few."

“More than a few, I'd say! Lemme rattle 'em off, for ya!"

“Please don't."

“There's Asterbury, of course, the best, coolest, and most popular of the lot." The urd'thin glanced at Amaleen. “Then there's deadie over here. So you've got…Asterbury, Amaleen, Alia, Arcaydior, Aylyryn, Aylynaryn, Aylaryl, Aryfblrrgl…Aryryryylryl?"

The Coyote blinked. “You're making half of those up! And what the hell were those last ones?"

“Sorry, your shitty names broke my tongue."

The Coyote slapped him across the head. “Will you just get us home?"

“Ow!" Asterbury rubbed his ear, growling. “Just for that, I'm pointing out some K names, too! You've got Kaylen, Kathlyn, Korvarok, Krek, Kurekka…" He licked his muzzle, dancing away. “Then there's your V-name fixation. Valyrym, Valaranyx, Vraalisothinox, Varcorak, Vatch, Vakaal, Vetkal-"

“Aww, cram a dick in it, Asterbury." The Coyote folded his arms, his ears flattened back. “Half those names are from different stories, anyway. It's fine when they're not in the same tale."

Valyrym turned his head to whisper to Krek. “Do you recognize half those names?"

The gryphon ruffled his silver-edged wings. “Of course not. You think I'd waste my time reading The Coyote's poorly-written scribblings? Unless it's a scene I'm in, I'd just as soon toss it back into whichever dumpster he's currently residing in." He clicked his beak, smirking. “You can predict all his stories, anyway." Krek waved a black-furred forepaw. “Here's a woman, here's a dragon. Banter banter, I hate you, kick in the balls. Banter, banter, banter, now we're friends. Kick in the balls anyway. More banter, big laugh, shock reveal, someone dies, cliffhanger…unresolved for seventeen years." He cocked his head, offering the coyote an open-beaked smile. “Miss anything?"

“Just the part where the Queen has you neutered cause she's tired of worrying about bastard fledglings."

“Her Majesty would never do such a thing." Krek shook his head end. “She values those as much as I do."

Amaleen snorted, shaking her head. “That would be impossible."

Valyrym rumbled laughter. “I'd wager she'd miss them greatly."

“Thank you, Valyrym." Krek bowed his head to the dragon.

Valyrym flicked his tail against the sandy ground. “Where else is going to find her stress relief after a hard day of governance if she'd can't put her boot in Smuggy Smarmbird's especially unimpressive baubles?"

Krek whined, his feathers drooping. “Words hurt, Dragon."

“Shove it under your tail, Soot."

Krek jerked his head up at the hated pet name. He narrowed his green eyes, silver crown feathers lifted. “That's what your son asked me to do!"

“What?" Valyrym whirled around on him so fast Ayly nearly flew off his back.

“WHEEEEE! Grandfather ride!"

“Yeah, let's all talk about that in front of the hatchling." The Coyote took another drink of coffee, glaring at the two of them.

“Okay!" Asterbury strode towards Valyrym, his arms wide. “You see Ayly, when a male dragon and a male gryphon love each other very much-MMRRPH!"

A thick strand of silver tinsel appeared and wrapped itself around his muzzle. The Coyote snatched one of the urd'thin's oversized ears, twisting it a little. “That's more than enough out of you. Just take us back to my place."

Asterbury yanked the tinsel free and turned to glare at The Coyote.

“Well, go on then." The Coyote gestured with his drink. “Home James, and don't spare the horses. Home again, home again, jiggity jig."

Asterbury stared at him, then turned right back around to Valyrym. “What the fuck is that from?"

“Assberry said a swear!" Ayly giggled.

“Ye Olden Times, I suspect." Valyrym snorted.

Asterbury tilted his head. “What did she call me?"

The Coyote glanced around at everyone, ignoring the urd'thin. “None of you have heard that before? All that TV binge watching you do when you visit, and you've never heard, Home James and don't spare the horses?"

“Sorry, Coyote." Valyrym shrugged his wings. “They didn't make TV shows in the 1800's."

“Just take us home, Asterbury."

“Fine, fine." Asterbury turned away, and stretched his hand towards the sky. “Hey, existence! You got a little somethin' on your face, there!" He made a pinching gesture, and the world crumpled slightly around them, as if everything was but a brightly colored page in a picture book. Then he yanked his hand sideways, turning the page. The island resort folded in on itself, and in an instant, a new world of white snow and shining lights unfurled in its place. “And here we are!"

All at once, everyone but Asterbury and The Coyote vomited. The Coyote yipped and danced away from the festive streams and colorful spatters in the snow. “EW! Gross! Asterbury!"

“Oh, right. I forget these transitions hit them harder than the rest of us. I think they'll need a minute."

“How about I give you a minute to clean this mess up, while I go inside?"

Ignoring Asterbury's protest, The Coyote walked down the front path to his house. Normally, little shiny snowmen decorations lined it. Now, though, they were all replaced with gryphon decorations, instead. Each gryphon had black feathers, with blue edging along his wings, around his head, and with long blue feathers lining his tail. The Coyote grimaced. That didn't bode well. And he was sure it hadn't been snowing when last they were here. Yet now snow fell in thick, silent waves, blanketing everything in beautiful cold tranquility. Christmas lights lined the doorway and the bushes, their bright rainbow tones glowing amidst the falling snow.

When The Coyote reached the front door, he realized the wreath had been replaced with a decorative, smiling gryphon's head. Blue crown feathers circled it, decked out with glimmering blue lights. He pushed the door open and went inside. Just like outside, all the myriad snowmen that decorated every corner of his home had been replaced by gryphons. There were lazy gryphons, smiling gryphons, flying gryphons, gryphons showing off their bits, gryphons wearing santa hats and gryphons making snowgryphons. There were snowgryphons, gryphons cuddling, and there were smirking gryphons, smarmy gryphons, egotistical gryphons, smug gryphons gryphons.

Sitting in The Coyote's kitchen, drinking his egg nog, was the smuggest gryphon of all. No, it wasn't Krek, though this gryphon did look an awful lot like him. This gryphon was also male, about Krek's size, and also covered mostly in beautiful, glossy black plumage and fur. Resplendent indigo flight feathers lined the edges of his magnificent wings. His long, and especially regal tail was layered with gorgeous azure feathers. More such breathtakingly-blue feathers circled the back of his neck.

“Greetings, Coyote!" The Gryphon gave a loud warble. “Welcome to my home. I'm so glad we finally get to meet face to face. I hope you've enjoyed all the photos I've been sending."

The Coyote folded his arms. “Magnificent wings? Especially regal tail? Breathtakingly-blue?" He rolled his eyes, flicking his bushy tail. “What are you, inserting your own descriptions into my story?"

The Gryphon drained a bottle of egg nog, then tossed it aside, and made a show of preening one of his wings. “Well, you weren't going to do me justice, after all."

“Uh huh." The Coyote took another step towards him. “Look, if you quit being an asshole, you stay for the party. But you're going to have to put all my mom's snowmen back."

The Gryphon only tilted his head, lifting his crown feathers. “But this is my house. And those are my mother's decorative gryphons."

“Okay, so let me get this straight. In the version of this story where I'm a gryphon-"

“I'm a gryphon." The Gryphon clicked his beak.

“I'm already getting tired of typing the word gryphon, but here we go. So, in your version of this story…you're a gryphon, who lives with his parents, because of medical and financial problems, and your mother…collects gryphons?" He perked a single ear.

“Yes, that's about the gist of it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a party to-"

“Oh, no, no, no. We're not close to done here. First off, why does your mother collect gryphons?" The Coyote smacked the back of his hand against his other palm. “That doesn't make any sense."

“Sure it does, gryphons are wonderful."

“Yes, they are. But a gryphon wouldn't collect gryphons for Christmas! That'd be like my mom collecting humans for gryphons, and filling the house with her human collection one month a year!"

The Gryphon shook his head. “That's just creepy."

“Exactly, so why would a society of gryphons…collect and display gryphons? At least make them snow-gryphons or something reasonable."

“Oh, you want to talk reasonable? Well, let's look at all the ways this story makes no logical sense at all! Nor have any of these stories."

The Coyote shook his head. “I don't wanna do that. Can we just skip to your villainous speech, so I can cut it off and move on?"

“Oh, kiss my balls, Coyote!"

The Coyote glanced down between The Gryphons hind legs, shrugging. “They looked bigger in the pictures."

“Bigger than yours, scavenger!"

“In this form, sure. But I think Asterbury short-changed you in the sheath and balls department when he whipped up your body." The Coyote pulled out his phone, and set a timer. “Alright, you got like, 30 seconds to get through your villainous speech. And…go."

The Gryphon pushed himself up onto all fours, snarling. “You see? This is the problem! This is why the Easter Bunny hates you! Because you always do this. You set up these elaborate backstories, these intricate plots, and then you…you just…trample all over them, fill them with parodies, with contrived banter, and then you completely the rest of us! The Easter Bunny was supposed to be the villain of this piece, but once again, he's reduced to what, a few lines, a few jokes? All…" He waved his paw at the gryphon-decorated house. “This. It's just…hell, it's not even fan-service, it's author service! Everyone else gets screwed over while you have fun! And that's the problem!" The Gryphon stalked around The Coyote, claws clicking against the kitchen tail. His voice twisted into a feral growl. “It's always about The Coyote, never about anyone else. You created me what, two years ago now, three? And this is the first time I've ever even been seen in one of your stories! You've one piece of art for me, you strut me around your chat once or twice, and then cast me aside, and damn near forgot I existed! Just like all your stories! But unlike them? I refuse to be forgotten! I refuse to yield to whatever whim next strikes you fancy! I am here because-"

“Time's up." The Coyote tapped the timer on his phone, and put it back in his pocket.

“What?" Confusion etched itself across the gryphon's face. He splayed his ears, tilting his head. “What do you mean, time's up?"

“It's self-explanatory. Time's up. That's all the space I'm giving you for your villainous speech."

“But I was just getting to the-"

“Nope." The Coyote shook his head. “That's it. I've already spent way more word than planned today without actually getting to the scene I was aiming for. Besides, I get your whole shtick." The Coyote went to the fridge and opened it up, fetching an egg nog jug. “You're angry cause you're ignored, you feel forgotten, blah blah blah. We did that storyline a few years ago, when Asterbury summoned all my old characters and tried to turn them against me."

“I'm not one of your-"

“You're my rarely used third 'sona." The Coyote shrugged, pouring himself a glass. “Same difference. So you've come here to usurp me, and put yourself at the center of the Christmas stories. So it'll be your antics everyone laughs at, your fluffy feathers they start to associate with my writing, your countenance they interact with in the chats, and so on. And, if I remember my original idea correctly, you made a deal with the Easter Bunny, from that shitty Evil Dead Fanfic. He gets to have my Christmas magic, or some bullshit, and you get to have the Christmas stories all to yourself." The Coyote took a long drink of egg nog, nearly draining the glass. He set it down, and refilled it. “Is that about right?"

The Gryphon huffed, ruffling himself up. “Something like that, yes."

“See? You didn't need a villainous speech after all. So, here's the thing." The Coyote folded his arms, staring at The Gryphon. “You can quit acting like an entitled little shit, and come to the party and have fun. Or you can get your ass kicked. But you're not getting the story. And I already told the Easter Bunny to fuck off." The Coyote blinked, rubbing his face. “There's a sentence I never thought I'd write."

The Gryphon only stared at him. “And I already showed the Bunny where you live. His people are already on their way."

The Coyote only shrugged. “Then I guess the nog's on you, muthafucka."

“That's not a saying!"

“No, it's an action tag!" The Coyote snatched up his glass of egg nog and hurled it into the gryphon's face.

The Gryphon squawked and stumbled back, grabbing at his nog-soaked face with a paw. “AAAAH! You mussed my plumage! I'll rip your damn tail off!"

The Coyote thrust his hands out into the air, summoning his Christmas magic. He wreathed it around the gryphon, and into the world around him. Out of nowhere, an immense Christmas tree erupted from the ground, beneath the gryphon's belly. The tree was decorated entirely with tiny coyotes, each decked out in their own array of lights, and thick, bushy tails. All of them were pointing at the gryphon, laughing at him. Before he could escape, the tree exploded upwards, growing and growing. The tree rose and expanded so fast it hoisted the gryphon aloft, smashed him through the ceiling, and hurled him out into the cold, snowy world.

“I hate you coyoteeeeeeeeee!"

The Coyote swished his hand, and the house repaired itself, the tree vanished, and the spilled egg nog disappeared. “There's a running joke I could do without."

The front door burst open, growing to dragon-size, and Valyrym rushed in. “What the hell just happened?"

“That was just my third sona trying to ursurp me and steal my Christmas stories for himself."

Valyrym cocked his head. “You and Alvaranox are smoking the same thing, aren't you."

“Shut up, and get everyone in the house, quick!"

Valyrym gave a weary sigh. “Damn it, do we have to save Christmas again?"

The Coyote scratched his muzzle. “I don't think we saved Christmas last year. Santa was dead, and we framed Tim Allen for his murder, and stole all the presents."

“Oh, that's right." Valyrym cocked his head. “Can't we just do that again?"

“Well…I would have thought Tim Allen would be rotting in some Elf Jail by now, but…The Bunny said they had him, so…Oh who cares, that whole subplot is stupid." The Coyote walked to the door, waving Amaleen, Ayly, and Krek inside. “Besides, we're not saving Christmas, they're just trying to kill me. Or steal my powers, or something."

Valyrym walked up behind the coyote, rubbing his back with a forepaw. “Running out of steam?"

“Very funny."

“No, I'm serious. You know, you don't have to do these stories."

“I know, I know, I just…" The Coyote took a breath, and let it out slow. “Every year, I think it's gonna be short this time, just…quick and funny and happy…then I start writing, I get this idea, that idea, and they grow and grow…and I think up a funny dialogue exchange, and that becomes its own scene, and suddenly it's four days till Christmas and I've barely even gotten into the original story idea I had!"

“So?" Valyrym rested his muzzle on The Coyote's shoulder. “If it's wearing you out mentally this time, the solution is clear."

“I wouldn't say that." The Coyote glanced down, staring at the snow that drifted in through the open door. “It's not that it's wearing me out, it's just…it's supposed to be an escape. A smile, and a laugh in my favorite time of year. For the readers, but for me too. And most of the time, it is. But…" He licked his nose, sighing. “Seems like there comes a time every year when I'm just…I don't wanna work on it, anymore. At least not that day. Wrote five thousand words on it yesterday, wrote five thousand more the day before…and sometimes I just want to escape in a different way, you know? Play a video game, watch a movie…zone out, instead of honing in."

“So do it. Skip a few days."

“I can't, because I won't have all of Christmas Eve to spend writing it this year. And hell…I'm tired of doing that, anyway. So I keep at it, while I have a chance. It'll be worth it in the end…it's worth it to make just one reader laugh on Christmas. To make me laugh when I read it back to myself again next year, to get for the next one."

“I just…" Valyrym nuzzled the coyote's cheek, his voice softening. “I don't want to see you wearing yourself down, when you should be having a good time, just…just because you think people want it. It's wonderful that it's become a tradition not just for you, but you readers…But don't let it devour you, Coyote. You have to take care of yourself, too."

“I know, I know." The Coyote turned and wrapped his arms around the dragon's neck, giving his old friend a long hug. He buried his face against the dragon's scales. “Thanks, Val."

“Any time, Scavenger." Valyrym rubbed his back, rumbling softly. “Just promise me if the need arises, you'll just skip to the end and call it done, alright?"

“I promise." The Coyote eased back, smiling. “There's really just one more big parody I wanna do, couple scenes in it."

“He said, knowing full well it's going to balloon to another four hundred thousand words."

“Shut your rum guzzler." The Coyote laughed as he turned back towards the door, looking for Asterbury.

“Are you making him stay outside, because he's an asshole?"

“Yes." The Coyote smirked. “And also because he has a chainsaw." He lifted his voice when he spotted the red-robed urd'thin, barely visible through the thick snow. “Hey Asterbury! I think EB's sending a hit squad!"

“They're sneaking through your neighborhood, right now!"

“Can you tell how many of them are coming for me?"

“For you?" Asterbury shrugged. “Probably none of them. But if you let them read your dirty stories, you'll probably get some of them to cum because of you."

Valyrym snorted. “And that's why he's not invited next year."

“Hey, Asterbury! You still got Ash's chainsaw from last year's story?"

“Sure do, old buddy!" Asterbury reached into his robe, feeling around. “Lessee. Where'd I put it? No, that's not it…basketball…tire iron…blackjack…blow up doll…crack pipe…half a toilet…all of Existence #3 kept in a snow globe…nudie pics of The Coyote-"

“What!?"

“Nudie pics of myself…candy canes…tab of acid…Tom Cruise's hair…seventeen ants…scale model replica of the USS Theodore Roosevelt…Scale model replica of Theodore Roosevelt…" He felt around a little more. “Theodore Roosevelt's corpse…penetrable toy shaped like Vatch's muzzle…oh, here it is!" Asterbury yanked his hand out of his robe, and drew out an immense, battered red chainsaw. He yanked the chain, and the chainsaw roared to furious life. Asterbury whirled around, beaming. “Gravy."

The Coyote blinked. “It's groovy."

Asterbury cut the chainsaw off. “What?"

“Groovy. Ash's catchphrase is, groovy."

“Oh. Right. Lemme try again." Asterbury fired up the chainsaw again, smiling at it's buzzing teeth. “Drooly."

“What? No…Groovy. GROOVY!"

Asterbury turned it off again. “I'm sorry, I think I'm too far away to hear you clearly." He took one step through the snow towards The Coyote. “Are you saying, Screw Me?"

“No!"

“Well, I'm gonna go with that, anyway!" Asterbury whirled around, firing up the chainsaw once more. “Screw me!" Then he waved his chainsaw in the air, and a monster truck materialized in The Coyote's front yard. Art covered its every surface, all of which depicted Asterbury in a variety of pin-up poses, including one with him peeking over his shoulder, looking surprised. Tinsel and Christmas lights strung themselves up across the truck. Asterbury cut his chain saw off, clambered into the cab, and then chugged a beer. He tossed the empty can out the window, and roared off down the street. “Asterbury Twenty Tweeeentttyyyy!"

“Did he just? …I have got to tamp down on his powers." The Coyote sighed, shaking his head. “What a douche." He perked his ears, tail wagging a little. “Hey, that might make a good scene."

“A douche?" Valyrym scrunched his muzzle, pinning his spines back. “Leave me out of that one."

“No!" The Coyote laughed, glancing back towards Krek. He waved his hand, sending the gryphon to watch the back door. “It'd be a parody of…I dunno, Crocodile Dundee, or…maybe The Avengers? The Easter Bunny can be talking about how unstoppable he'll be with my powers at his command, and, I'll be like… “Well, we have a douche. Kinda like how Stark says, we have a hulk! Or, or…I'll say…well, I've got a douche. And he'll say…what's a douche?"

“I suspect he already knows what a douche is."

“Not literally!" The Coyote snorted. “So he says that…and then Asterbury shows up, and…chainsaws his head off! Or god-power punches him through a window, and says…I'm a douche!" The Coyote laughed to himself, a few yips and barks slipping in. “Oh, that's the one, it's worth it just to get Asterbury to call himself a douche!"

Valyrym tapped the Coyote's head with a claw tip. “You just can't shut that off, can you."

“Not really, no."

“I'm mostly just amused that in these Christmas stories, you've turned Asterbury into some kind of sex pervert!"

The Coyote glanced over his shoulder. “Sex pervert? Is there a non-sex pervert?"

“You know what I mean!"

Just beyond The Coyote's yard, shadows crept through the snow. In one direction, they crept down the street in even lines. In another, they clambered through yards and over people's fences. They clipped Christmas light lines as they passed, plunging them all into darkness. Santa inflatables were knifed, leaving them to deflate and crumple to the snowy ground. Decorations were smashed, faux-presents kicked in, and reindeer figurines were knocked over and stomped.

“Little shits really hate Christmas!" The Coyote lashed his tail, growling. “I hate people who hate Christmas! I bet they're just envious that Christmas has become so much more of a big deal than Easter. Bet they want lights and decorations and-"

“Ahahaha" Valyrym pointed an unsheathed claw across the street, to where a few rabbits were posing wicker reindeer atop each other. “They're making those reindeer hump!"

“Oh yeah. That'll take down the holiday."

As the rabbits drew closer, it soon became clear that they were all clad in tactical vests, with a variety of firearms at their disposal. They wore goggles and helmets, but no boots on their oversized rabbit feet. One of them made a fist, and the others stopped, then he flashed a few signals that sent more of his squad left and right, trying to encircle The Coyote's house.

“Guns? Body armor?" The Coyote rolled his eyes. “That's not very festive." Then he got a better look at some of the equipment one of them was carrying. A line of colorful, pastel eggs encircled the midsection of a rabbit. “Aww, but they got little Easter Egg grenades, how adorable!"

A few of the rabbits stopped in the middle of the snowy road, glancing around. All at once, Asterbury's monster truck screamed back down the road. The rabbits couldn't get out of the way in time, and screamed as Asterbury ran them down. They burst like rotten fruit under the truck's monolithic tires, spraying bright, crimson hues all across the snow.

“Gross." Valyrym slapped the coyote across the head. “Remember when these Christmas stories were actually…yanno…Christmasy?"

The Coyote rubbed his head. “At least red is festive…"

Automatic weapons fire split the snowy air as the remaining rabbits opened fire on the truck. One of them hurled an egg grenade into the truck's bed. It blew up, blasting the truck into fiery wreckage, and propelling Asterbury through the air. He cackled as he hurtled back towards the ground, firing up his chain saw just before he landed. As he came down, he brought the chainsaw down against a rabbit's head, slicing the creature completely in half, from head to groin.

Asterbury stood between two halves of dead rabbit as they flopped onto the snow. He revved the chainsaw, flashing the other rabbits a twisted, smug grin. “Screw me!"

The remaining rabbits gave each other confused looks, while their commander called for backup. The squad that had been trying to encircle the home broke off, returning to assist their brethren. Some of them opened fire on Asterbury, others threw their adorable little explosives, and all of them ended up squealing like the pig from that movie Deliverance.

The Coyote blinked. “Asterbury! That's not actually a pig! And stop screwing with my text!"

“Then stop writing it so boringly!"

“That's not a word!"

Asterbury whirled around, lopping off a rabbit's head. It toppled through the air, blood spraying behind it. “It is too! Look it up!"

“Well, it's a stupid word!"

“Just like you, Dumpster Pup! You're stupid! And so is your story!"

“Just finish up and get in here! We gotta get this place ready before the next wave arrives!" The Coyote turned away from the door, rubbing his hands together. “I got a surprise for this Easter assholes. This is gonna be great."

Valyrym shook his head. “No, it isn't, and you know it."

“Okay, fine! Lemme try again." The Coyote took a breath, and rubbed his hands together a second time. “This is gonna be extremely rushed, and mildly amusing!"

“Works for me, Coyote. Works for me."

*****

When Asterbury burst back into the house, blood soaked his Santa robe, and his fur. The urd'thin slammed the door shut behind him, then tucked his chainsaw back into his robe. He turned around to press a hand against the door. Streamers of tinsel and lights spread across the door, barring it. He spun back around, hurrying into the kitchen where The Coyote awaited with the rest of his friends.

“Okay, that's the first wave down, but there's more on the way!"

“I know, I know, just gimme a second. I wanna invite someone else to this little party."

“Chocolate Strudel!" Asterbury ran his hands down his fur, and all the blood ran from his body and his clothes, pooling on the floor at his feet.

“He's busy at-"

“Chocolate!" Asterbury thumped a single finger against The Coyote's chest, giving a low growl. “Strudel!"

“Alright, alright. Fine." He shoved the urd'thin away, stepped over the puddle of festively red liquid, and then traced a glowing white outline in the air. He glanced back at Asterbury. “You still got that plot hole you stole from me?"

Asterbury patted down his robe, scowling. “Uhh…probably?"

The Coyote grit his teeth. “You better. We might have to This Is Sparta someone into it. And I expect it back when this story's over."

“Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that." He leaned over to Krek, whispering. “I definitely won't get right on that."

The white outline formed a door, in The Coyote's kitchen. A glowing silver wreath appeared on the front of it, completely with shining trumpets and red-edged drums. The canine pushed the door open, revealing a window into a bustling Christmas party. The sweet scents of egg nog, sugar cookies, and gingerbread wafted through the doorway. Happy voices and laughter spilled forth. A woman with bronze skin and black hair passed into view for a moment, carrying a platter heaped with several fudge kinds of fudge. Valar walked just behind her, his horns decked out with silvery bells and tiny plush reindeer.

“What the hell?" Valyrym pushed everyone else out of the way to peer into the door. “Alia's having a party without me?!"

The Coyote shrugged, and shoved the dragon's muzzle aside. “She wanted to host her own party this year, while I was busy. Besides, you guys were on vacation."

“Yeah. We were." Valyrym snarled, turning his head to glare at Asterbury.

The urd'thin only shrugged. “It looked nicer in the brochure!"

The Coyote grasped the door's glowing edges, tilting it to peer around the room. Nearly all his other characters were they, having a wonderful time. There were green dragons and black dragons and blue dragons, humans of all sorts, gryphons and lizardmen, urd'thin, gnolls, and plenty of other creatures. In one corner, a couple of women seemed to be discussing the best way to “tame" a dragon.

“So, if you've ever noticed that one of them is usually a little more prominent than the other?"

“As much as I wish I hadn't, I have noticed that, yes."

“I find you usually get the best results if you aim your boot squarely for that one."

“Oh really?"

“Oh, really!" A devilish smile lit up the woman's face. “Hey Revaramek, come here! I wanna demonstrate something."

“Can't hear you, Mirelle, busy being the life of the party!"

“Is that Revaramek?" Valyrym snatched at the doorway, angling it towards the large green dragon with the coppery stripes and blotches. “Wait, who's that green female he's with?"

“Oh, Catch up, Valyrym. Revaramek and Nyramyn are basically my most adorable dragon couple, ever."

Asterbury nudged Krek with his elbow. “Oh look, another name with too many y's."

Valyrym snorted. “Is that his hatchling bouncing around?"

“Yeah, Korakos is adorable, too. Now lemme find-"

“Who are all those people?" Amaleen pushed up alongside the Coyote, turning the doorway in another direction.

A trio of women stood alongside a counter laden with sliced meats and various pickled vegetables. Two had dark skin and hair, with one in a blouse and a skirt, and the other in a festive tunic and breeches. The third wore the full-dress equivalent of an ugly Christmas sweater. It was a hideous shade of green, with flashing red Christmas lights, garishly colored ornaments, and ribbon-adorned presents around the hem of the skirt. A little green lizard perched on her shoulder.

“She looks like she's wearing the world's ugliest Christmas tree!"

“Yup. That's Esmir. She's fantastic. She's basically stealing the story. The others are Mirin, and Tamriss. That's Vetkal, over there."

The Coyote pointed to a urd'thin covered mostly in coal black fur. Gray streaks marked his eyes, and tipped his ears. More-gray ringed his tail. He wore a dark green vest with so many pockets he looked like green bubble wrap. He stood on a stool, stuffing cookies into every available pocket.

Soon, a blue gryphon approached him, tilting his head. “You know, those are for everyone."

Vetkal only stared at the indigo-feathered gryphon, and very slowly, deliberately, put another cookie into his pocket. Then he snorted. “Lick mah sheath, Blueberries."

“Hey, Feathers!" The woman named Tamriss waved her hand at the gryphon. “Don't get your Santa Sack in a twist. Just go back to snuggling with your mutt."

The gryphon heaved an exaggerated sigh, picked up the whole platter of cookies in his beak, and then carried it to a gnoll in a red sweater, seated on the couch. He set the platter on the gnoll's lap, then clambered up and snuggled him, purring.

“Your new story has a gay gryphon and gnoll couple in it?" Asterbury rubbed his hands, grinning. “I gotta get hold of this one."

“Yes, but they don't have any sex scenes."

“What? Sorry, all I heard was, they have lots of sex scenes."

“So whose the dragon in this one?" Amaleen smirked at The Coyote. “It does have a dragon, doesn't it?"

“Several. Well, only one so far. His name' Arcaydior. That's him over there."

The Coyote pointed to a medium sized swamp dragon, seated somewhere behind the three women. He had dark green scales, layered across his back and wings with black, and gray. Ebony stripes marked the scutes of all four limbs. Bright crimson edged each of his spiny frills, and the webbing of his paws, and tail spines. He curled his long neck, cleared his throat with a growl. It seemed obvious he was trying to get the three women's attention, and just as obvious they were ignoring him.

“Ladies. I say, Ladies." He stretched his neck towards them. “Ladies!"

The lizard on her shoulder stretched its neck towards the dragon. The dragon turned to glare at the lizard, and the lizard turned to glare at him.

“Stop that!"

The lizard worked its jaws and squeaked.

The dragon lifted a forepaw, unsheathed a single talon and shook it at the lizard. “You're going to become a kabob, if you keep miming me."

The lizard lifted one front foot and shook it at the dragon.

Valyrym bumped The Coyote with his muzzle. “Your stories are weird. Aren't we doing this for a reason?"

“Oh! Right." The Coyote cleared his voice. “Hey, Maiden Squad!" When the three women turned around, the Coyote waved a hand at them. “Start mingling."

“Hey, Coyote!" The woman in the middle turned towards, smiling. Then she made the rudest gesture any of The Coyote's readers could possibly imagine. “Why don't you mingle with this?"

The Coyote scowled, and turned the door away, scanning the room. “I may have made Tamriss a little too sassy."

“Yeah?" Valyrym snorted, flaring up his spines. “So how many side stories have you written in which she comes and kicks you in the nuts, then?"

“Oh, shut the hell up!" The Coyote grumbled under his breath until he spotted the brown-furred urd'thin he'd been looking for all along. “There he is!"

The Coyote reached through the doorway, wreathed his Christmas magic around Vatch, and yanked him through the portal. Vatch gave a yowling squeal, flailing as he tumbled from one world and into another. He rolled across the kitchen floor, groaning. Amaleen helped him up, dusting him off.

Vatch was dressed in an oversized red Christmas sweater that obscured most of his chocolate brown fur, and hung past his knees. The sleeves were rolled up his arms to expose his brown furred hands. The sweater had Santa Claus on the front of it, complete with a big, bushy beard made of fluffy wool. Vatch looked around, his ears slowly splaying back in confusion.

“What happen? One moment Vatch at party, next moment Vatch….Oooh…" Vatch clutched his belly. “Vatch not feel so good…"

“Chocolate Strudel!" Asterbury flung himself at the other urd'thin, squeezing him tight and jumping up and down. “I missed you sooooooo much!"

“ACK!" Vatch tried to wriggle free. “Is bad guy pervert!"

“I missed you too, you sexy toaster pastry!" Asterbury's hands roamed over Vatch's sweater clad body. “Whatcha wearing under here? My bet's on nothing!"

“No grope Vatch!" Vatch finally managed to push Asterbury free, then shook a finger at him. “Don't make Vatch get stick!"

“Oooh, Vatch, I'll handle your stick, any day!"

Vatch flattened his ears back, snarling. “That not what Vatch mean! Vatch kick bad guy ass!"

“Mmm, like it rough, do ya like Vatchy-dear? Well, I like it any way Vatch likes to give it!" Asterbury licked his muzzle, then turned around, waggling his hips. “Have I been bad? Maybe you should punish me…"

“Ooooh, my god." The Coyote dragged a hand down his muzzle.

“Pipe down, Bob's Burgers!" Asterbury flashed his teeth at The Coyote. “I'm about to seal the deal with Chocolate Strudel!"

“You're most definitely not about to do anything, but make the rest of us sick." He pushed Asterbury away from Vatch, then turned towards the brown-furred urd'thin. “Hey, buddy! Sorry to pull you away from Alia's party, but, bit of a situation, and, we need someone to play the hero."

“Oh?" Vatch's eyes lit up, and a smile spread over his muzzle. “Vatch can play hero, yes, yes, yes!"

“I knew you could!" He clapped Vatch on the shoulder, then turned back towards the other urd'thin. “Time to carry this thing home. Alright, Asterbury." The Coyote spread out his arms. “Knock it to me!"

“What?" Asterbury blinked, tilting his head.

“Knock it to me." The Coyote stared right back at him. “Knock it to me?"

“You want me to punch you?" Asterbury shrugged, and balled up a fist. “Alright!"

“No, you little shit. It's a play on words! Knock it to me!" The Coyote sighed. “Like the location in the movie?"

Asterbury tilted his head the other way, perking a single ear. “What movie?"

“Greatest Christmas movie of all time? Asterisk."

“The greatest Christmas movie of all time is called Asterisk?"

“No! I'm talking about Die Hard, goddamn it!"

Asterbury folded his arms. “I'm not sure that counts as a Christmas movie. Or that it's the greatest, even if it does."

“That's why I said Asterisk!"

“Why wouldn't you just type an Asterisk?"

“Because then I'd to set up a note for it to lead too, and I'd have to fiddle with formatting and…you know what? Forgot it. Just Knock it to me, already!"

Asterbury stomped a single foot. “I still don't know what that means!"

“Knock it to me! It's…" The Coyote waved a hand, exasperated. “It's a play on damn words! Nakatomi Plaza! From the movie!"

“What movie?"

The Coyote balled up his fists. “Die Hard!"

Asterbury only smiled. “But Who's on first?"

“Oooooh my god." The Coyote grabbed his ears, trying to yank them down over his face. “I hate you."

“Doesn't he sound like Bob Burgers when he groans like that?" Asterbury glanced around at everyone else.

Valyrym tilted his head. “Yeah…Yeah, a little bit."

“For the last time!" The Coyote grabbed Asterbury by a horn, shaking him. “It's Bob Belcher!"

“I thought…he…" Asterbury's voice wobbled up and down with all the shaking. “Was on second?"

The Coyote shoved him into the counter. “Just turn my house into Nakatomi Plaza before I let Amaleen neuter you!"

Vatch cracked his knuckles. “Vatch help!"

Asterbury tilted his head back, smiling up at The Coyote. “Sure thing old buddy, but what's it look like?"

“A big goddamn skyscraper! Just…ugh, gimme a second." The Coyote pulled out his phone, and googled images of it from the movie. “Like this!"

“Gotcha! Okay, everybody, hold onto your nuts!" He leaned his head towards Vatch. “Jurassic Park."

The Coyote grit his teeth. “That's not the line."

“It was when I was in Jurassic Park."

“You were never in-" The Coyote snapped his jaws shut, but by then it was too late.

“Sure I was, we all were! Hey gang, remember that time we were all in Jurassic park?"

*****

Asterbury and all his best friends crowded around a computer screen, in a darkened command center. Things had gone horribly wrong. That fat guy from Seinfeld had sabotaged everything, and the dinosaurs were roaming the park, and having dirty dinosaur orgies. And since they were all female, that were some serious lesbian dinosaur action. We're talking tongues everywhere, people, and tails too. Tails probing sensitive places, tongues washing across-

“Asterbury!"

Tongues washing across Asterbury-

The Coyote slapped the urd'thin across the back of the head.

Asterbury rubbed his head, and returned to his computer, and left his lesbian dinosaur fantasies in the back of his mind. He tapped a few keys on the keyboard. They didn't actually do anything, but they looked good on screen.

Cut to camera four.

The screen showed a long out of date computer system, with blinking lights layered over a basic grid-like map. Another keystroke, and all the lights would vanish while the system was rebooted. Then, they just had to hope the dinosaurs were distracted by their orgies long enough for everyone to get back to the emergency bunker while Asterbury went to complete the reboot process.

“Alright, everyone, hold onto your nuts."

Asterbury reached for the key as everyone grabbed their testicles. Except Amaleen, because she wasn't there, and Ayly, who wasn't in this scene. Amaleen grabbed Valyrym's testicles, instead. It made him murr murrfully.

Cut to camera two.

Asterbury slowly, deliberately, pushed the key, and Valyrym's head exploded.

Everyone gasped in surprise.

“Whoops!" Asterbury held his hands up and gave an innocent shrug as a sad trombone played in the background. “Wrong key!"

Cut to camera three.

Asterbury pulled the cigar out of his mouth and smiled at the camera. “Now that's what I call, a Jurassic Park!"

Everyone laughed and hugged him. Other than Valyrym, who was dead, and whose corpse was bleeding all over the floor, attracting all the horny dinosaurs.

“We're all best friends!"

*****

“Goddamn it, Asterbury!" The Coyote snarled, and slapped the urd'thin across the muzzle.

Asterbury stumbled back, rubbing his snout but cackling in glee. “That's not very festive language, Coyote!"

“Just take us to Nakatomi Plaza right now, or I'm makin' you Takagi!"

“Fine, fine!" Asterbury threw his hands up, stepping away. “Damn cranky canines." He glanced at Vatch, lowering his voice. “Don't mind the 'yote. Someone shit in his trash can." He lowered his voice a little more. “It was me!"

“What?" The Coyote snarled. “Asterbury, I swear to God if you shit in my actual trash can, I'm going to-"

“And here we go!"

Asterbury clapped his hands, and the Coyote's house exploded from the ground. It surged towards the sky, carrying everyone with it as it cut through the snow and clouds. It grew and grew, expanding in all directions. Stories built themselves upon stories, beams of steel constructed a great skeleton, and soon, a shell of glass wrapped around the whole thing. Floors arranged themselves in order, furniture sprang into being, and finally, Christmas trees, lights, and other decorations spun into existence of nothingness. The Coyote's kitchen turned into a grand room with a raucous holiday party, frozen in time.

“Better?"

“Much!" The Coyote clapped his hands. “Alright, this story's way too damn long, so let's just get this over with."

“Don't look at me!" Asterbury held up his hands.

“Whaddya mean don't look at you? You're the one filling this thing with random flashbacks to nude beaches and popular films!"

“And you're the one letting your notoriously wandering mind take control!" Asterbury poked The Coyote in the chest. “You've been trying to get to the Die Hard Parody for days now, but instead, you've let very little scene that pops into your head take over for a day! Took you a day to write that island scene. Took you a day to write that sequence in your house, and today? Took you all day to actually get to Nakatomi Plaza! So maybe you're the one who needs to hurry up and get to the point!"

“You know what?" The Coyote smiled. “You're right. Also, you're Takagi."

“What?" Asterbury bared his fangs. “But I did what-"

“You're gettin' on my nerves! Plus, you can actually resurrect yourself, so you'll be fine."

“Oh, sure, make the functionally immortal urd'thin take a bullet to the head for the team." Asterbury waved a hand. “And I suppose you're going to make yourself McClain? The Heroic Coyote, digs himself out of his dumpster long enough to save a-"

“Actually, Vatch gets to be McClain."

Vatch stepped forward, his ears perked, eyes lit up. “Vatch is big hero? Vatch can do this so good!"

“Yeah, you're the big hero, Vatch! Also, I'm gonna use my powers to make sure they're fixated on killing you, not me. Just like the movie!"

Vatch lifted up one leg, then froze. “You do what now?"

“Nothing, nothing, just focus on being the hero!"

Vatch glared at The Coyote, hopping around on one foot while tugging at a shoe with his hands.

“What are you doing, Vatch?"

“Vatch see some this movie last year! Hero take off shoes, is relaxing!"

“Some of this movie?" The Coyote stilled Vatch's hands, and patted his head. “Just keep your shoes on. Trust me."

Valyrym snorted. “It's not going to be a very authentic parody."

“No one's reading this far into this steaming pile of egg-nog vomit, anyway." The Coyote laughed to himself. “Okay, so Vatch, you're gonna be McClain, and the rabbits will hone in on you…which means I'll be free to take them out. After Asterbury's dead, and alive again, we'll pose as…uhh…I dunno. Karl and Tony, I guess."

“Are they the brothers?" Asterbury tilted his head.

“I think so." The Coyote scowled. “Or maybe that's Karl and Marco? It's been a while since I've seen this…ah, fuck it, who cares. So, the bunny's gonna be Hans, and…we'll just jump around scenes real quick, and call it done."

Valyrym rumbled, lashing his tail. “How many times are you going to suggest we call it done before we actually call it done?"

“At least seventeen more, now shut the hell up." The Coyote put his hands together, then spread them apart, forming a bright red Santa Hat between them. He tapped it in two places, creating flaps for his ears, then tugged the hat over his head. He ran his hands down his clothes, and they changed as well, becoming a matching Santa robe, deep red with snow white and vibrant gold highlights, completely with a black leather belt and silver buckle. He looked himself over, then smiled at the others. “Merry Christmas, MFers. Now let's kill some rabbits."

Asterbury pointed towards The Coyote's crotch. “Your balls are hanging out."

“Damn it!" The Coyote turned away, retrieved his escapees, and then waved his hand in the air, scrolling through to the next scene.

*****

A rabbit with sleek white fur and a trim black suit strode into the room. He gazed around, his long ears twitching. The rabbit rubbed his muzzle, inspected the suit he found himself in, then wandered towards the scale model of The Coyote's neighborhood standing in for whatever that model was in Die Hard. Across from it, an urd'thin in a suit stared up at him.

The urd'thin folded his arms. “So you're the Easter Bunny? Thought you'd be bigger."

The Bunny smiled, shrugged, and settled into the seat across from Asterbury, I mean Takagi. Shit. Whatever. Whose writing this crap, anyway? It's probably The Coyote, but I'm pretty sure The Gryphon is screwing with him. I mean, why would I give myself a new robe, and then forget to wear undergarments? I'm not an idiot. I'm not even that drunk. I'm pretty sure The Gryphon made my balls hang out just to embarrass me. Me? I. Him? I forget.

Why's everyone looking at me that way? Oh, right.

Back the scene, or whatever.

The Easter Bunny smiled, shrugged, and settled into the seat across from Asterbury/Takagi. “I'm just a rabbit. I didn't choose to become a holiday spirit. I never wanted to be a holiday spirit. It's a responsibility I found myself drowning in once, when I was young, and yet I have come to believe in my place in this world. You see, when the powers of the season first wreathed themselves around me, first…" He waved a hand, then ruffled his fur. “Wove their way into my blood-"

“Oooooh my god." Asterbury banged his head against the model. “You have a backstory speech."

The Easter Bunny tilted his head. “You sound like Bob's Burgers."

Asterbury jerked his head up, beaming. “You think so, too? I mean, that's his name, right?"

“Whose name?" The bunny frowned.

“The main character, in Bob's Burgers!"

“It's Archer, isn't it?"

“Bob Archer?" Asterbury scrunched his muzzle.

“No, Archer. The voice actor who plays Archer!" The rabbit straightened his suit. “H. Jon Benjamin."

“Yes! That's him! He does Archer, and Bob Burgers."

“I think it was Belcher…"

“No, no…" Asterbury smiled. “It's definitely Bob Burger. But what do you suppose the H stands for?"

The rabbit shrugged, running a hand over one of his long, white ears. “Fuck if I know. Heinrich? Horace? Hubert? Halverstrom?"

The urd'thin smile only grew. “I think it stands for Huge Badass."

“That's not a name."

“It should be! Huge Badass Jon Benjamin."

The bunny leaned back, his head tilted. “You're really annoying. You must Asterbury."

“Takagi, actually." Asterbury pointed to a 'Hello My Name is Takagi' sticker on his suit. “I own this place!"

“So we're really doing this parody, thing?"

Asterbury rolled his arms, folding his eyes. I mean, rolled his eyes, and folded his arms. Geez, Asterbury, have you been drinking? Or are you just done with writing this story and out of fucks to give? Anyway, please continue.

Asterbury rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Oh, please. This is still light years ahead of that fanfiction schlock you came out of. You're a side plot from an Evil Dead Christmas fanfic!"

“No, I was included in a side plot. That's not where I'm from. You see, true holiday spirits reside in a place of-"

“Hey Egg, Hey Nog!" Asterbury peered down at his crotch. “How're you doing down there? Feeling better? Good to hear it."

“What the hell are you doing?" The rabbit leaned forward, a low growl creeping into his voice.

“Oh, I'm sorry, are you still here?" Asterbury glanced up. “I was just talking to my balls, because even they're more interesting than you and your shitty backstory."

“Hmmph." The Easter Bunny drummed his fingers on the model. “How did this scene end, again? Oh, that's right." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a gun, and shoot Asterbury in the head. Blood splattered the far wall as Asterbury fell backwards in his chair, lifeless. “Now…I assume that The Coyote's around here somewhere, probably as McClain."

A moment later and Asterbury said back up, groaning. He rubbed the bullet hole in his head as it closed up. “You know, you could have warned me!"

“Oh, I'm sorry, are you still here?" The Easter Bunny shot Asterbury in the head again, blasting him out of his chair this time.

A few moments later, and Asterbury wobbled back to his feet. “Look, Asshole-"

The Easter Bunny shot him in the face.

The next time Asterbury came back to life, he glared at the rabbit. “Are you about done?"

The rabbit shook his head. “Nah, I got at least ten rounds left." He shot Asterbury again, and reached into his jacket, removing another clip. When Asterbury staggered back to his feet, he waggled the clip at him. “And a whole nother clip to go!"

“You fucking-"

BLAM!

“You're really ruining this nice suit!" Asterbury struggled to his feet, gesturing at the model. “And you're getting blood all over-"

BLAM!

“Don't worry. I'm sure half The Coyote's readers are cheering me on right now. Everyone's fed up with you, and your bullshit. First, you hijack his short, simple comedy novel, and turn it into…what, four books of labyrinthine garbage? And now you're doing the same to his Christmas stories?" He waited for Asterbury to suck in another ragged breath, then promptly shot him in the eye. “Really, he should be thanking me. The readers should be thanking me. Once The Gryphon and I take over these stories, they'll be straight to the point, full of laughs and good feelings, and then they'll be done. The days of The Coyote's bloated excess are over."

“Says the rabbit who keeps shooting someone in the face over…and over…and over!"

The rabbit shot Asterbury in the face again. “I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sounds of your repeated deaths."

Asterbury wheezed and struggled to stand again. “You know, you haven't even asked me for anything yet! Aren't you supposed to ask for a safe code or something?"

“Sure." The easter bunny shot him, then tilted his head. “What's the safe code? Oh, damn." He glanced at the gun. “Did that backwards, didn't I." As soon as Asterbury came back to life, he smiled over at him. “What's the safe code?" Then before Asterbury could reply, the rabbit shot him in the throat. Asterbury went down, gagging…and just before he died, flipped the rabbit off with both fingers. “Aww, look at that, we're both having fun, huh?"

Soon enough, Asterbury gasped and sprang back to life once more, coughing up blood. “You can't just repeat the same damn thing over and over till it gets funny again! This isn't The Damn Family Guy."

“I think it's just Family Guy." The Rabbit shrugged. “And I'm not doing this to make anyone laugh. I'm doing this for me." Smiling, he shot Asterbury in the head once again. “Murdering Asterbury is my Christmas present."

*****

“Bahahahahaha!" Watching from a concealed place in the vents nearby, The Coyote nudged Vatch. “You see that? He just keeps shooting that little fucker in the face! That's hilarious! I just got tired of it, and then it got really funny again!"

“Coyote easily amused! When Vatch get to be hero?"

“Aaaahhh…let's say now." The Coyote clapped his hands.

*****

Vatch stood in an unfinished part of the building, looking around. Nearby, a bunny burst into the room, carrying an SMG. Vatch yipped and scrambled behind a stack of building materials, waiting on the rabbit.

“Where is urd'thin? Come out, HEE-Ro." The bunny fired his gun in random directions.

“You make fun Vatch accent?" Vatch dashed to another hiding place, nearer the bunny.

“What? No, this how I talk! Is like movie, with bad ger-man."

“That not like movie! That like Vatch!"

The bunny turned and fired at the sound of Vatch's voice, but Vatch had already scrambled around the back of a few huge spools of wire. Just as the rabbit passed him by, Vatch leapt out behind him, grabbing him around the neck.

“Vatch not like be made fun of!"

“Not! Make fun of…Vatch!" The rabbit gagged, struggling, trying to escape. “Is…german accent…from movie!"

“That not come across in text!" Vatch snarled, trying to grab the rabbit's gun with his other arm.

The rabbit managed to break free, but as he spun towards Vatch, Vatch pushed his gun aside just as it spat fire and lead. “That…stupid description!"

“You stupid rabbit!" Vatch kicked the rabbit in the groin.

“AWWWH!"

The rabbit doubled over, and Vatch shoved him down a conveniently placed staircase. Or at least he tried, but he rabbit only fell onto the first step. So Vatch jumped on him, and used him like a sled to make his way down the stairs. The rabbit yelped and squealed with every metal edged stair that dug into his body, until finally they crashed into a wall.

“You see? Vatch hero!" Vatch took away his gun, looked it over, then threw it away. He dug through the rabbit's backpack, until he found an even more conveniently placed maced, white, with black metal flanges. A tag affixed to it read:

To: Chocolate Strudel

From: Asterbury

Vatch scrunched up his muzzle. “Urrrgh. Vatch have stalker."

“Some…hero!" The rabbit groaned, whimpering. “I…cripple now! In…very much…pain. All bones…broke. Please…find help!"

Vatch scratched his head. “Ah…Vatch wish good luck with that."

The urd'thin took a few steps away, then remembered what happened next in the scene. He turned back around and dug out a marker to write on the rabbit's tactical vest. Then he pushed the elevator button. “Alright, alright, Vatch send you to help. Shut up now."

The elevator opened, and without glancing inside, Vatch pushed the rabbit into it. A long, and slowly quieting scream echoed back to him. Vatch leaned over to peer into the elevator, only to realize that while the doors had opened, the elevator wasn't actually there. “Ooops. Oh well!"

Asterbury appeared next to Vatch. “Not bad, Vatch!"

Vatch jumped and whirled around on him. “No startle Vatch, creepy stalker!"

“I'm just saying." He gestured at the elevator shaft. “Maiming someone, and then pushing them down an elevator shaft? That's pretty villainous. I like it! As Larry David would say, it's pretty-"

Vatch waggled his mace. “You shut up now!"

“Pretty…pretty…pretty…pretty…pretty-"

Vatch smacked Asterbury with the mace, knocking him plummeting into the elevator shaft.

“Preeeettttyyy…gooooooood!"

*****

Downstairs, the elevator shafted opening, revealing the crippled body of the rabbit enforcer. The Coyote's party guests screamed and ran away, while the Easter Bunny hurried to see which of his troopers Vatch McClain had killed. EB tugged on the rabbit's tactical gear, reading what was written in marker.

“Now...Vatch have…big stick. Ho…ho…ho…ho's your daddy? Vatch your daddy."

The wounded rabbit gasped, lifting his head, and startling the Easter Bunny into stumbling back and reading for his gun.

“Hello out there!" The rabbit's voice wobbled, his accident changed to another region of the world, referencing another movie. “I seem to have fallen down an elevator shaft! I'm still alive, but I'm very badly injured! I think my legs might be broken, but…I'll try to stand up!" The rabbit stood up, only for his legs to immediately, and loudly, snap. He dropped right back down with a squeal. “Yes! They are broken! Perhaps…you could toss me a bandaid, or some-"

Then Asterbury crashed down the shaft, landing atop the rabbit, crushing him even further. He lifted his head, smiling. “Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt your Austin Powers moment?"

The Easter Bunny lifted his gun.

Asterbury gulped. “Hey gang, remember that time you didn't shoot me in the head again?"

“No." The Easter Bunny shot Asterbury in the head.

*****

Vatch scrambled away from gunfire, diving under a long table. A rabbit jumped atop it, firing down at him, even as Vatch scrambled backwards. The rabbit taunted him as they drew closer, and closer to the end of the table, firing through the wood. Splinters and bullets sprayed all around Vatch, but none quite touched him.

Nearby, The Coyote waited for a famous line. As the line came up, Asterbury, newly reincarnated once more, shouted into his ear over the sound of gunfire. “Better hurry this up, Coyote! You're almost at last year's word count already!"

“Goddamn it, Asterbury!"

“I know! How do these things keep getting so bloated?" Asterbury cackled. “Someone needs to put a leash on you!"

“That's not what I-"

“Get it? Leash?"

“Because I'm a canine?"

“No, I was implying that you're really into bondage, but that works too!"

“I am not really into bondage!"

“Ah, you dunno what you're missing!"

“Sure I do! I just missed one of my favorite lines cause you wouldn't shut the hell up!"

Just then, The Easter Bunny and a few of his other rabbits ran, looking for Vatch. Vatch scrambled out from under the table, then ran behind a cubicle wall under a hail of gunfire. As the Easter Bunny and his cronies advanced, The Coyote pointed towards a series of glass walls. When he got no response from Asterbury, he glanced over. The urd'thin was on a phone, stolen from somewhere, looking up the phrase “How to make your chocolate strudel melt."

The Coyote punched him on the shoulder. “Will get you get your mind out of Vatch's pants for one second!"

Asterbury glanced up. “Oh, are we still doing this?"

“We were just talking about it five seconds ago!"

Asterbury gave an exaggerated sigh, tucking his phone away in his robe, pulling out an SMG instead. “Okay, what now?"

The Coyote pointed back to the glass-walled cubicles. “Shiess dem fenster."

Asterbury blinked. “Excuse me?"

“Shiess dem fenster!"

“What?" Asterbury cocked his head. “You want me to shit on the fence?"

The Coyote splayed his ears. “What? Of course not, that's stupid!"

“You're telling me, there's not a single fence in this place!"

“That's not what I meant!" He slapped Asterbury on the back of the head.

Asterbury yelped, and accidentally fired his gun. The sound alerted the Easter Bunny and the others who whirled around, and opened fire on their heading place. The Coyote yowled and dove behind a sturdier wall, calling back to Asterbury. “Shoot the damn glass!"

The urd'thin blasted out the windows nearest the rabbits, showering them, and the floor they stood open with shards of broken glass. Then he scrambled to join The Coyote, dropping into a slide to end up along side him. He pressed his back up against the wall. “Oh, you meant like in the movie!"

“Of course! What the fuck else would I mean?"

“I don't know, because your German is terrible!"

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

“If you'd have said, shiess auf den fenster, then I might have understood! And, technically, I believe fenster means window, not glass, but it's close enough!"

“I'm gonna shoot you!" The Coyote leveled his weapon at Asterbury's face.

“Whoa, easy Tex. I know you Cowpokes love shootin' everything that moves, but hasn't your old friend Asterbury been through enough?"

A series of yelps, yowls, and squeals from the rabbits distracted The Coyote long enough to keep him from emptying his entire clip into Asterbury's face.

“Hey, I can think of something else I'd let you empty into my face, Scavenger."

“Oooh, my god. You get worse every year." Just as Asterbury opened his mouth, The Coyote pushed the barrel of his gun up against Asterbury's knee. “Make a Bob's Burgers joke. I dare you."

“Hey, isn't it the bad guys who shoot the windows, in the movie?" Asterbury ignored The Coyote, leaning up to peek over the wall.

“Yeah, because McClain doesn't have his shoes on. I noticed the rabbits didn't have boots, earlier. Must just be used to walking around the arctic barefoot, thick pads and all. So I figured we'd just turn the tables on-"

“Aaaaaaahhhh! Oh my God!"

“RAAAAHHH! I'm bleeding out!"

“My toes, my toes, my tooooes, I've lost aaaall my toooes!"

“My tendons, my precious tendons!"

“Oh God, there's so much blood, it's everywhere!"

“Someone find my toes, please, put them on ice!"

“I just wanted people to care about Easter! Someone tell my mate I love her!"

“My mate, too! How will she ever love a bunny who can't walk or hop of frolic! Oh, god, I'm cut everywhere! I'll never make it home…"

Asterbury groaned, flattening his ears as he dropped back. “Eeeesh. It's a real house of horrors, out there."

The Coyote flattened his ears back. “It wasn't that bad in the movie…"

Vatch suddenly burst back into the room. “Vatch big heeeroooooooo!"

The brown-furred urd'thin charged into the bloody mass of wounded rabbits, broken glass crunching harmlessly under his boots. He swung his mace into the first wounded bunny's skull, shattering it like so much shattered glass. Then he whirled around, and lashed out with his big stick again, bursting another rabbit's head like a rotten melon. As another tried to lift his weapon, Vatch brought the mace down against his arm, snapping the rabbit's forearm like a dry twig. Then he brought it back up, shattering the bunny's jaw and sending teeth scattering across the floor. Finally, he spun back around, and smashed his weapon into the side of the final rabbit's head, exploding his head like a battered simile, to go with all the other generic similes used in the proceeding paragraph.

When he stood in the circle of dead rabbits, he threw his hands and mace up into the air. “Vatch big hero!"

“Uhh…yeah!" The Coyote popped up, clapping his hands. “Great job, Vatch." He whispered to Asterbury. “Don't tell him they were all helplessly mangled already." Then he turned his attention back to the brown-furred urd'thin. “Okay, grab a body and drag it to the window."

Asterbury slung his gun over his shoulder as he followed The Coyote. “Doesn't that scene actually happen before this one?"

The Coyote shrugged. “Yeah, but who gives a shit. It's late and I'm tired. I wanna get this done…well, probably not tomorrow, but the day after." The Coyote waved him over. “Now come help Vatch drag that horribly disfigured corpse over here so we can throw it out the window."

Asterbury grunted, grabbing the rabbit's bloodied feet. “Merry Christmas, everyone."

As Vatch and Asterbury dragged the dead body to the window, The Coyote shot it with a few volleys from his own stolen SMG. “Hey, this thing's fun!" He emptied the clip, savoring the power of it, then yanked the clip free and popped in another one. “Say hello to my little…oh, no wait. Wrong kind of gun, wrong movie, and I think we made a joke about that last year."

“Sure did!" Asterbury dropped his end of the rabbit's body near The Coyote. “I whipped out my dong!"

“Yeah, emphasis on little friend." The Coyote laughed. “Get it? Cause it's small."

“Bigger than yours, Scavenger!"

“Only if you've redesigned yourself to be very out of proportion."

Asterbury bounced on his toes. “Maybe I'm just really into hyper!"

“Maybe I'm really into the idea of throwing you out this window, right now." The Coyote stepped back, and then waved at the opening. “Okay, Vatch. Throw that body down onto Sergeant Amaleen's car."

Vatch crouched down, then strained to lifted the body. He grunted, muscles bulging under his chocolate brown fur. “Is heavy!"

“Alright, alright. You're gonna either throw out your back, or shit yourself. Asterbury?"

Asterbury waved them aside, then picked up the dead body. He waited for the familiar police car to wind its way out of the parking lot, and then hurled the rabbit out through the air. Blood dribbled down on the pavement below as the rabbit arced through the sky. The corpse crashed into the top of the car, crushing it and killing Amaleen immediately.

The Coyote gave a shocked squeal. “Ya killed Amaleen!?"

Asterbury only shrugged. “Not like you've never done it, amiright?"

“No! You're not…well, okay, but that's different! How many of my damn characters are planning to kill this year?"

“You make it sound like I keep killing people on purpose. And haven't you ever wondered how McClain gets that body to land on the hoodie?" Asterbury stared at the car as it slowly careened to a stop, the horn blaring. “A few feet in the other direction, and he'd have killed that guy from Family Matters!"

“Just fix it!"

“Fine, fine." Asterbury drew a clock in the air with his fingers, then ticked it back a few minutes until the three of them had just reached the window again. “There, happy?"

“Yeah. But we still gotta finish this scene. Without you screwing everything up!"

Vatch lifted a hand. “Vatch have solution." Then he shoved Asterbury out the window. Asterbury fell, flailing and screaming. “Is good solution, yes?"

“Is very good solution, Vatch." The Coyote flicked his fingers, altering Asterbury's trajectory just enough for him to crash into the front of the police car this time.

Vatch leaned out the window, holding his big stick in a dramatic, backlit pose. “Welcome to Vatch party, pal!"

“Hey, that was pretty good, Vatch!"

“Thank you! Vatch practice be hero."

Down below, Sergeant Amaleen jumped out of the crippled car. She ran around to the back, and popped the trunk. Then she pulled free an assault rifle and opened fire on the window where The Coyote and Vatch were. “You mother fuckers!"

“ACK! Get down!" The Coyote hit the floor, crawling away as bullets shattered more glass and slammed into furniture, and the ceiling.

“This not how go in movie!"

Down below, Amaleen ran out of ammo. She went back to her trunk, and this time, retrieved an immense minigun. The telltale whirr filled the air as she fired it up, just before the angry-hornet buzz of its rapid fire bursts heralded the destruction of every south-facing window on that story. Walls splintered, ceiling tiles caved in and cascaded onto the floor in broken bits. The Coyote crawled towards the hallway, leading to the bathroom.

“I don't think she's seen the movie!"

When the minigun ran out of ammo, Amaleen returned once more to the trunk of her car. This time she popped up with an RPG, and took aim at the floor from which the body came. “Stuff this in your Christmas stocking, you bunny fuckers! I mean…bunnies who are fuckers! Who…also fuck bunnies, because they are bunnies! Oh, just suck on this!"

Vatch glanced back, his eyes wide. “She think we pervert bunnies!"

“I mean, fucking bunnies isn't perverted for other bunnies, so really, she's just-"

And then the rocket struck the floor, and the resulting explosion blasted Vatch and The Coyote into what he hoped to be the final Die Hard based scene.

*****

Big Hero Vatch limped into the climatic scene, his body bruised and battered from surviving that cool explosion. Along the way, he'd fetched a rabbit's gun, because he knew he was going to have to toss it away in a few minutes. Lights flickered, and sparks showered the ground. Vatch tightened his grip on his weapon.

“Hans!" Vatch called out, looking around. “Haaaaans!"

“His name isn't…" The Coyote sighed. “I mean, in the movie it is, but…"

Vatch turned back around, gesturing with his gun. “You want do this scene? Or Vatch do this?"

“Don't point that thing at me!"

Vatch only shrugged. “Is not loaded anyway! Is for look cool!" He pointed pulled the trigger for emphasis, and the weapon roared. Bullets splattered the wall all around the Coyote. Vatch yipped and dropped it. It fired again, this time nearly clipping The Coyote's feet. “Okay…okay…" Vatch bent over to pick it up. “Now is empty." As he picked it up, a few more rounds punched holes in the floor. Vatch yelped and stumbled back. “Maybe now is empty?"

“Gimme that!" The Coyote snatched it away from the urd'thin, only to replace it with a bright blue and orange nerf gun. “There. Now go finish the scene!"

“Aww…Vatch get big nerf."

The Coyote scowled. “And the award for dumbest joke this year goes to-"

“Is not Vatch who write this crap." Vatch turned around and continued down the hallway. “Haaaaaaans!"

“My name isn't Hans!" The Easter Bunny's voice echoed back to him. “And I'm over here! I've been here for like, two days!"

“Sorry!" Vatch followed the rabbit's voice. “Coyote take day off." He kicked open the door, and jumped into the room. “Now you die, bad guy!"

“I'm not in the bathroom, you idiot. I'm in the office down the hall."

“Oh, right." Vatch went further down the hall, and kicked open another door. “Now you…" Inside, a single rabbit had dropped his pants, and pressed his bits to a copy machine. About a dozen copies depicting his sheath and balls were already strewn across the floor. “What you doing?"

The rabbit jumped and spun around, hands up. “Aaah! Don't shoot! I'm just trying to upstage Craig, that asshole sent us all Christmas cards of his ass, last year!"

“Ah…yeah, okay, Vatch see too much already." He slowly backed away, and closed the door again. “Vatch cannot unsee rabbit bits now." He turned and gazed around. The hallway stretched on seemingly forever, with doors lining it. “Haaaaaanns! Haaaaaaaanns!"

“Just look for the door with the big knob!"

The urd'thin snorted. “Vatch think you big knob."

“Oh, godssake." Down the hall, a door with an unusually large knob popped open, and a white furred rabbit peered out. “This door, alright? This door!" He vanished back inside, voice echoing into the hall. “Alright, alright. Places everyone, resume the hostage scene!"

Vatch scurried down the hall, and kicked open the door. He strode inside, hefting his blue and orange nerf gun. “Haaaaaaanns!"

“Oh, for the love of…my name isn't Hans!" Inside the room, the Easter Bunny stood near a large, floor to ceiling window. More heavily armed bunnies flanked him. Valyrym sat near the rabbit, his long neck curled towards the ground. The Bunny held him in a headlock, with a gun pressed to Valyrym's head, just below his horn. “Drop the gun, Mister McClain, or I kill your wife."

“What?" Vatch's eye widened, and his jaw drop. “Dragon not Vatch wife!"

“That's what I tried to tell him, Vatch!" Valyrym snorted, thumping his tail against the floor.

The Bunny shrugged, glancing at Valyrym. “Love Interest is close enough."

“Dragon not Vatch love interest!"

The Easter Bunny shook his head. “That's not what the fanfiction on Coyote's SoFurry profile says."

“What?" Vatch sucked in a breath, heat flooding his oversized ears. “That story not canon!"

“Just drop the gun, or I shook the dragon in the…wait, what is that, nerf?" EB tilted his head, then cackled. “You brought a nerf gun? What's the matter? His voice twisted into a mocking coo. “Coyote wouldn't let you have the real thing?"

Vatch hefted his nerf gun higher. “Is still can put eye out!"

“That's from A Christmas Story! And it's a BB gun, not a nerf gun!"

“Oh yeah? You watch this!"

Vatch fired two nerf arrows in quick succession, one at each of the Easter Bunny's henchmen. The arrows struck each rabbit in the eye with an audible squishing noise. The First rabbit screamed, dropped his gun, and stumbled around clutching his eye.

“AAAAH! He put my eye out!"

The other rabbit slumped up against the wall, sliding to the floor. “Mine too! I think it actually popped out! Oh, god, no one step on it!"

The Easter Bunny gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine. Just drop your non-childsafe weapon."

Vatch tossed the nerf gun down.

“And now drop your big stick, too."

Vatch tilted his head. “What big stick?"

“Your mace!"

“Vatch not have mace."

“Of course, you do! It's taped to your back." The Easter Bunny gestured with his gun. “I can literally see it right now! It's sticking up a foot over your head!"

“Is not mace." Vatch perked his ears as high as he could, trying to cover the protruding handle.

“Then what's poking up over the top of you ears?"

Vatch only shrugged. “Is coat hanger. Vatch forget to take out."

“Is not coat hanger! Is big mace!"

“You not make fun Vatch!" Vatch waggled a single finger at the rabbit. “You very rude!"

“Ugh! This is getting us no where!"

“Why you do this, anyway?" Vatch gestured with his nerf gun. “You make robbery?"

“Make…robbery?" The Easter Bunny scrunched his white-furred muzzle. “Oh, you mean my villainous motivations? I was trying to explain them to that urd'thin earlier, but…The Coyote's growing too powerful! He's basically turned himself into a Holiday Spirit. There's a balance here, and he's upsetting that. He killed Santa Clause, and-"

“Santa kill self, everyone know this! Besides, you try kill anyway, yes?"

“I was trying to capture him alive, to force him to divide his unreasonable power amongst the rest of us! Now, The Coyote's practically elevated himself to the level of a Holiday Spirit, and that cannot be allowed to stand!" He shrugged, shifting his weight. “I have Tim Allen, but he's not cooperating. All he's doing is…making strange, grunting noises at me, and babbling about power tools. So I need The Coyote! Plus…I'm still pissed off about being ignored last year!" The bunny stomped a bit, white-furred foot, pressing the gun to Valyrym's head again. “Now drop the Big Stick or I shoot your scaly lover, and then I shoot you!"

Vatch only rolled his eyes. “Dragon only wish he Vatch lover."

“I wish no such thing!"

The urd'thin reached around behind himself, trying to tug the stick free. It was taped firmly to his clothes, and barely budged. “Is stuck!"

“Pull harder!"

Vatch grit his teeth, and tugged with all his might. All at once, his shirt split down he middle and ripped off, and the mace came free. Vatch tossed the mace and his ruined shirt down, brown-furred chest exposed. “Is okay. Vatch is big stud."

“Sure you are, little dog-thing." The Bunny glanced at the mace. “Don't know what you were going to do with that, anyway. I'd have shot you before you got anywhere near me. Speaking of…" He lifted the gun and pointed it at Vatch's chest. “Surrender, Coyote, or I kill you most beloved character."

“Vatch is most beloved?" Vatch bounced on the balls of his feet a few times. “That so good to hear! But Vatch not need big stick anyway, because Vatch have…ABigDouche!"

“ABigDouche?" The Bunny tilted his head. “What the hell's is a ABigDouche?"

“I'm a big douche!" Asterbury materialized from out of nowhere, flying across the room. He slammed a fist into the Easter Bunny's face so hard the impact flipped him over and smashed him through a nearby wall. “Hah! Finally got you back, you big…wait, what'd I just say!" Asterbury balled his fists, snarling. “Damn it! I meant to say, you're a big douche!"

“Bahahahahaha!" The Coyote burst out laughing so hard he had to clutch his belly. “Oh my god, he actually said it! I can't believe he actually said it! What a dipshit!"

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Scavenger."

Valyrym shook himself. “So, are we done here? Can we wrap this up now? I'm ready to get blasted at the party."

“Yeah!" Asterbury clapped his hands. “I wanna get good and shwifty!"

“Shwifty? Is that where your stupid shit on the floor thing came from?"

“Nah, I came up with it first! Anyway, let's get the hell out of-"

“We're not done here! Not even close!" The Easter Bunny pushed himself up from the rubble of the wall. Blood dribbled down his white fur. His suit was ripped in several places. “I have all the same powers you do, and I'm going to-"

“How did his suit get ripped from being punched in the face?"

The Coyote shrugged. “Who knows. No, bunny, we're done. Story's over. If you quit being such an asshole, I'll let you come to the party. But if you keep it up-"

“You think I care about your pathetic party?" The rabbit stretched his arms out at his sides, snarling. “You and I are going to finish this. You took us to Die Hard, and I'm gonna take you to-"

“To what?" The Coyote folded his arms. “A Simpsons Easter episode?"

“That show used to be a lot better." Asterbury scratched an ear.

“Tell me about it."

“Oh, you think you're so clever." The Easter Bunny snarled, tossing his long ears. "With your references, and your parodies, and your banter! No, I'm going to take you to pagan times, to the origins of Easter, in spring celebrations, where the patron god was a warrior rabbit-"

The Coyote “Now you're just making shit up." The Coyote only stared at him.

Golden light flickered around the Easter Bunny. “Oh, you shall only wish! In sixty seconds, you will see-"

“Sixty seconds?" The Coyote pulled out his phone, glancing at the time. “Nah, I'm trying to get this story finished a day early for once."

“Sixty seconds, yes! That's how long it takes me to power up!" The Easter Bunny took a deep breath, then grit his teeth, crying out. “HHHHRRRRNNNNNNN!" His golden glow intensified.

Asterbury leaned over. “Sounds like powering up is code for, psychic masturbation!"

“HHHRRRRRRRAAAAHHH!" The glow brightened, and the rabbits fur bristled, shining. Little bits of rubble bounced around his feet.

Asterbury cackled. “He's about to blow!"

“This is boring." The Coyote tucked his phone away. “I'm gonna give him ten more seconds, and then I'm making good on my threat from earlier."

“RRRRRAAARRRHHHNNNNNNNNNN!" The rabbit's eyes turned golden, glowing like tiny suns.

“Eight…nine…ten." The Coyote took a few trotting steps, and kicked the rabbit in the testicles as hard as he could.

“HRRRRNNNFFFF!" All the golden light vanished in an instant as the Easter Bunny crumpled to his knees, his voice a ragged squeak. “My balls!"

“Aww, I was hoping he'd call them his Easter Eggs." Asterbury shook his head, glancing at The Coyote. “Can we go now?"

The Easter Bunny flopped over onto his side, writhing, tears in his eyes. “Nnnrrrrhhhh! That hurts…so much more…than I imagined!"

“Yup!" The Coyote laughed, walking away. “Now you set there and think about what you did to deserve that, while I go home and consider a suitable punishment for you." He rubbed his hands together. “Onwards! To the final scene!"

*****

“To the party, Asterbury!"

“Why do I always have to do that?"

“Because you've already been established as the one who does all the transition scenes! And the one who collides worlds, and all that other dumb shit from the last few years." The Coyote gave the urd'thin a shove. “So? Get to it!"

Asterbury glared at The Coyote. “Cheese-o, Skeez-o, eat my Chorizo!"

The urd'thin clapped his hands twice, and the scene folded in on itself. Nakatomi Plaza collapsed, crumbling back into a much smaller house, in a snowy neighborhood, decorated heavily for Christmas. All the myriad gryphons placed around the home were snowmen once more. Strings of glowing lights hung all across the ceiling, and decorated every doorframe. Tinsel ran along the edges of counters and around the fridge. Tiny wreaths hung on cupboards. There were sofas, chairs, recliners, couches, and more, furniture of all types and sizes to make sure every guest was comfortable.

Platters of food occupied every available surface in the kitchen. There were trays of salamis, prosciutto, roast beef, and a dozen other cold cuts. Another platter was filled with all manner of pickled vegables and olives. Others held smoked fish, oysters, clams, and more. There were cheeseboards covered with nearly uncountable kinds of cheeses, with just as many types of crackers, and bread. Sliced apples and pears sat alongside carrots and celery and a host of dips. Deviled eggs were arranged in artistic spirals. Bowls filled with several kinds of punch, and egg nog both alcoholic and not sat on another counter. Another counter was covered in sweeter treats, several kinds of fudge, brownies, and all sorts of cookies covered in icing and sprinkles. Coolers filled with a variety of craft beers lay open, beneath shelves covered with bottles of high end bourbons, rums, and more.

Smiling, The Coyote walked to the back door. He popped it open and peered outside. His modest backyard was once more vast and expansive, with plenty of room for dragons and gryphons to play in the snow and slide across the icy ground. Snow fell in heavy, white waves, smothering all sound with a quiet, gentle peace. The Coyote allowed himself a moment to drift in that peaceful state, to savor the cold, the scent of the snow, and the simple tranquility of snowfall.

He turned away, closed the door, and looked over the house. Valyrym, Asterbury, Amaleen, Krek, Vatch, and Ayly were already helping themselves to the various delicious things on display. Ayly rode on Krek's back, and the gryphon passed her up little mouthfuls of smoked fish and other delightful morsels. Vatch had gone straight for the fudge, while Valyrym helped himself to more of the smoked fish, alongside his granddaughter. Amaleen sampled the apples, and the other fruits. A black gryphon with blue highlights was busy filling a gryphon drinking bowl filled with egg nog. Asterbury wandered around the kitchen, stabbing foods with a knife and talking to them.

The Coyote scratched his head, and returned his gaze to The Gryphon. “Uh uh uhh, don't think I don't see you there."

The Gryphon glanced up. “This is my party as much as it is yours! Hell, if anything, I was supposed to be the main villain this year! Had such grand ideas. I was going to chase you through parodies of all your favorite holiday movies…but nooo, you let Asterbury put Ayly into one, and then you dragged that stupid rabbit into another…and I barely even made an appearance."

“That was only an initial concept! You know well enough that as soon as I start writing, things change. This one turned out to be more of a…" The Coyote waved his hand at the gray-furred urd'thin. “Buddy comedy between me and Asterbury, than anything else."

“Because we're best friends, right old buddy?" Asterbury ate some salami off of his knife.

“Let's not get carried away." The Coyote shrugged. “Point is, things change. We don't always get what we want, and that's okay. That's part of life. Life is…" The Coyote scrunched his muzzle. “You know what, I summed up my thoughts on life last year, so…just a quick refresher. Life is all about taking whatever shit, fear, pain, sorrow, heartbreak…whatever horrible things life can throw at you…then giving all those things the finger and saying, fuck you, I'm going to enjoy myself. Life is about enjoying yourself in whatever way you can, whenever you can, for as long as you're able." The Coyote waved his hand at The Gryphon. “Life doesn't turn out the way we want, life never turns out the way we want. The whole point of life is to find a way to enjoy it, no matter where your life leads you. You think I wanna get hooked up to an IV pump every other week?" The Coyote held up two fingers. “There's only two options for me, right now. IV pump, every other week, for the rest of my life…or someday, get a bone marrow transplant, that only has about a 50% chance of actually curing it, anyway. Life punches us in the throat, it kicks us in the balls, it stomps on us when we're down, but you know what?" He pointed to Valyrym.

The old dragon smiled. “Fuck it!"

“Exactly!" The Coyote poured himself some egg nog, then added a shot of bourbon, and a shot of rum. “Fuck it! You take life's biggest fucking ass-kicking, you cry about it, you wonder why…and then you fucking move on! You forgive those who wronged you, you get over it.…and you find something you enjoy, and you damn sure cherish it. You remind yourself, that in the end? If you can learn how to enjoy the time you have, if you find something you care about and pursue, maybe even someone you care about? None of us, none of us know how our lives will turn out, or long we're going to have to live them. you can find a way to have fun, even when life's laughing at you…Then in the end, you know you're going to be alright." The Coyote sighed, then took a long drink of his egg nog. He smiled into his cup. “I'm going to be alright."

“You sure are, Scavenger!" Asterbury leaned up to put his arm around The Coyote's neck. “Cause you've got all us best pals by your side! Especially me, Asterbury, everyone's favorite!"

“And, you ruined the moment." The Coyote chuckled, taking another drink. “But that's alright. Tell you what, Gryphon. Behave yourself for the next year, and maybe I'll let you be the villain of next year's Christmas story."

The Gryphon gave a long, growled sigh. “Fiiiine. Can I at least enjoy the party?"

“Yeah, sure." The Coyote lifted his head, grinning. “As my butler."

“What?" The Gryphon jerked his head up.

“Because he's my Butler!" Asterbury pumped his fist, then scowled, ears flattened. “Damn it, blew the timing."

“And the line." The Coyote set his cup aside, then cracked his knuckles.

The Gryphon backed away, growling. “Like fuck I'm gonna be your butler!"

“I mean, that's not the sort of work I was planning on making you do, but if you want…"

“You can't make me do anything! My powers are-"

“No match for the Wonder Twins!" Asterbury held his hands out to the Coyote. “Wonder Twin powers, activate!"

“I'm not doing that."

Asterbury snorted. He dropped one hand, and the other up, making a V with two fingers. “Go Team Venture?"

The Coyote took a deep breath, and then gave a long sigh. “Yeah, alright, fine. Like two of my fans are gonna get this, but he we go." He lifted up his own V sign, and pressed his fingers to Asterbury's. “Go Team Venture!"

A giant spinning V, adorned in Christmas lights and snowflakes, sprung out of nowhere, along with dramatic music. The V grew and grew, blocking out the scene entirely, and then shrunk away just as fast, a speedy transition to story's end. When the transition faded, The Gryphon was now decked out in an ill-fitting tuxedo, black and white layers mussing and flattening down feathers all across his body. White sleeves covered all four limbs, and an oversized bowtie adorned his neck.

“ACK! My feathers! My beautiful feathers!"

No sooner had the gryphon started trying to escape his confining uniform and preen himself than Amaleen ran up behind him. She slammed her boot up between his hind legs, nailing both-black furred gryphon testicles. The Gryphon gave a shrill, high pitched squawk. His eyes bugged out as he toppled over, all his indigo crown feathers flared. The Gryphon gave a long, drawn out groan as he curled up, then started writhing on The Coyote's floor.

“My baaaaaaalls! My beautiful, beautiful balls!"

“That's for flashing those ugly things at my Coyote all story long!" Amaleen put a boot on the gryphon's haunch in victorious pose. “And for…I dunno…messing with his story, or whatever."

Valyrym glanced at The Coyote. “Is that a record?"

The Coyote shrugged. “I dunno…a lotta people got kicked last year, too. But maybe."

Asterbury stuffed a deviled egg into his muzzle, beaming. “I guess the coyote's skipping right over fan service, and going straight to author service this year."

“Didn't you already make that joke earlier in the story?" The Coyote chuckled, flicking an ear back. "Besides, I dunno, I think the fans probably got plenty of enjoyment out of you getting shot in the head so many times."

“Hah hah, you dumpster-humping doggy's bag."

“Don't you mean doggy bag?"

“Nope!"

“Oh." The Coyote rolled his eyes. “I see what you did there. Lessee…what are we missing? Oh, right. The rest of the guests!" The Coyote clapped his hands, and suddenly, his house was filled with all his friends and characters as Alia's Christmas party merged with his own. “Better!"

A blue dragon with black stripes and markings pushed is way past everyone else, on his way to the snacks. “Out of the way! The ham is mine."

A green dragon wearing a thick ebony collar went straight for the red wine.

Comet and Rudolph, from last year's crazy story, got blitzed on tequila shots, and then helped themselves to each other's egg nog.

A scrawny young blue dragon, and a burly young black dragon, fed each other cookies, and whispered about who they thought they could take down.

A bunch of adorable hatchlings did adorable hatchling things.

Valyrym bumped The Coyote with his muzzle, smirking. “You're really going all out on these cameo descriptions, aren't you."

The Coyote laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, I can only do those so many times before I start feeling like I'm just…repeating myself."

“Seems to be your theme this year, actually. Speaking of repeating yourself…you're going to go out in the other room, and stare at your Christmas tree, aren't you?"

“I was planning on it, yeah." The Coyote refilled his drink, then wandered out towards the quieter front room.

Valyrym heaved a dramatic sigh. “Then I suppose, I'd better come snuggle you, since you're so insistent on repeating yourself."

While The Coyote made his way to the tree, he whipped up a quick scene where some of his characters got comical presents. This year, Galvarys was given a subscription to the Ham of the Month club, and an enrollment in wrath-management classes. Alvaranox got a big, hardcover self-help book entitled, “So You've Been Forgotten… ( And Everyone Thinks You're Dead)". Valyrym got some blue scale dye by Handsome Young Dragon, so he could cover up all those unsightly gray patches when he returned home. Krek got an invitation for his fans to write him a naughty fanfiction, so he'd stop asking The Coyote about sex scenes all the time. Asterbury finally got to blow Vatch. Seven times. Vatch got seven blowjobs. The Easter Bunny got to particular in a reference to Airplane, when he was tied up in tinsel and lights, and a long line of people formed, waiting to take a turn kicking him in his Easter eggs. Varcorak got to host his own game show, taking over Let's Make a Deal. Revaramek got a library card. The Coyote's dragon sona, The Dragon, played the part of Sir Not Appearing In This Story, and thus, got nothing. And then Alvaranox dropped some of the Christmas LSD he got last year into the egg nog, and everyone went batshit crazy. Then Varcorak added some E, and soon the riot turned into a festive Christmas orgy.

Valyrym clambered up onto the couch, staring at The Coyote. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell's wrong with you."

The Coyote only smiled as he settled in next to the dragon. “A whole lot of things."

“I would have also accepted, where to begin?" Valyrym circled his foreleg around The Coyote. “Have a good Christmas story, Scavenger?"

“I always do." The Coyote snuggled up against the dragon's warmth. “Even when I get fed up with working on it day after day…in the end, I'm always glad I did."

“Very glad to hear it." Valyrym gently stroked The Coyote's fur with a forepaw. “You ever think about…calling an end, to these? Just to save yourself the time and the aggravation?"

The Coyote only shrugged, smiling. “Every year. And then every year I think…I'll just do a short one, this year…and without fail…" The coyote waved his egg nog back towards the proceeding 36K words. “This bullshit happens."

“As long as you're happy with the end result, I suppose that's all that matters."

“Happy is a relative time. The story's a big shit on the floor, but…" He trailed off, eyes widening. “You can not tell him I said that."

“Yeah, you're right, if I did, it would really knock his glasses off."

“Oh, shut the fuck up."

Valyrym curled his neck and rested his muzzle between The Coyote's ears. “We need to have a serious talk about your language."

“Yeah, it gets really bad in these stories. I dunno why. Anyway…The story's a pile of rushed garbage, but it's been a lotta fun to write, and like you said, that's really all that matters. I hope they have fun reading it, too."

“I'm sure they will, Coyote. And if they don't…I'll eat them."

The Coyote chuckled, closing his eyes, resting his head against the dragon's warmth. “Thanks, buddy."

The Christmas shed its silent, festive light.

“So…you calling it done?" The dragon shifted.

The Coyote sighed. “Yes. That was gonna be my ending line, till you opened your big fat muzzle."

“Oh right. Sorry."

The Coyote smiled, resting against the dragon's scales. He stared into the lights and ornaments of the tree, let them soothe him, and fill him with tranquility a while. “You know, for someone who exists entirely in my head, you make a pretty good friend. Merry Christmas, Valyrym."

“Merry Christmas, Coyote."

*****

May joy and tranquility fall across you and yours, all holiday season. And may-

Cut to Camera Four.

Asterbury took the cigar out of his mouth, and smiled at the camera. “Now that's what I call, a Christmas story!"

“God Damn it, Asterbury!"

“No, wait, I got a better one!"

“No, you don't sure-"

Cut to Camera Two.

Asterbury turned to the camera, took the cigar out of his mouth, and smiled. “Now that's what I call a Bob's Burgers!"

“That doesn't even make sense! I'm gonna strangle you!"

“We're all best friends!"

*****

*Sincerely, thank you all so much for reading. I hope I've brought a smile to your face this holiday season. If you've like to bring a smile to my face in turn, do Fave and leave me a comment with your thoughts, or just your favorite funniest/stupidest moment. *

*May happiness always find you, and yours. *