'Twas the Eve Before Christmas, and all thru the Loft
The Personalities were plotting Nick's angsting to soft;
Light Squirette was baking sweet blood pudding pie,
While Dark was conspiring more presents to buy;
The Jedi and Singer were decking the place,
In a Force magicked hurry as if in a race;
Whilst I, Kyer, writer and C.O.T.K.
Was busy directing the chaos that day--
(and hoping her headache those pills would belay...)

When up towards the skylight there rose such a clatter,
We lifted our heads to see what was the matter.
Away by the ceiling and cursing quite plain,
A dark, fearsome shadow was being a pain.
LaCroix, it was--- that master vampire---
Caught on the strands of our tinsel-wrapped wire!
"Well, ain't that jest luverly." Dark Squirette intoned,
While the rest of me simply quite heartily moaned.
(If he wanted to join us he could least have *phoned*!)

"Now, Darker, now, Lighter,
Now, K'yer and Scotty.
Come, Harper and Jedi--
No need to be haughty!
From the reaches of Europe,
from the greatest of malls,
I've come bearing good will for each poor soul all!"
(Oh, right. That vampire had more gall than Gaul...)

As one in accord who were privy his fouls,
We each lifted high our most doubtful eyebrows.
"Who is he kidding," I heard Jedi droll,
"With that villian's record he could play Darth Maul!"
The glow of lightsaber in Nick's living room,
Served only to deepen our feelings of doom:
LaCroix was amongst us and willing or not,
We just had to wait to unravel his plot.
(Man o man for a bushel of garlic in stock!)

"Okay, fine, your in," I ceded and waved,
While Dark glowered sourly that I had thus caved;
And Harper and Archmage gave Lucien the glare,
That warned that that vampire had better play fair.
But LaCroix just ignored that all present were ticked,
And calmly unloaded the gifts he had picked.
Then tinsel in hand he flew where he'd been caught,
And calmly untwisted the havoc he'd wrought.
(Could it be we had all been worrying for nought?)

Thus waited we Nick to arrive for the fun;
Now that the Loft was all festively done.
At half past fifth hour he strode in the Loft,
Resplendant in duster and silk oh-so-soft.
"Surprise!" we cried loudly in our happy joy,
And leapt all as one to hug our favorite boy!
"Merce!" Nick laughed and lost his dark frown,
Grinning at all of us weighing him down.
(Poor guy had no inkling 'we' all were in town!)

LaCroix waited silent while watching this scene,
and casually brought forth a dark bottle of green.
Worried, I gathered my schisms of mind,
And set them in front in case he was not kind;
"Defend Nick!" we vowed and held our chins high,
waiting to see which way the wind lie.
Would 'Uncle' descend in a wrath and a rage?
Or try to bind Nick into some mental cage?
(Not while *this* Squirette was writing the page!)

"Merry Christmas, my son," he spoke in that way
That made Nunkie's Addicts to totter and sway,
"This blood is for you--- and though not divine,
It's made for your palate--- a bovine-blend wine!"
Then grasping his son as their family bond hummed,
He gave Nick a hug that left all of us stunned.
My Light Squirette grinned as she shouted "All right!--
What we have here, Personaes, is brand LaCroix Lite!"
(Of course this made her twin sis pretty uptight.)

"Egads!" Dark rumbled and strode for the door,
"I'd rather face Evil-- Light side is a bore!"
"But, Dark," LaCroix motioned, "that box is for you.
You can't leave it there without even a klew."
We others stood silent and holding our breath:
Knowing her writing-- that gift could be Death!
For Dark was not taken with politely held tact,
In truth her word musings were more often wacked.
(of this the Archivists knew for a fact.)

Was the box holding a poisonous ray?
A mad art devising our Nightside to slay?
"Don't touch it!" 'tay whimpered a sing-song of dread.
Afraid our dark sister would somehow turn dead.
But Dark was not frightened nor worried at all;
"I'm going to be pissed if this turns out a doll."
Without more preamble or niceties due,
She ripped thru the paper--- and shipping box too.
(A rudeness that made Light S. turn a red hue.)

Nick was nonplussed as the gift came to light.
"LaCroix, would you mind explaning this sight?"
For there nestled safely with red and green bands,
was a thickly bound journal in Lucien's own hand.
The book was a treasury of Nick's old-time days,
Back in the century when knights lived their ways.
"Research material", LaCroix gave Nick his klew.
"You see, if she writes--- I prefer its 'bout YOU!"

(Merry Christmas to all, may your troubles be few.)

**** **** **** **** **** **** ****
They say that the Greeks are the ones to beware,
As they tend to bear gifts that can cause great despair.
But receiving from vamps shouldst needs greatest care,
'Cause its gifts like LaCroix's that can curl a Knight's hair!

<Dammit, Dark--- Nick's suffered enough without letting General Nuisance fill your mind with humiliating plot bunny scenarios! Burn the thing!>