It’s Christmas Eve at Dr. Pierre Faucheuse’s School for Gifted Individuals, and the ChaotiX is holding their annual Christmas party.
And the Fonda family is here too, with Blueberry and Muffin.
Moonflower is fast asleep at home, an angel summoned by Deston keeping an eye on her.
Angels are always happy to babysit, because protecting the innocent is what angels do.
The little Animaniacs are at home too, in the Brownie Palace. Yakko and Wakko are helping Yin-Yang run the herd in Blueberry’s absence, and Dot is keeping the dodos company.
And, of course, Athena is monitoring the area, in case those Dutch sailors are feeling particularly Grinch-y.
Yes, there’s another group of Dutch sailors.
Apparently, the last two groups meeting their end on Primal Earth wasn’t enough to discourage them.
Pierre is seriously considering having a chat with Mark Rutte about this matter.
In the Party Zone, Tommy, Maria and Woodstock share an atomica with Reggae and Mortis, sitting on bean bag chairs.
These atomicas have been rolled with festive red and white papers, striped like candy canes.
Mint-flavored, too.
Funnily enough, Tommy isn’t actually a big fan of Christmas. Or at least, he’s not a fan of the rampant commercialism of Christmas.
But he’s not going to ruin Christmas for Moonflower.
A stoned hippie he may be, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to be a bad father.
“So what are you guys doing tomorrow, man?”
Reggae points a thumb at the Morris Clan, currently talking to Leslie and Helen Oldman.
“Henry invited us to his place. We don’t really have any family–”
“That’s not true, Reg. The ChaotiX is our family.”
Reggae gives Mortis a hit of the atomica.
“You know what I mean, Tom. My parents died long before I did, and I was an only child.”
“I get it, dude. You’re talking to someone who spent every Christmas on the road up until a few years ago.”
Maria laughs.
“Santa would have a real hard time delivering to you, Tommy.”
“And not just because the Mothership doesn’t have a chimney, babe.”
Woodstock smiles mysteriously.
“Am he gunna cwaww in fwu da ecks-hawst pipe? Hey, if he can fit in da chim-nee…”
Someone taps Reggae on the shoulder, and the elite zombie turns, seeing the head and hand of Andre, his neck and arm stretched across the room, the rest of him standing next to his parents as they talk to his fellow Globetrotters.
“Yo Reg, gimme a puff real quick.”
“Oh, sure.”
Reggae hands the atomica to Andre, who takes a deep hit.
“Don’t bogart it, Andre.”
Mortis grins.
“Wook how wong Andwe neck am wite nao, Weggay. It am takin dem smokies foweba tu weach him wungs.”
“Fair enough.”
Tommy pats his pocket.
“Don’t worry, dude. I got plenty of atomicas on me.”
“Daddeh neba weave da housie wifowt wun.”
Andre hands the atomica back to Reggae, and exhales.
foooo
“Thanks, nigga.”
He retracts his head and neck.
Tommy laughs as he gets up.
“I’ll be right back, dudes. I’m just gonna wander around for a bit. Woodstock, you wanna come?”
“Awwite.”
In a saferoom just off the Party Zone, Blueberry and Muffin have just bumped into Scarface, who is currently waiting for Victor to fill his sack.
With presents, folks. Victor is dressed up as Santa Claus, and Scarface is, reluctantly, dressed up as an elf.
Blueberry cracks a grin as he looks Scarface up and down.
“Otay, wut kinna bet did yu wose?”
Scarface scowls.
“Scawface sed dat Scawface wud onwy weaw dis if Victow jumped awf da Towah of da Hevuns. Victow tuk dat wit-uh-wah-wee.”
Muffin giggles.
“Choos yu wowdsies mowe cawe-fuwwy nex time, Scawface.”
“It wuz wowf da twip, gwate vyoo up dewe. But mos fwuffies nu weawwy wike bein su hai up, su Scawface git if yu nu wan tu see it fow yusewf.”
Blueberry shrugs.
“Bwuebewwy haf takun da famiwy up tu da Snowfwake, dat am eben hai-yuw up.”
“Yu knu Caw haf bin tu da moon?”
“Weawwy? Wen?”
“Wemembew wen Hans wuz in Aw-fuh? Awound dat time.”
Muffin smiles hopefully.
“Did Caw bwing any cheese back?”
Scarface rolls his singular eye.
“Da moon nu am made of cheese. Am jus a big wound wockie. Muffin wemembew wen Fwan-swuh twied tu smoosh da wowwd wif a moon-wockie, wite?”
Muffin nods.
“Da hewd cud see awwa dem fawwin stawsies fwom da fowest. Wuz vewy pwetty. Su dey wuz jus moon-wockies?”
Blueberry grins again. He hangs out with Pierre a lot, so he knows how to explain this.
“Yuh, Muffin. Dey buwned up in da at-moss-feew.”
“…Wut am a at-moss-feew, Bwuebewwy?”
Blueberry sighs, trying to figure out how to explain that.
He’s the smartest naturally born fluffy alive, after all.
So he knows that most fluffies have trouble keeping up with him.
But he doesn’t look down on them for it. He tries to teach his herd as much as he can, and he tries to teach the other herds of his forest too.
Because he hangs out with Calvin a lot too, and Calvin said something that stuck in Blueberry’s mind.
Intelligence is not a privilege, it’s a gift.
And Blueberry plans to use it for the good of fluffykind.
As Tommy and Woodstock are wandering around the Party Zone, they bump into a surprising pair of guests.
“Rick, my man. Didn’t expect to see you here, dudes.”
Rick Sanchez, the alcoholic scientist from what used to be known as the Central Finite Curve, and his grandson Morty, both wearing Santa hats given to them by Calvin.
“You think you guys are gonna throw a bi-- belch --tchin’ party, and I won’t show up to get riggidy-riggidy-wrecked? Cal burp invited us, Tommy. Guy knows how to throw a party.”
“Th-this isn’t the worst way I c-could be spending Christmas.”
“What was the worst burp way, Morty? Shrinking down and going inside that hobo’s body, or the whole thing with the space snakes?”
“I th-think it’s a tie, Rick. You know, m-most kids don’t spend Christmas in a homeless guy’s guts.”
“Yeah, and most kids don’t get to explore the multiverse. Gotta take the good with the belch bad, Morty.”
Woodstock nods sagely.
“Most fwuffies nu git tu du dat ee-fuw.”
Rick laughs, already being several eggnogs in.
“Totes malotes, dawg. So what’s up with Eira tonight?”
He tilts his head towards the mistletoe, where Eira pounced on Maria as she was on her way to get a drink.
Tommy shrugs.
“She’s still getting the hang of Christmas traditions.”
“Eiwa seem tu haf miss-unda-stud sumfin.”
It’s not the first time Tommy’s seen his wife kiss another woman.
Hell, she’s seen him kiss other men.
The Fonda couple refuses to be defined by labels like “straight”, “gay”, “bi” or even “monogamous”.
They’re one of the few couples who actually made an open relationship work.
As Blueberry finishes explaining what an atmosphere is to Muffin, he sees Amy the Ant-Woman walk in with Amber and Bella.
And he sees a new ring on Amber’s finger.
“Am dat wut Bwuebewwy fink it am?”
Amber nods, a giddy smile on her face.
“It is! Look at this diamond! It’s so beautiful! Amy made it in the lab! I don’t mind, because I’ve never seen a diamond like this!”
Amy grins.
“And the band? Genuine 24K gold from Rai. So it still cost me a bundle.”
“Babe, I would have said yes if you proposed with a Ring Pop. I was gonna propose if you didn’t.”
“I had a hunch. And I’m never going to forget the look on Mom’s face when we broke the news. The last time she was that happy was when we reunited on the Snowflake.”
Blueberry smiles at the newly engaged couple.
“Cawn-gwats, bof of yu.”
Amy smiles back, as Amber kneels down to give the fluffies a better look at her ring.
“Thanks, Big Blue. You better believe you’re invited to the wedding.”
Amber waves at Scarface, who is still waiting for Victor.
“You too, Scarface! Nice costume!”
She’s being utterly sincere about that compliment.
Scarface casually waddles over.
“Weddins am awways fun. An we nu haf had a Kay-oh-tiks weddin in a whiwe. Da wast wun wuz, wut, Caw an Joo-dee? Du Scawface git a pwus wun, ow am Scawface Victow pwus wun?”
Blueberry raises an eyebrow.
“Hu wud be yu pwus wun? Yu nu haf a speciaw fwend.”
Scarface leers, much like his owner tends to do when he’s being a cad.
“Nu, but Scawface am gunna nee a wingie-stawwion.”
While Blueberry gets what Scarface means, Muffin and Bella do not.
The former gestures at Ghost, currently chatting with Mayday.
“Dewe am a wotta fwuffies wif wingies hewe, Scawface.”
The latter looks dismayed, because she’s drawn entirely the wrong conclusion.
“Bewwa fowt dat Scawface wiked mawes.”
Scarface blushes, and quickly clarifies the matter.
“Nu wike dat, Bewwa…”
Yes, Bella’s got a bit of a thing for Scarface. She’s had a bit of a thing since they met at Harry’s Place.
And Scarface has had a bit of a thing for Bella for a while.
But he doesn’t think he’d have a shot with a fluffy like her, as a scarred, one-eyed former street fluffy.
Much like Xavier and Susan before the lap incident, neither of them knows that the feeling is mutual.
But Victor is well aware of this. He’s good at reading people, and fluffies are particularly easy to read.
And Scarface doesn’t need to find a wingm… wingstallion.
Because he lives with the best wingman he could ask for.
And Victor already has a plan to set them up.
Well, it’s actually the backup plan.
The original plan was to arrange events so Scarface and Bella would “coincidentally” bump into each other under the mistletoe.
But Eira went and scuppered that plan by staking her claim and refusing to budge, like a prospector on top of a massive vein of gold.
Next year, the ChaotiX plans to hang more mistletoe up.
As Tommy and Woodstock grab some snacks from the refreshments table, Victor walks up, a large sack slung over his back.
“Ho ho fuckin’ ho, Tommy! I got something for you!”
He reaches into the sack, handing a present to Tommy.
“Thanks, dude. Is this a book? Man, must be a long one.”
Tommy unwraps it, and his jaw drops.
“No. It’s not a book.”
Instead, it’s a block of hash.
A very big block of hash.
Victor winks.
“Don’t smoke all of it in one go, Tom. And if you could find it in your heart to toss a joint my way…”
“Dude, a joint? Maaaan, I’m gonna roll an atomica for you with this.”
“We gut sum nice mintee pay-pahs.”
Victor salutes them.
“Excellent. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna find my Little Helper.”
“Am awwa da pwe-sents wike d–”
“Yes, Woodstock, all of the presents are like this.”
Meanwhile, in Blueberry’s Forest, several men in white outfits and balaclavas creep through the snow.
Yes, the entire state is covered in snow, and that’s Calvin and Marley holding back.
“Wij hebben echt in een lange tijd niks gehoord van de kapitein, jongens.”
“Waarom is er zoveel kutsneeuw hier? Het sneeuwt bijna nooit in deze staat!”
“Willen jullie een sneeuwpop maken, jongens?”
The apparent leader of this group narrows his eyes.
“Nog een Frozen-verwijzing, en jij gaat terug naar het schip!”
“Zeg, wie promoveerde jij tot kapitein?”
“De kapitein! Hij zei dat ik de baas ben totdat hij terugkomt met die heerlijke, sapigge dodos!”
A female, electronic voice cuts in, from several positions around the group.
“You seem to have made a mistake, gentlemen. You’re supposed to eat turkey on Christmas, not dodo.”
A dozen drones decloak, revealing themselves to be armed.
“The esteemed Dr. Pierre Faucheuse has grown weary of the constant attempts to eat his pets. He would be perfectly willing to clone some dodos for you if you just asked.”
The leader angrily points at one of the drones.
“Daar gaat het niet om! Het gaat om de jacht!”
“I know, that’s what the last group of idiots said too. If you want to know what happened to them, there’s a clue about one mile away from here. Look for the large boulder surrounded by the force field, and ask yourselves why the force field is there. No, you’re not getting through it. The last two groups of you idiots died that way. I suggest that you turn around, return to your ship, and go home, before you become a missing persons case.”
The drones prepare to fire.
click
click
click
click
click
click
click
click
click
click
click
click
Immediately, the group freezes in terror.
“…Moeder.”
“Ik heb plotseling zin om naar Australië te verhuizen!”
“Ik wil naar Arkay verhuizen!”
“Ik denk niet dat Arkay ver weg genoeg is om veilig te zijn!”
“Ik wilde niet eens dodos eten, ik ben vegetariër!”
“Ik ben ook vegetariër nu! Ik ga zelfs geen kipnuggets eten! Doe onze asjeblieft geen pijn, mevrouw de drone…”
The leader folds, but can’t resist a parting shot.
“Dit is niet voorbij. Wij zullen die dodos jagen. Want dat is wat Nederlandse zeemannen doen. Kom op, jongens.”
The sailors leave, the drones moving aside to let them pass.
When they’re out of sight, the drones all aim their guns into the air.
PHWEE!
And blast bursts of confetti into the air.
As the confetti falls to the ground like colorful snowfall, Athena the AI chuckles.
“That was a good idea on Chaos’ part.”