Christmas in the Land of Silicone, how romantic. How merry can you be when it’s 75 degrees out and your wanking Sire is larking it up hanging garlands around his already effin’ poncy digs? Hi ho, might as well see what the girl did to the defenseless tree. I've watched Angel’s ass bob around under those perfectly fitted pants long enough. Not that I couldn’t stare at that vision all night long, but I have a rep to protect, ya know?

“Oi, could we have something other than Bing Crosby on the stereo, that tosser’s making my ears bleed.” Why won’t he come over and keep me entertained? Doesn't he know that's his *job*?

Bloody hell, I awakened the She-Creature from the Mud-wrap Lagoon. It’s not bad enough to have to put up with the Lord of the Overhanging Brow all the unlive-long night. Oh, no. There’s also the chattel.

“Your idea of a good time might be roasting marshmallows over our smouldering corpses, but it’s not on my yuletide list. Can’t you, like, totally see that this isn’t one of those synthetic jobs? This is a real
tree. Tree means wood, means catch on fire... it could also be used for other things.” She's trying to warn me off with the happy image of smoldering bodies?

“Cordy, I reserve the right to kill Spike myself, I have many longstanding fantasies about that. What’s he doing?” Fantastic, my knight in Armani cargo pants.

“He was looming over my tree that I just spent hours LABORING over. I worked up a sweat, hello. And now he dropped ash all over my tree skirt. If you can’t control your pets, Angel, get a leash!”

“I missed seeing you work? Could I get a replay?” He didn’t turn around, but I could tell he was amusing the hell out of himself when he heard the bint grunting in annoyance. It was the ass-wiggle of glee that gave him away.

“What do you think, Spike, a collar and a leash, I could tie you to the post outside when I go into stores. Sounds like a plan.” What a ponce. He’s just baiting me. Twisting his head around to smirk and wink at me over is shoulder. Thinks I’m gonna get all worked up…I’m gonna punch that smirk offa his face, I am.

“You would just love that wouldn’t ya, Peaches. But it might put a wrinkle in your plan to act all normal, what with the bringing your deviant lifestyle out for everyone to see. Thought you didn’t want me to talk about those special items you keep in the top drawer in front of the help.” Two for one bonus. The twit turning tail to run AND Angel’s smirk turning into stoneface.

Oh but, finally he’s coming down offa that ladder and paying me some mind. Maybe he'll even give us a kiss and make himself uselful. Ah yes, just like that but with more tongue, pet.

Crikey, what’s that strange smell? I pull away from him with a grunt.

“You smell something off, Super Vamp?” He’s so easy. Having to bite his tongue, what with the two head-trauma victims in the next room.

“I was just about to ask you what you rolled in on your way in here.” Hardy, fucking, har har. A real comedian.

“Your jokes are as tired as your haircut.”

“ I know you were watching my ass when I was hanging the garland.” He asserts, licking his lips for emphasis, and grining maniacally.

“Been hitting the eggnog? You know, they’re right in the next room.” I have to find some sort of spell that stops that grin, because it’s attached by a string straight to my crotch.

“I’m just teasing you. We have things to do…” Ow ow ow. This tree is gouging me in the backside.

“What the fucking hell?” Whip around knocking the pillock off balance.

“The tree just stabbed me ass!” Is he laughing at me?

“Spike, I know you avoid wood products, but pine trees usually are prickly. A needle must hav…”

“Do you think my brain leaked out my ears…answer that on peril of your life. It was not a bleeding pine needle. The chit must have rigged it up to defend itself.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Cordelia, you know, your skeletal secretary who obviously needs a raise to feed herself? She must have done some mojo on the tree so it would defend itself from attack.”

“And your ass attacked it?”

“I brushed it with my perfectly sculpted cheek. Yes.”

“Cordelia put transmission fluid in the oil reservoir in my car. Christmas tree protection spells are somewhat beyond her.”

“Ow! IT just happened again. Your turn to stand here. You like pain in your ass.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?’

“You haven’t gotten rid of Wesley yet.”

“Could you lay off Wesley, please?”

“How about I lay on Wesley instead?” Eyebrow cock means he doesn't like that at all. Interesting. File that away for future torture material.

“That weird smell is a lot stronger over here. Maybe some creature lived in the woods where this tree came from.”

“You mean the farm where it came from, and I’m bloody well sure there were ‘creatures’ crawling all over it. ”

"The dreaded Christmas tree farm dwelling demon?” He smirks, before changing the subject. “Spike, did you see how cute these ornaments are? Cordelia decorated the entire tree in little cherubs. They’re all doing different things. Here’s one with a harp. One with a violin. One praying.”

“I was trying to avoiding looking at it for fear of puking on the tree, and what she would do to me for it.”

*~*~*~*~*

((I might have had a few cups of eggnog, but I swear the next part really happened...))

Spike turns to grin manically at what he thought was his witty remark, and something shoots into my shoulder. It feels like one of those tiny sandwich swords from a deli.

When I reach down to pull it out, I know the evening is going south fast.

“Bloody hell, is that an arrow? A tiny, golden arrow? Where the hell did…” He's cut off when the answer to his question swoops in to bite his leg.

A shimmering, gold cherub of doom is flying straight off the tree, teeth clicking together rhythmically, miniscule fingers clenching into menacing claws.

Right about the time I see the angel’s wings unfurl, it seizes Spike’s leg, and another barrage of arrows heads towards my face. I'm no fool. I duck behind the circular divan.

Which is when the agony truly begins. A chorus of voices so high I could hear dogs barking a mile off begin to caterwaul “Angels We Have Heard On High” accompanied by their compatriot’s musical instruments. All out of tune. All at ear-splitting volume.

“Angel, what are you doing hiding, you stupid git? Can’t you see I have one of the Lord’s own attached to my thigh? Wesley, help me for the love of Santa and reindeer and all that other Christmas shit!” I peek out to catch a glimpse of around two dozen fluttering winged babies flitting around the room, Cordelia brandishing an umbrella and shrieking, “I know this is your fault, you bleached menace!” and Wesley doing his damnedest to help Spike.

The cherubs with bows seem to have emptied their quivers, so I ever-so-calmly pulled myself up and attempt to piece my ego back together. But I get distracted by a twinkling of gold bobbing around Cordelia’s midsection, and another gold streak launches straight for my head. It tangles its mini-fists in my hair and sits its diapered rump right on my forehead. Dislodging it is quite a task, and the fucking thing takes two fistfuls of my hair with it. I fling it against the nearest wall listening to it scream “Ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me.” Unjust and deceitful? I didn’t hang on someone’s Christmas tree waiting to attack them. Besides, it's lucky to get off that easy after it graced me with what have to be two matching bald spots on either side of my head.

“Chase them towards the door with the umbrella Cordelia.” I make huge arm pumping motions I had seen a guy do to clear cranes off a beach on the Discovery Channel.

Wesley is pinching the cherub clamped to Spike’s leg around the neck, and it finally lets go. As soon as its mouth is free it begins cursing a blue streak in Latin through blood smeared lips. Wesley manages to appear alternately shocked and impressed as he runs to the door and tosses it out into the night.

Cordelia is finally able to herd the rest of them out the door with the umbrella while I inspect Spike’s wound.

“I hate effing Christmas. Did you hear those unholy sounds they were making? That was me favourite carol! Cheeky little buggers."

“Spike, what did you do to my ornaments?” Cordelia looks at him like she was just denied a line of credit at Bergdorff Goodman. Her hair is sticking up at odd angles and the bright, red, holiday sweater she had on is twisted so that it looked like it might be half choking her. But the worst part is the eyes.... I don’t want to think about it. It still gives me the chills.

“What the hell are you talking about? Those bloody ORNAMENTS just attacked us! Have you lost what little mind you had?” He fishes his cigarettes out of his pocket and furiously tries to get one lit. After his third missed strike, I take his lighter away and light the tip of his smoke. He takes this opportunity to run his hand up the outside of my thigh facing away from Wesley and Cordelia up to my waist.

“Indeed. Cordelia, where, exactly, did you get those ornaments? I would say they were a rather rare find.” He takes his glasses off to clean specks of Spike’s blood from the lenses with the hem of his sweater.

“Well, I got them at Rick’s Magic and Stuff when I was there looking for that Book of Rolaids.” In unison, the three of us sigh “ Book of Roilade”.

“Whatever. I got a great deal on them, they were in the reduced bin.”

*~*~*~*~*
translation of the latin: “Deliver me from the unjust and deceitful man.” It’s from the traditional mass.
***
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