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A very Thibor Christmas 2016
A very Thibor Christmas 2016
(I haven't written a Thibor story in years and am somewhat out of practice - I remember a bit in one of the Lethal stories about her first curse being at age five - it seemed a good launching point for a Christmas story.  Knocked out in a few minutes for fun.)

“Santa Claus is real!” Liesel
slammed a foot down and stared up at her brother; her little hands
balled up into fists and she took a threatening step forward.

“There's no such thing as Santa
Claus” Doru chuckled, he was two years older and nearly two feet
taller than his little sister. “All those presents come from Mama
and Papa.”

“NO THEY DON”T!” Liesel shouted
back, raising a fist.

“Both of you stop.” Thibor lowered
the report he had been reading. “What is rule about fighting in

“No fighting in the house.” Both
children echoed. “All fights are to be held outside with an adult

“Good.” Thibor got up, and scooped
two year old Harry off the floor. “Outside now.”

It was a perfect Christmas eve, a thin
coating of snow on the ground, around the house, several pine trees
sparkled with lights. As a general rule, werewolf households did not
put trees in the house, despite Doru whining about how nice it would
be to having an indoor bathroom. Thibor peeled off Harry's diaper
and placed the squirming child on the snow. As his bare feet hit the
snow, he howled, then he dropped to his hands and shifted into a
large, fluffy, puppy and went scampering to the far corner of the
yard designated for those things. Cammy had originally appalled at
classical werewolf toilet training techniques; but at the end of the
day, had been even more appalled at the contents of diapers, and the
classic techniques survived to another generation.

“For Santa!” Charging forward,
Leisel slammed a tiny shoulder into her brother's midriff. The blow
slammed him backwards. Rather than wait for him to let up, Leisel
was on him, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees as she
slammed tiny, hard, fists into Doru's face. Being two years younger,
two feet shorter, and not a hereditary werewolf, Leisel had learned
early and well that there was no such thing as a fair fight. It
warmed Thibor's heart to see that she had taken his lessons to heart.

Doru, his nose flattened and pushed
crookedly to one site, let loose a growl and tossed Leisel aside, he
flipped to his feet, gaining another foot in height and fifty pounds
of muscle as he took on his werewolf aspect. His long muzzle,
crooked and smashed, straightened with several painful sounding
cracking noises as the damage Liesel had caused was healed.

“There ith no Thanta.” Doru
growled, stalking towards her. He hadn't fully learned how to talk
with the long muzzle. “You are a thilly girl Lethal!”

“YES THERE IS!” Liesel didn't give
an inch. “I BELIEVE IN SANTA!” A dark purple light glowed
around her briefly and then shot towards Doru. It slammed into him.
He paused for a moment and then his eyes grew very wide.

“Hurrrrgggh” Doru bent over and
started vomiting, wriggling garter snakes forcing their way out of
his mouth to splat unhappily into the snow. The snakes and Doru were
equally horrified by the situation unfolding before them.

“Lethal” Thibor said. “Go get
your Nanna Roxy.” He loped off the porch and snatched Harry out of
the snow before he started playing with the slithering mass of
unhappy snakes.

* * *

“You're such a clever girl” Evil
Aunt Marta patted Liesel's head. “Your very first curse! Snakes
are difficult, I'm so proud of you!” Lethal beamed up at her aunt
and accepted another cookie, which she gravely placed on a plate
along with several fat orange carrots.

“Do no encourage her Marta.”
Thibor growled, he looked over to where his eldest child was sitting
at the table, a bowl in his lap, his face an ashy green. Doru's
throat flexed as he leaned down with a choking gurgle, and vomited
another snake into the bowl.

“I would not be surprised if you find
coal in your stocking tomorrow.” Nanna Roxy said, fishing the snake
out of the bowl and giving it's head a sharp, fatal, rap against the
counter. “You should not tease your little sister like that.
Fortunately the curse is unpleasant, but not dangerous; you'll feel
much better in another hour, and then you can have a nice mug of
snake stew.”

“So Santa is real Nanna?” Liesel

“Of course he is.” Evil Aunt Marta
said with a warm smile. “But if you want the really nice presents,
you should leave out beer and some of Great Grandfather's special
magazines for Odin.”
Heh. Nice.

Great to see new Thibor stuff, Rev!
-- Bob
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
I'm not sure which I found funnier:  the line about the snakes being horrified by the situation, or the one about "leaving out some of Great Grandfather's special magazines for Odin."
According to legend — and I suspect you know this one — one of Olaf Tryggvason's tactics for persuading the pagans of Norway to accept Christ as their personal savior was to force a viper down the throat of someone who stubbornly clung to that old old-time religion.  Your line about the horrified snakes reminded me that no one ever asked the poor viper if it wanted to be a missionary.

"The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that this was some killer weed."
Big Brother is watching you.  And damn, you are so bloody BORING.

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