Filcher's note: This poem is intended as a light-hearted hommage to one of the world's greatest writers and the "author" completely acknowledges the blatant plagarism that is the very heart and soul of this piece. However, if the late great Dr. Seuss feels obliged to send over a Lorax to whap her upside the head with a truffula tree, she accepts her punishment gladly. Additional disclaimers: The author also has no sort of claim whatsoever on the Forever Knight characters, Mailing Lists and Factional Designations referred to in this piece and hopes that no one thinks she's trying to be mean. Definition of terms: The author would like to stress that the use of the term 'Christmas' is not intended to be exclusionary to those individuals who do not celebrate it as a religious or cultural holiday. Due to the nature of piece, she was somewhat restricted in her use of a holiday term and hopes that everyone will look to it as representative of the season, which is the spirit in which it was meant. Permission given to archive on Mel's Fanfic site. ************************************************************* How LaCroix Stole Christmas Erika Wilson December 1998 Most fans On the Forever Knight Lists Liked Christmas a lot... But LaCroix Who lurked from his booth at CERK, Did NOT! LaCroix *hated* Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don't ask why. No on quite knows the reason. It *could* be his hair was bleached a bit too white. It *could* be, perhaps, that his collar was too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that his part on the show was too small. But, Whatever the reason, His part or his hair, He glared at his computer with that icy blue glare, Sneering at the holiday posts with that cold Roman sneer Hating the humor and the warmly wished cheer. And he knew every fan of FK that day Would be dreaming up stories and typing away. "All those Knighties and 'Packers, "Those Perks and the Slackers, "Will write about peace, love and forgiving, "It's enough to destroy the joy of unliving!" He paced through the station, griping and grumbling, "I must find some way to stop Christmas from coming!" For, Tomorrow, he knew... ...All the members online Would wake bright and early (well before nine) They'd open their mailboxes and squeal with delight At the number of stories that had dropped overnight. Then the happy fans, both young and old, would sit down to read. And they'd read! *And they'd read*! And they'd READ! READ! READ! READ! Epics devoted to rats, sewers and Screed? Not something for which LaCroix felt a need. Tales of the Lost Boy with that slack attitude? A sure guarantee to increase his foul mood. Stories by the N&NPack with kisses and choc'lit? LaCroix couldn't stand them, no, not one bit. And the work of those Knighties, all smitten with Nick? Well, which was the worst? Just take your pick! But really There was one group He liked least of all! Every reader of fanfic, the tall and the small, Would sit at their keyboards with giggles and smirks And read Caffeine-induced delusions posted by Dark Perks. And they'd post! *And they'd post*! AND they'd POST! POST! POST! POST! And the more LaCroix thought of this list-Christmas post, The more LaCroix thought, "I must halt this unheavenly host! "Why, for uncountable years I've put up with it now! "I must stop this Christmas from coming! ...*But HOW*?" Then he got an idea! *An awful idea*! LACROIX GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA! "I know just what to do!" LaCroix laughed in his throat. And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat. The material, it was true, was a deep bloody red, But all he had handy were the sheets from his bed. And he chuckled and hissed. "What a great sneaky trick! "With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Nick!" "All I need is a reindeer..." LaCroix looked around. He called for his dog, he whistled and frowned, Then recalled that his dog had become a late snack, So he used his black Jaguar with a U-Haul on back. He drove the black jag through the dark silent streets, A wicked Santa LaCroix in red satin sheets. He came to the first house, where a fan lay asleep And into the parlor this spider did creep, To begin piling treasures into a big messy heap. "The tapes," he grinned, "are the *first* things to go!" From 'Dark Knight', to 'Last Knight' all in a row. Then the novels, the CD, the T-shirts, the jackets, He bundled them up into portable packets. But quite worst of all, he didn't stop there, He took the computer, the TV and the soft comfy chair. "*Now* let them write stories!" He chortled with glee, "How can they write about something they can't even see?" House after house, he raided this way, Leaving nothing remotely connected to FK. He took teddy bears, dolls, little green caddys He took popcorn, french fries and edible ratsies. It was just before dawn... He filled his last bag Closed up the U-Haul And revved up the jag. Squealing the tires with such ear-splitting sound That the fans started waking and moving around. "They will wake up smiling, from such happy dreams, "But their burbles of joy, will become horrified screams!" He wanted to hear their cries of dismay For a Christmas completely bereft of FK. So despite the danger of the rather late hour, He parked his car and flew to the CN tower. "Oh, the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth "As they stare all around in shocked disbelief, "Looking for treasures that are no longer there, "Tearfully viewing shelves now dusty and bare!" From the top of the tower, he held a hand to his ear, Waiting breathlessly for the noise he wanted to hear. But the sound wasn't *sad*! Why, this sound sounded *merry*! It *couldn't* be so! But it WAS merry! VERY! He stared down below, LaCroix rubbed his eyes, For what he saw happening Was an unpleasant surprise. Every fan in the country and some from beyond, Had gathered together to share and to bond. They came without books, pictures or tapes, The tall and the small, all ages and shapes. The fans came as one, in grand celebration, They came one and all for a Christmas convention! They regaled one another with tales of the past, And dreamed up schemes for reuniting the cast. "How can this be?" Growled LaCroix, With a fierce Roman frown. "I took all the hopes and the dreams from this town! "I took TVs, ribena and soft comfy chairs! "They *can't* still believe, when no one else cares!" But they did still believe, he saw this was true, And his own too-small part, well, that's when it grew Into something much larger, a part of a whole That touched many lives with its heart and its soul. He saw he'd been wrong He saw his mistake. There were simply some things One just couldn't take. Without hesitation, he flew to the jag, Crashed the convention And unloaded every bag. The fans stared in shock At the loot on the floor The redistribution of which, Was an impossible chore. "Well," said a fan with a polite little cough. "We could always, you know, just auction it off." The bidding was brisk For LaCroix ran the show, Being rather persuasive, If the price was too low. They donated the proceeds To a charitable cause, Delivered in person By a true Santy Claus. THE END ****************************************************************** Comments, kisses and little choc'lit Santy Clauses to: Erika