The Misfits' Christmas Quarrel

Christmas Eve, long ago:

 

A young man lies comatose in a hospital bed. A grieving daughter wonders why her father disappeared. A violent vigilante stabs his way through the underworld, seeking justice for his family.

 

A mercenary sits beside his client on a snow-covered rooftop as he rethinks his life choices and choice of company. A speedster from the future seeks to prolong his life. An ambitious mobster with plans above his station shifts pallets for his skull-faced employer.

 

A lowly outcast spends his day trapped behind a cash register, wishing for a break from the monotony of his life. A clown sings carols in a padded cell. A bowman receives an earth-shattering diagnosis. Inoperable, they say.

 

A wounded veteran spends another Christmas in prison, a victim of a senseless war, cast aside by the government once he had served his supposed purpose.

 

Robbed of his childhood, an inhuman drone stays locked in a stasis chamber by his masters, released only to carry out their bidding, or to be subjected to another experiment. He has no say in the matter.

 

A nineteen-year-old boy is scolded by his mother, for daring to wear the yellow and purple costume he'd found listed online. It had reminded him of his father, though he'd never met the man.

 

Across the world, a secret society grows in number every day. An ancient order consolidates its power. A disgraced gangster seeks to repair his tattered reputation. A monstrous demon whispers poison into the ears of the forgotten and the easily swayed.

 

But for Drury Walker, none of that matters. Not yet.

 

==ISA Headquarters==

 

Winter winds howled outside the old Waterworks building, pelting the windows with thick clumps of snow. Safe and warm inside, Doctor Shiro Ito prepared a batch of Hot Chocolate for his daughter and himself. Beside him, an aged gramophone from his youth played Darlene Love’s “Baby, please come home.” The comforting melody was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of one of his old colleagues; a man in his sixties, dressed in a torn burgundy suit jacket and a battered orange moth mask. He was incensed, bloody and limping.

 

"Clifford, I was not expecting you at this hour,” Ito cooed, a slight irritation in his tone.

 

‘Clifford,’ still mid-rant, ignored the Doctor’s questions. "I need some new helmets. That fucking-"

 

"Clifford,” Ito warned.

 

"That FUCKING Martian!" Cliff kicked the cupboard nearest to him.

 

"Clifford, you are agitated. It is most disquieting. Please, let me prepare you a hot cocoa. The milk has just finished frothing. You like it with cinnamon, correct?" Ito directed him to the kitchen table.

 

"Aye, and half a bottle of scotch. GodDAMMIT! He was waiting for me, Shiro! Waiting! With his slimy green skin, and demon eyes! No offense,” he tacked on an insincere apology.

 

"None taken, I am aware you have reservations about my processes of self-improvement. Your cocoa,” Ito declared, carefully placing the steaming drink down.

 

"Tah,” Cliff nodded, chugging it down in one, messy gulp.

 

"There are other solutions to your predicament,” Ito observed.

 

"Yeah, a fucking flamethrower,” Cliff laughed coldly, wiping his upper lip with his sleeve. “I tried buttering up that Firefly freak, dead end that. Wants nothing to do with me. Drury's burning bridges, with me on ‘em... Ungrateful brat."

 

"Your boy, yes,” Ito recalled the name. “I understand he was betrothed to the Tiger Shark's daughter."

 

"Married in the summer. Not like I was invited. You got a kid, right, Shiro?"

 

"I prefer Doctor Ito, Clifford,” Ito replied plainly. Cliff Walker was the last person he wished to discuss Cynthia with.

 

"Yeah, and if I had a fancy college education, I would probably wave my doctorate around too,” Cliff scoffed derisively. “Which one did you go to again?"

 

Ito’s amber eyes gleamed beneath his hood. "Hiroshima. However, that is not what I had in mind. I believe your entanglement with the Martian requires a more... delicate approach. Jordan would be appalled had he known I suggested it, but-"

 

"No,” Cliff said curtly.

 

"He is utterly obedient, I assure you,” Ito promised.

 

"Like a dog," Walker spat. "I said no, Dragon King. You can keep your 'Killer Wasp,' I'll do this my way."

 

"The ISA means more than the mere egos of the individual, Clifford."

 

"There you go again. There IS no ISA, Shiro! Not anymore! Wasp's gone, and left his bastard behind. Mahkent and the Crocks jumped ship, enlisted with Luthor's crew. Who's left? Shade? Comes and goes as he pleases. Gambler? With one grandkid in Blackgate and the other in a coma?"

 

"Jordan will return," Ito said with complete, albeit misplaced, faith.

 

"Hell'll freeze over first."

 

==Gotham Airport==

 

A woman was wheeling her luggage through the bustling halls of Gotham Airport’s departure gate, a phone propped between her head and shoulder. "Sorry, sweetheart, you know that this conference is important-"

 

"I just thought, with Dad gone-" the disappointed voice of her daughter on the other end sighed.

 

"I know, darling. But that's exactly why I need to be in Coast City. With your father gone, Pike Munitions needs someone to take charge. The Shareholders want to know what our game plan is. If you need anything, you know your uncle Jacob is across the road."

 

"I know."

...

 

“Mrs Pike, you’re Gate A,” the woman at the gate nodded.

 

"Thank you. Listen, I'm going through the gate now, I'll let you know when I land, ok? I love you, Bridget."

 

"I love you too, mom."

 

~-~

 

Across the city, in Gotham’s suburbs, a dastardly and dysfunctional duo sat on a rooftop. The leader was dressed like a cross between Saint Nick and a rejected Chippendale dancer; the other man was dressed in a spotted, white uniform, with a bright red belt around his waist and a plate of cookies in his lap. He was chewing obnoxiously loudly, in an attempt to drown out his employer’s unprompted monologue:

"-And then, I'll slide down the chimney and give Magpie the bestest, magicalist, tingliest Christmas gift of all! Me, in a Slutty Santa outfit! And a loaded shotgun to take care of that Magnet Prick,” the Zodiac Master finished with a devious smile.

 

"I literally could not give a single iota of shit about any of this," Krill replied, washing down the cookies with a pint of beer he’d summoned through a turquoise portal.

 

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't expect you to understand true love unless it's injectable, ingestible or snortable!” Zodiac sneered.

 

"Ha," Krill said dryly. "Your fly's undone."

 

Zodiac looked down at his crotch and his cheeks reddened. "Uh, duh. It's a Slutty Santa outfit," he countered, failing to convince his associate.

 

"I don't think it is. I think you bought a normal Santa outfit, realised it was too small, but by that point, you'd already eaten the receipt. Oh, and now, you're having to defend yourself to a man covered in polka dots, on the roof of your stalkee's house, wondering why you didn't just update your Tinder page."

 

"It was $50! And- And DeFarge ate the receipt."

 

"Uhuh."

 

"Sorry, I'm sensing a lot of unnecessary hostility. Did I do something to you?" Zodiac’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

 

"Hit me with an SUV,” Krill muttered, pretending to look at the sky rather than give Zodiac more attention than was necessary.

 

"Oh, was that you? Funny thing about a hit and run; When you run, you don't really have time to see who you hit,” Zodiac lied even more blatantly than usual. And then, rather than face Krill’s potential wrath, he took the plunge, and dropped himself down the chimney. And immediately howled with all the anguish of a Hanna Barbera cat.

 

"Oh, and you should've made sure the fire was out before you jumped,” Krill shrugged, refusing to move from his seat to help.

 

For the next few minutes, all Krill could hear was Zodiac's yelps of pain, the sounds of his fingernails attempting to claw their way back up the chimney and the barking of the Wist-Pye dogs. They were pitbulls.

 

With a brief twang of pity (either the result of holiday cheer or the alcohol), Krill stuck his head down the chimney and called out to Zodiac. "You know, you could always try the front doo- Oh, forget it,” he tutted, before vanishing through a magenta vortex.

 

~-~

 

Singed, chewed and crabby, Zodiac walked down the street. Remarkably, Wist had not given chase. Whether he had decided Zodiac was not worth his time or had slept through the whole thing was anyone’s guess. For Zodiac, it had meant his supposed nemesis wasn’t man enough to face him. He reached into his pocket and, with great reluctance, dialled a number into his mobile. "Yeah, Norbet. Can you come get me?"

 

He was met with a squeal on the other end not dissimilar to a boiling kettle.

 

"Norbet, I can hear your hyper ventilation,” Zodiac groaned, already regretting his decision.

 

"Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy, Team Planetarium is really happening!" Irving Norbet screamed joyfully.

 

"That is not the name, you pillock. We're called Cream Pye,” Zodiac corrected him.

 

"I didn't vote for that!" Norbet protested.

 

"Well, I did and I'm the deciding vote. Call me Simon Cowl, 'cause I'm masked and I'm mean,” Zodiac smiled smugly.

 

"Do you still want me to com-"

 

"OF COURSE, I STILL WANT YOU TO COME GET ME!”

 

~-~

 

Zodiac was sitting on the curb when Norbet finally arrived in a sleek black Lexus. Zodiac had to assume he stole it. Rather that, than admit “The Planet Master’s” success could outmatch his own.

 

"How'd you know I was here?” Zodiac queried, as Norbet exited the vehicle. “You some kind of 5Genius now?”

 

Norbet gave him a blank look. Zodiac started to contest him, but realising he had no rebuttal, silently clambered into the passenger seat.

 

"You should come to my place for Christmas!" Norbet suggested enthusiastically as he took the wheel. "Looks like you could do with a change of clothes anyway!" he added, noting the large hole on Zodiac’s rear that had been torn out by Wist’s hounds.

 

"No, thank you!" Zodiac sneered. "I have big plans! Big! I'm going to catch some Pokey-Mon, draft up some fancastings, report all of Magnet’s Facebook posts for Hate Speech and send a dozen letters to Lionsgate demanding they release the Schneider cut of Norm of the North!”

 

Norbet’s brow furrowed. "But… how's that different from any other day?"

 

...

 

"Never mind. So, what happened between you and Polky anyhow? I thought you said you guys were close."

 

“What, the Polka Snot Man?” Zodiac folded his arms. "Hah! Fired him. Good for nothing loser… Told him what's-what, I did."

 

"Boy! Wish I got to see that!" Norbet gave an awe-filled chuckle.

 

"Yeah... Wish I got to do it,” Zodiac muttered longingly.

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing. Didn’t say anything. You're schizophrenic. Fuck you."

 

===Gotham General===

 

Thomas Blake entered the ward, a wrapped parcel under his arm. He’d been told the boy was still unresponsive. That didn’t matter. He shouldn’t be alone today. Not at Christmas.

 

"Sorry, I ain't been around much, kid. Problem with the Six, is that they tend to be pretty secretive. Mockingbird has us moving around a lot... But, hey, got you something!” he smiled, as he waved the wrapped present in the boy’s face. Nothing. So, he placed the parcel on the table beside him.

 

“I see the scar’s cleared up alright,” Blake noticed, running his finger across the pale mark on the boy’s forehead where the bullet had entered his skull.

 

He sat back down and scratched the back of his head. “So, what's new...

 

Oh, oh! Killer got married! Blonde girl. Tiger Moth, she's called, huge coincidence, y'know? And she is hot. Y'know how I feel about tiger print, but for real, wowzer! And, yeah, the ceremony was great too, I guess. Metropolis made a nice change. I mean, some nobody got shot in the head by the Joker, but that's nothing outta the ordinary.”

 

He paused. Perhaps head trauma wasn’t the best topic.

 

“Uh... Right. Right. Your replacement! Killer, in his infinite wisdom, called up this Lightning Douche, another bug guy, classic case of discrimination... And... Cutting a long and bloody story short, he got blasted in the face by Red Hood.”

 

Perhaps he should move on entirely.

 

“Did I tell you Gar got crisped up? Must've mentioned that... He looks gross, man. Like someone tried to make John Malkovitch, from memory, outta bacon and chewing gum.

 

Morty's in the wind. Guess all that expensive booze and zero tax payments finally caught up to him. Thank god he did those acting classes, because boy, he's gonna need 'em.

 

Get well soon. I tried getting the nurse to slip some eggnog into your IV, but they said that could literally kill you. Tried telling them about the luck thing, but y'know these medical types and their hypocritical oaths.”

 

Blake sighed. "Miss you, kid. GB the PP.”

 

~-~

 

“Let’s see what your friend got you, Monty!” the nurse spoke to the boy, as she unwrapped the parcel on his behalf. “Ooh, would you look at that, it’s a baseball bat. Isn’t that lovely? I didn’t know you liked baseball, Monty,” the nurse said, presenting him with a hand carved, red and white baseball bat, adorned with card suits.

 

Trapped in an unresponsive body, Montgomery Sharpe’s heart softened.

 

===Wayne Manor===

 

A uncharacteristically unkempt Bruce Wayne entered the dining room, carrying an enormous turkey on a large platter. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair was tangled, and the beginnings of a five O’clock shadow was starting to form on his face. He placed the enormous bird down on the dining table, and took a proud step back, to take in his family’s hungry faces. Tim and Alfred gave him a polite round of applause. Damian’s nose wrinkled.

 

"I notice that your no-kill rule doesn't extend to animals, father,” the youngest tutted.

 

“I notice your no-kill rule doesn't extend to people, Damian,” Tim bit back.

 

“*Tt. *That Spook was a mere imposter,” Damian scoffed.

 

“But a real person!”

 

“That's enough, It's Christmas,” Bruce intervened, invoking the ‘Yuletide Card’ to block further bickering.

 

“I didn't expect you would be the sort to entertain this trivial nonsense, father,” Damian voiced his disapproval.

 

“And, it's the one day a year I can bring the family together and not talk ‘business,’” Bruce concluded.

 

“Nor, did I take you to be a sentimental sap. Mother would never have indulged me with this kind of commercial tripe.”

 

"And that's a real shame. A lump of coal could've done you some good!” Jason smirked.

 

"Yes, Todd. Then, I would have had something to throw at you."

 

"Besides, I have it on good authority that Walker and his gang are having a party this evening, so we can count them out of the action."

 

"He sent you an invite, didn't he?" Dick pried.

 

"He... sent me an invitation, yes."

 

“Food, please,” Cass pointed at the turkey, salivating.

 

“Right, yes,” Bruce nodded, as he took a knife to the bird and began to carve.

 

“What’s the matter, Alf? You got the flu?” Jason asked, wondering why he was not serving them Christmas dinner as was tradition.

 

"Not at all, Master Bruce was rather insistent that he would do all the cooking this year,” Alfred smiled.

 

“Alfred does the cooking every other day of the year,” Bruce explained. “It was time I stepped in for once,” he smiled, as he handed Alfred a plate of turkey, gravy, carrots, stuffing and parsnips.

 

Alfred smiled back gratefully, and cut a thin slice of turkey, putting it into his mouth. He didn't swallow.

 

The colour drained from Bruce’s already pale face “What’s wrong?”

 

Alfred paused. “It’s delicious, Bruce. Truly.”

 

…

 

“However, all those years travelling the world, seeking out the best teachers... You couldn’t find a single chef worth their Michelin stars?"

 

"I had other priorities-"

 

...

 

Bruce sighed. "I'll... order some Pizza."

 

===Van Cleer Manor===

 

Drury had been coy all morning about Miranda’s Christmas present. After being woken up by Kitten jumping on their bed at 6:30, they relented, and gave her permission to open her presents, while they went back to bed, lying in until 11:00. At 11:15, Miranda gave Drury his presents (among which included a pair of moth-shaped cufflinks and a set of four pairs of underwear) while Drury gave her a pair of moth-shaped stud earrings, assuring her there’d be more to follow. At 14:00, Gaige arrived for lunch. His assistant, Mr Incognito, ate his lunch at the kitchen island beside the dining table (the Walkers had not prepared a seat for him, assuming Gaige would come alone). Axel excused himself early to go visit the Rogues in Keystone. After lunch, Drury finally invited Miranda and Gaige downstairs to a large tarp, covering a vehicle of some kind. He gripped the fabric and with a magician’s flourish, unveiled his masterpiece.

 

"Tah Dah! It's your very own Tiger Mothmobile!"

 

Miranda was gobsmacked. The elongated automobile had been desecrated with large solar panels in lieu of wings, missile launchers and splattered with orange and black paint.

 

"Hn. Looks like a circumcised bumblebee," Gaige observed, as he slurped his eggnog.

 

"Judging by your stunned silence, I take it you love it?" Drury beamed proudly, wrapping his arm around Miranda’s back.

 

"Drury… how much did this cost you?" Miranda spoke cautiously, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

 

"You can't put a price on love!"

 

"You can, it's 50 bucks an hour and it's called prostitution."

 

Miranda glared at her father reproachfully.

 

"My man Gearhead did most of the fine tuning. Difficult getting him in here though, 'cause he's part tank,” Drury chuckled. As he placed a gentle hand on the mudguard, the entire car rattled.

 

"Gearhead? Where'd you find him? 1997?" Miranda raised an eyebrow.

 

Gaige stepped forward, thoroughly amused. "Walker, you didn't get me a Sharkmobile did you?"

 

Oblivious to his teasing, Drury smiled back. "Why would I, when you have a-"

 

"You didn't,” Gaige interrupted, his smile vanishing immediately.

 

"-perfectly good private yach- ulp."

 

"You epileptic bulb-licker! I'll keel haul your ass!" Gaige roared, lifting Drury up by his shirt collar.

 

“Dad!” Miranda gasped.

 

"You can't!" Drury croaked between strained breaths.

 

"And why the fuck not?" Gaige inquired, his grip loosening.

 

"I scrubbed off all the barnacles!" Drury replied, expecting a word of gratitude in return. Instead:

 

“THOSE WERE FUNCTIONAL!” Gaige roared even loader than before, shaking Drury violently.

 

"Daddy, put him down! You put him down right now!” Miranda warned.

 

Gaige glared at Drury's exposed waistband, his eyes transfixed by the brand. "Really? Wiseau?"

 

"They're comfy! Miranda got em for me!”

 

~-~

 

Hours passed, and the Mothcave was transformed into a Winter Wonderland. Fairy lights were draped along the top of his Mothcomputer, baubles hung from the roof, and polystyrene Snowman were erected around the room. A tiki bar had been painted white and gold and was stocked with My Alibi’s finest booze. Len Fiasco had kindly (although reluctantly) stepped in to run in it on Drury’s behalf. As guests began to arrive, Drury stood at his wife’s side, carefully watching her face as she stared at the Tiger Mothmobile, once again submerged by its’ tarpaulin coverings.

 

"You don't like it,” he groaned. “Damn it, I knew I shoulda sprung for a Tiger Mothcopter, I'm an idiot!"

 

"No, not at all! Just... Let's just set a price limit for next year, ok, Killer?" Miranda gripped his arm supportedly.

 

Drury nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, ok," he agreed, his face brightening. "Hey, wanna see what Chuck got me?"

 

"Sure," Miranda smiled as Drury scampered off to the other side of the room.

 

"It's an egg chair!” Drury cackled delightedly, sitting in the middle of his thatched throne. “Y'know, like the one I saw in Macy's? Spin me, Gar!" he commanded his sullen partner-in-crime.

 

Gar flicked his lighter shut. "I'm not... I'm not doing that."

 

~-~

 

Now, the party was in full swing. Joey, was asleep on the sofa. Beside him, Chuck and Julian admired the decorations.

 

“Drury’s outdone himself,” Chuck smiled, awestruck by the makeover of what was a rather wet and smelly cave.

 

“Yes, I suppose it is rather homely,” Julian nodded respectfully, sipping his cola. “Quite the turnaround.”

 

“Mind you, could do with some mistletoe,” Chuck smirked.

 

“Allow me,” a voice spoke, as a pale woman with greenish skin and vibrant red hair stepped in-between the pair. She raised her hand and the potted plant on the shelf beside them grew out a vine filled with beautiful off-white berries.

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Julian murmured quietly as he brushed past Ivy.

 

“Well, as far as party tricks go, I think you win,” Chuck grinned, brushing his finger against the leaves.

 

Ivy wasn’t so sure. "Humans and their disregard for self-preservation when faced with pretty flowers...” she tutted. “Mistletoe is poisonous, you know,” she scolded him.

 

“I know, but we only have one life. If it means a kiss from you, I’m willing to take that chance,” Chuck smiled.

 

Taking advantage of the now unguarded and flourishing mistletoe, Dekker took Len by surprise and planted a kiss on his cheek.

 

"The rest comes later, Leonard, come find me!" he cooed, singing a merrier version of Deck the Halls as he swaggered away:

 

"Dekk the halls with lots of Molly

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

Light it up, and you'll be jolly

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

 

Snow from Snowflame, weed from Woodrue, fa-la-la la-la-la la-la-la"

 

Len reached into his breast pocket and unearthed a white handkerchief to erase the offending, slobbery evidence from his cheek. "They will never find your body," he murmured to himself.

 

Nearby, Drury was carrying drinks for him and the missus when Ned Creegan tapped him on the shoulder. "Drury, where'd that cyanosic coat check guy go?" the man asked.

 

Drury’s brow furrowed. "Coat check? We didn't have a coat chec- Ohhh, Electro... Sorry, your coat is loooong gone. He must've been shrinking 'em to put them in that dollhouse of his."

 

Creegan paused. "My wallet was in that coat."

 

Meanwhile, the Gaiges watched the party from afar, leaning against the walls of the bunker. The elder Gaige was on the phone, awaiting the status of his yacht since Walker generously ‘renovated’ it. "Give it to me straight, Warren. How bad is it?" Gaige inquired.

 

“Well, you ever see The Sopranos?”

 

“No.”

 

"Well, it's like Adriana La Cerva fucked the Stugots."

 

Hot air escaped the good doctor’s nose. He stirred his drink slowly with a cocktail shrimp, watching as his daughter’s face glowed with appreciation for her husband. "So. Knickers,” he began, bringing the topic back to Walker’s briefs.

 

Miranda sipped her beer. "They're boxers."

 

"Uhuh. Didn't take my daughter for a cheapskate, that's all."

 

"Well, I didn't know that he'd make me a car, did I?" Miranda raised her arms in the air.

 

"A car," Gaige repeatedly incredulously.

 

She rolled her eyes. "Don't start-"

 

"More like Thomas the Wank Engine."

 

"Don't -!" Miranda snorted. "He really does like you, you know."

 

"Oh, I know. It's pretty fucking insufferable."

 

...

 

"Knickers... Suppose he did need a new pair... I saw he had a hole in his trunks the other day. He bent over to tie his laces and... christ. Like a moth emerging from a cocoon."

 

"Aha."

 

"A tiny moth. A deformed moth. A shrivelled, half dead moth that doesn't deserve my daughter-"

 

"Merry Christmas, Dad,” she beamed at him.

 

A warm smile crept up Gaige’s face. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

 

===After the Royal===

 

Gaige unlocked the gate to the boathouse and pulled back the shutters. Inside, stood an enormous, rusted, and very orange yacht. There was a shuffling behind him, as Otis Flannegan entered the room, his arms laden with paint products. “Got the stuff,” he nodded, as he dropped the contents onto the floor.

 

Gaige approached him slowly, picking up one of several tins of paint stripper. “I want it exactly as it was,” he said in a low growl.

 

“I know,” Flannegan nodded.

 

“No. You don’t. I want it exactly as it was when he painted it.”

 

A snort of disbelief escaped Flannegan’s crooked nose. "What?"

 

"It stays, understand?" Gaige answered.

 

"Why? You competing in the Piston Cup or summin'?"

 

"It. Stays."

 

 

Done