Disclaimer: Voltron is the property of WEP. "A Christmas Carol" was written
by Charles Dickens, who is probably going to rise from the grave and get me.
I have no idea who owns the current rights to it.

Rating: PG-13 at the most, but probably not even that.

A Christmas Carol, Voltron style

Part 1

Christmas time had arrived on planet Doom. Festive strands of black horned
skulls with twinkling red eyes adorned every available surface, from the
lowly entrance to the slave quarters to the highest parapet of the castle
proper. Guttering torches- perfect for the roasting of chestnuts, assuming
anyone had ever heard of chestnuts or was tall enough to reach the flames-
cast smoky shadows everywhere throughout the dim interior and the gnarled
branches of black poplars (1) crossed doorways for good luck. Some
enterprising soul had even managed to import mistletoe at great expense.
Several sprigs swung gaily over the tall archway into Hagar's laboratory.


'Overkill,' Zarcon decided, spinning sharply back around to avoid crossing
the landmined threshold to his witch's domain. 'Who in their right mind
would want to kiss a wrinkled old prune like her?'

The king of the Doom Empire was not in high holiday spirits. Actually, that
statement may well be one of the greatest understatements ever uttered.
Zarcon hated Christmas and everything it represented. After all, what good
are peace, love, and goodwill to the ruler of the most oppressive empire in
the Denubian Galaxy if not- dare we think it- the universe?

What reason was there for celebration? Was not his empire falling apart
around his feet, all because of the utter incompetence of his underlings and
the blasted goodness and light of a group of human children? Human. Can
you imagine the scandal?

It was in this black mood that Zarcon finally made his way through the heavy
steel doors of his throne room, his one place of solace. Here he was still
the master of his domain; slaves still cowered before his mighty throne with
none of their 'defender of the universe' back talk. Defender of the
Universe, indeed. Those whelps could barely keep Arus intact, much less the
rest of the galaxy. The whole universe? Not a chance. Regardless, here he
could put the dark thoughts away from his mind and bask in the terror of his
subjects. Here…

Zarcon froze two paces inside the door, his blue reptilian face going slack
with shock. With a growing surge of horror he surveyed the scene spread out
in front of his disbelieving eyes. Several of the slave masters were
chasing giggling serving wenches around the base of the throne, playfully
cracking new whips. One of them looked suspiciously like a cat o'nine
tails, and the guard in question was dangling handcuffs, no less. Shaking
himself, Zarcon let his gaze travel up the stairs to his throne. Cossack
was resting halfway up, apparently reenacting one of his recent battle
failures with a shiny new Voltron toy and what looked like a robeast carved
out of a bar of soap. At the top of the stairs, Lotor, his one and only
son, the heir to the throne of the Doom Empire, was curled up on the cold
stone dais doing unspeakable things with his new Lotor and Allura action
figures.

Zarcon began to physically shake with rage. How dare they? How dare they
bring those…those…THINGS into his sanctuary? With a growl building in his
throat, Zarcon began to stalk towards his throne. The cold murder in his
eyes stopped even the most drunken of the slave masters in their tracks. He
stopped halfway up the steps and glared at Cossack, too enraged to voice his
displeasure in coherent words.

Finally noticing the shadow falling over his imaginary battlefield, Cossack
snapped his head up and smiled ingratiatingly. "Oh, good afternoon, sire.
I was just…" His voice cut off with a squeak of surprise as Zarcon grabbed
the toy Voltron out of his hands and dashed it to bits on the rock. Cossack
stared at the smashed wreckage of his favorite new toy for a moment before
turning teary eyes up at his master. He was just about to protest this
indignity when Zarcon grabbed the soap robeast and took a menacing step
forward. Cossack took the hint and bolted.

The soap robeast exploded into tiny slippery bits from his massive fist as
Zarcon turned to face his son at the foot of his throne. Lotor was
regarding him with a confused expression. "Father? Is something wrong?"

Zarcon took a deep breath and contemplated exactly how long it would take to
raise and nurture another heir. After a moment's contemplation, he decided
he didn't have the energy or the patience to go through all that nonsense a
second time. Lotor would live. For now.

"What," he growled, the low words barely managing to escape through his
tightly clenched teeth, "do you think you're doing?"

"Oh!" Lotor smiled brightly and held up his new action figures. "I'm
practicing for my inevitable victory over my beloved. See?" He waved the
action figures around before moving to force them together again. "I got
them from Amazon.com. Cool, huh?"

Zarcon grabbed his wrist in disgust. "You are an embarrassment. You will
NOT play with children's toys in front of the guards, do you understand me?"

Lotor nodded, looking slightly crestfallen.

"Good." Zarcon grabbed the figures and tucked them away in a pocket. "You
can have these back after we defeat Arus. Is that understood?"

Lotor started to sulk.

Zarcon threw himself down on his throne and turned towards one of the wall
monitors. "Hagar? Where are you?"

The witch appeared in a puff of red and green smoke in front of him, a sprig
of mistletoe clutched in one hopeful fist. "Yes, sire? Your wish is my
command."

Zarcon stared. Did Hagar just bat her eyes at him? That was it. The last
straw. This was ending.

"I want an empire-wide communication opened immediately. Everyone is going
to hear this pronouncement."

Hagar nodded and concentrated for a moment. A black ball appeared between
her outstretched hands, rapidly growing in size. "Listen, people of the
Doom empire, to the commands of your king!"

Zarcon nodded in approval. "Hear me, my subjects, for failure to hearken to
my words will be met with dire and swift punishment. As of this moment,
there will be no Christmas celebrations this year! Everything we have is to
be used in an empire-wide attack on planet Arus in the morning. Any
decrease in productivity will be dealt with at the end of a lazon cannon.
That is all."

The ball faded from Hagar's grasp as a shocked silence settled over the
throne room.

Lotor, still sulking over the loss of his action figures, was the first to
recover. "But father, it's Christmas."

"Silence!" Zarcon roared, slamming a fist down on the edge of the throne.
"This is ridiculous. We're not even Christians! Why in the name of me are
we celebrating Christmas?"

"Because it's a time of love?" one of the guards answered uncertainly.

Zarcon's glare darkened and he beckoned the man forward. The guard eeped
and disappeared immediately from sight. Zarcon turned the glare on everyone
remaining. "Well? What are you waiting for? I want every robeast, every
ship, every lazon cannon ready to attack Arus in the morning." His anger
exploded at the still blankly uncomprehending faces. "MOVE!"

His underlings moved. The throne room emptied out in a nanosecond as
everyone bolted for escape. Zarcon sank further down into his throne.
"Christmas. Action figures and toys and love. Bah humbug! What is the
universe coming to?"

***

tbc.

(1) In case anyone wonders, black poplars are the tree that's supposed to
grow along the banks of the River Lethe in Hades. It's the closest thing to
Holly I could come up with :-)
Megan

A Christmas Carol, Part 2

I do apologize to anyone who gets this more than once, but all the lists
have been quiet, so what the heck.

Disclaimer: Voltron is the property of WEP. "A Christmas Carol" was written
by Charles Dickens, who is probably going to rise from the grave and get me.
I have no idea who owns the current rights to it.

Rating: PG-13 at the most, but probably not even that.

Warning: Characters acting wildly OOC. Don't blame me. They seem to be
enjoying themselves.

A Christmas Carol, Voltron style

Part 2: A Ghostly Visitation

A half dozen assassination attempts, three botched missions by Lotor to
retrieve the seized action figures, and one close brush with a mistletoe and
candy cane toting Hagar later, Zarcon quit the throne room in disgust.
Pulling his robes tightly around his thoroughly majestic frame, the King of
Doom descended regally into his silent throne room, trying in vain to
pretend that the lack of fawning courtiers was actually a nice change of
pace. He slipped into the corridor with no fanfare since even his personal
guard had fled following the afternoon's outburst.

Zarcon took in the newly emptied corridors with a smug smile. Every trace
of the festive attempts at Yuletide cheer had been removed precisely as
ordered. The gloom of the castle was back to its oppressive norm, the musty
darkness broken only by the glow of distant flames filtering through the
defensive arrow slits to serve as a constant reminder that this Christmas
foolishness was not going to be tolerated.

The flickering red glow of the fire gave the black stones a decidedly
hellish appearance, Zarcon decided with satisfaction. It wasn't that he had
issues with interior decorating per se- the correct placement of the skulls
of vanquished foes and implements of torture could work wonders towards
ensuring that underlings were kept in the right frame of mind- and the cold
firelight burning the hopes of goodness of the masses made the evening
positively cheery. He was whistling his favorite Drule funeral dirge by the
time he reached his quarters, located deep in the bedrock of the planet.

Despite the total chaos currently reigning in the castle, a considerate- or
at the very least extremely frightened- slave had remembered to lay out a
quiet dinner and bottle of wine in the fire-warmed sitting room. Dropping
his crown and scepter on an empty table, Zarcon sank gratefully into a
plushy cushioned armchair. He was getting much too old for days like this.
Things had been so easy in his empire's infancy; all one had to do was land
on a world with a nice display of explosions and the populace ran screaming
towards the safety of the slave ships. Today everything was a battle.

His dinner gone, he relaxed, at least as much as he was capable of relaxing,
and reflectively stared deeper into the comforting blood-red shade of his
wine. He was just beginning to doze off into pleasant dreams that in no
way, shape, or form involved dancing sugarplums when a faint noise pulled
him back to the land of the living. Instantly alert, Zarcon held himself
very still as his eyes darted around the circumference of the room. His
favorite chair was backed directly against one wall- the better to nip those
pesky assassination attempts in the bud- so nothing impeded his view of the
room. There had been something, something out of place…

/Clink/

There it was again!

Zarcon's hand edged towards the hilt of his sword as the faint noise
filtered through the thick stone walls. Chains, that was it. Someone was
rattling chains in the hallway. There was only one possible explanation:
some slave had mustered the audacity to escape the slave quarters amidst all
the turmoil and had gotten lost in the twisting corridors beneath the castle.

Zarcon leapt out of his chair with a snarl. As exciting as the end of
Christmas and Arus' imminent destruction were, that was no excuse for laxity
in the slave quarters. One of the masters- the one with the handcuffs and
cat o' nine tails most likely- was going to pay for this with his life. The
door sprang open under his hand. He raised his sword in anger and…

And we all know what he found, don't we? There was, of course, no runaway
slave in the corridor outside his sitting room. There was not even a
multitude of runaway slaves backed by the cursed Voltron Force, a sight that
Zarcon would have greeted with more aplomb than the specter before him. No,
it was, of course, just that. A specter. A ghost. It was…

"Yurak?" Zarcon gasped. Only years of skill kept the heavy blade from
slipping through his suddenly numb fingers.

His former commander stood in front of him, his once proud frame stooped
under the weight of coils and coils of heavy steel chains. Yurak slowly
raised his head at the sound of his name, the red gem that replaced his
right eye winking from his gray misty features. Zarcon continued to gape
wordlessly, at a loss yet again. He didn't think he could take too many
more shocks like this today. Maybe Lotor had given up on poison and was
opting instead to attempt to give his father a heart attack. Yeah, that
sounded plausible. Sure it did.

Yurak shifted impatiently. "What? Aren't you going to invite me in? It's
drafty out here."

Zarcon slowly shook his head. This was definitely a joke of some kind.
Someone's idea of sick revenge for his cancellation of Christmas stroke of
genius. That was definitely the explanation. Clutching his sword hilt with
renewed resolution, Zarcon attempted to block the doorway.

Yurak sighed in exasperation and a cool breeze carrying a musty scent
reminiscent of the deepest dungeons wafted across Zarcon's face. Kind of
pleasant, actually. He was just about to say so when Yurak shifted his
chains and stepped into the room, directly through Zarcon's solid unyielding
body. For one endless moment the entire world consisted only of a soul-deep
chill and the odd flash of disembodied pain from the coiled chains, trailing
at least four feet beyond the ghostly figure. Regathering his wits, Zarcon
narrowed his eyes and pulled the door shut on the now empty corridor.

"How do you know the corridor's drafty? You're dead. Aren't you?"

Yurak looked at him from a spot dangerously close to the fire. Some of the
flames appeared to be actually leaping through him. "Oh, I can't feel it
anymore than I can feel the warmth of this fire, but I can remember. Death
is cold, Zarcon, endless cold. Are you ready to face it?"

Zarcon backed against the far wall, still brandishing his useless sword.
"Is that what this is about? You've come to kill me?" He smiled coldly.
"You tried that more than once, I remember. I think you won't find the task
any easier now."

Yurak smiled back. "I didn't come to kill you. I came to warn you. As
much fun as my life was, I'm paying forever for every mistake I made. If I
could do things over…" His voice trailed off as a flame licked through one
hand, temporarily lighting the misty gray form to a healthy pink. Yurak
turned his hand with a wistful expression that faded into anger as the
chains rattled with the sudden movement.

"To warn me?" Zarcon snorted and dropped the sword. "What, you decided to
repent after Voltron kicked your sorry butt all over Arus and hurried back
here to convert me? You have got to be joking. Of all the overdone…"

Yurak swung to face him, the movement grotesque under the weight he carried.
"You think this is a joke? Look at me. LOOK AT ME!" The chains rattled
ominously as he spoke. "This is my hell, Zarcon. Each link of this chain
represents a wrong I committed in life. I'm doomed to carry them with me
for all eternity as a reminder of my evil ways. But you, Zarcon, oh you
should see what they have planned for you!" He broke off with a cold laugh,
his one good eye glinting evilly in the firelight.

"This is supposed to frighten me? I've heard better threats from Cossack!"

Yurak raised one finger and pointed directly at Zarcon's heart. "Mock me if
you will, but heed my warning. Your life has reached a crossroads from
which all decisions about your future will be made. You've made plans this
day that must be atoned for before the damage is done. Three ghosts will
visit you this evening. Three ghosts before the sun breaks the far horizon.
Learn well their lessons, my king, for the fate of your soul rests on the
outcome of these visits."

Zarcon shook his head in disgust. "Look, Yurak, if it's about the chains, I
can talk to Hagar. Maybe those dark spirits of she serves can do something."

Yurak suddenly sprung off the floor, flames licking from his good eye and
mouth. A howl of rage tore from his throat as he sprang at Zarcon, the
chains whipping through the air behind him. Zarcon reflexively dove into
his bedchamber, slamming the door between them. As he leaned against the
heavy wood, a single whisper filtered through to his ears.

"Three ghosts. Heed their lessons well, lest you suffer a fate even worse
than mine!"

His heart pounding in his chest, Zarcon forced himself to stand and bar the
heavy door. He was not afraid. He was most certainly not afraid.

****

tbc- Next Chapter: The Ghost of Christmas Past. Coming soon to a mailbox
near you, just as soon as I convince myself to type it in.

Megan

A Christmas Carol, Part 3

I do apologize to anyone who gets this more than once, but all the lists
have been quiet, so what the heck.

I'm sending this part out now, regardless of what I happen to think of it,
in the hopes that maybe by some miracle I might finish before Christmas. Who
knows? Stranger things have happened, I'm certain.


Disclaimer: Voltron is the property of WEP. "A Christmas Carol" was written
by Charles Dickens, who is probably going to rise from the grave and get me.
I have no idea who owns the current rights to it.

Rating: PG-13 for language and slightly violent content references

Warning: Characters acting wildly OOC. Don't blame me. They seem to be
enjoying themselves.

A Christmas Carol, Voltron style

Chapter 3: The Ghost of Christmas Past

Zarcon continued to lean against the heavy wood door for a time, his ears
twitching as he strained to distinguish any sound over the crackling of the
fire in his sitting room. As his heart rate and breathing slowed to normal
a terrible thing happened: Zarcon began to feel silly. Now this might not
seem so terrible to you or me, but to a king as proud as Zarcon this was a
completely new experience. He had just fled- turned tail and run is also a
fitting description- from a dead underling who had lived in fear of his
master's displeasure for most of his mortal life. As a precedent, this was
a rather frightening view of things to come.

His hand tightened around the door handle. He could throw open the door and
give Yurak, ghost or no ghost, a piece of his mind. A smile split his face
as he imagined Yurak cowering in a fit of terror, his chains shaking as he
quivered…

Zarcon snatched his hand back from the handle. It wasn't really necessary
to look into the sitting room. It left him wide open for an attack. Battle
tactics. It was all about good battle tactics. That was it. He was NOT
afraid of ghosts.

That decided, Zarcon pushed all memories of his former battle commander from
his mind and headed for bed. Tomorrow was a big day, perhaps the biggest of
his life, and he should try to get at least a bit of rest. Crawling under
the heavy fur covers, he clapped twice to dim the lights. He readjusted his
brand new Craftmatic Adjustable Bed ™ to a comfortable level and fell
immediately into a restless doze, all thoughts of further ghostly
visitations safely forgotten.



Later that night, exactly as the tiny neon digits of Zarcon's bedside clock
flicked to twelve, a sparkling green light flicked into the bedchamber
through the crack under the sitting room door. The light flitted from place
to place around the room for a minute or two before settling directly on
Zarcon's chest. Zarcon shivered in his sleep and moved to pull the blankets
more tightly around him. The green light twinkled. Two tiny hands
appeared and clapped once, loudly. Zarcon shot awake as light flooded the room.

A lifetime of finely honed survival instincts enabled Zarcon to wake
immediately with none of the sleep-tousled confusion of a mere human. That
is, of course, assuming that it's possible for a reptilian hominid to be
sleep-tousled- an idea about which I have doubts, but that's a discussion
best saved for another day- particularly a reptilian hominid who was still
feeling warm and rather cozy under furs of questionable origin. Regardless,
Zarcon, survival or species-specific instincts aside, was most definitely
not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

The first thing he noticed was the huge brown eyes, magnified all out of
proportion by a pair of thick glasses. The mouth under the eyes was
grinning mischievously and a hand was waving merrily. Zarcon forced his
eyes closed and slowly reopened them. It didn't work. The madly grinning
little human, dressed all in a painful shade of bright emerald green, was
still sitting directly on the middle of his chest.

Zarcon launched himself out of bed with a roar of outrage, one hand already
groping blindly for a weapon. Any weapon. There was nothing within reach.
Glancing wildly around, Zarcon quickly amended that statement. There was
nothing, period. He was standing dead center in a field of unbroken
whiteness shaded with a touch of sourceless misty green light, alone except
for the human intruder…

Eyes narrowing, Zarcon decided to ignore the disappearance of his bedroom in
favor of studying his companion. All of this was the human's fault. That
much was certain. How dare this little person appear in the middle of the
night and steal his entire planet out from under him?

Rationality under pressure had never been one of Zarcon's strong points.

The little human seemed to be studying Zarcon in return, his eyes reflecting
a smug certainty that Zarcon was not at all sure he liked. There was
something oddly familiar about this human. True, they all looked alike,
with their pale skin and skinny weak limbs, but this one did remind him of
someone. Suddenly the image clicked.

"You," he hissed, pointing at the human in accusation, "you're one of those
space explorers. Pidge, that's it. You're Pidge!"

The human shrugged noncommittally. "I think you have me confused with
someone else. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. I thought you were
expecting me?" His nasal voice lifted in a lilt at the end and he tilted
his head to one side, eyeing Zarcon with the air of a scientist studying a
particularly fascinating specimen.

Zarcon felt a welcome surge of anger rush through him. This…this…CHIBI
honestly believed he could snatch away Planet Doom from under his feet and,
even worse, wake him up from a pleasant dream involving the crushing of
Voltron and GET AWAY WITH IT? Oh, no. Not tonight. Clenching his hands
into fists, Zarcon began to advance.

The Pidge-ghost continued to watch him with interest. "Aren't you even the
least bit curious about what I'm going to show you?"

Zarcon stopped in confusion. Humans rarely did anything other than run
screaming in fear when he advanced on them. Apparently this one was somehow
brain damaged, which actually explained quite a bit. Maybe if he humored
him he could steal his planet back and still get a decent amount of sleep
before tomorrow's massacre. He took a deep calming breath and counted
slowly to ten. "Okay, fine. What are you planning to show me?"

The ghost smiled in delight. "I'm so happy you asked!" Clapping his hands,
a portal opened directly in front of Zarcon. With a childish trusting
smile, the ghost tightly grasped Zarcon's hand and pulled him through.

The world seemed to momentarily spin away under Zarcon's feet. Just as he
thought he was finally getting his bearings, he fell headfirst into a dead
pine tree with a loud painful-sounding smack. Much cursing and gasping for
breath could be heard until he reemerged moments later, glaring in annoyance
at the ghost, who had, to no one's surprise, landed painlessly on his feet
on solid ground.

Keeping a tight rein on his temper, partly just for the novelty of such an
idea, Zarcon slowly stood and looked around. This place was familiar. He'd
been here before, a very long time ago…

Sounds began to filter out of the long stone structure on the far side of
the pine tree. Anger temporarily forgotten, Zarcon ran to the one window
and peered breathlessly inside. Those voices, he knew those voices, but it
couldn't be! Could it?

Inside the house he could just barely make out a small blue-skinned and
mostly naked child watching a tall frightening figure of a man strap on
heavy battle armor.

"Father," Zarcon whispered in awe, mashing his face against the glass.

"Where are you going, daddy?" the child asked, staring up at his father with
an expression of absolute reverence.

The man grunted and tightened a strap, then absently reached down and patted
the boy on the head. "Tonight is a very special night, Zarcon," the man
told his son. "It's the night the humans call Christmas. Don't ever forget
the effect religion can have on one's defenses."

The boy bit his lip, obviously lost in thought. "Does that mean a lot of
the humans will die tonight?"

The man laughed coldly. "I certainly hope so."

The grown man eavesdropping at the window echoed the boy's bloodthirsty
smile. "Good."

Zarcon's father strode out of sight. The child Zarcon picked up a dagger
his father had left behind and immediately commenced to hacking a teddy bear
someone had picked up for him- for some absolutely incomprehensible reason-
to bits.

Zarcon sighed happily as teddy bear stuffing began to fly throughout the
room, oblivious to the ghost's horror. "I remember that night well. Thank
you for bringing me here, ghost. It's such a happy memory."

"But…but…" the Pidge-ghost nearly went even further SD, if that's possibly,
with distress. "But people died that night!"

"Yes, they did. Wonderful, isn't it?"

The ghost stared for another minute. "Um, yeah. Wonderful. We have to be
going now." He gestured with one tiny hand and another portal opened in
front of them. He began muttering under his breath in his nasal
high-pitched chibi voice. "This isn't right. There has to be something in
that thick skull of his…"

Zarcon nodded, smiling happily to himself, and stepped through.

The landing wasn't nearly so bad the second time, the poor Pidge-ghost being
much too horrified to effect a proper scare in his subject. They landed in
a room filled with weapons of destruction and laughter, an odd combination
if ever there was one. It was a Christmas party, obviously in full swing.
The ghost nodded in approval.

"See? There was a time when you believed in the celebration of Christmas.
Look back and remember."

Zarcon glanced around in confusion. "I don't remember… Oh, wait! I do!
The night after my first successful raid. This was the beginning of the
Doom Empire!" Smiling happily to himself, Zarcon began to wander around the
room.

The ghost took a closer look and noticed for the first time that the
partygoers were drinking wine from cups that looked frighteningly like
hollowed out human skulls. A large sweatdrop formed on his forehead and he
fell over in a dead faint, which is not a bad trick for a ghost.

Zarcon didn't notice. He was too caught up in the party around him. "Look!
There's Drasno, that old pirate from the Rogue galaxy, and the Warriors of
Pain. I haven't seen them in ages!" He leaned back against a wall as an
impromptu fight to the death over a recently appropriated female slave broke
out in front of him.

"You're right, ghost! I did forget how much fun Christmas could be! After
our attack on Arus tomorrow, I'll order the biggest party anyone's seen in
years!"

The ghost appeared at his side, looking adorably annoyed. "Yeah, whatever.
Look, we still have one more stop before I can get out of here, so let's go."

"No, I want to stay. See Marock over there? He's going to go wine-mad and
take out half the guests in another half-hour or so. And look: is that
Hagar?" He whistled under his breath as a young witch stepped through the
doors clad in a skin-tight leather dress.

The ghost shuddered slightly. "I said we're leaving! Right now!" He waved
his hands and a black hole opened under Zarcon's feet. With a yelp of
surprise, the King of Doom disappeared.
Zarcon hit a cold stone floor and bounced. Several times. Hard. It was
altogether an experience that he didn't particularly care for. "That's it,"
he mumbled under his breath, "that damn chibi ghost is going down!" He
lunged to his feet and glared around the room.

"Daddy?"

The soft voice took him entirely by surprise. Whirling, Zarcon found
himself confronted with his dead wife and infant son. Lotor before the
disasters. Zarcon smiled secretly as he watched his son totter towards the
door. He'd forgotten just how cute Lotor had been as a baby.

"Daddy?" the child asked again, holding out his arms hopefully.

"No, sweetheart, daddy's busy." His wife scooped Lotor up in her arms as he
began to cry.

"But it's Christmas!"

"Sh, someone will hear you. What did mommy tell you?"

"Christmas is a secret. But I don't understand!"

Zarcon sank down to the floor against the wall, his eyes misting over.

The ghost leaned down beside him, the smug smile back. "Wishing you'd spent
that Christmas with him, are you?"

"No," Zarcon sniffed, "I'm remembering the battles I was fighting that day.
They were so glorious!"

The ghost threw up his hands in defeat. Leaning over, he snatched the
action figures still hidden inside Zarcon's robes and stalked over to the
far side of the chamber muttering under his breath about the Ghost of
Christmas Present already being way too unbearably impossible about things.
Zarcon ignored him. It was such a sweet day; he could still taste the
thrill of victory.

"Hey ghost? Take me to the battle itself. That's what I'd like to see."

The ghost ignored him.

Zarcon glanced over and winced as the Allura action figure delivered a
particularly nasty judo chop to the Lotor action figure. At least some
things in the universe were constant.

The ghost looked up. "It's that kind of thinking that got you here in the
first place!" With an angry glare he threw the action figures directly at
Zarcon's head. The king of Doom ducked, only to have a new tear in the
space-time continuum- what, you thought maybe it was the fabric of reality?
Whatever. That's also open for discussion- open under his feet.

Zarcon was so angry that it actually took several minutes for the
realization that he was lying in his bed in the darkness of his bedchamber
to hit home. Jumping up, he stared wide-eyed around the empty room.
Everything seemed to still be in place, exactly as he'd left it. Maybe it
was just a dream. Lying back down, he pulled the covers up and patted the
hidden pocket with the action figures. His eyes popped back open. They
were gone! Lotor was going to throw such a fit.

tbc...

Megan