Polite Brawl

Tom and Sarah scrambled after the Herald of See-Mass.

Comet landed on the sticky floorboards. She spun, looking for an exit. Dave was airborne, aiming to grab her.

Comet caught Dave mid-air, spun him around in a waltz-like maneuver, and deposited the shorter human on a nearby barstool. It was like watching a Chihuahua tackle a Greyhound.

“You lack the holiday spirit!” she chided him, wagging a finger. “Assault is not very jolly!”

“Secure the exits!” Wattica growled.

“Already handled,” I said, “I barred them with concrete blocks when I entered the bar.”

“Ah.” Wattica nodded. “Well done.”

“Grab her legs!” Sarah yelled.

Comet hopped over Sarah, performing a mid-air split that would have won gold in gymnastics.

“You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Wolf!” she laughed, a hysterical edge creeping into her voice as she realised that there was no quick escape from the bar now. She shoved Tom away with a flat palm to the chest, sending him sliding across a table filled with empty pitchers. “Sorry!”

I watched her fight. Every time a human got close, she deflected, dodged, or gently shoved. It was the most polite bar brawl I had ever witnessed.

“Can I shoot her paws off now?” Wattica asked with a pouting expression.

“No.” I stated firmly. “Let the humans handle it.”

The Wendigo Commander rolled her eyes at me, probably thinking that I was wasting time, since Comet moved ten times faster than the mundane, drunk cosplayers chasing her.

Comet vaulted a pool table with far too much ease as a bald, muscular bar patron tried to grab at her.

“I will report all of this rudeness to the Saint!” she threatened, scrambling for freedom. “All of you are going on the Naughty list!”

I decided that it was time to interfere. My gun unit servos whirred, the processors accelerating to the max.

Time slowed to a crawl. I stepped into the aisle.

Comet saw me moving. Her eyes slowly went wide.

I didn’t try to grab her. I didn’t try to punch her. I simply… Pushed a heavy pool table directly across her path.

Comet tried to stop. Momentum disagreed.

“Oof!”

The Herald of See-Mass went airborne. She flailed, looking like a festive windmill, before crashing face-first into a pile of beanbag chairs in the corner of the lounge area.

“Dogpile her!” Sergey shrieked, finding more courage now that the wolf was horizontal.

The humans descended.

It was a mess of grasping hands and colorful wool.

“Get the sweater! Pull the sweater!”

“Trying to!”

“Get the antlers! The antlers!”

“Get off me!” Comet howled from beneath the mound of nerds.

Sergey went flying into a wall. She bucked, sending Dave rolling across the floor. Even while trying to be gentle, she was strong enough to bench press a minivan. She was winning the wrestling match simply by existing.

“She’s slipping out!” Tom yelled, clutching a single red and white string he’d managed to liberate. “She’s too fast!”

Comet surged upward, shaking Steve and Dave off herself. Her sweater was only slightly bunched up. The headband was askew, the felt antlers drooping sadly.

“Enough!” Comet snarled. “I am going to put you all in time-out! I will—”

THWACK!

“Happy Holidays, bitch,” Sarah yelled. The glass bottle of Ambrosia brought by Comet connected with the back of the festive wolf’s skull with a sound like a melon being dropped from a roof.

The magical glass of the artifact was sturdy, and didn’t even crack or break.

Comet’s eyes rolled back into her head. Her tongue lolled out. She swayed for a second, looking like a drunk cartoon character.

Then, her sweater and antlers ignited with flashing colors, seemingly not allowing her to be knocked out.

Comet opened her eyes with a groan.

“Nutcracker!” Steve roared, winding up like a major league pitcher. “Attack her candy-cane claws! Bite off the manicure!”

He hurled the wooden soldier. It spiraled through the air, jaw unhinged like a tiny, painted python.

Comet blinked, steadying herself. “What…? You dare attack me with my own gifff… YEOWCH!”

The Nutcracker clamped down hard on her long, index claw, cracking the swirling red and white patterns.

CRACK!

“My acrylics!” Comet shrieked, flailing her hand wildly in an attempt to dislodge the toy. The wooden soldier hung on tenaciously, chewing rhythmically, spitting out flakes of magical enamel. “No! Stop chewing off the enchantment!”

Wattica chortled.

Comet dug into her pocket with her free hand, dragging out… a peppermint Gatling gun, fluffy orange and black tail whipping back and forth in agitation.

“Oh no you don’t!” I bellowed.

It was a bad idea to touch her with my magitek body as such would likely trigger sweater defenses. However, blunt force trauma via furniture stayed fair game. I grabbed the heavy, chrome-plated barstool bolted to the floor next to me. My servos whined, torque spiking to max.

SCREEEEEECH.

The bolts sheared. I ripped the stool from the concrete like a weed, swinging it at Comet like a warhammer.

WHANG!

The heavy, mundane, bar stool collided with her gun-arm.

The candy-cane weapon went flying into the ceiling, shattering a light fixture. Comet yelped, the impact spinning her around, digitigrade feet scrambling for balance on the bar floor.

“That is not jolly!” she screamed, pivoting for a kick, orange thighs covered in festive green fishnets flexing.

I didn’t let up.

I accelerated my body and swung the stool again, aiming directly for Comet’s smug, festive face.

I disconnected from my gun unit and released the bar stool a split second before the chair met her face. My Backend consciousness snapped back into my human body, leaving the Emperor’s body as an empty shell. An inanimate object. Physics in motion.

On Sage’s monitors, the heavy barstool completed its arc, catching Comet in the front of her chest.

She went airborne with a strangled yelp, arms flailing, fluffy orange and black tail fluttering in the air.

CRASH.

The Herald landed spine-first on the pool table, scattering balls in every direction. Her body bounced once, twice, the green felt dimpling under the impact. The cue ball ricocheted off three bumpers. The eight ball rolled lazily toward the corner.

Plunk.

“Corner pocket,” Sage commented. “Eleven outta ten for the pantsu display.”

Comet groaned on the green felt, green skirt hiked up past her thighs, revealing the full length of her prad legs wrapped in emerald and red fishnets. Her sweater had ridden up more, exposing a stripe of toned, cream-colored belly fur that heaved with each labored breath. Felt antlers sat crookedly on the disheveled red-black mane.

She looked like a Christmas decoration that had been put through a blender. The nutcracker was still attached to her, chewing on her thumb.

“Steve!” I barked. “Distract her more with the toy!”

“Nutcracker! Bite her face!” Steve ordered.

The wooden toy soldier leapt off Comet’s thumb.

“GYAAAH!” Comet shrieked, clawing at the wooden soldier gnawing on her ear. “GET OFF! OFF ME!”

Sarah bravely vaulted onto the pool table, straddling Comet’s midsection as the Nutcracker distracted the prad with bites.

THWACK.

The Ambrosia bottle connected with Comet’s temple.

“Stay!”

THWACK.

“Down!”

THWACK.

“You!”

Comet didn’t stay down for long, swatting the human girl off herself with a slap, sending her flying. I caught Sarah in the air, gently lowering her to the ground.

“Thanks,” Sarah panted, rubbing her red cheek.

“Don’t get within swatting range of her,” I said.

The Nutcracker bit down on Comet’s nose.

“YEOWCH!”

“Nutcracker! Get under her outfit!” Steve directed the doll.

Comet slapped her own nose with a hand just as the Nutcracker dove under her festive sweater.

“Gah, no! Get out of there!” She cried as the wooden toy moved under her outfit like a shark-bulge.

Comet yelped and yanked her sweater upward to grab at the wooden menace.

The motion revealed her entire torso. She wasn’t wearing a bra or a shirt. Loops of shimmering red and gold festive tape wound around her chest like gift wrapping, the sticky material pressed flat against cream-colored fur. A glittering silver snowflake dangled from her belly button. The Nutcracker clamped its wooden jaws around the ornament with single-minded determination.

“MY PIERCING!” Comet shrieked, momentarily forgetting about escape. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

The Nutcracker bit down harder. The snowflake cracked.

Comet clawed at the wooden soldier attacking her belly jewelry, struggling to pry it off.

I accelerated once again, looking around.

The jukebox.

I crossed the room in two strides. The vintage Wurlitzer stood six feet tall. It was several hundred pounds of speakers, metal plating and vinyl records.

I grabbed it with both hands, the metal groaning.

I rapidly carried it over Comet’s thrashing form, positioned it above her chest and face, and then let go, once against disconnecting myself from the gun unit.

Mass obeyed gravity.

WHAM!

The jukebox landed squarely across Comet’s chest, crushing her arms. The pool table groaned. Comet’s shriek cut off into a muffled wheeze as three hundred pounds of American musical history pinned her flat.

“MMMPHHH!”

Her legs kicked wildly. Her arms flailed beneath the music machine, letting go of the toy’s mouth. The Nutcracker bit harder on the snowflake piercing and it detonated into crystalline shards.

I slipped back into the gun unit.

Comet’s claws found purchase on the jukebox. Her muscles bunched.

She heaved.

The jukebox lifted. Two inches. Four inches. Her face emerged, gasping, snarling.

“You think a music box can stop—”

I was already moving, spotting a brass footrail along the bar counter base. Heavy gauge. Industrial mounting. I grabbed and pulled.

SCREEEEEECH.

Six feet of solid brass ripped free from the floor.

Comet threw the jukebox. It tumbled across the room, smashing into a booth. She surged upward on the pool table—

I swung the brass rail like a quarterstaff, caught her across the stomach, and slammed her back down. Before she could recover, I threaded the rail over her stomach and slid under the pool table, bending the rail underneath and around the table.

Metal screamed as I cinched the improvised restraint tight, locking her torso flat against the felt.

Comet thrashed. The brass held. The pool table’s legs scraped against floorboards.

“CAN’T… MOVE…”

“Dave! Fruitcake! Now!” I ordered.

Dave lunged forward with the dense magical pastry. Comet saw him coming and clamped her jaw shut.

“MMM-MMM!”

I looked around, spotting a pepper grinder on the bar. I snatched it up and snapped the entire thing open above Comet’s face, flavouring the festive wolf.

Comet’s eyes went wide as she inhaled the pepper. Her sealed lips trembled, nostrils flared dramatically. Her ears shot straight up.

“Ah…”

Her chest expanded.

“Ahhhhhh…”

Her whole body tensed like a coiled spring.

“AHHHHHHHH…”

“BRACE!” I roared. “Ready the cake!”

“CHYEEEEEWWWWWW!”

The sneeze was volcanic. Her head snapped forward with whiplash force, jaw flying open.

Dave shoved the cake into her gaping mouth before her jaw could close.

“MMMMMMRRRRRRRRPH?!”

Comet’s cheeks distended obscenely, packed with dense magical pastry. She was going to spit it out.

“Dave! The scarf!” I ordered.

Dave yanked the festive scarf from around his own neck and whipped it across Comet’s bulging cheeks, wrapping the woolen material over her snout. Comet focused her attention on the human, swatting him away from herself and sending him flying backwards.

I accelerated.

The scarf hung in the air, loose ends drifting. Comet was snarling, attempting to spit out the cake.

I grabbed both ends. I wound the fabric twice, then three times around Comet’s muzzle, threading it through itself in a sailor’s knot, making sure not to touch Comet. Constrictor knot. Half-hitch. Another constrictor. Figure-eight lock.

The whole sequence took a fraction of a second before I let go of the scarf and leapt away.

Comet’s scrabbled at the knots, half-stripped candy-cane nails scraping uselessly against the enchanted fabric. Her eyes streamed tears, mixing with the pepper residue on her cheeks.

“NNNNNNNGH!” she screamed through the scarf-gag, voice muffled into a pathetic whine. “MMMMPH! MMMRRRRNNNGH!”

Her back arched off the pool table.

“She’s not swallowing!” Dave yelled. “How is she still not swallowing?!”

“She’s stubborn,” Sage observed. “She’d rather suffocate than surrender. The so-called Saint chose her heralds well.”

Comet’s legs kicked wildly. The Nutcracker had resumed its assault on her claws. Comet barely seemed to notice, all her focus on NOT letting that fruitcake travel down her throat.

Her face was turning red beneath her fur. Her chest heaved. Crumbs and drool leaked from the edges of the scarf.