Summary: Wolverine's past is finally
explained, and it's the last thing anyone would have expected.
Type: Sillyfic. It's short and rather ridiculous (not
to mention pointless!). But I didn't feel like working, and
this gave me a (meager) excuse for avoiding exactly that.
Note: Happy early Christmas :)
Date: Nov. 14, 1999.
T'was a week and a half before Christmas, and all through
the house, the only creature not stirring was Bobby (who'd
had a nasty run-in with a harried mother's elbow during a
frenzied final shopping spree). And in a break with tradition,
the individual who slid down the chimney that evening wasn't
jolly ol' Saint Nick (not to mention that it wasn't actually
the right moment for entry by chimney). Rather, the man who
stepped out from the fireplace was short and stocky, with
a fierce expression on his weathered face.
"By the Goddess!" Storm exclaimed. "What is
going on here?!"
Rather than springing forth to batter the little man into
a bloody pulp, the X-Men decided to take a chance and see
whether such a question could possibly be answered without
a fight. To their great shock, they discovered that it was
indeed possible to bypass a messy fight.
"I'm Roland," he said shortly, in a low, gravelly
voice. "And I'm here to get Logan."
Knowing full well what the term 'get Logan' usually implied,
the X-Men readied themselves once again for a useless, but
rather invigorating fight.
Once again, Storm decided to ruin their fun. "What do
you wish of him?"
"To bring him home, of course."
Was there anything at all threatening in that? the X-Men
wondered uneasily. Deciding to go with the old saying 'better
safe than sorry,' they prepared to fling themselves en mass
onto their guest.
"Home?" Storm inquired.
Roland nodded. "Yup. Up North, to Santa's workshop itself."
Storm cleared her throat. "Perhaps someone best summon
Logan," she suggested.
The hairy little Canadian mutant was promptly ushered into
the room by a shell-shocked Rogue, still struggling over the
gathering of the words 'Logan,' 'Santa,' and 'workshop' under
the cover of one topic.
"What the blazes is this all about?" Logan grumbled.
Roland crossed heavily muscled arms over his barrell-like
chest. "Enough playing around, Logan. The big guy himself
sent me out to get you."
"Big guy?" Rogue eeped.
"Santa," Roland replied tersely. "You
certainly are unobservant folks, aren't you? Hmp. No wonder
you haven't noticed Bishop's missing yet."
Scott cleared his throat. "What exactly are you suggesting
here, Mr. Roland?"
Roland's heavy black eyebrows drew together. "Logan
works for Santa, woodworking division. He went out on a beer
run a several decades ago an' never came back."
Well, that was certainly...
"Impossible," Scott said flatly. There was no way
that this could be true. What in the world would Santa,
of all people want with an annoying little berserker?
Roland sighed. "Note the short, stocky build?"
The X-Men nodded in unison. "Adaptation for cold environments.
Notice how well those claws slice through stuff? Work real
well on wood. That healing factor? Long lived employees saves
Santa the trouble of having to retrain his workers so often."
Storm turned cat-like blue eyes towards the silent man on
whom the discussion was centered. "Is this true, Logan?"
"Think he can put in a good word for me with Santa?"
Ta da! Told you it was dumb :)
Now off to reread 'Barometer Rising' and scrounge up a few
thousand words on what it means to be Canadian... *sigh*
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