The Magnificent Fight Before Christmas

(As Told By Vin)

by Celeste

Main characters: Chris, Ezra, Vin

Summary: M7 twist on the old story…

Disclaimer: Original poem’s not mine, characters aren’t mine… only thing that is mine is the terrible rhyming. Enjoy! :P

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all threw the town
Nothing was stirring, ‘til Chris and Ezra threw down

The challenges were hung, lying thick in the air,
Meanwhile the townsfolk could do nothing save stare.

JD was frightened, all fearsome with dread,
While two peacekeepers threatened to fill each other with lead.

And Josiah in his poncho, and I with my hat,
Had just settled to the boardwalk next to where Nathan sat.

The silence was shattered with a sudden loud clatter,
When Chris growled and sprang at Ez, mad as a hatter.

Down to the ground, they flew in a flash,
They roared like two titans, Lord what a clash!
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave an eerie white view of the combatants below.

When, what to my wandering sight should appear,
But an aged federal judge, eyes cold, strong and clear.
With a little old shotgun, so lively and quick,
That the fighting ceased right away when the safety was clicked.

More rapid than shots the two fighters stopped to listen,
As Travis grumbled and threatened, his hackles all risen.

"Now Larabee, now Standish, now Ezra and Chris,

Stop fighting, stop brawling and just get over it!

Every year it’s the same! Every season a fight!

Now settle down! Settle down! Leave peace for the night!"

Wary of the judge, for he’d never once missed,
Ezra and Chris reluctantly laid down their fists.

So up to their feet the two fighters drew,
Shamefaced and sorry, knowing Travis disapproved.

And then, in a twinkling, the crowd breathed; it dispersed
Relieved at the outcome, having feared for the worst.
As I turned in my hand, my whiskey bottle and glass,
I couldn’t help but wonder who would have kicked whose ass.

Chris hates the holiday season, the memories of hearth and house,
Ezra is just stupid, and likes to run his mouth
And so had the two come blow to blow,
On this holy of nights, and dirtied the snow.

Chris’s eyes -- how they yearned! His look so resigned!
His stance was half hunched, his face dark and lined!
His angry mouth drawn up with a fearsome growl,
And the beer on his breath only enhanced his scowl.

Standish he smirked, a flash of white teeth,
Yet the aura of sadness circled him like a wreath.
He looked slightly upwards, as if consulting the moon,

Then tipped his hat to the ladies and went back to his room.

At the display, Buck sighed sadly to himself.
’Cuz brawlin’ and fightin’ ain’t good for one’s health.

Then, with a spark of his eye and a twist of his head,

He let us know he had an idea we would probably dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And sat next to Chris, in spite his being a jerk.
And laying his hand astride his friend’s shoulder,
He began speaking of times long ago, brighter, and older.

He sprang to his story, to their exploits he whistled,
And away flew Chris’s scowl with its spark and its gristle.
And I heard Buck exclaim, as I walked through the night,

"A Merry Christmas to all, and man, what a fight!"