Pestilence smiled at the Christmas tree in the corner. He loved this time of year. Everyone giving things to everybody else. Being completely generous with their germs. It really made him feel all warm and fuzzy. That I-think-I'm-coming-down-with-malaria feeling. Of course He knew there were those that didn't appreciate his generosity. You know, like humans, but that usually didn't stop him. He thought back to 1348 and the Christmas outbreak of plague. Or the trenches in WWI where soldiers on both sides put aside the battle on Christmas Eve and complained about dysentery and trench-foot together. It had been so beautiful. But- he had had the alarming realization recently that his powers were not quite as potent here. NO ONE got sick from the potato salad. Or the sushi he had made the other night. He had the fear he was losing his touch. But that wouldn't stop him from giving gifts. Of course, the first gifts he had thought of were for those two young love-birds. He had dug deeply into his satchel (magic satchel, of course) and found a pair of really corroded and nasty metal grails. He knew Pollution would appreciate the completely defiled appearance. (He himself appreaciated that there were pathogens in the dried blood inside one of them) And he had never known Famine to turn down a tipple, so he rounded off the couple's gift with a nice bottle of Shiraz. For War he took out an ancient Aztec Sacrificial knife, the blood of the sickly king still stianed its handle~ For DEATH, he had a pair of sandals. Antiques, no less. He had grabbed them from a leper who had recently lost his feet back around the original Christmas. (Pestilence had always thought that DEATH looked like he needed comfortable shoes.) For everyone else, he had baked four-dozen cookies in the shapes of a rat, a scythe, a sword, a crown and pair of scales. (He had had them made specially of course.) He hoped everyone would like them. He had gone so far as to use butter that had been made in this century. With a final sneeze on the tree, he headed back to his room.
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timeasmymeasure
WARNING: JOKES IN BAD TASTE INSIDE
Date: 2005-12-10 09:17 am (UTC)Of course He knew there were those that didn't appreciate his generosity. You know, like humans, but that usually didn't stop him. He thought back to 1348 and the Christmas outbreak of plague. Or the trenches in WWI where soldiers on both sides put aside the battle on Christmas Eve and complained about dysentery and trench-foot together.
It had been so beautiful.
But- he had had the alarming realization recently that his powers were not quite as potent here. NO ONE got sick from the potato salad. Or the sushi he had made the other night. He had the fear he was losing his touch.
But that wouldn't stop him from giving gifts.
Of course, the first gifts he had thought of were for those two young love-birds. He had dug deeply into his satchel (magic satchel, of course) and found a pair of really corroded and nasty metal grails. He knew Pollution would appreciate the completely defiled appearance. (He himself appreaciated that there were pathogens in the dried blood inside one of them) And he had never known Famine to turn down a tipple, so he rounded off the couple's gift with a nice bottle of Shiraz.
For War he took out an ancient Aztec Sacrificial knife, the blood of the sickly king still stianed its handle~
For DEATH, he had a pair of sandals. Antiques, no less. He had grabbed them from a leper who had recently lost his feet back around the original Christmas. (Pestilence had always thought that DEATH looked like he needed comfortable shoes.)
For everyone else, he had baked four-dozen cookies in the shapes of a rat, a scythe, a sword, a crown and pair of scales. (He had had them made specially of course.) He hoped everyone would like them. He had gone so far as to use butter that had been made in this century.
With a final sneeze on the tree, he headed back to his room.