Tis the Season...

Seeing as how they’re already playing Christmas music at my local mall, I figured it wasn’t too early for this.

Steelclaw Studios is proud to present the City of Heroes version of that Holiday Classic: Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.


It was Christmas Eve, that most marvelous of times, when it seems as though you can actually see the magic in the air.

The offices of NCSoft NorCal were decorated liberally with evidence of the season. Most of the employees having hung garland, blinking lights and more Santas than the North Pole could conceivably fit within and without their cubicles. From one of the small desks came the merry tunes of the 12 Days of Christmas. Several of the workers in the coding department were singing along with it; though making up their own words which had little to do with typical Christmas gift choices.

Matt Miller stood at the door of his office, glowering out at this scene. While normally possessed of an abundance of Christmas cheer, this year found poor Matt feeling decidedly Bah-Humbug about the whole situation. He scowled as a rousing cry of “Five Server PINGS!” came from the coders.

“Hold on,” Matt said looking around with a frown. “Who the heck is talking?”

Pardon? Do you mean me?

“If you’re the one who’s been blabbering on about Christmas and what a bad mood I’m in, then yes…” Matt braced his fists on his hips and squinted his eyes suspiciously. “Floyd, is that you screwing with the intercom system again?”

No, I’m the narrator. We’re doing a City of Christmas Carol. Didn’t you get the memo?

“Oh for the love of…” Matt reached up to begin massaging his temples with trembling fingertips. He paused and then blinked. “Wait a sec… A Christmas Carol? What part am I playing?”

Scrooge.

“Starring role, huh?” He tapped his chin as he considered the possibilities. “Visited by three ghosts, be a ******* at the beginning and everyone’s buddy at the end, hmm? I can handle that. But, ummm… Well, I actually sort of like Christmas and all that. What’s my motivation?”

Read the script. I put it on your desk.

While searching for the script somewhere in the reams of paper and accumulated debris on his desk, Matt also came across the original memo, two pay stubs and a ham sandwich from two weeks ago. He perused it, nodding here and there. He blinked and looked up while holding the script forth as though offering it as evidence.

“It’s not finished,” he said suspiciously.

Yeah, there are some… err… scenes I’d prefer to leave a mystery. You can just improvise those ones. So long as you try to stay in character.

Matt shrugged. “It’s your show. Okay, according to this I have to go see the Bob Cratchit character now… who is played by…” Flipping some pages. “Heh. Well, this should be interesting.”

As Matt walked through the cubicle farm he noticed that most of the employees were leaving for the day. They called out Merry Christmas to one another as they went. The women looked serene and happy. The men all looked harried and terrified; as most had left their Christmas shopping until that evening.

Matt walked to the entrance of one cubicle and quickly reviewed the crumpled script before cramming it into his back pocket.

“Chris…”

“No,” Chris Bruce said, not even bothering to look up from his computer screen.

“Umm, no what?” Matt said, pretty sure this wasn’t in the script.

“No, I’m not playing Bob Cratchit,” Chris said, tapping a finger on the piece of paper next to him. “Unlike you, I read my memos.”

Suffering a sudden change of heart and finding himself willing to go along with things in the holiday spirit, Chris read the lines from the script.

“No, Chris doesn’t ‘read the lines from the script’,” Chris said, finally looking up in the general direction of the Narrator’s voice. “You’re a narrator, not Obi Wan Kenobi, so stop trying to use the Jedi Mind Trick on me.”

Well, there’s no need to be insulting. Why won’t you play Cratchit’s part?

Chris glared. “Because I know who would end up playing the part of Tiny Tim,” he growled. “You’re not going to turn my kid into a hobbling, gonna-die-without-Scrooge’s-help sob-story. There is no way I am going to accept a role that turns my son into a cripple, not even for fun.”

I wasn’t going to turn him into any such thing. He’s not going to be dying or anything… he’ll just have a… er… minor affliction.

“How minor?”

Ummm… Diabetes?

“No.”

Hare Lip?

“No.”

Chronic halitosis?

“Not if I have to talk to him during a scene.”

Periodontal gum disease?

“You’re going to try to tug our heart strings by giving Tiny Tim a case of gingivitis?” Chris rolled his eyes. “Nope. I refuse to play Cratchit if my kid has anything wrong with him at ALL.”

Okay, okay… hold on a second.

Chris and Matt remained silent as they heard the sounds of spectral scratching, as though a pen were scribbling over paper. After several minutes of uncomfortable shifting, there was a soft pop and a script fell from nowhere to land on Chris’s desk.

There, how does this sound?

Chris, suspicion tracing every line of his face, picked up the script and read. He laughed and nodded. “Okay, that I can live with.”

Good, then can we get on with this? The average forum reader’s attention span is pretty limited and this has gone on for too long already.

“Sure,” Chris stretched slowly then cleared his throat, settling himself into character. “Oh, boy! Christmas Eve! I do so look forward to spending the whole day tomorrow with my family. Especially my dear son, Tiny Brawler…”

Hold on… Tiny Brawler? You’re adlibbing, which wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t such a horrible actor.

“Aw, you’re just trying to get me back for the Jedi comment,” Chris grinned. “Besides, what do want me to call him? I refuse to call him Back Alley Baby; there are WAY too many bad connotations to that little title. I bet you couldn’t list all the horrible interpretations to that one.”

I bet I could.

Matt rolled his eyes and held up a hand to halt the discussion. “Weren’t you just complaining about this taking too long?”

Fine, fine. We’ll call him Tiny Brawler. Get on with it.

Matt shook his head, wondering how in the heck he’d ended up involved in this debacle before switching back into Scrooge mode. “What do you mean, take tomorrow off? Chris, you KNOW we need to get Going Rogue back on schedule! Then there’s the next issue and further power customization. You are my go-to guy in the animation department. With everything we have on our plates there’s no WAY you can afford to take time off right now! You are going to be in that cubicle tomorrow if I have to chain you there!”

“But Matt, it’s Christmas…” Chris began.

“Oh, please,” Matt snarled. “Are you going to give me some line about the sanctity of the holidays or play on my heart strings about some ridiculous holiday spirit sentiment I should be feeling?”

“Nope,” Chris grinned. “I was just going to point out that Federal law requires all businesses to give paid holidays to full time or salaried employees is all. You can make me stay here if you really want to and I’m sure the Better Business Bureau and State Employee Rights Committee will be very interested in our little story here.”

Matt sputtered for several minutes before leveling a glare at Chris. “Very well. It seems the government is on the side of the lazy and malcontent. I shouldn’t be surprised I suppose, given how close any senator or congressman comes to a 40 hour work week. Be off with you then! But come December 26th I expect you to be here extra early! Say midnight!”

Chris grinned. “The 26th is a Saturday Matt.”

“GET OUT!!”

After taking several minutes to relax and unclenching the need to launch one of his Nikes into the general vicinity of Chris’s Levis, Matt decided to pack up his own supplies and head back to his house. He wasn’t sure why someone who was so work-obsessed would leave the office on time, but it was in the script so he decided to go with it.

On his way out he was stopped in the hall by the concept artist David Nakayama.

“Hey, Matt,” David said, doing an admirable job of sounding natural in his assigned role. “Are you coming over to my house for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Bah-humbug!” Matt said with relish. “I will not give in to your silly Christmas tra…” He blinked. “Hey, wait a second here.”

Now what? Come on, we were on a roll.

Matt pointed towards David. “He’s playing the role of Scrooge’s nephew?”

Yeah….. and….?

“You saw the names Miller and Nakayama and immediately thought ‘oh hey! These two should play members of the same family’?”

David laughed.

What followed were several minutes of language unsuited to a holiday special.

FINE! Okay, since we’re falling so far behind on the schedule because my ACTORS want to act cute, we’re going to have to fast forward. Time for a little Narrator magic.

Scrooge refuses nephew’s offer, tells David he was adopted. He marches from the office leaving the hurt artist to cry in his coffee. Back at his house…

“Hey, wait one danged minute here!” An indignant sounding female voice comes from off stage. Melissa Bianco marches into view with her hands braced on her hips. Her eyes are flashing dangerously. Following her with a wide grin on his face is Sean Fish.

Oh for the love of… what now?!

“What about our parts, huh?” Melissa said. “We’re supposed to ask Matt if he wants to donate to the United Way charity. But you skipped right over that to send him home!”

There were sounds reminiscent of someone chewing on their own tongue.

Okay, Great! Ask!

“Dear Mister Miller…” Melissa began dramatically, hands clasped over her heart and eyes shining with holiday fervor.

No. Don’t embellish. Just…. ASK.

She scowled up at the ceiling then spat out from between gritted teeth. “Want to donate to United Way?”

ANSWER.

“Nope,” Matt said.

Great! Excellent! Fantastic! A freaking star is born. Next scene!

It is evening time, the sun has settled below the horizon leaving Matt sitting in front of a lap top computer in his study. He is frowning at a time table of what the team needs to accomplish and how long they have to do so. His hair is standing up straight from his head from the number of times he’s raked his fingers through it in frustration.

“Maybe if we use Ouroboros to make each day have 30 hours instead of 24…” he mused then sat bolt upright as all the power went out in the house, leaving him in inky blackness. “Oh for the love of Pete! I didn’t save the danged spreadsheet!”

“Miiiiiiiilleeerrrrrr…” came a spectral voice from beyond the door, accompanied by the sounds of clanking chains and dragging footsteps. “Miiiiiiillleeeeeerrrrrr….”

“Huh?” Matt blinked as a greenish glowing light seeped through the crack beneath the closed door. As he stared a foot slid through that barrier as though it didn’t exist, followed by the remainder of the body.

The man was surrounded by a green mist that boiled and oozed in rivulets down to the floor, spreading out in questing fingers. Chains and padlocks were draped about his shoulders and arms with blue-white courses of electrical current flowing over their links here and there. The man stopped in the middle of the room, standing just before Matt. He spread his arms out to the sides and a cyclone of wind whipped through the room as he slowly began to rise, hovering two feet above the floor. His eyes blazed forth in brilliant blue light as he cried out in a voice from beyond the grave.

“MIIIIIILLLLEEEEERRRRRRR…..”

Matt leaned back in the chair. “Hey, Floyd. What’s up?”

Floyd Grub looked down in consternation at Matt’s blasé attitude, then shrugged and settled back to earth. “Not much.” He plucked at the chains wrapped around his body. “I managed to escape my cubicle despite you chaining me in there.”

“Hey, it worked on Pohsyb,” Matt said. “So what’s with all the glowing green mist, electricity and floating? The Narrator front-load the special effects budget or something?”

“Nah,” Floyd said. “That was all me… after all… I AM the Powers Guy.”

From off stage comes a rimshot.

“Cute,” Matt said with a grimace. “You have any more jokes or did you want to stick to the script? The boss-man is a little on the testy side.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Floyd said and changed his voice to deeper, more resonant tones. “Matt Miller, you shall this night be visited by three spirits. They shall appear each in their own time, each with their own ghostly purpose.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it,” Floyd shrugged. “I guess I’ll be going home then. Any chance you have a spare pair of bolt cutters laying around?” He hefted one of the chains. “These things are heavy.”

Later that evening Matt has gone to bed, wearing his PJs which are black covered with yellow Bat Signals and various BAM! WHACK! and OOF! blurbs from the 70’s show. On his bedside table the clock radio switches from 11:59 to 12:00.

Someone began to knock on his bedroom door.

Matt blinked and climbed from bed. He walked over to the door and opened it tentatively then stumbled back several steps, looking towards the opening with horror in his eyes. His breath heaving as though against a scream lodged in his throat.

“Oh, for goodness sakes stop being so dramatic,” Jack Emmert said as he walked into the room, glancing around curiously. “I’m the Ghost of Issues Past or something like that. I didn’t really bother to do more than skim the script. And I thought some of YOUR writers were bad.”

HEY!

“Long time, no see Jack,” Matt said, regaining his composure. “I see you’re still ignoring the restraining order.”

“That was on the office, not on your house,” Jack waved the distinction aside. He grinned evilly. “Nice pajamas.”

“The Garfield ones were in the wash,” Matt said and sat on the bed. “So you’re the Ghost of Issues past, huh? What sort of message are you here to deliver? That Enhancement Diversification saved the game?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Of course it did, but that’s beside the point. What I’m here to point out to you is that you care too much about the expectations of the players. Seriously… who cares what they think? Ignore their whining. They’re sheep. Issues can be late and they’ll still pay to play. Powers can be nerfed and they’ll still pay to play. Heck, you can even charge them for costume pieces so they can play paper dolls more effectively with the costume creator and they’ll STILL pay to play!”

“Are you sure you didn’t mug the REAL Ghost of Issues Past and take his place, Jack?” Matt said in a dry voice. “Not exactly a real Christmas-y message, you know?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas,” Jack said holding both hands up defensively. “But that’s got nothing to do with you being so obsessed with not meeting the standards and time line of a bunch of ungrateful whiners. No matter what you do, there will be some unhappy players. Forget them. It’s not their game anyway…”

“I know, I know… it isn’t their game it’s OUR game… but still…”

“It isn’t ‘our’ game either, Matt,” Jack scoffed.

“It isn’t?” Matt blinked. “Well then… who…?”

“It’s MY game, of course,” Jack said, buffing his nails against his shirt. “Just because I went off to a new project doesn’t mean the old one isn’t still completely mine. You DID know I’d gone to a new project, right?”

“Yeah, I may have heard something about that,” Matt said casually.

“Speaking of which,” Jack said, climbing to his feet and walking to the door. “I have to get to a meeting. Nice talking to you again, Matt. Just remember… they’re sheep… only good for sweaters and the occasional mutton sandwich. Later!”

Matt stared at the closed door for several minutes before slowly shaking his head in disbelief.

“Why do I feel this sudden urge to shower?” he muttered when another knock came from the door. “I thought spirits were supposed to be able to walk through walls,” he grumbled as he walked to open it once more.

Melissa Bianco was standing there with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Melissa? What are you doing here? I told you I didn’t want to donate to…” Matt began.

“No, I’m not that Melissa any more,” she said. “I did a little ‘negotiating’ with the narrator. Now I’m the Ghost of Scheduled Goals.”

Matt winced. “Negotiated, huh? Did you hurt him very badly?”

Melissa smiled pleasantly. “He’ll walk with a limp and his shirts will fit funny for a few weeks, but nothing permanent.”

Matt took a prudent step back. “Okay… So what’s the message YOU have to deliver?”

“I just wanted to remind you that schedules are flexible,” she said, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “We don’t give the players specific dates for a very good reason, Matt. If problems occur we want to give ourselves as much wiggle room as possible. You’re worrying and chaining the employees to their desks isn’t necessary. If we fall behind schedule, well, we’re the only ones who’ll know!”

Matt leveled her with an even gaze. “Uh-huh. Except for the department heads.”

“The what?” Melissa stared blankly.

“You think I bought that barbed whip to use on the coding team because I was worried about the PLAYERS’ reaction to us running late?” He laughed. “Not a chance. I know they have no idea of the goal dates. On the other hand, the individuals who write my performance reviews and authorize my salary increases are VERY aware of our schedule and its tardiness. Any lovely little sugar-words you’d like to say to THAT, oh Spirit of Scheduled Goals?”

Melissa stared at him with her mouth agape.

“Oh, while you’re considering that… these people I speak of also authorize YOUR pay raises too.” Matt mentioned off-handedly.

Her mouth closed with a snap.

“I’m going back to work,” she said with an edge of anxiety. “I have some stories for Going Rogue that need a little fine tuning.”

Matt fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This has to be the worst excuse for a Christmas Special I’ve ever seen,” he muttered. “And if that’s not bad enough; playing this part is actually MAKING me paranoid about getting Going Rogue out the door on time.”

“Pardon me,” came a diffident voice. “The door was open so I let myself in.”

Matt sat up quickly, not sure what to expect. In other versions of the Dickens’ classic the final Spirit of Christmas Future was always the most horrifying of specters. He clutched at the bed spread so hard his knuckles cracked, ready to shriek or run should the vision be too horrible to face.

He blinked.

Standing by the door was a tall man with wavy hair, an athlete’s physique and a smile better suited to a Colgate model. He was wearing a pair of chinos and a pink polo shirt.

“Hello, I’m Phil,” said the man.

“Of course you are,” said Matt.

“I’m the Ghost of the Marketing Department,” Phil said.

“Spirit, I fear you more than any other apparition I have yet seen,” Matt whispered in horror, cringing back.

“Very funny,” Phil said dryly. “Now, if you’re done making jokes…”

“Who said I was joking?”

“…there is some business we need to attend to,” Phil said as though he’d never been interrupted. “The Marketing Department had a meeting and we’ve been discussing other ways we can better compete with the newcomers to the super hero MMO market. I have a list here of new features we want implemented in Going Rogue and the next Issues. Now, before you start, I don’t want to hear any whining about ‘game engines’ or ‘re-write the entire code’ excuses that you computer nerds always throw at us. We’ve determined that City of Heroes needs these features in order to remain competitive.”

He held out what looked like an entire ream of paper, each sheet completely filled with black lettering in what appeared to be the smallest possible font size.

“Spirit! Please tell me the visions you have shown me can somehow be reversed! Please, Spirit! Why show me these dread prophecies if I can not change the course of these events?!”

“Because I’m a sadist and it’s fun,” Phil said with a grin then shoved the pile of paperwork into Matt’s unwilling hands. “Now get to work!”

Phil shoved Matt who fell back onto his bed. The formerly solid surface of the mattress however, had become immaterial and Matt fell through it and down what appeared to be an endless pit. The papers flew from his hands to flutter and circle around him in a dizzying whirlwind. The walls of the hole through which he plummeted were gnarled and twisted with what appeared to be the roots of trees. As he stared the roots took on the form of semi-human faces which began to call out to him as he passed.

“Coooostume Pieeeeces… Give us Coooooostume Pieeeeces…” howled DumpleBerry.

“Customizable in-game videooooooo… with enhanced camera featuuuuuures…” moaned Dark Respite.

“My hair… make my hair moooooove…” cried Golden Girl.

“Merge the serrrrrversss...” came the voice of RedManFx.

“Ignore RedmanFx…. Ignoooooore hiiiiim….” Screamed Lemur Lad.

“Behemoths,” whispered Perfect Pain. “Lots and lots of Behemoths.”

“Pants, remove all pants from the costume creatoooooor….” Wailed Mr No Pants.

“COOOOOOKIEEEEES” sobbed Uli.

“Bigger and Better Vet Rewaaaaards…” gibbered Nuclear Toast.

“A Statue in tribute to me on Peregrine Islaaaaaaand…” Westley said.

“EEAAARGGH!” The last was too much for Matt and he woke with a strangled cry to find himself still in bed. He wrestled with the covers and rolled over to stare at the clock radio which informed him it as six in the morning.

He grabbed his Blackberry from the table and stared at it. The digital display read “December 25th.”

“I didn’t miss it!” he cried out joyously. “I didn’t miss it after all! Oh thank you spirits! It’s Christmas day!”

He jumped from bed and grabbed a piece of paper from his desk. With trembling fingers he gripped a pen and wrote a hasty message upon it. Stumbling across the room he yanked open the door and taped the note to its surface before slamming the door behind him, then running to leap back into bed.

The final scene is of a slow zoom to the note, which reads:

And you've done it again, Steel Claw, I wonder how the devs will react to this?

Quote:

Originally Posted by Samuel_Tow City of Heroes is a game about freedom of expression and variety of experiences far more so than it is about representing any one theme, topic or genre.

I almost peed. Okay, you win, you are indeed a Gold Plated Steelclaw.

Steel Claw wins. Plain and simple.

I don't want a whole statue. A small rock with my name on it would suffice. In Eden, even.

The only disappointment is a lack of me incoherently yelling about fox tails.

Magnificent.

Steelclaw is to CoH Humor what Tiger Woods is to golfing. He makes it look so easy.

This was very awesome Steelclaw, but now I'm wondering will we ever see the Back Alley Baby list. And if we do how many new chalk outlines will appear in Galaxy City?

OOo idea

List of things that would cause new chalk outlines in Galaxy.

and of course item #1

Back Alley Baby list.

Hah! Awesome!

Very nice, Steelclaw.

Love it.

*sighs* I'm disappointed in you, Steel... if I'm supposed to be one of the voices inflicting the torments of the damned on Matt Miller, I would be begging for a job, not yelling about how I want customizable in-game video features...

... although those WOULD be nice!

But I absolutely LOVED the story.

Michelle
aka
Samuraiko/Dark_Respite