Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Omake: Christmas 40,000=

Thought for the Day; "Jingle bells, jingle bells, CRUSH THOSE TRAITORS TO THE GROUND!"

"Good morning, Governor Michael." The soft voice of Sanctioned Psyker Ishabeth made me open my eyes a crack. As always, she was dressed in her parchment brown robes, with a green sash wrapped around her torso, its fabric emblazoned with the pillar-and-eye insignia of the Scholastica Psykana. Her two-inch long staff carried a similar symbol, with an eagle perched on top, poised to fly. The sound of her melodic voice was marred, however, by the constant beep beep beep of my alarm clock.

I turned to face the electronic offender, but laziness and sleep tired me down, so I only managed to get far as the ceiling, which still sported the flash-burn of lascannon misses. It had burned a neat hole just above my bed, and if anything happened in the night it was enough reason to send a small trickle of black dust down onto my face. My mind stirred around for the date. I remembered yesterday... it was the 24th of December today... huh. The little alarm clock that resided on my bedside table continue to put out its monotone beeps as it hit 6:31 am. I grumbled softly in my half-sleep, and gave the 'Sleep' button a slap.

"Owch!" The flaming torch/brazier thingies that decorated the top of Canoness Samisha Ludmilla's power pack bit into my palm, as well as giving them a good singe. The beeping stopped as I used a female warrior to press down on the snooze button, but soon enough I was having to deal with a much more violent kind of alarm.

"What in the God Emperor's name was that about!" Samisha raged as she hefted her pistol-sized flamethrower. I kid you not, that thing was pretty much a tube, lighter and fuel supply, which was mini-fist sized tank that could shoot out at maybe six-inch ranges. That weapon was truly representative of the woman that wielded it: Volatile contents under pressure.

"Ah... Samisha... should you really have been sitting on the 'off' button for the alarm?" I quirked an eyebrow at her.

"It was?" The woman stood up, and made herself busy with looking down at the table-sized button that she had been sitting on, and by result of our little impact had also impressed slightly with her armor skirt. Brushing herself down, she quickly made her way off my alarm clock.

"y34, i7 w4z, g1rl13! U n0 d155 d4 m4ch1n3z!" [Yeah, it was, girlie! Don't disrespect the machine!]

The rising intonation, the l337... it could only have been c0gb01. I turned to see the twitching form, reminiscent of a mechanical squid in red robes, which was right now making its way across the aforementioned table. Behind and around them, various other characters were casually wandering around my room, weapons at the ready. Oh bugger. Usually, they stayed out of my room in a vestige of respect in the way of privacy, but now...

"... What's happened?" I asked, grumbling out of bed. "Orks? Eldar?"

"Nothing, mon-keigh, all is quiet on the home front. Although I do note that your neighbors are much more active today... they are leaving, mon-keigh. Could it be something you haven't told us?"

"Huh? Oh, it's just that it's Christmas Eve, is all." I muttered, before regretting it instantly. These guys had a curiosity that was practically insatiable.

The Imperium wanted to find out more about what this place was, since this planet was what would eventually become Holy Terra, for them it was the center of their faith, so it was understandable. Of course, the Adeptus Mechanicus had their own obsessions, and were clocking up quite the hours on my machines. I think they would break them sooner or later, I might want to bring Luke (a tech-savvy friend of Vincent's) over to have a check on my computer.

The Orks, of course and as always, wanted something new to fight, whether it be willing to fight back or not. Their philosophy of anything bigger than them. The resulting mess usually got me in a scrape with the cops, although to be honest, Vincent's antics with fireworks earlier on this year had given us more than enough excuse to do crazy things and get – more or less – away with any unbelievable explanations.

The Eldar were as mysterious as ever, though, their curiosities just as aloof and distant as their own selves. I wondered often, how they managed to do this kind of thing. Honestly, I don't think I wanted to know the thought processes of the Eldar. It might be the same as some certain highschool 'goddesses', and I knew what she was like.

"I don't believe we are as confusing as that, mon-keigh."

Stop reading my mind, dammit!

"So... do explain this 'Christmas Eve' that you speak of." The Imperial Guard's senior pastor – the chainsaw (read: An equivalent to a 6 foot chainsaw designed to cut through tanks, known as an eviscerator)wielding Jeremiah, aptly named the Laughing Priest for his laid-back attitude in battle and when in good company.

"... huh?"

"Eve suggests something is about to happen, does it not?" Now came the voice of Librarian Vasili. "A Christmas... do explain what it is, Michael."

"Well... it's about..."

I paused. What was Christmas about? Sure, there was the obvious religious overtones, of the birth of Jesus Christ and his fate as the Messiah and the Savior of Mankind, and there were also the new meanings, of giving presents and of cake and turkey and Santa Claus with his reindeer and...

"I see your mind is clouded, Michael." The black-robed figure of Yoza mused, sitting on a nearby desk. I took a quick look around me as he spoke. "Christmas is a word of many meanings, it seems."

I finished counting. There were more than three dozen of the Warhammer universe's most deadly warriors sitting around and having a chat to me about Christmas.

"Will you guys just stop appearing out of bloody nowhere!" I half-screamed.

- - + The Study, 9:00am + - -

"Christmas is a celebration?" Father Jeremiah quizzed. "Of what?"

"Various things, nowdays." Vincent answered, sitting at my chair. I had invited this info-obsessed friend of mine over after I had gotten some breakfast into my stomach, as well as those of the nearly 400 strong army running around in my house. Luckily, it was a very small scale army, and a grain of rice was equivalent to a loaf of bread for most. The orks, it seemed, were insatiable.

"What do you mean by that, Vincent?" Tau Ethereal 'Aun'ui' asked. He, alone among the rest of the races, had never gave me his given name, only his rank in the Tau Caste System, which indicated him at the rank roughly equivalent to a Corporal or Sergeant... I believe it had something to do about his own belief in The Greater Good or something, that his individual identity was not worth mentioning when it came to that singular purpose that drove the Tau.

"Originally, Christmas was the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, a major figure for the Christian faith." He tapped through my computer, ignoring the huge number of URLs leading to different CounterStrike: Source servers. In the end, he had a large image of

"I see... 'Christ-ian' here indicates that he is central to the faith, is he not? What did he do?"

"He is a person of divine conception, known as the Son of God for Christians, and among the many miracles he worked in Biblical times, he also sacrificed himself to atone for our sins."

"Uhh... how'd 'e dun dat, four-eyes?" Madork Gunna asked.

Vincent drew a crude picture of the Christian cross, and showed it to the assembled Warhammer 40,000 denizens. I looked on as well as he began to explain, picking up a Guardsman – I learned later that his name was Colonel Jimnaeus Angruss, of the logistics corps - to show how it was done.

"He was crucified on a Cross like this one... I won't go into details, but it involved hands and feet being nailed to a wooden structure, and commonly this would lead to suffocation and death because of internal trauma collapsing the ribcage and the lungs."

He had a very large interest in the gorier bits of history. It was the most interesting parts, he told me.

The festive atmosphere of the Christmas celebrations outside seemed to blunt the point of this lesson. Vincent sighed, and cupped his face in between his hands.

"Oh, but that's celebrated in Easter, Christmas is all about beginnings." He smiled wryly as a group of merry neighbors walked past the window. Across the street, Viaan – the kid from across the road, who I sometimes taught how to draw – grinned back at us as he shoveled snow into a wall, getting ready for our annual across-the-street snowball fight. Danica, his sister, threw a preemptive ball, which splashed in my half of the road.

Vincent's ramblings brought me back to the conversation at hand. I quickly sent a gesture of apology as I turned away from the window.

"But as well as that, it is the celebration of our friends and family, where we show appreciation for their relationships by sending each other cards and presents."

"Uh... Vince?"

"Yeah?"

"You forgetting someone?"

I pointed at Angruss, who was rather weakly trying to make himself more mobile as he struggled within Vincent's grasp.

"Oh."

- - + The Attic, 10:00am + - -

The attic was a lot more clean now that the Sisters had moved in, and I helped make sure of that every few days or so.

"Michael... is this truly embarrassing..."

"I'm sorry, Samisha, but I really couldn't resist..." Alice called out from behind the 'changing room'. She was apparently tying up a Sister of Battle's ribbon-belt.

Samisha twisted the Santa hat around between her fingers. She was standing there, resplendent in a Ms. Claus outfit. Her costume had been custom-made for her by Alice, who was really getting into this. She was a designer for a small boutique in the central mall area, and had absolutely loved having miniature models for her more expensive projects.

The canoness of the Sisters of Battle had a costume made of red fabric and trimmed with white, that came down to her knees. Her long, slender legs were wrapped in red stockings (I'm sure there was someone to help Alice this, there were no traces of stitches) and a pair of white leather boots came up to her calves. She looked like a red satin bell, or a very angry nun with a pistol-flamer.

"Uh... you look nice, Samisha..." The other Sororitas were dressed in similar clothes, showing the evolution of the design. A few were – like Samisha – wearing plain red costumes. Others were more decorated; some had ribbon-bows placed on their costumes, such as with Meliya, who had one as her belt. I chuckled to myself as I saw that her face was as bright red as her dress as she sat down beside a box of old toys, talking to Sohm. The other Sororitas which I could see had bells on them, mostly as a replacement for the white pom-pom at the tip of their hats, little angel wings (a very popular accessory, especially among the press-ganged Seraphim, it seems). Behind them, Alice chatted away with a pair of other Sororitas, talking to them about the design. She too was dressed in a Ms. Claus costume, which came down to her knees as well.

From somewhere, a Sister Repentia stepped from the changing rooms, her usual parchment clothes replaced by what can only be described as a candy cane cosplay. Her slim body was wrapped in overlapping ribbons of crimson and white. She looked at the Canoness, and then squeaked as she saw the rest of us, before diving for cover. The other Sisters of Battle were alarmed by the sudden cry, and whipped out their various weapons, ranging from rocket-propelled-grenade launchers to flamethrowers.

Oh jeeze... an army of Miss Clauses...

I looked at the reactions from the male characters, and almost snorted when I saw the unshakeable Commissar Tomas Sturm, who was literally trying to fix his jaw back into his mouth as he tried to recover from seeing his comrade, the Sanctioned Psyker Ishabeth dancing gleefully around in her new costume, a color-inverted version of the Miss Claus costume. Arms spread out for balance, she danced gracefully from foot to foot, twirling around as if dancing.

Justicar Amadeus suddenly gave a groan of spiritual agony as another figure came into view.

"For the last time, Silverite. Put. The hat. Away."

"Aww, but... c'mon, I already took off my other hat for you!"

I turned to see a rather flushed Sororitas Seraphim, complete with angel wings and Miss Claus suit, standing rather woozily by the side of the ever unorthodox Grey Knight Silverite, his helmet now topped by the white fluffy crown and red pointy bits of his new hat. The Justicar's dark-brown skin was livid with rage. He kind of looked like a bust carved from chocolate infused with raspberries.

"But that doesn't count!"

"Does too!"

"DOES! NOT! COUNT!"

"..." Vincent and I – plus the rest of the present Warhammer 40,000 characters and Alice – stared in shock and disbelief. Alice helpfully reached out and pushed my jaw shut. Two of the Grey Knights, among the greatest of the servants of the Emperor, bickering like little elementary kids?

Amadeus made a grab for Silverite's hat. The Justicar missed, tripped, and was treated with a face full of cherry-red blouse, which belonged to the aforementioned Seraphim. Both tumbled to the ground, although thankfully the Justicar managed to stop himself before his heavy armor crushed the Sister of Battle.

Samisha and a half-dozen Seraphim were on site immediately as the Justicar tried to extricate his many decorations from the extensive lacework of his impromptu crash-mat.

"Well, the only way we can top that is if we grab some Eldar and make them wear these costumes."

Silverite was now fending off a half-dozen still-armored Sisters as he cheekily avoided their grabs, sometimes slapping a humorously carved purity seal onto their armor (it was a crude smiley face). The Tau Shield Drone (which had his hat) was spinning around above him, chattering and beeping excitedly.

"Stop giving me ideas, Vince. Even good ones."

Space Marine (of the Salamanders) Mas L Jansock shook the ground with his vox-enhanced voice.

"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THESE FRAKKING ARGUMENTS IN THIS FRAKKING ATTIC!" And hefted his multi-melta, which dislodged the santa hat from his dark-skinned head.

I pulled Alice from the line of fire, and the three Earth scale humans sat back as disorder ensued.

"... Hey, Alice! You make those costumes for any of the Eldar?"

- - + Eldar Base, 12:46pm + - -

"You will die, Mon-keigh, do you hear me! The Warp shall freeze over and be still and your stars will turn to dust and die long before I wear that costume!"

I was experiencing gut-busting laughter at the mere thought of Zara wearing a rather racy Miss Santa Claus outfit, which apparently she could see the mental image of it. The Eldar woman's helmet-less face blushed to a bright red as she did.

Normally, I had the mental presence to at least obscure my thoughts, which wasn't hard when you were at least aware of the dangers, but total denial of mind-reading could only be achieved by either having one of a variety of mutations such as being a Pariah, or by having no brain like some . Since, I was neither of the above, I had to resort to the fact that my mind was usually in a jumble when I was laughing my ass off.

"STOP LAUGHING, MON-KEIGH~!"

Vincent squeaked. "She's gonna use Mind War!"

The white void was somewhat familiar to me. I stood up from where I had landed face-down, and began to walk about.

A screech bounced off the nonexistant walls of the space. The scream of a woman in terror. I sighed, and began the short jog through the porcelain mansion that had formed around me. The place was neither Eldar nor Human, but I found my way through it easily enough.

"Who's there?" A weak voice croaked

I peeked around the corner, to see a full-scale Zara, sitting in the corner with a very suggestive costume. It was a simple tube of red fabric, with white trimming. Simple black shoes and the typical santa hat completed the costume. She looked like a young girl ready for a Christmas party, were it not for the rather insecure vibes that came from her. Curled up in the corner, she had her knees drawn to her chin, and her head buried in her arms.

Eldar fostered and maintained multiple personalities over their long lifetimes, and the face they wore in front of friends and the faces they presented to enemies were totally different. It also served to save them from the trap of becoming too emotional and being consumed by 'She who Thirsts', by splitting their emotional attention to other ventures.

Yoza's lesson taught me something else: These personalities literally split when in a mindscape.

"Zara?" I asked, bewildered. This one in front of me was most definitely a part of Zara, her features identical yet completely different as she lifted her face. The black haired Farseer was much younger-looking now, almost as if in her late teens. The personification of all her insecurities was sniffling as I sat down beside her.

"Zara... how did you get into that costume, anyway?"

"I... I-I... I don't know... I just..." She hiccuped, and began to break down again. Wow. This caught me completely off guard. Such a vulnerable girl. Quite unlike the stoic if rather opinionated and outright violent Farseer I had seen before. I pulled myself closer, and was again surprised as didn't give me a biting remark or... anything. Just sniff sniff and a hiccup. I patted her shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

"It's okay, it's okay... look, I'm sorry for saying those things to you..."

The splinter of Zara's personality snuggled closer, tucking her head between my neck and shoulder. It was a really sweet gesture, and I couldn't help but place my arm around her. So, Zara wasn't quite such a mean bitch as I thought she was... interesting. I reminded myself to treat her a little more gently from now on, to see if she could show her more friendly side, if it existed. I looked at her again, and realized that the soft whistling sound that I was hearing was coming from her, and that she was asleep. I chuckled as I looked on. Her sleeping face was so peaceful. Smiling to myself, I idly stroked her hair, pushing the ebony strands from her face.

A door opened, I turned around.

Three Zaras stood behind me. I almost lost control of my bodily functions. The lower digestive area, specifically.

"Mon keigh, I do dearly hope..." A short haired version wearing the armor of a Howling Banshee whispered.

"... that you have not been taking..." Another said, hefting the shuriken pistol and staff of a Warlock

"... ADVANTAGE OF MY OTHER SELF." Said the third. Her voice was like lead slabs falling down onto a marble floor.

I was ghostly white as I managed to drag my eyes to confirm the thing I was seeing, to see that the third was a red-skinned, lava veined monstrosity. Her eyes and mouth glowed with amber fire as she spoke.

Oh. Shit.

"L-l-look, it's not what it looks like!"

Three voices joined together in concert.

"DIE!"

- - + Ork Encampment, 5:29pm + - -

"Boyz, ge' up, ge' up! Da Big Boss iz 'ere!"

I sat on the oil drum that had become their reservoir for water, since I was tired of them 'tapping' (to be exact, blasting holes in) the water pipes that already existed. Seriously, the hot water pipe and the explosive sewerage incidents were never to be repeated ever again.

My brain still hurt. From what, I do not know. I vaguely remembered it being connected to Zara, though. Later on that night, I would be haunted by an army of Zaras. I sipped the glass of water I had brought down with me, and looked on at the greenskins.

The Orks managed to pull off a parody of Imperial parade as I looked on, but then again it was a simple parody; their 'companies' were mostly circular as the orks just bunched up around the Nobs that were arranged in a vaguely grid-like manner. I looked on as Nob groups 2-3 (second row, third from the front) and 3-3 (same, except they were the third row) began to brawl with each other.

I reached out to catch Madork Gunna before he could join in, but alas, the rest of the Orks quickly fell, jumped and Waaagh!'d in. The Flashgitz Big Nob was waving his six-barreled machinegun(s?) around as I held him by his crude Bosspole, his rough, guttural voice (which – if full scale – would probably have reduced many of my bones to jelly) had been reduced to pleading me to allow him to join the battle, albeit 'pleading' in Ork terms really meant getting someone to do something without harming them or threatening to do so.

"WE'Z MISSIN OUT ON DA FUN STUFF, YA MIKKY!"

I sighed. "What... the... hell." I reached for the doorway, and hefted the 'BIG RED III' (The other two of my extinguishers were stored in the kitchen and by my bedroom doorway, respectively for I and II) and gave the Ork horde a liberal blast of the CO2.

"Aww, zoggit. Y'gits never let me 'ave any fun." Madork grumbled, hefting his big choppa.

"For the love of... can't you guys stop fighting for... will you just..." My brain caught up with my mouth, tripped it up and gave it a good kick. "Well... never mind..."

Hell, these guys couldn't even sleep in peace. I sleep with earplugs these days just because of the snoring.

"Alright, alright... so why did you call me down here?"

"We'ze got somethin' for ya, boss! Dat four-eyez oommie waz tellin us 'bout krissy-mas, soz wez gon 'n made'z ya sumthin'."

Something was brought forward. It was hard to describe, as I think there are few words in the English language to describe the mishmash of bizarre materials and machinery before me. There might be on in Eldar, though. They're assholes like that.

Vincent slapped himself in the face once, and stopped the Ork from trying a second try. He blinked a few times, pulled of his glasses, cleaned them very thoroughly, and then looked again.

"What the fuck is that... thing!"

Ah, that's a good word for it.