"Under the mistletoe, under the mistletoe,
Young maids, old maids dearly love to go.
When did you ever ever hear a girl say no,
When you whisper "Come and kiss me under the mistletoe?"

The lone figure wends her way to the tavern of lights, her boots crunching most delightfully on the crust of fallen snow. She is singing loud and clear, and swinging the small bag on her arm in time with her winter song. The back of her horseblanket coat is painted white, all the incriminating evidence needed to solve whodunnit of a blissful snowangel in every available spot from her house to the tavern.

She stamps her feet and opens the door. Instantly she is assaulted with the tantalizing aroma of hippo. "Mario must be in charge of the feast this year...", she thinks to herself as she hangs her coat on a peg by the door. She makes a mental note to get the recipe, for every time she's ever tried to make the roast beast, the ensuing cloud of burnt hippo-hair has driven friend and foe alike to the farthest flung reaches of the house..... Yards of scarf unraveled, hands un-mittened, and errant dog hair brushed from the legs of her faded jeans and the front of her flannel shirt, she grabs her bag and sets to the first business of the evening.

taptaptap.....taptaptap...taptaptap....The tiny mistletoe sprigs once concealed in her bag have been hung above every available doorway in the tavern. All religious preferences aside, she's never known a Mudcatter to refuse a Snog. She's also never known a Mudcatter who needed an excuse...but wotthehell....she grins as she taps the last sprig in place.

"Ah barkeep, a mug of good black tea to warm my hands please?" She settles in to watch the ever growing festivities.

Despite the obvious entertainment of watching Cletus and the Regs take down mistletoe, stick it in their belt-buckles and proposition all the Mudcat women within earshot, the object of her attention is the unique polarity at the bar itself. Gloom and doom mirrored with gaiety? Welcome to every Christmas for as long as she can remember. One man is struggling vainly with the batteries rattling across the bar, and the other is trying to keep wraps on the vibrating joy-bag that looks to explode at the slightest touch. She's thanking her lucky stars she's not on clean-up detail..but that's about as far as she's gotten with it....

She takes a second mug of tea, in a paper cup this time, and piles a plate high with Mario's hippo, Susan's delectible salads, and a generous handful of Caitrin's cookies. She then shivers out into the alley. "You know you are welcome inside.." she tells the huddling figure. He gives a brief nod, as if his attentions are needed elsewhere at the moment. She sets the plate down, turns to go, and as an afterthought tells him, "Many Peacemas." but he is lost to her once again.

The warmth of the tavern once again fills her and melts the snowflakes in her hair. This place reminds her of the time she was stranded in NoPlace North Dakota....or was it SomeplaceElse South Dakota?? Not important. Only the warm memories of a wise-assed gum popping waitress and a down-and-out encyclopedia salesperson bleating a harmonic "Merry Christmas, Happy New year, Let's make the rafters ring.." along with a crackling transistor radio that deserves to be remembered. Same as the folks in this tavern. It's not really important where we are or how we got here, just that we ARE here. Many Peacemas is right...

She returns to the bar, holding her mug and absently dunking her teabag. She slides in a safe distance from the undulating cracker of holiday glee. Frankly, it terrifies her more than just a little bit, but she takes her chances. Laughing, she tells the bartender "I'll have what Peter here is having...just point that thing in another direction, eh?"