***Dear MAG, thanks for the smile. I love the Child's Christmas in Wales. "I built a snowman, and my brother knocked it down, and I knocked my brother down, and we had tea." Delightful. For you, I'm sure it's on the jukebox.***

She gives Leej a nod and thanks Disheveled'n'Dubious for this round of the vile stuff. As she wraps her slender, albeit cat-scratched, fingers around the glass she chuckles to herself, "Beautious, my ass. Someone has been spending a little to much time in the secret lah-bore-eh-tory methinks..." But the holiday spirit can outshine any old rose-coloured glasses, so she lets this obvious headcase think what he will.

More curious than the cat who sliced her pale skin, she repetedly glances from man, to cracker, and back again. The black handle quivers excitedly, begging some unsuspecting soul to trip it and unwittingly unleash phantasmic joy throughout the rooms of the tavern. While the man is fighting invisible demons of the 'pull or not to pull' variety, she is engaged in her own Sellerisms with the Regs.

"Reg, you fool. I could keel you with a seengle karatay chop! Other Reg, that's not mistletoe, you eejut!" For a moment the Regs look dejectedly down at their nether regions at the wilted wads of parsley garnish that they stole from Mario's hippo. With the one brain cell shared between them, they hasten off to see if Sorcha's vision is any clearer.

She once again turns her attention back to the creation at the bar.