Author's Notes: Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol is my all-time favorite Christmas story! So this year, I got a great idea. What if I got the Storm Hawks characters to act it out for me? Wouldn't that be entertaining? They didn't much like the idea, I admit, but they agreed when I threatened to e-mail Cartoon Network and YTV and tell them to take Storm Hawks off the air. I even hired a professional narrator to keep everyone in line. Oh, this is going to be so much fun!
Disclaimer: Storm Hawks was created by Asaph "Ace" Fipke and is property of Nerd Corps. A Christmas Carol was written by Charles Dickens. I own nothing but the narrator.
A Storm Hawks' Christmas Carol
Chapter 1: The Face on the Ship
Yes, why hello. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the narrator of the Atmosian retelling of this old tale and I am glad to make you acquaintance. Now where do I begin?
Oh yes, I suppose I should introduce the setting and the characters. Follow me and I shall take you to a strange Terra called Great Britain. The place we are going to is a city called London. Into the city streets we go. Ah, here we are, Scrooge and Marley's warehouse. And see, the door is open.
Yes, it's always cold in here in the winter, for Scrooge doesn't much mind the cold. What of Marley, you ask. Well, to put it frankly, he's dead. Been dead for seven years. Scrooge simply never blotted his name out on the sign.
Ah, there's Ebenezer Scrooge now, sitting at desk with a tiny fire beside him. Black hair is falling over those blood-red eyes of his in his red Cyclonian uniform. Oh, that uniform will have to go.
"I'm not Scrooge," he tells us. "I'm the Dark Ace. And I'm keeping my uniform!"
Fine, but you're not the Dark Ace. For now you are Scrooge.
"Why do I have to be Scrooge? He's the character who . . ."
Don't ruin the story now.
"Fine, but call me the Dark Ace. Not Scrooge."
No can do. You have to go by the right name or the story's not right.
"But I don't want to be called Scrooge!"
What is your name then? We can't go on calling you by your military title.
"No one is supposed to know my real name."
Then you must be called Scrooge.
"This is ridiculous."
Enough, Scrooge. Be good like your clerk over there in the other room.
"Who? Him? Aerrow? You made that punk my clerk?! Why I oughtta . . .!"
Now, now, Scrooge. Put your sword away. If you kill the clerk, you ruin the story.
Let's see our poor clerk, Mr. Bob Cratchit. Young, strong but penniless. His bright red hair reflects what little flame he has left from his own fire in his little cell beyond a sort of tank. He can't replenish it, poor soul, for Scrooge holds the coal-box and the clerk is not allowed to leave his cell.
"On second thought," Scrooge tells us, "I like this role."
"Okay," Bob says. "I hate this role."
But why? On Atmos, you're a Sky Knight. Sky Knight of the Storm Hawks, in fact. So why do you not want the role of the honorable character?
"Because I'm enslaved to the Dark Ace!"
Scrooge grins. "And the Dark Ace is enjoying it!"
As I said before, here he is Scrooge, not the Dark Ace, and you two are not mortal enemies, just boss and worker. Got it?
"No!" they answer in unison.
Well, get over it. You're in the story now so just be quiet and go along with it! Anyway . . .
Here comes our next character, Scrooge's nephew Fred. He enters the counting house now, saying . . .
"Okay, dude, what am I doing here?"
The clerk looks up. "Finn, you're the Dark Ace's nephew?"
"I know, man! And it sucks!"
Okay, that was not what he was supposed to say.
"Dude, I cannot be related to the Dark Ace, not now, not . . ."
Please, people, the sooner you cooperate, the sooner you don't have to do this, so just stop talking and follow your lines.
"But I don't want to be the Dark Ace's nephew! I don't want to be related to him at all!"
"At least you're not his slave," the clerk grumbles.
You're not a slave; you're a worker, Bob my boy!
"I really hate that name."
"I know, man! And why do I have to be Fred?!"
Because that's the way Charles Dickens . . . Oh never mind. Sheesh, all of you are such whiners! Just continue with the story, please!
"Oh fine," the Dark Ace's—I mean, Scrooge's nephew says. He clears his throat. "A merry Christmas, uncle! Oh gosh, that sounded so wrong!"
"You're telling me," Scrooge grumbled.
"Hey," said Finn—Fred—oh, you get the point. "That's not your lines. And as for you, narrator, call me Finn."
I'm afraid I can't do that. Please continue.
"Right," Scrooge answered. "Uh . . . bah! Bah, humbug!"
"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" Scrooge's nephew exclaimed. (There. No names. Happy?) "You don't mean that, I'm sure!"
"I do," Scrooge retorted. "Even a good fellow I know called the Dark Ace agrees . . ."
That's not part of the story!
"Fine! My, you're an infuriating narrator! Where was I? Oh yes . . . What right have you to be merry? You're poor enough."
"What right have you not to be merry, uncle?" his nephew asks. "You're rich enough. Okay, can I just drop the 'uncle' part. Please? It's really freaking me out here."
"Me too," the clerk agreed.
"I second that," Scrooge added.
Oh, fine. Whatever. Now quit talking to me! Characters aren't supposed to talk to narrators!
"Bah, humbug!" Scrooge repeated, "Listen hear, Finn . . ."
It's Fred, for Atmos' sake! Or nephew. Pick one.
"I don't like either," Scrooge grumbles.
Fine, your nephew can be called Finn. It's not that different.
"Oh yeah! I get my name!
"Hey, what about me?" Scrooge shouts. "I want my title!"
Okay, we'll compromise! You're . . . Scrooge the Ace.
Finn cleared his throat. "Er, you were saying uncle?"
"What's so great about Christmas?" Scrooge the Ace continued. "You're paying more and more bills and finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer or any closer to taking over the world."
Dark Ace, may I remind you that your character Scrooge does not wish to take over the world?
"That's simply because he's a fool! And anyway, Scrooge the Ace wants to take over the world!"
Finn answered his uncle. "I'm sure you can find Christmas a very . . . Oh, what's with all this smart talk? Can I just say this in a way I understand it?"
Sure, you ruin your script while I go hit myself on the head with something.
"Okay. Dude, you're invited to a party at my house. Wanna come?"
"Let me think," Scrooge the Ace grumbled sarcastically. "No."
"But why not?"
"Why did you get married?"
Finn's eyes widened. "I'm married! Oh man, this is so wrong! I'm fourteen, dude! Hey narrator." He wiggled his eyebrows expectantly. "Who's the lucky chick?"
I'm not getting paid enough for this.
"Well," Finn continued to his uncle, "I got hitched 'cause I liked the gal."
I believe the line is 'I fell in love'.
"Yeah, but that sounds creepy."
Bob Cratchit . . .
"Aerrow Cratchit! Finn got his name and I want mine."
Gah! Aerrow Cratchit looked up with a smile. "Who picked Finn for this role? I think they have brain damage."
You know, Sky Knight, I could always let the Dark Ace take out his sword again.
"No, I'm okay."
Continuing . . .
Scrooge the Ace snorted. "You liked the gal. What a reason! Good-bye!"
"Good-bye!" Finn called cheerfully as he left. "Know that you can come by anytime. A merry Christmas!"
"And a happy New Year!"
The clerk watched him leave before returning to his work. "You know," he said, "I kinda like your nephew there."
"One more word out of you," the Ace grumbled, pointing at him, "and your Christmas present to me will be your salary, and mine to you will be your extra free time! Now get back to work!"
Presently, two other men entered, our lovely friends Tritonn and Harrier. They approached Scrooge the Ace. "Aye, do we have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?" Tritonn asked politely.
"Marley's been dead for seven years," Scrooge the Ace answered tartly.
"I'm sure he is proudly represented by his surviving partner," Harrier said, trying to flatter him.
"What is your business, gentlemen?" Scrooge asked. After all, he was a man of business and action and did not like to be kept waiting.
"We was wonderin', sir," Tritonn began, "if you would be so generous as to offer a donation to the needy. It's such a good thing to do, 'specially 'round this time oh year."
"For the needy?" the Ace asked. "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?"
"Yes," Harrier answered with a sigh. "I wish I could say it's not so. Many would rather die than stay there."
Scrooge the Ace smiled. "You had me worried there for a moment," he answered. "You see, gentlemen, I already support the establishments which I have mentioned. And if the needy wish to die, then they better do it and decrease the surplus population. Now good day to you, gentlemen."
Scowling coldly at him, Tritonn and Harrier saw no further point in pursuing the matter, and they withdrew without a word of farewell.
No sooner was Scrooge the Ace relieved of them that he heard a sound that made him scowl with anger. It was the sound of a caroler at his door singing. Grabbing his sword (I believe it supposed to be a ruler, mister 'I use my own props'), he ran outside, waving it wildly. "Get out of here, kid! You leave at once, you hear me?!"
Cratchit tensed but said nothing in the boy's defense from his place in his cell.
The night drew on, a long night for Aerrow Cratchit. At length, Scrooge the Ace finally dismissed him. "I suppose you want tomorrow off," he said with a growl.
"Yes sir," Aerrow said through clenched teeth. "Man, I hate saying that."
"Fine," the Ace growled. "But be here all the earlier the next morning."
"Of course," the clerk said as he turned to leave. He paused at the doorway and added, "Sir."
Scrooge the Ace growled again. "Can I kill him now?" he asked. "Please?"
"What if I just maimed him a little?"
Just go back to your mansion like a good little boy. And I'd appreciate it if you left your sword here.
"Not on my life!" the Ace snarled, grabbing his sword and marching out the door
Once out on the street, Scrooge the Ace headed toward his—ship? Okay, who made a Cyclonian Destroyer Scrooge's mansion?
"I did!" the Ace said, raising his ignited sword threateningly. "Got a problem with that?"
No, a Cyclonian battleship will do just fine.
"That's what I thought."
Scrooge started to climb up the plank into his ship when he saw the most peculiar thing on the front of the hatch. There, staring at him with blank eyes, was Marley's face.
Author's Notes: This isn't turning out like I thought it would . . .