A Kigo Carol

By Eoraptor

AN: Kim Possible belongs to Disney, "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. I own nothing involved here save for my laptop, the name "Debbie Horowitz," and some grammar and original names.

Second edition (or director's cut if you prefer) of my "Christmas Carol" Kim Possible kigo fiction from 2008

- - - - - -

"But Miss Horowitz… It's Christmas?!" the blonde young man with the freckled face bemoaned as he was shoved roughly into his seat. He rubbed at the back of his neck uncertainly, trying to think up a new argument.

"And you're Jewish! I don't want to hear another word on the issue! I've already allowed you to put up that Yahweh-forsaken wreath on the front door. That should be more than enough holiday tolerance. Now finish those numbers."

"This tanks. What a green skinned Grinch…"

"I heard that! Kiss your bonus good bye for that bit of insubordination." The elegantly dressed woman snorted angrily. She ran a hand through long, raven hair and let out a breath. Just as she was about to begin again, the door to the brokerage office chimed.

She turned, hoping it would be one of her clients, but was disappointed to find her oaf of a brother lugging in a dead conifer by the root ball.

"Merry Christmas sis! And Happy Hanukkah Ronald! Where shall I put this lovely Scotch Pine?" The giant man with the blue-black hair grinned charmingly and dusted his sap coated hands off on his blue flannel shirt.

"Out back in the recycling bin with the rest of the dead trees, Harold." Deborah snorted again. "I told you not to bring that damned religious symbolism round here to offend my clients. Not to mention the environmentalists!"

"But Sis! It's tradition!" He pled, his sapphire eyes growing large and watery as he held out his hands.

"Bah, stuff it!" She growled, holding one delicately manicured hand up in threat. She didn't need to do more than raise her hand, at this point in her life, to get her point across. Long gone were the days when she actually needed to ignite.

With a heaving sigh, Harold spun the tree around in his grasp and hurled all ten feet of it through the door and out into the dumpster. Turning back to his sister, he again wiped off his hands. "Can we at least count on you at dinner, Debby?"

"Why? Need someone to cook for you bunch of doofuses?" She rolled her emerald eyes and stared at the mess of needles the now-absent tree had left. "Buzz off, glory boy. I got plans."

After a moment of silently pleading with his eyes, Harold let out a defeated breath and turned to go, "Ronald, I do hope that you and yours have a lovely holiday at least."

"Oh, sure will big guy! They're even letting Tiffany out of the hospital tomorrow!" The blonde man beamed and spun a picture frame around from his cubicle. It showed himself, an equally blonde woman, and a small girl, too small if one knew her actual age; in a Summery setting, despite the little girl's wearing a large bandage between the halves of her pixie scout swim suit.

"Good man! Have they determined what is cau-,"

"Ahbubububu!" the pale woman in the green business dress cut off the man-mountain, "Enough of that! And enough of you! Out out out…"

"And as for you…" She turned back on Mister Stoppable with an imperious glare, "You shouldn't even be getting tomorrow off, it's not your holiday after all. However… if it will save me listening to your pedantic whining about missing Snowman Hank, you may have the day off. But fail to appear on the twenty sixth, and consider yourself docked a day's wages."

Ron resisted the urge to glomp his employer, and contented himself to wiggling in his seat happily for the next several minutes. Finally he managed to settle back down to the actuarial tasks assigned to him and resumed with the numbers work, occasionally glancing at his picture.

As the time to close up the office approached, Miss Horowitz was drawing on her long green trench coat when the door chimed once more. Again dreaming of holiday bonus pay from a Client, she came out to the lobby with her most charming face on, only to see two more annoyances.

"Heya sis,"

"We were hoping you'd,"

"Give to the Turning Point,"

"This year."

The twin boys, dressed in matching red sweatshirts and black pants, grinned impossibly large and held out Miss Horowitz's checkbook, snuck from Ron's oh-so-willing hands. If possible, their smiles actually seemed to brighten the room.

"After all,"

"These women,"

"and their kids,"

"don't have anywhere,"

"to go or anything,"

"to call their own!"

They again parroted. Their burgundy eyes practically glistened with unshed tears as they begged charity for the woman's shelter.

"Bah, Stuff it." She snorted derisively, "Those chicks couldn't help themselves, why the heck should I be bothered to?! Now, if they want a gun to solve their problems, we can talk funding and representation."

The boys frowned and ducked their heads in unison. They looked up, positively crestfallen as they wrung their hands.

"Violence is never then answer, Sis."

"They made the first important steps by getting out."

Deborah made a shushing motion with her fingers, voicing her feelings on the bleeding hearts before her and what they thought was proper behavior for women being beaten at this time of year. "You've hit me up four times already this year… Ask me again, and I'll buy that damned building and burn it to the ground. Got it?"

She stamped her foot in the boys' direction, and they dutifully scurried off in fear of the wrath of the business woman.

"Stoppable! I'm leaving. Lock up when you're done and make damned sure to turn out the lights, I'm not paying to illuminate an empty office for two days!" Turning with a flourish, the pale woman strode out of the office, long coat swaying like a royal cloak behind her.

"Christmas! Bah, Stuff It!"

- - - - - -

Once free of her offices, Debora Horowitz freed her long black hair from its headband and let out a ragged breath. She took summoned a private car to take her home to her building. Yes, it was her building. She owned it, and had one by one removed the other tenants from the building, until she alone resided in the penthouse. She punched in the code to the building's front door, and reached for the handle to the great glass edifice. Suddenly, the powerful woman yanked her hand away in shock and she clutched herself, shaking her head.

For just a moment, her reflection in the glass seemed to have taken on a bluish tinge and glared at her. It must have been a passing blue truck or something, combined with an exhausted imagination. Taking a deep breath, the emerald skinned woman shook off the delusion and entered the building. She mounted the stairs to the elevator landing, and sighed as she inserted her key for the penthouse elevator.

She was about to touch the polished brass plate and button to call the lift when her hand recoiled. It was as though the button was surrounded by an intensely cold mass of air, the button itself appearing frosted. The pale woman shook her hand violently to clear the sensation and frowned at the brass plaque. She was tempted to use her hidden ability to warm the button, but when she inched her finger to the brass key again, the wave of cold air was absent and the frost gone.

Scowling, she jammed the hard brass call and tapped her heel clad foot, awaiting the lift. As it descended, she was irked by the noise it made in the shaft; a sort of clanging of chains and grinding of metal.

"Great, have to call the damned technician now. And on a fucking holiday…! that'll cost a fortune. Well, maybe after the first of the year. It's only ten stories after all."

She was about to start for the stairs when the mirrored elevator doors slid open with a ding. Giving the interior of the lift an arch look, she stepped inside after a moment and sighed, letting out a breath. Obviously the stress of the season and end of year filings were beginning to really get to her.

The lift ascended without further noise or incident to the penthouse. Stepping out at the top floor, Miss Horowitz passed her private gymnasium. She paused a moment. Her old Team Go uniform seemed to be… filled out? Must be the ventilation system causing it to swing on its hanger where it was placed as a memento against the wall. Tricks of the light were a funny thing, she mused to herself.

With a sigh, she moved on to the door to her apartment; if the two upper stories of the building that constituted her residence could be called that. She reached for the doorknob, and jumped back in shock. The knob was not polished brass, but a ghoulish bl-

"No… nononono! Damn it, Horowitz! Get a grip on yourself." She shook her head furiously, her emerald eyes squeezed shut tightly. After a moment, she opened her eyes again and glared at the knob. It was again a cool brass spheroid, not a freakish warped face.

With some small trepidation, she wrapped her fingers around the knob and gave it a twist. It yielded under her grasp and turned as a proper knob should. She entered her apartment and for the next two hours, from ten PM to midnight, drank herself into unconsciousness with aid of scotch, shedding the stressors of work and the holidays for being insensate and chemically relaxed.

Fate, however, had other plans. Deborah Horowitz, owner of She Go Brokerage House, was rudely awoken as every pane of glass in her tenth story penthouse began rattling. The pale woman turned truly green as a form began to appear before her, materializing out of the mists that had somehow poured in under every door.

Rolling off of the couch and fighting off the effects of alcohol, the emerald eyed woman fled the forming apparition and ran to the only place that had no windows, her bedroom. She slammed and bolted the strong and ancient oak door and dove for her bed. There she dragged out her gun from beneath the rearmost bedpost in a panic. She chambered it and spun, facing the door, both manicured hands trembling faintly.

A head poked through the door, not in the traditional manner, but literally right through the heavy hundred-year old paneling. "Shegoooooooooooooo…."

BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM


AN: Chapter one, several more to come before the twenty fifth… Please follow the three R's: Read, Review, and Reccomend