A merry, merry Christmas to you, Lucy, dear! I hope that your Christmas is full of blessings and cheer! :) With love from Torch.


Spot Conlon's heartbeat quickened and his breath caught as he saw Jack Kelly and the Walking Mouth heading over the Brooklyn Bridge towards him.

Frantically, to avoid being caught, he took off his coat and flung it over his secret so that Cowboy wouldn't see it. Then he dashed over to his "throne" (which was now coated with ice and snow) and sat down on it, trying to look perfectly cool - which, of course, due to his loss of jacket, was rather the truth.

"Hiya, Jacky-boy," he said, and, due to his years' experience, his voice did not crack. Much. "What's, uh, freezin'?"

Jack chuckled. You had to humor the King of Brooklyn, even if it meant laughing at his undeniably bad jokes. "Everythin', pretty much," he returned, flashing his trademark grin.

"What brings you guys over here?" Spot inquired, shifting uncomfortably on his "throne". He was about to die of the cold. He wished Jacky-boy would go - go - go back to wherever he'd come from. Spot tapped his cane impatiently on the ground and shivered.

Jack, Spot thought, was purposefully taking his time in replying. Just then, Spot was under the impression that the whole world was determined to kill him.

David's over-educated face...ugh! How Spot wanted so badly to punch it in!

Jack finally replied, "We just came over to tell you about the new competition. It's all over New York."

Spot perked up his ears at the word competition, and suddenly the world seemed a little less of a cold place. He loved competitions. "Tell me about this, uh, competition," he said, yawning and examining his cane. Last summer, the competition had involved a girl, and he had (of course) won.

Jack cleared his throat, almost nervously, it seemed to Spot. (Actually, Jack was covering a laugh, but I doubt if that would ever have occurred to Spot.) Then he said, with a shaky voice (shaking from fear, Spot thought with pride - it was, once again, laughter), "It's a contest to see who can build the best snowman."

Spot jerked straight upright in his throne. "You don't say," he exclaimed. "Why, I -" he stopped short, then stepped regally off his "throne". "Me and my boys," he said formally to Jack, "would love to join your contest."

Jack bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Just before he and David left, Jack threw back over his shoulder to Spot, "Where's your jacket? You must be freezing!"

Spot didn't answer...he sighed a long, deep sigh of relief once they'd gone. Then he crept over to his poor, almost-ruined snowman hidden under his jacket and examined it with a tender expression.


David snuck a look back over his shoulder. "D'you think he fell for it?" he asked Jack.

Jack chuckled, swaggering and sauntering instead of walking. "Yeah. He'll get the surprise of his life when he turns up with the only snowman."

David looked thoughtful. "Is he any good in a snowball fight?"

"Ya kiddin'? He's the best! Why'd you ask?"

David shrugged. "I was just thinking that's what might end up happening."

Jack looked serious. "Yeah. Maybe we should start stocking up."

"Stocking what?"

"Snowballs."


There you are, dear. :) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

-Austra/Torch