Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Xavier School For Gifted Children.... no, wait. I'm not a poet, so rhyming is out.
The Xavier mansion. Late Christmas Eve. Some years ago. The Drunken Hobbit, perpetual slob, and possessor of a $257 000 bar tab known either as Logan or Wolverine walks through the darkened corridors. He strolls into the kitchen, grubby and unshaven as usual, looking rather like something the cat spat up. If there were cats to be seen, that is. This is, after all, the home of a headmaster who has a fondness for eating housecats. Finding a beer in the fridge, he muses briefly on how odd it is to stock alcohol in a school full of mutant children. He opens it up, starts drinking, and pads out of the kitchen. Coming back out into a large common area, he sees a dark shape of a man, sniffs the air, picking up the scent of cookies. He unsheathes his claws, ready for the attack on the intruder.
Logan: Hey, bub.
*The man turns.*
Logan: Wrong place to break into.
*Logan drives his claws into the man's gut.*
Logan: And I'm the wrong mutant to mess with.
*The man falls, gasping, and hits the floor hard.*
Logan: 'Cause I'm the best there is at what I do.
*Logan turns on the lights, and sees who's there.*
Logan: Oh hell, this can't possibly end well, can it?
*Santa Claus lies motionless on the floor before Logan.*
Logan: Hey, bub. Tell me you're just a burglar in a Santa suit.
*He hears movement behind him, and Jubilee and Husk come in.*
Jubilee: Hey, Logan, were you out drinking your Christmas Eve away?
Husk: What's with the fat bloke in the red... oh dear God... is that...?
Jubilee: What the...? Wait. Did you just... did you kill Santa Claus?
Logan: Um, he was like this when I got here, I swear.
Husk: Those are claw marks in his stomach, Logan!
Logan: Look, I swear to you, he was coming at me!!
Jubilee: Wolverine! You murdered Santa Claus!!
Logan: It was self defense! How was I to know?
Husk: Wait a minute here... Santa Claus is real?
Jubilee: Whether or not he's real isn't important.
Logan: Listen, there's a reasonable explanation.
Jubilee: Yes! You murdered Santa Claus, Logan!
Logan: Wait! No, I didn't. He ran into my claws!
*He now hears some movement behind him.*
Logan: He ran right into my claws, I tell you!
*He turns. Santa is standing, and looking mad.*
Santa: You've been a really, really naughty boy, Logan.
Logan: Wait a minute... how could you be standing? I just gutted you.
Santa: I'm 1456 years old. My healing factor's a lot better then yours.
Logan: Look, no hard feelings, all right, bub? Let bygones be bygones.
Santa: I don't like being called bub.
Logan: How about fat boy instead?
Santa: I don't like that one either.
Logan: Make up your mind, bub...
*Santa clobbers Logan on the head.*
Logan: Was that all you've got, fat boy...?
*Logan starts to sway, and collapses to the floor, unconcious.*
Santa: You'd be fat too if you were eating 5 billion cookies in one night.
Jubilee: Wait a minute.... are you really him? How'd you knock him out?
Santa: Yes, I'm really Santa. And I'm a magic being. My mere touch is enough to send this Drunken Hobbit into slumber if I see fit, so you can imagine what hitting him on the head would do. He'll probably wake up sometime into the New Year, so you girls ought to enjoy the peace and quiet while you've got it. And when he wakes up, he's going to find a whole lot of coal in his stocking. I mean, I might have a healing factor, but this suit of mine doesn't. How I'm going to explain three big gashes to the wife... I don't know. You have any idea how cranky she gets when I'm late?
*Santa picks up his bag, and starts to leave.*
Santa: Ho ho ho, and Merry Christmas!
*Santa walks out of the room.*
Jubilee: No one will believe us.
Husk: I'd have to agree there.
Jubilee: They'll say we were high.
Husk: Maybe that we were drinking.
Jubilee: Hey, I only drank a little bit!!
Husk: Three schnapps isn't a little bit.