Disclaimer: Joygirl and Amy are the property of me. They are characters with a long canon history that you probably have not read, and while I did try to make it friendly to new readers, you will likely not understand the full backstory and dynamics between the characters.
That said, if you enjoy this story and are interested in seeing more (and less family-friendly) stories set in this universe, with these characters, PM me and we can work something out.
==Special thanks to TheCheeseStabber for the idea to do a holiday special.==
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“AmyAmyAmyAmyAmyAmyAmyAmyAmy–“
I roll onto my other side, squishing my pillows around my ears. I know it's pointless, of course. The sound comes from within my own mind, shaking me down to my very soul. The sound comes from her – or me – or whatever she is.
“Me.”
“That has yet to be decided,” I groan, opening my eyes blearily.
“Yeah it has; I decided it. You're you, I'm me. I came to grips with that a while ago, we're separate entities.” Her voice grates against the sides of my brain.
Rolling onto my other side, I grab the clock radio off the nightstand beside me, looking into the glass in front. My reflection is hazy, but I can make out a few fresh scars from last night. My eyes are bloodshot – a bizarre physical reflection of my mental exhaustion, as my body never needs to rest. Joygirl is proof of that. “What do you want?”
I see my reflection slowly twist as she takes over. The eyes get intense, their normally dull gray-green burning into a bright, staring, green-silver. “Aaaaamy, you know what day it is, right?” This time her voice echoes through the room. She's speaking with my mouth. Corrupting my body. Molesting my mind from within.
I glance around quickly, looking for a calendar. Since I'm not working, however, I haven't had use for one... and the holographic imaging “windows” are still dimmed. “No, I don't. What day is it?”
Joygirl's reflection pouts slightly, tilting her head. “Amy. Amy. Amy. It's. Mother. Flippin'. Christmas.”
I close my eyes for a long moment, digesting what she said. How is that relevant? I haven't celebrated Christmas since I was eight years old... wait. That's not the weirdest part of what she just said. “Mother-flipping?”
Joygirl gives me a disapproving look from across the clock radio. “We're doing a family-friendly holiday special, you dumb cow. Now get up! I wanna do stuff! Make snowmen! And kill them! Also I got you a prezzie.”
Prez– oh, present. Wait, Joygirl got me a present? That seems unlikely. Unless the spirit of giving has a really serious grip on her. I let out a long, weary sigh and push myself up onto my hands. So much easier than it used to be, with my enhanced strength. Like I weigh nothing. Like nothing weighs much of anything.
“Amy! Cut the internal monologue! It's Chrisssstmazzz. Now get off your flippin' backside and go into the living room before I force myself on you sexually!”
“You're taking this 'family-friendly' thing seriously, aren't you?”
“Well if I say things like 'rape' then the kids at home won't be able to read this, and we need to expose ourselves to a younger audience.”
I set my feet on the carpet beside the bed and facepalm. She's still obsessed with the notion that we have writers and a readership. Sometimes I wonder how deep her madness runs... then sometimes I wonder whether or not she's right, with all the crap we get ourselves into. Despite what they say, truth usually isn't stranger than fiction.
I clap my hands twice in quick succession, and the room transforms. The holo-windows “open” to expose a winter wonderland outside (a setting I'm sure I didn't install), flooding our underground hideout with light. I slide out Joygirl's nipple piercings (despite her adamant protestations) and set them on the nightstand so she can put them back in later, and slide on a robe. Walking barefoot into the living room, I suddenly pause.
She must have spent all fu– flipping night, doing this.
A massive Christmas tree sits in the center of the living room, surrounded by fully-wrapped presents of various sizes. A folding chair sits by our gas-powered fireplace, holding up a paper plate covered with cookies and a Dixie cup filled with milk. Tinsel and stockings are hung wildly around the entire house, and some of the stockings even seem to be stuffed.
“Joy... how did you...?” I whisper, turning to glance at one of the steel mirrors I had installed on the wall for easier communication.
My own psychotic reflection leers blissfully back at me. “It took all night! I robbed like six different places to get all the stuff and the traffic was horrible (good thing I can jump over cars) but seriously, the lines were even worse. Ugh!” I can feel her bursting at the seams trying not to curse. I feel her... almost jitter within my mind, her excitement almost childish in nature and intensity. How did I never know this about her? Since when is the holiday spirit so strong in her? She's a murderer, a thief, a vandal, a maniac, and possibly a rapist – yet she did all of this, just for me?
“I can hear you, you know. Emoticon colon capital D.”
“I thought we agreed you were going to stop saying emoticons out loud.”
“I can't help it, it's your fault you exposed me to the internet. You and that vampire bit– very nice lady, with the massive tits and the sexy red dress.” She pauses, seeming to ponder for a moment. “Y'know, you should be happy about that actually. There are a lot of people that go un-killed because I'm busy trolling Sailor Moon forums.”
“You're a monster.”
“Keep up that flattery and you're gonna get me all moist and tingly. Now stop being a whiny hag and start opening your prezzies – I put a goose in the oven and it should be done in like half an hour.”
I sigh and glance around the living room again. Honestly, I may as well go with the flow. Discouraging her won't get me anywhere, and things could honestly be a hell of a lot worse. I inhale, slowly exhale, and flop down onto the carpet under the Christmas tree. Sh– darn, it's been over a decade since I've done this. I reach for a smaller package and slowly start unwrapping it, trying not to think about the fact that it's stolen.
Inside is one of the most adorable little pendants I've ever seen, a sleek silver chain with a little tiny Cthulhu on the end, with tiny green stones marking the eyes. “Joy....”
“You hate it.” Her voice carries a strange sense of disappointment, of genuine distress. She... does she actually care what I think? Is this some kind of prank?
“I love it. Lovecraft is my favorite writer... but you knew that, didn't you?”
I glance at the mirror, and my reflection shrugs sheepishly. “I... well, yeah... even if I still think he sucks, I thought you might have liked it.”
I allow myself a small smile, but then frown. “I didn't get you anything.”
Her voice picks up, getting bubbly again. “That's okay, Em. I got enough prezzies for both of us. To the power of underscore to the power of.”
I fit the chain around my neck, my head still swimming. “I just don't get it, Joy. I mean... why? Why all of this? Why did you get all this for me?”
My lips move to answer me, but not on my own command. “It's the holidays, Amy. We always used to love the holidays, remember? Back when we were little? When mom was alive and before dad got committed. Back when our sister still actually talked to us. We loved the holidays, and Christmas was your favorite.”
I stare into space for a long moment. I've never heard her talk like this before. “Yeah... yeah we did,” I whisper. I allow myself another long pause, taking another wrapped present into my hands. “Thank you, Joygirl.”
“Don't thank me yet – I got egg nog.” I hear a sinister giggle in the back of my head. “And I got Southern Comfort too.”
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