"Alright, you heard what Cat said: nobody gets near the punch bowl, and nobody gets hurt. Got it, big guy?" Sidney Poindexter waggled a grey finger at his companion, the Box Ghost, to accentuate his point. Boxy, in turn, crossed his arms and huffed. "Yeah, whatever," he grumbled. "I still don't get it. How is anyone gonna be able to spike the punch?" Poindexter rasped a sigh and face-palmed. "How many times do we have to go over this? Cat was sensin' something real kooky about to go down here, ya dig? So she wants us-" he smacked himself on the chest- "to keep our eyes peeled for any and all goings-on around here." The ghost wildly waved his skinny arms around, gesturing to everywhere. "Whatever, man," Boxy repeated with shrug. Poindexter scowled and curled his hands into fists. "Listen, just because you've got some smog in your noggin doesn't mean I'm about to take the heat if somebody walks in all willy-nilly and blows the truce for us all!"
  
  "Who's gonna what, now?" a voice interrupted the one-sided exchange. The boys immediately looked to the source of the noise. Poindexter flushed a strange grey color at the sight of the girl, while the Box Ghost smiled and waved at her, almost uncharacteristically laid back. "I swear, dude," Cat continued, "lay off the slang once in a while. It's like you're speaking another language." She smiled and ran a hand through her wind-swept pixie cut which, true to the season, was currently host to a flurry of greens and reds. "Nobody's spiked the punch yet, right?" She brushed past the two ghosts and ladled herself a red-Solo-cupful of the stuff, much to the spattering protests of Poindexter, then threw back a long swig. She swished it around in her mouth for a moment and nodded appreciatively, then got a peculiar, puckered look on her face, like she'd just tasted a regurgitated cupcake spread with potted meat frosting.
This, of course, sent Poindexter over his threshold of worry. "I-I am so sorry, I was watchin' this place like a hawk. I-it was Boxy over here that was noodlin' out on me, I told him that you-" But his outburst sent Cat into a fit of giggles, and the nerdy ghost promptly shut up upon realizing her charade. Poindexter did his best to look peeved, but he had to admit, he found it difficult to keep a straight face.

   "Lighten up, it's Christmas!" Cat said, giving Poindexter a pat on the head. She chugged down the rest of the punch and set her cup back down, then happily wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Cherry, yum. So far so good. Hey, keep 'im in line for me, aight?" She added, with a wink, to the Box Ghost. "He might not be having fun now, but we ALL remember what happened with the nog last year." Boxy doubled over in laughter, gloved hands clutched to his stomach. "You'll never live that one down, man, I should know," he snickered.

   Cat, who was quite pleased with both the holiday memories and subsequent self-deprecation, grinned widely and turned away from the punch bowl, remembering her previous obligations. She turned a corner and wound up in the entry hall of Skulker's lair, decorated with various pelt rugs and mounted heads of dead animals, among other taxidermied goods, which reminded the Jumper of home in strange way.

   Here she would await one of those aforementioned obligations who, if memory served, was destined to burst through the door covered with all kinds of mementos from the forest. The image of twigs poking out of her friend's frizzy hair like a bird's nest still made Cat smirk a little. The stage was set, so to speak, for the vision of shenanigans her burgeoning time powers had afforded her the week before – and damn it, if she was going to enjoy it, so should everyone else.

   "All right," Cat muttered, rubbing her palms together and getting a certain devious glint in her eye, "let's get merry."