Dislaimer: I really own nothing. Nor do I own Christmas. I would alter the very meaning of Christmas if I DID own it. XD

AN: Merry Christmas, everyone! Of course, I saved the best for last. This is my favorite (obviously)! So please read, and go crazy with the reviews!

Greed finally caught on to this "Christmas" idea, and he decided to scratch this down on a scrap of notebook paper:

Dear Santa:

It has come to my attention that, for years upon years, I am being gypped out of my due.

Of course, it's not like I have been a good little boy, by most people's standards. I've hurt, stolen, murdered, maimed, executed, shot, cut-up, pillaged—need I go on? But, in all honesty, one-hundred-and-forty years in imprisonment has really thrown me out of the loop of things, wouldn't you say?

And so, with that last bit in your sugar-plum-filled head, I would say it's like having a new start. It's logical, of course! Positively logical!

And because of this "new start," my record has been erased and, at this point, has not suffered a scratch. As of yet I am quite the nice little boy that you and your pint-sized green-clad cohorts look out for over all the years of your doings.

But of course, you don't need to be informed of this little fact, since you supposedly a deity of a sort, watching us from some "fortress of solitude" at the top of the planet.

Oh, but I digress, O Red One.

In lacking a chimney, I suggest you fit yourself into one of the small crawl-spaces on the underside of the bar, and don't worry—I'll've called off my attack-chimeras for the night. Booze is in the fridge and I'll be expecting everything—I MEAN EVERYTHING, ESPECIALLY THE "IMMORTALITY" PART—to be placed neatly beneath the tinsel-covered-coat-rack.

Love,

Greed

P.S. My dear little alchemist Zolf J. Kimbley reminds me to ask you for a lump of coal. Really. He loves stuff that ignites real easy.