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"How come you got dumber?" the teenager in front of her demanded back, and guffawed at her own joke. There was a large cardboard box underneath the redhead's arm; she reached out one brown hand and scuffed at Polly's hair before the phoenix girl could bite, kick, or otherwise maim her. "Merry Christmas from your secret freakin' santa, pipsqueak. Better treat me nice or I'll add on a gift of giving you a swirly in the bathrooms."

The taller girl clucked her tongue, waggling one finger at Polly in a way that could only be described as 'infuriating'. Jace was smirking. She then tilted her head a little and herded the girl behind one of the sets of bleachers -- away from her cousin as well, which looked slightly dangerous for Polly's sake.

Jace dumped the newspaper-wrapped box in front of Polly for Polly to obviously go to town on. "Merry Christmas," she said, "'tis the season to get presents, fa la la la la la la la la. I hope you blow yourself to space, fa la la la la la la la la."

Underneath the newspaper was a plain cardboard box. In the cardboard box were the largest, most dangerous collection of fireworks ever seen before in a child's secret santa present: catherine wheels, way too many rockets, and a general display of things that would possibly blow up Polly to smithereens. It was a horrible thing to get a young girl. Jace had gotten it when she was a young girl. Jace tended to get people presents she would've liked.

"I know you wanted some shitty-a** pirate bling," the teen was saying, "but who cares."

"I'm not gonna show you here, small fry," said the older girl satisfiedly, "for one thing, you tell anyone I got you this, they'll kick both our asses and take it away. If anyone asks I got you a chocolate Santa and you ate it. These things all have wicks -- you have to touch it with a match or a candle, set it on fire, then run away so that you don't explode when it explodes. Set the rockets upright -- put 'em in a bottle for the smaller ones. Write your will beforehand. A will that doesn't mention who gave this s**t to you, either, I wash my hands of your tiny little carbonized body."

Jace winked one tangerine eye. "Just call me Santa's little helper."

At least the little mushroom had had the decency to act like it was awesome: Jace was even a little sorry for giving her the present with the intention of having Polly blow herself sky-high. "Well, maybe you're not a complete little creep," she said, equally grudgingly, "considering."

All Jace did was seem to find this funny as heck; she threw her head back and laughed. "That's what you get for trying to give an annoying fairy as a Christmas present, man," she said, never minding the hypocrisy. "See? Sucks to be you. What'd you get your santa, anyway? Bet it wasn't as cool as my present."

"That is sliiiiiii~ightly creepy," was all the girl said, in a small dose of admiration. "Actually that's totally messed up. Congratulations. I kind of think that's cool."

"I hope the police eventually pick you up for murder," said the older girl, but this seemed to sound like some kind of Jacoba Darnell compliment. She was much too proud to ask how to make a trap with a sharpened stick, but figured it was the remnants of childhood tugging at her: who needed a trap with a sharpened stick when you could just punch a guy. "Well, you satisfied, or do I have to give you that swirly?"