Tansy Undercrypt

Sometimes, when the constant snow and happy singing became too much to bear, she would poison an elf or two; a special batch of cookies, a pinch of this and that, a little taste test with a cold glass of milk (served with a warm smile). She wasn’t proud of it, but it kept the darkness in check for the rest of the time. As Mrs Claus, she adored her home, her husband, and the lively hum of the workshop year-round … but she was an Addams after all.

Weston Kendrick had been bitten and stung so many times during his almost 30 years patrollin’ the canyon that his own bite had become poisonous. He didn’t even bother bleeding the wound if something got him, they say – just absorbed it and went right on. As a lawman frequently involved in fisticuffs, this proved mighty handy.

Sarah wore a suit to the lunch, of course; she was all about presentation. Amy sat very quietly across the table, in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. “I just thought we should meet and try to put the past behind us,” Sarah said, twirling her empty martini glass. “It’s all water under the bridge, really – and life is too short for bad blood between us.” “I’m not sure I’d call years of systematic betrayal ‘bad blood’,” Amy replied, her voice even and neutral, “but some lives are definitely shorter than others.” Underneath the table, she tucked the tiny vial and the rubber gloves back into her purse.

She loved parties – the drinking and dancing and attempted murder! Someone would invariably serve her a glass of punch laced with some horrible thing, but she’d been ingesting poison in trace amounts since she was a child; she tolerated everything. She’d drain her glass, bite the callus on her tongue to make her mouth bleed, then have arrested all who looked her way eagerly with delight. Lucrezia Borgia would wipe her mouth, giggle, and order them decapitated.  “Amateurs!” she would yell out to the crowd, laughing.