Please forgive me for this bit of doggerel, but someone twisted the end of the poem "T'was the night before christmas", and I couldn't resist making it into a shadowrun poem.

Twas the Night before Christmas, and all through the Barrens
A bunch of creatures were stirring, the Cutters selling cannons.
The decker had made her preperations, deck at her side.
And the rigger prepared the vehicle in which we would ride.

The corporate slaves were all snug in their beds,
And the Street Sam counted the bounty on our heads.
The Face practiced his lines, and I drank a soykaf..
The Adept was singing Maria Mercurial... it really was a laugh.

When out on the street there arose such a banter..
I double checked my holdout gun, and the troll his cannon, a Panther.
Peered out the windows, with an undue haste.
To see if there were some Lone Star that we needed to waste.

The streetlights palid illumination cast light on an Elf.
His elegant face painted, no fangs like myself.
I drew bead with my holdout, and almost let fly.
But then the elf looked at me, and let out a cry.

The gangers failed to approach, so astonished they were
And he got off his bike and straitened his collar, which was fur.
With his odd appearance, and his knowing annoying grin..
I knew that he must be that keebler, the elf Harlequin.

"I've come to hire you, for your service is needed
I'd tell you what for, but you'd hardly believe it.
Spirits most foul and creatures that would destroy us all if they could..
I know you don't believe me, but trust me, my nuyen is good!"

He flashed and disappeared, then reappeared in our doss.
It was really quite presumptuous, but he didn't give a toss.
The troll raised his cannon, and started to take aim..
But at one last gesture from the elf, the troll refrained.

He reached into a bag, and I wondered what would come out.
But his smile told us we had nothing to worry about.
He regarded each of us, and then his hand came out,
and his hands were things us runners only dream about.

The decker got a new deck, all shiny and fast.
For it was Black IC that she would be needing to outlast
The Adept got an initiation group, for powers he would need.
If he wanted to spend the nuyen we'd earn in our greed.

The Mage eyes shone, and he really became a wreck..
As he exclaimed "My own ally spirit, oh wow holy drek!"
The Street Sam look peaked, for he seemingly was left out.
But a deltaware grade cyberarm quickly removed his pout.

Finally his bag was empty, and the elf nodded and touched his nose.
Disappeared out the door, and the sounds of him on the stairs arose.
He got on his motorcycle but one more gift he still had.
It was the gift that made it all dangerous, which was really too bad.

"I've given you all new SINs, don't hesitate to burn it..
"Good luck on your Christmas Runs.. your nuyen, you'll earn it!"