‘Twas the Night before Yoiul

‘Twas the night before Yoiul, when all through the chain
Not a core probe was stirring as I mashed d-scan in vain;
My Proteus smart-bombs were heated with care,
In hopes that a newbro soon would be there.

My alts were cloaked up all safe at a spot;
While I dreamed of day-trippers or even a bot;
With Die Hard on one screen and a lap full of cat,
I decided to get out the Domis and rat.

When suddenly a new sig popped up into view,
And I mashed d-scan again to see what came through.
XMS-021 was the new sig on my list,
I narrowed my d-scan and gnawed on my fist.

A heron appeared on my scan, and then probes,
It warped to safe and I focused my lobes.
I scanned down the hole in a quick single pass,
Then warped to it at range to check out the mass.

I paused for a moment to admire the view,
Then suddenly not only one Praxis, but two!
They each warped to their own site launching cruises at range,
They were not even remote-rep, how retro and strange!

I pinged on corp comms for bombers all matched,
As I hurried to execute the plan I just hatched.
We warped bombers to pings, then anchored two bubbles,
Hoping like heck it was all worth the trouble.

I decloaked the Proteus and saw with delight,
That the Praxii aligned and prepared to take flight.
After eons they warped away straight to the hole,
Where they piled up nicely – exactly my goal!

We decloaked the bombers and aligned them the same,
I giggled on comms as I called each by name:
“Launch, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
Launch, Comet! and, Cupid! and, Donner NOT Blitzen!”

Let fly seven bombs and warp off to a spot!
Or don’t, and launch torps, but be sure they are hot!
The bombs hit their target, and Blitzen held fire,
Both Praxii dissolved into loot and charred wire.

The fits – they were blingy, and the pods were as well,
The loot fairy said “Yes” and the killmails were swell.
With virtual high-fives, we looted the wrecks,
We scooped blue loot and A-types and exchanged lots of keks.

A poll popped on Discord – what should we do,
The newbros in Praxii are feeling so blue.
They aren’t salty at all, but we know how it goes,
When you lose ships and loot it’s true that it blows.

The Heron is still here, trapped in our hole,
Which gives birth to a new plan, and a new content goal:
One vee one in the bubble, two Herons alone,
Ships to the death, but no harm to the clones.

The gauntlet is thrown, and the Chad takes the fight,
This is the way, it is awesome and right.
The Herons warp in to the well bubbled zone,
The scout has no weapons, but overheats drones.

Railguns and rockets make quick work of the scout,
But he gives “gf” in local as he takes the hole out.
I move a Praxis and Skin Crate into my Astero,
And warp to the hole now wobb’ly and narrow.

I splash into to their hole and jet-can the crate,
Happy to gift it after this, our first date.
Their rollers warp in as I rename the can right:
“Happy Christmas to all, and thanks for gud fites!”

Image used by permission of Rixx Javix