Thread: /Sleighbells Ring, are you listening?/ - Me and Seven-

Funny how things worked out. It was the 24th of December, eight o'clock at night, and he was standing on the sidewalk in the suburbs, staring at the front of a house in a neighbourhood he hadn't been in for years. He had a bow on his hat. And a puppy in his shirt. It wriggled and had a cold nose, which it kept insistently shoving against his neck. He was supposed to be working , like he had done every year before this. He had never not been working on Christmas eve, but this year he had been specifically instructed not to come back until the 26th. It had gone like this It was Christmas Eve and the toy shop was alive small figures moved at frenzied paces, tiny hands deftly assembled individually painted dolls, streams of vivid silk and ribbon were strewn around the rooms from where an elf or two had gotten just a little too into the Christmas spirit, and intricate little train sets made their test runs around the entire shop, following tracks that were extended every year by an obsessive hand. In passing, said obsessive hand was currently plucking a train off the tracks as it ended its run, giving it a quick inspection, adjusting the tiny engine before setting it off on a second journey, knowing it was the little engine that could. With that done, Bernard continued on his way through the shop, deftly stepping over a runaway toy car and simultaneously tugging away ribbon that had managed to find its way onto his chest in one hand, the Head Elf held a box of letters and in the other, a steaming cup of cocoa it was a precarious balance, but he had it down to a science after all of these years. Balance. Co-ordination. Focus. Keys to surviving Santa's workshop on Christmas Eve - he would know, he had done it for more than a millennium. A wooden airplane hit Bernard square between the eyes, causing him to briefly stop in his track and stand in place, staring down at the toy as its little motor sputtered a few times. Also a sense of humour. That was important too. Bernard had one, just - sometimes he got a little too focused and sort of left it in his other beret. The Big Guy, of course, had noticed. He'd seen in in the past years - maybe it was just that Bernard had a more stern work ethic, but it seemed less like the head elf was enjoying his job and more like he was just going through the motions. Santa could remember a time when Bernard had been the one to cheer everyone up with well-timed sarcasm and a cheeky smile and he could fondly recall the head elf using his particular brand of humour to cheer up Charlie time and again. It wasn't that Bernard was miserable - he just didn't look that happy , either. Not while all of the others were smiling and laughing, dancing and throwing things around - the way they were supposed to. That was how Christmas was meant to look. Bernard almost seemed glum - it just wasn't right. Of course, being who he was, Santa knew a solution would come along - he knew it the moment he saw the letter, covered in silver snowflakes. You should slow down a little. Santa said, and Bernard gave him a look of alarm. Slow down? Bernard repeated, lifting his eyebrows high, It's Christmas eve, big guy, and we've got a shop filled with thousands of tiny, hyperactive people that were given an endless supply of sugary drinks. Santa grinned. Yeah - It's great, isn't it? Bernard stared at him for a moment, and then his mouth tilted upwards on one side in a lopsided smile - it was something of a relief to witness. Yeah. Bernard admitted, pushing the mug of cocoa into Santa's hand before setting down the box of letters, But, look, listen. There's a lot to do - There is. Santa agreed, adding wryly, Lots. And you've already covered most of it by not sleeping for a week. I slept. On a box of toy soldiers. Hey, I didn't hear them complain. Bernard countered, and then cocked his head to the side to crack his neck, a reminder of the fact that elven spines aren't excluded from pain, We've got another box of letters coming in from Florida turns out the local elves made a mistake and missed sending a bag of them. Figures they would be the state to miscount. Anyways - you had Laurel send for me? Santa nodded, She gave you something, didn't she? he asked, and Bernard patted around himself for a moment before reaching for his hat, Did you read it? No, I got kind of side tracked Leisl sort of set one of the mini villages on fire with a gingerbread scented candle. It was chaos, Santa, little burning houses. The tiny well didn't provide enough water for the little rubber villagers they were encased in waxy, delicious-smelling terror. Bernard said, pulling the little envelope out from under his beret it had been carefully wrapped in cloth, which the head elf unwound he turned the envelope over in his hands a few times, giving Santa a surreptitious look. Santa waved a hand, encouraging him, so Bernard opened the letter cautiously and read it. Then he read it again. The third time, his brow creased and a distinct frown appeared on the elf's face. I've got a job for you. Santa said pointedly, smiling in a way that made Bernard question the big guy's sanity just a little. That was how it had happened. Bernard had, of course, argued and debated and questioned his way through the whole process as a silk bow was slapped onto his hat by Santa and a dog was shoved down his sweater by Laurel. He had protested that he had to be around on Christmas Eve Santa had countered that they would do alright, and he could use a vacation. Bernard didn't have the chance to argue with that one, which was alright, because he didn't actually have a comeback. He did feel a bit stupid, though, when he found himself suddenly sitting in a pile of snow in the suburbs with a child standing on the front lawn across from him, gaping. Awkwardly, Bernard got to his feet and did his best to act natural - it was harder than it looked, because the kid didn't stop staring until the head elf made his way up the driveway of the house and obscured himself in the shadows of the columns. And, for a long time, he stood by the door, staring at it. He'd never made a house call before, not since coming by to help Santa out with Charlie years ago. In fact, he hadn't left the North Pole much since the Jack Frost thing. But it wasn't like he was obsessed with work or anything. Really. He wasn't. Bernard was jerked out of his reverie when the puppy began to gnaw on his neck like a tiny vampire, so he pulled it out of his sweater and held the wriggling thing to his chest, giving the door another hard look. He probably should have knocked instead of just walking through it, but he didn't encounter a lot of doors he forgot that they were supposed to be opened. The inside of the house was - big. It was also dark and empty, soundless in a cold way - though, there was a distant orange glow that he automatically knew came from a fire place. So he set the puppy down onto the floor, giving it a pat on the rear to encourage it onwards - but instead, it just sat down and rolled over onto its back, staring at him with enormous chameleon-like eyes. No, Bernard said, Go that way. Go towards the light. The puppy burped at him, and he put his face in his palm. Curtis must have picked you out. Bernard groused, moving to pick up the dog - of course, that was when it chose to lunge and attach itself to his jacket sleeve via its sharp little teeth, clinging on like velcro and refusing to release its hold. Bernard, made an attempt to tug the dog off of him, but it let out a non-threatening, playful growl of protest and shook its little head from side to side. Desperately trying to be quiet, the elf moved down the hallway while trying to get the dog off, giving surreptitious glances towards the light from time to time, maybe just a little too distracted for his own good. That was around the time where he ran into the dinner table, fell over a chair, and ended up sprawled out in the doorway, where he considered that maybe he did need a vacation.