MCYT Advent

The New Years celebration had been months ago. Warm lights and genuine smiles lighting up a room, and perhaps a few too many drinks going around than what was strictly necessary.

If you were to ask anyone who was in attendance, you might get a chuckle at some forgotten joke. Maybe a shake of a head and too-quick, "couldn't tell ya." Many people couldn't seem to remember. A few people preferred, "you just had to be there." Telltale signs of a perfect party.

If you’d as Bdubs how it went, he would get loud, rambling about the awfully booming music and Etho. Always Etho. When didn't Bdubs whine about Etho? And was so different about this time that made his cheeks so red?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64344544/chapters/165182023

Martyn's face would flush a firey red. He'd mumble some awkward excuse about how many people he had to deal with, and how strong the drinks were, and how tired he was at midnight, but one sneaking glance at Ren would say the words he couldn't.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64344544/chapters/165178783

Scott would laugh, because of course he would. He would mention how, despite being the first of such holiday get-together she'd hosted, it was still her best. Then, like you were glass, he'd begin to discuss how to make it better for next year. Jimmy, always by his husband's side, would chime in with details here and there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64374604

Lizzie would shake her head and put a finger to her lips, shushing any questions with a twinkle in her eye. Then, hand in Joel's, they'd walk away together.

Scar would display his best salesman smile and tell you how amazing he looked in his lovely Christmas attire, because a different holiday doesn't mean he can't look great, and give you a teasing wink. Does he even remember what he did?

Ren would throw his hands in the air, a dramatic display of storytelling as he recounts everything in great detail. All the way until the countdown, where he grows quiet and insists the rest is a secret.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64344544/chapters/165181348

Impulse knocks on the wooden door with one hand, caught in a balancing act with multiple wrapped gifts in the other. He nearly falls over when the door opens to reveal a pesky bird. 

“Impulse!”

“Hi G!” Impulse fixes his grip on the presents and steps inside the house, Grian giving him space. “Am I late?”

The shorter man shakes his head. “Nope. Everyone else is just early.”

He carefully slips his shoes off and follows Grian to the living room, his large red wing almost knocking his gift tower over twice. Quiet Christmas music plays behind lots of voices, all happy and filled with cheer. The room has one big tree in the corner decorated with homemade ornaments, below filled with wrapped boxes. 

“Impulse is here!” Grian announces, making everyone’s heads snap towards the two. It makes Impulse self conscious but he ignores the feeling in favor of getting his presents out of his arms. 

The hermits greet him as he passes by with smiles. It warms his heart to see everyone so happy. 

Kneeling down, he finally starts carefully setting his own gifts with the rest of them. Tango appears next to him and begins helping. Impulse turns to look at the blaze. “Where’s Skizz? Is he late?”

Tango raises an eyebrow. “He’s in the kitchen. Why?”

“Just wanted to know.” Impulse turns his focus back to sorting out his presents, pretending the blush on his cheeks is from the lighting. 

Rolling his eyes, Tango places the last gift and stands back up. “Mhm, sure.” 

He walks away before Impulse can defend himself. He just wants to know where his buddy is! That’s not a crime!

Despite Tango’s teasing, Impulse gets up and walks towards the kitchen. Unfortunately, he gets stopped along the way. “Impy!”

Gem appears in front of him, blocking the exit. “Hi! Merry Christmas!” She wraps her arms around him in a tight hug that the demon gladly reciprocates. He laughs at her antics. “This way! Pearl and I made soup you have to try!”

Impulse allows himself to be dragged to another room, pretending to be annoyed. He can survive a little longer without Skizz, and besides, he likes soup. 

“Impulse! C’mere, you’re gonna like this soup.” Pearl greets him with a spoonful of the liquid shoved in his face. He tastes it with no further complaints and makes a small noise of approval. 

Swallowing, Impulse smiles. “This is good! You two really made this?”

Both girls nod excitedly and give each other a high five. “Hell yeah we did!” Gem shouts, then is shushed by Pearl. 

He snorts at the two, tail swaying back and forth. “How long did it take to make this?” Impulse asks, attempting to take the spoon for another sip but gets whacked by Pearl. 

“Longer than it should have!” Gem says proudly. She also whacks Impulse, giggling. 

“Hey!” He glares at them, though there’s no actual heat behind it. 

Pearl taps him on the head with the spoon. “No more until it’s dinner time, mate!” She puts a lid over the container, successfully preventing anymore soup theft.

Impulse rolls his eyes playfully. “Fine. I’ve gotta go talk to Skizz anyway.”

Gem gives Pearl some kind of look with a hidden message that she seems to understand, Pearl then scurrying off without any warning. Impulse is about to ask what that was about when he’s interrupted. “How has your day been?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh… fine?”

“Good, good. That’s good.” Gem nods slowly. He’s very confused by the sudden change in demeanor but is interrupted yet again before he can ask. 

“Impulse!”

Turning around, he knows that voice before he even sees the speaker. A masked man with white hair stands in the doorway, holding what looks to be a small blue lightbulb; the kind that goes with Christmas lights. 

“Hi Etho,” Impulse waves, “What’s up buddy?”

The man awkwardly shuffles closer. “We broke the tree and need you to fix it.”

Impulse eyes him suspiciously. Etho’s good at redstone, why can’t he do it himself?

“Why can’t you do it yourself?”

Etho looks behind him where Gem is, who he can hear moving around behind him. “Uhh… stumped. We’re stumped, me and Zed, I mean.”

“Okay?” He doesn’t understand why two perfectly capable redstoners can’t fix a simple lightbulb, but who is he to judge? Maybe the stress of the holidays has been getting to them. “Lead the way.”

He follows the man down a hallway back to the living room, where Zed stands impatiently tapping his foot next to the tree. He looks relieved when he spots the two, smiling. “Finally! We don’t have all day, y’know!” The sheep hybrid points at the tree, “Fix it, Impulse!”

Impulse stands there, examining the string of lights. “Where exactly is it broken?” 

There doesn’t seem to be anywhere missing a functioning bulb, at least not to Impulse’s eye. Zed huffs and pushes down one of the branches, pointing to a spot where a bulb should be that instead only has a few small wires. “Right here!”

“How badly do you need this fixed? Nobody will notice. This isn’t even your house.”

“Very badly.” Zed says, Etho nodding alongside him. Impulse struggles to believe they’re being serious, but they don’t lighten up on it (pun intended) so he gets to work. 

Etho hands him the small blue bulb before running off to void knows where. Zed watches him work intensely, not taking his eyes off the demon for a second. It’s very easy to fix, Impulse doing so rather quickly. 

“You guys really were stumped on that?”

“Yes.” Zed leans in, inspecting his work. “Looks good to me!”

“No problem.” Impulse says, attempting a smile. “Have you seen Skizz? I haven’t gotten a chance to say hi to him yet.”

Zed’s face droops, eyes widening. “Uhh- nope! Not at all! Who’s Skizz?”

Impulse squints at the man, trying to figure out what’s going on. Zed waves an arm at someone behind him, Impulse turning around to see Scar. Scar looks just as confused as Impulse feels. 

“Scar! Didn’t you need help with something?” Zed asks. 

“No?” Scar leans on his cane, raising an eyebrow. 

“Y’know the… thing?” Zed’s voice is strained, like he’s trying to telepathically tell Scar something. Everything just keeps getting more confusing for Impulse. 

Scar takes a moment to think before he lights up with realization. “Why, yes, of course! How could I forget? Impulse, follow me.”

He looks back at Zed who lightly pushes him towards Scar with a sly smile; Impulse taking that as his cue to leave. He follows Scar down a different hallway, leading into a room covered in discarded wrapping paper and general Christmas mess. 

“You see, I’m trying to wrap this gift for Mumbo, but I just can’t get it!” Scar gestures to a cardboard box sitting on a table with his cane, “You’re good at this stuff!”

“I guess so?” Impulse steps up to the box. It seems normal, so he’s unsure why it would be giving Scar so much trouble, considering the man always goes all out with Christmas. Everything about this evening has just been more and more confusing to Impulse and he doesn’t like it. “What wrapping paper do you want me to use?”

Scar tosses him a roll of red wrapping paper with a multitude of cats as its pattern. 

“How’s the party been so far? I thought I got here on time, but everyone seems to have gotten here early.”

Impulse attempts to make small talk as he measures out how much of the paper he’ll need. He’s about to ask Scar for scissors to cut it but he is already holding out a hand with the tool. Impulse takes the scissors as Scar starts to speak. “It’s been very good! Lots of yummy food, lots of holiday cheer!”

Beginning to fold the wrapping paper, Impulse glances up at Scar. “That’s good. Oh yeah- Skizz helped with the food, didn’t he?”

“Uh- well yes, he did!” Scar’s voice suddenly comes out strained, “Yes, he’s a good cook for sure.”

Impulse is handed tape before he can even ask for it. “What’s up with Skizz, anyway?” He asks, “I can’t seem to get a hold of him tonight.”

“Nothing, nothing! You know Skizz, always talking to everyone, that rapscallion.” Scar chuckles nervously, waving his hand in Impulse’s peripheral vision. 

What is up with everyone today?

“…Sure.” Impulse tapes down the final piece, completing the job. He hands Scar the now wrapped box and sets the scissors in a drawer along with the tape. “You’re all set, buddy.”

Scar takes the gift with one hand, the other gripping his cane. “Now, I’m gonna go find Skizz.”

The man’s face drops, eyes growing wider than usual. He quickly shuffles over to block the exit, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

“Nope! Uh, Cleo- Cleo needs you. So just wait here while I get her! Gotta go bye!” Scar speeds off, leaving Impulse standing there dumbfounded. He didn’t even get a chance to ask why before Scar was gone. Why would Cleo need him?

He’s starting to get a little annoyed by all of this strange behavior. All he wants to do is talk to his buddy Skizz, is that too much to ask? 

Speaking of Skizz, Impulse notices a pattern; the hermits start acting odd whenever he mentions the angel or going to find him. Has this got something to do with him? Did something happen to him?

This is awful for his anxiety. 

Thoughts of everything that could be wrong speed through his mind. Is it all just a bunch of coincidences, or had Skizz decided he hates Impulse and doesn’t want to see him ever again, therefore recruiting the others to keep them separated? If once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, what does that make four times?

Impulse takes a deep breath. Worrying will not give him an answer. 

Once Cleo gets here, he’ll ask them what’s been going on. She probably just needs help with some miniscule problem anyways. 

As if on cue, the zombie appears in the doorway. 

“Impulse! Hi!” Cleo’s voice is high pitched and excited as she throws herself at the demon for a hug that he happily returns. They pull away a few seconds after, Impulse speaking first. 

“What do you need?”

“I have a surprise for you.” She grins mischievously, the look in her eyes the same as when she’s scheming. 

Raising an eyebrow, Impulse eyes her. “What shenanigans have you been up to?”

They roll their eyes and pull a bandana out of their pocket. “Nothing. Now, put this on.” Cleo reaches up to start wrapping it around his eyes before Impulse has a chance to respond to that. He takes a step back, dodging them. 

“Um, why?”

She narrows her eyes. “It’s a surprise, you gotta put it on.”

Impulse sighs, relenting. This night has already been odd, what’s one more strange event? “Fine. If you… dunk water on me or something, I’ll ground you!”

He lets Cleo wrap the blindfold around his eyes, making his world dark. She links their elbows together and starts to lead him out of the room and down the hallway, making twists and turns that get Impulse completely disoriented. “You can’t ground me, you’re not my dad!”

“I’ll find a way.” Impulse mumbles under his breath, huffing and puffing. 

The zombie chuckles in reply. The two continue going to who knows where for a little longer before Cleo abruptly stops. 

“Alright, you stay here. And don’t take the blindfold off until I’m back!” They unlink arms, Cleo ignoring all protests and running away. Impulse stands there, contemplating taking off the bandana but deciding against it. 

A small draft flows through the room, making him shiver. 

Is the floor going to open up and drop him somewhere? Are the walls going to squish him into a pancake? Are they going to murder him?

He hears footsteps arriving from somewhere near, cutting his spiraling thoughts off. Cleo’s voice echoes towards him. “Can’t you walk like a normal person?”

“No! That would be lame. Do you think I’m lame, Clebert?”

That voice. 

The voice he’s been trying to get to all evening, the voice of an angel. Literally, an angel. Skizz.

Now that he knows who it is, he can make sense of the footsteps. The steps he assumes to be Skizz’s are the staggered ones, fumbling around like he’s going to tip over at any moment, which is likely. He can hear Cleo guiding the man over right in front of himself. “Yes, very.”

Skizz gasps, offended. “I’ll have you know I’m the least lame person here! Ow! Watch the wings!” Something bangs against the wall, which Impulse assumes is the wing Skizz is referring to. 

“I am. Skizz, you stand here.”

Impulse turns his head to where he guesses Cleo is. “Why are we here?”

“Impulse!” Skizz shouts excitedly, his smile evident in his words despite Impulse’s inability to see it himself. 

“Hi, buddy.”

“Where are you?” He hears the angel fumbling around, then a smack. 

“Hands to yourself!” Cleo speaks with annoyance clear in her tone. “Now, I’m leaving you two here. In thirty seconds you two will take off your blindfolds and look up, got it?”

Impulse nods. He’d guess that Skizz is probably giving the zombie a salut. “Yes ma’am!”

“Alright. Time starts now!”

Cleo’s footsteps fade away quickly, leaving only Impulse and Skizz. He’s tempted to take off the blindfold now, but Skizz stops him before he even gets the chance to. “Don’t you take that blindfold off yet! I know you’re thinking about it, Dippledop.”

“Whatever.” Impulse rolls his eyes with a huff. “Do you know why we’ve been dragged here against our wills?”

“Nope! Seems like we’ve both been kidnapped.”

“Dang it. Has everyone been acting strange to you too?” Impulse is pretty sure he’s facing Skizz. He has no idea which way he was looking when Cleo originally placed him here. 

Skizz shakes his wings out, Impulse able to tell from the wind they cause. “Yes! Man, I thought I was going crazy! I kept asking where you were but they just kept dodging the question or changing the subject.”

Impulse chuckles in solidarity. “Yeah, they kept making me fix problems that should’ve been simple for them to fix.”

“These guys are weird, man.”

“But you love ‘em!” Impulse reaches out and waves his arm around in an attempt to find Skizz. When he finally reaches the angel, he makes sure to give him a big punch. “Speaking of them, do you think it’s been thirty seconds?”

He can hear Skizz shrug with a hum. “I dunno, I haven’t been counting.”

“How about we take them off on the count of three?”

“On three or after three?”

“Uh… after?”

“Alright. One, two… three!”

Impulse carefully removes his own bandana, making sure to not damage it. Skizz, on the other hand, tears it off with no care for its well being. He winces at the angel's disregard but doesn’t bother stopping him. 

Blinking to adjust his eyes, Impulse takes a look at their surroundings. They’re in a dimly lit hallway with minimal Christmas decor scattered around, small white fairy lights lining the bottom of the walls on either side. The two are standing under a door frame that juts out slightly from the rest of the wall. 

Skizz smiles at him, filling Impulse’s chest with warmth. “Good to see you, buddy!”

“You too. Cleo said to look up, right?” Impulse laughs quietly. He notices Skizz’s wings have red and green lights strung around them, adding to the holiday feel. 

“Mhm!” Skizz nods. They both look up in sync.

A small cluster of green hangs just above them, right in the middle. A red ribbon is tied into a bow, holding the leaves together. 

Impulse’s heart immediately beats faster. 

Mistletoe.

Of course it’s mistletoe.

Why did he trust the hermits? All they do is meddle! 

Surely his small, miniscule, tiny crush wasn’t that noticeable. 

“Impulse?”

He looks back down, meeting Skizz’s eyes. He is absolutely done for. 

The angel has a curious look, filled with concern and love and everything that makes butterflies start a rebellion in his stomach. His wings twitch slightly, a nervous tick Impulse has noticed he does. He can feel his own tail start swaying back and forth quicker. 

“Y- yeah?” He squeaks out, sounding much less confident than he had hoped. 

Skizz looks him up and down, studying him. “We don’t- we don’t have to, if you don’t want.” 

Impulse takes a moment to contemplate. Of course he wants to kiss Skizz, for void’s sake. But does Skizz want to as well? What if Skizz is uncomfortable? What if he gets weirded out, or-

A warm hand rests on his shoulder, making the demon jump. 

“Stop thinking so much.”

“Sorry,” Impulse attempts to swallow his nerves, “Yes. I mean, if you also want to, because you don’t have to! I just-“

His nervous rambling is cut off by lips on his own. 

He freezes for a few seconds before relaxing. Skizz’s lips are chapped, but feel like heaven. His eyes close as Impulse allows himself to get lost in the moment. He fidgets for a moment, unsure what to do with his hands, but Skizz already has that covered. 

The hand that was on his shoulder slides up to cup his cheek, making Impulse shudder. Skizz’s other hand places itself lightly on his waist and draws him closer. 

Impulse wraps his arms around Skizz’s neck, lightly brushing the small feathers that reside there, making the man shiver. One good thing about kissing his best friend: he knows what Skizz likes. 

Skizz has always been a fan of physical touch, while Impulse not so much. Though any touch from Skizz never seems to bother him. He runs his hands through the feathers again, making the angel press into Impulse even further. Impulse smiles against Skizz’s lips, now chest to chest. 

His tail mindlessly curls itself around Skizz’s ankle, making sure he can’t get away. Although he doubts the man would try. 

The two part for a moment to catch their breaths, staring at each other through half lidded eyes. 

White encloses the two in their own world, red and green light bouncing off the feathers and decorating Skizz in a glow. It makes him look even more ethereal than he already does. 

He smiles, and Impulse smirks back. 

Skizz’s thumb rubs back and forth against his cheek, Impulse well aware he must be blushing bright pink at this point. He gets up on his toes to give the angel another kiss, this one much quicker but still filled with love and adoration. 

Sighing happily, Skizz rests his forehead against Impulse’s. They get lost in each other’s eyes, absorbed in a world of their own. 

They start to sway back and forth lightly. Impulse whispers, not wanting to break the atmosphere. “We’re getting them back for this, right?”

“Of course. They can’t get away with their shenanigans!” Skizz giggles, flicking one of his wings towards the hallway Cleo had disappeared in. One of the green bulbs nearly falls off, but Impulse catches it and nestles it back into the feathers. 

Impulse kisses the side of Skizz’s mouth quickly. “Oh, they won’t.”

The angel narrows his eyes playfully before dragging Impulse into yet another kiss. The demon doesn’t fight it. 

—

Peeking in from a window, multiple hermits gather. They watch what goes down, Gem taking a few pictures of the two in blindfolds for the future. 

“It’s cold out here!” Tango whines, shivering. 

“Then leave!” Pearl sighs, exasperated. “You’re a blaze, mate, you should be fine!”

Tango frowns. “I’m sensitive to the cold…”

Zed shushes them all. “Look! It’s happening!” He points at the window, all heads immediately whipping towards the scene. Skizz and Impulse are both looking up, finally spotting the mistletoe. 

“Do you guys think they’ll be mad we schemed against them?” Mumbo asks, wrapped in Grian’s wing with Scar enveloped by the other. 

Rolling their eyes, Cleo waves at them all. “We didn’t scheme! We helped! They’ll thank us for this.”

“Their pining was getting to wet cat levels.” 

Etho speaks up from behind them, making just about everyone in the group jump. 

“When did you get out here? You just gave me a heart attack!” Grian screeches, clutching his imaginary pearls. Etho only shrugs in reply. 

The bickering continues, only stopping when Gem shushes them all. Everyone cheers once the two idiots inside kiss, Grian gagging at the display of affection. Scar gives the bird a smack. “Look, our dads are in love!”

Gem takes another picture, sending it to the hermit group chat. 

 Left No Crumbs

Flurries of white specks fell from the void above. The frigid temperatures had teeth sharp enough to bite through the thickness of his coat and puncture his skin, while each breath produced a puff of fog. He trudged through dense snow, arms quivering while staggered street lights pop on as the sun sinks below the horizon. His face was numb when he finally arrived at the door of Lizzie and Joel’s house, where all the Lifers had decided to gather before Christmas. They wanted to craft, help decorate, and just spend time together in the off-season, since some of them would be busy during the holiday and some were going out of town.

After a simple knock, the door swung open to a welcoming expression. Lizzie. She was dressed in a purple sweater. “BigB! You made it!” Catching his gaze on her outfit, she stretched the sweater before her. The long-sleeve contained an abstract silhouette of a small person with wings. Various colored, mini pom poms were glued around it, and the whole thing was overly garnished with glitter. “What do you think? Pretty ugly right? It’s supposed to be an angel.” She stepped aside to let him in.

It did look hideous, but something about the placement of the fuzzy balls reminded BigB of flowers, and with it, past memories. “It looks more like a fairy to me.” He stepped past her, hanging his coat with the pile of others on the hooks by the door. Swinging around, he gestured to his own sweater. “What do you think of mine? Eh…? Eh…?”

His green sweater held drawn strings of multicolored lights across it and a melted cookie with a wonky face at its center. “Oh… it’s wonderful!” Lizzie exaggerated, gaining a laugh from BigB. Lizzie waved a hand. “The rest of them are in here.” She guided him through the house and into a conjoined dining and living room filled with laughter, bickering, light music, and familiar faces. The refreshing scent of pine danced in the air, along with a faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla.

“BigB!” numerous voices welcomed, then returned to their activities.

Grian, Scar, Etho, and Bdubs were circled around a board game on the living room floor. Behind them was an L-shaped couch that faced a fireplace and an empty pine tree. Cleo sat cross-legged on the couch, munching on a bowl of popcorn while watching Martyn, Ren, Scott, and Jimmy sorted through ornaments from a tote box on each side of the pine and placing them on a small table. A short step ladder also rested beside the tree for later decorating of the top. Behind them all stood a wooden dining table where Gem, Pearl, Impulse, Skizz, Tango, and Mumbo played various games, such as Jenga and Uno.

“Now if you’ll excuse me…” Lizzie began. “I must attend to the-”

“Cookies?” BigB finished with the peak of his brow.

“How’d you know?”

Tapping his nose, BigB jokingly responded, “My nose can smell cookies from miles away.”

Lizzie laughed as she exited the room, leaving BigB in the room of growing chaos. Martyn was the first to call him over, “Hey BigB! Want to help us decorate the tree?”

“Sure!”

Grian exchanged a smile with BigB as he passed the group on the floor. Scar flung Grian a side eye, while popping a small peppermint candy cane into his mouth, “Well, Grian? Make your next move, carefully.”

“This game is too long,” Grian complained, tossing a pair of dice on the Monopoly board and moving his metallic hat across its properties.

Scar smiled all too brightly, leaning towards him with a wink, “But we can finally have a monopoly.”

“What makes you think this will turn out any different than our previous attempts?” Grian shot back.

Lizzie re-entered the room with a large plate of cookies. She crossed the loud space, placing the dish on a small table that sat on the border of both rooms. “Excuse me everyone!” Lizzie attempted through the cacophony of voices. “Excuse me!” She waited till all heads turned to her, most of them did. “Do not eat the cookies until I get back!”

“You got it!” Martyn shouted from beside the tree. She nodded towards him and escaped the room.

On the floor, Scar was next to move his pawn across the Monopoly board when he landed on a sensitive space: Liverpool St. Station. “I think I’ll purchase this railroad,” he announced, placing his money in the bank.

“NO!” Bdubs screamed. “YOU CAN’T HAVE THAT TRAIN! THAT’S MINE!”

“Now Bdubs, that’s not how business works,” Scar crossed his arms with the shake of his head.

“HOW COULD YOU! THAT WAS MY ONLY PURPOSE IN THIS GAME! I WANTED ALL THE TRAINS!”

“So how about,” Etho interjected. “I make you a deal, Scar.”

Scar’s brows raised at the word “deal” as he scooted a little closer. “I’m listening…”

Grian perked up, “No, Etho. Don’t make a deal with him. He’ll find some way to scam you.”

Scar sifted through his property cards. “Now Grian, Etho wants to make a deal. Let the man speak.”

“I’ll trade you Vine Street if you give Bdubs his last railroad,” Etho proposed.

“Well, you see, Liverpool St. Station costs more than Vine Street. However, if you throw in Marlborough Street, we have a deal.”

“Then you’ll have all three orange properties.”

“Those are my terms.” Scar shrugged with a crafty smile.

“Alright, give Bdubs Liverpool St. Station, give me The Angel Islington, and I’ll give you both Vine Street and Marlborough Street.” Etho finalized.

Scar scratched his chin before extending his palm towards Etho. “Deal.” They shook hands, then exchanged cards.

Upon receiving his, Bdubs illuminated, almost bouncing as his grin widened. “THANK YOU ETHO!” He threw his arms around the man. “ISN’T HE JUST THE BEST!” Etho glanced away, offering no change in expression.

Joel entered the room and passed them with a tray of steaming mugs and a bag of marshmallows. Bdubs perked up, like a dog at the sound of his favorite toy. “IS THAT HOT CHOCOLATE!” His head snapped to Etho, locking gaze. “ETHO, YOU WANT ONE?” Etho shrugged. “I’LL TAKE THAT AS A YES!” Bdubs jumped to his feet and raced after the hot chocolate.

Joel set the tray on the dining table and called out for the room to hear, “Hot chocolate has arrived!”

Gem sprang to her feet, abandoning her Uno match with Pearl. As she did so, her knee knocked into the table, collapsing the intense game of Jenga beside her and causing an eruption of complaints. “Sorry guys,” she shrugged. “Hot chocolate.” Skizz stood next, followed by Tango. Skizz grabbed a second mug for Impulse while Tango got one for Mumbo.

“Hey Joel!” Ren called from across the room, positioned beside the tree.

“Yea?” Joel swung around to face him.

“We got the lights on, but do you have a piece for the top?”

Joel put a finger to his chin. “No, I don’t believe so.”

From the floor, Grian stood, puffing out his chest confidently. “Make way everyone, for I am the star!”

A handful of chuckles emitted from multiple people, while Martyn playfully responded, “Oh yeah? Then what are you doing on the floor? You’re supposed to be in the tree!”

“You’re not shiny either,” Jimmy added.

“Just watch, I’ll show off my brilliance!” Grain said, walking to a box by the pine, pulling out a strand of lights, and entangling himself in them.

Jimmy giggled, “What are you doing?”

Determined, Grain ignored him, hiding the step ladder behind the tree and ascending it. When his knees appeared above the tree, he threw his arms in opposite directions and widened his stance as far as the ladder allowed, assuming the shape of a star.

“Quick, someone plug him in!” Martyn shouted.

Joel raced to the back of the tree, grabbing an extension cord on the way. He took the plug dangling off Grian, connected it to his cord, and inserted it into an outlet—cueing a mixture of awes and laughter—and darted to the front.

“How do I look?” Grian asked, wrapped unevenly in dazzling white lights.

“Stunning!” Mumbo chuckled from the crowd of laughter that had gathered around the base of the tree to witness Grian’s shenanigans.

“Well, the tree is not going to decorate itself,” Grian urged light-heartedly.

A handful of people grabbed ornaments and placed them on the tree. Keeping his arms extended, Grian carefully repositioned himself, balancing on one leg and extending the other. For a split second, Jimmy thought he saw wings in Grian’s shadow, but he guessed it must have been the trick of the light. He watched as Martyn nearly placed a shiny red ornament on the tree when Grian glanced down and whispered, “Not right there…”

Martyn playfully said, “Oh why, all seeing one?”

Grian responded, “There’s too much red there, move it someplace else.”

The laughter continued until Tango emitted a loud and unsettling gasp. A cold breeze whisked through the room, snuffing out the only candle on the dining table. Everyone fell silent, turning to face Tango as the crackling fire laughed from the hearth. “The cookies are gone!”

“What!” Joel shoved his way past the crowd to find an empty plate on the small table that Lizzie had left them on. He placed his hands on his hips and faced the group. “Alright, who ate my wife’s cookies?”

Everyone glanced towards each other, but no one responded.

Grian stepped forth, clearing his throat. “Ahem, it looks like this calls for…”  he fisted his hands before his chest, securing a brown trench coat around his shoulders, a Deerstalker hat on his head, and straightened the glasses on his face. Removing a magnifying glass from an inside coat pocket, he threw it into the air. “An investigation!”

Jimmy rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times. Since when did Grian get a coat? Let alone down from the tree and untangled from the lights so quickly? He glanced around, but no one questioned it except for Mumbo who giggled, “Nice magnifying glass.”

Grian smiled, stepping beside Joel. “Alright. No one leaves this room until we find the perpetrator. Now… who’s got information regarding this incident?”

“PEARL WAS CLOSEST!” Bdubs exploded.

Pearl threw her hands up in defense, “Yeah, like I ate all those cookies in one go.”

“So there’s an accomplice…” Giran thought aloud, tapping his chin. “Maybe multiple.”

“It’s probably BigB,” Ren commented.

Everyone turned around, staring at BigB in his cookie sweater. He stared back at them, narrowing his eyes. “That’s just cold.”

“Skizz is looking pretty guilty right now,” Cleo chuckled from somewhere in the group. The crowd turned to Skizz. Fidgeting his fingers, his eyes widened as he glanced at all the staring faces.

“Okay! Everyone sit on the couch!” Grian instructed. People squeezed themselves onto the large couch, some sitting on the floor while others sat on the arms of the couch. Grian pulled over a wooden chair from the dining room and placed it in front for all to see. “Pearl you’re first, come sit in the chair.”

“Uh, okay.” She rose from the floor and sat in the chair. Joel flipped the light switches, transforming the room into a void where only one ceiling light cast a ray over the chair Pearl sat in, and the wavering light from the fireplace dimly illuminated the rest of the crew gathered on the couch.

“So,” Grian began. “What were you doing when Lizzie delivered the cookies?”

“Playing Uno with Scott and Cleo.”

“And then what happened?”

“Well, Scott went back to help decorate the tree and Cleo left to refill her snack.”

“Did you see either of them take a cookie?”

“Nope. Although, I continued playing Uno with Gem, so I didn’t see them afterwards.”

“Did either of you leave the table after that?” Grian turned his back to her.

“Yea, I went to the bathroom after Joel came with hot chocolate.”

Grian whipped around, throwing a finger at her. “Ah ha!”

“Please don’t start that again,” Martyn teased from the couch.

“But I didn’t take a cookie,” Pearl defended. “I came back and sat on the couch with Cleo and Gem.”

“Hmmm…” Grian rubbed a finger under his chin. “Then I call Cleo to the chair.”

~ ~ ~

“So,” Grian stood before the chair, pushing up his glasses. “What did you do after Scott left for the tree?”

Cleo stared into his soul, her eyes the look of death. “Went to the kitchen, got myself some more popcorn, sat on the couch and watched the chaos.”

Grian nodded. “Valid. No further questions.”

“WHAT?” Jimmy’s voice rang from the couch. Cleo only laughed. “But she could have easily left something out!”

“I’ll ask the questions here.” Grian jabbed a thumb to his chest. “Plus, she had to mom Monopoly for us.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well…”

~ ~ ~

Around the Monopoly board, once more, sat Grian, Scar, Bdubs, and Etho.

“Scar, stop harboring the money!” Grian complained—an untouched hot chocolate sitting beside him. “You’re supposed to give us two hundred dollars when we pass GO.”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Scar waved his finger. “You did not remind the bank, and your turn has passed. That’s not my fault.”

“YOU’RE SCAMMING US!” Bdubs attempted to swipe the money from Scar’s hand, but Scar moved it from his reach.

“You’re a horrible banker.” Grian crossed his arms.

Scar smiled. “Actually, it’s just how business works.”

Grian stared him in the eye. “Let me be the banker.”

Scar splayed his palms over his organized money set up. “No! I chose to be the banker first!”

“And I’m regretting it. Hand over the money!”

“How do I know you won’t do the same or worse!”

Cleo pushed herself up, abandoning her bowl of popcorn on the couch, and stepped between the two bickering children. She sat, squeezing herself between them and forcing them to scoot over. “That’s it. I’m the banker now.”

“YAY!” Bdubs threw his hands into the air.

Scar griped, “Ah Cleo… please don’t!” He sent a pleading expression to the man ahead of him. “Etho, tell her-”

Etho shook his head. “I’ve got no say in this.” Cleo nodded in approval.

Scar’s head drooped as he handed the money he kept from Bdubs to Cleo. “But Grian was the Bad Boy, not me!”

~ ~ ~

“Huh,” Jimmy said from the couch. “I don’t know how I missed that whole interaction.”

Grian’s eyes narrowed towards Jimmy. “Sus. But I’ll come back to you later.” He adjusted his hat and pointed his magnifying glass at one person. “Scott! Your next to the chair.” Scott exchanged places with Cleo. He plopped in the seat, arms crossed. “So, tell me your run through of the story, starting with your match of Uno.”

Scott locked eyes with Grian, reciting his story, “I played Uno with Cleo and Pearl. Left to help untangle a strand of lights for the tree, then stayed to sort ornaments with Ren. You should know, I was by the tree and your crazy Monopoly game the whole time.”

Scott purposefully left Jimmy’s name from the story in hopes Grian would forget about him, but Grian targeted him anyway. “And Jimmy was a part of that, right?

“Yes, bu-”

“Jimmy! Come to the chair!”

Scott released a sigh of frustration, and stood—arms still crossed. “What about you, Grian? How do we know you aren’t the one to blame?”

“He has a point.” Martyn chimed in. “This could all be a set up to blame someone else.”

Grian set his magnifying glass on the table of ornaments and plopped in the chair. “Fine.”

But Jimmy saw something different. When Grian sat in the chair, he sat in his ugly sweater from before his wardrobe change. No long coat, no hat, just his red sweater wrapped in a green tinsel garland. Jimmy blinked a few times. “How did yo-”

“So Grian!” Martyn stood, allowing Scott to take his place on the couch next to Jimmy. “What were you doing during the cookie incident?”

“Playing Monopoly, until I became a star.”

Martyn studied him when Impulse called from the couch, “He came to get hot chocolate.”

“Yea, he did,” Tango confirmed.

“So,” Martyn stroked his chin. “Leaving something out of the story, are we?”

Grian sighed. “I wasn’t gone that long. I chatted with BigB briefly, got hot chocolate, then went back to Monopoly.”

From the couch, Scar narrowed his eyes; his heart chipped once more. Grian’s words confirmed his suspicion. Grian had met with BigB in secret, again.

Martyn swung around to spot BigB sitting on the floor. “Can you affirm his alibi?”

BigB nodded. “We talked about which ornaments would look best on the tree.”

Scar sighed with relief. He remembered it was nearly Christmas. His mind was still stuck in the games that he forgot BigB was no longer a threat, he was a friend.

Martyn shrugged. “Seems clean to me.” He sat on the floor in front of Scott and Jimmy as Grian rose from the chair.

“Alright, back to business.” Grian adjusted the coat on his shoulders, leaving Jimmy to wonder if he was imagining all of this. Grian picked up his magnifying glass from the table and swung around, tipping the brim of his hat to face Jimmy. “Now back to Tim!” Beside Jimmy, Scott rolled his eyes—his distraction had failed. What did he expect, Grian never cut Jimmy any slack.

~ ~ ~

Jimmy shifted in the chair awkwardly, and Grian leaned towards him, magnifying glass over his eye. “What are you hiding Timmy?”

“This is just an uncomfortable chair,” Jimmy laughed nervously.

With the magnifying glass, Grian moved to the side of Jimmy’s face, less than an inch away, analyzing any change in his facial features. He noted a single bead of sweat dripping from the suspect’s temple.

“OKAY! OKAY! It was Scott!” Jimmy finally burst.

“JIMMY!” Scott shot to his feet, throwing him a look of betrayal. One Jimmy has seen before, so he knew this one was more playful than previous.

“Go on Tim,” Grian pushed, still looking at him through the glass. Jimmy had to pull his head back to avoid being touched by the thing.

“When Scott came over to help me untangle a strand of lights, he brought each of us a cookie, so we ate them.”

Scott said, “Yeah, but they were the only ones I took. The rest of the cookies were still there!”

Grian tapped the magnifying glass in the palm of his other hand. “So, there are more cookie thieves.” He scanned the couch, studying each face, eyes landing on a familiar anxious expression. “Mumbo.”

Mumbo nearly jolted. “Uh, yea?”

“To the chair!” Grian directed him with the point of his finger. “You know something.”

“Uh, I highly doubt that.”

“Mhm,” Grian pursed his lips, nodding. Mumbo sat neatly in the chair. “Now tell Mumbo, what were you doing during this crime?”

“Well, uh, after Gem knocked over our, uh, Jenga match, we played Clue an-”

“Ironic… who did it?”

“What does that hav-”

“Who did it, Mumbo?” Grian leaned closer, magnifying glass nearing Mumbo’s face.

“Um… Colonel Mustard.”

“And who was that?”

“I don’t really see how…” Mumbo trailed off as Grian came uncomfortably closer, removing the magnifying glass between them, narrowing his eyes in a fixed gaze. Mumbo’s eyes darted around the room until he cracked. “Skizz. It was Skizz.”

Grian whipped around. “Skizz! You’re next!”

~ ~ ~

“Now what’s your story?” Grian stood before the chair, crossing his arms with a skeptical glare.

“The same as Mumbo’s. I was playing Jenga, then Clue.”

Grian noticed the way Skizz’s eyes looked past him for a split second. “And your group involved Tango, Mumbo, and Impulse, correct?”

“Correct,” Skizz nodded.

“Then, am I safe to assume your whole group took a cookie?”

“What?” Skizz rubbed his arm, and avoided eye contact. “Why would you say that?”

Grian paced before Skizz. “According to Pearl, she and Gem left the dining table to join Cleo on the couch. And while I was busy shining for everyone at the top of the tree, Joel was the first to join us from the table while the rest of you straggled your way over.” Skizz glanced towards Tango who looked away, Mumbo who scratched the back of his head, and Impulse who just shrugged. “So…” Grian ceased his strides, turning to Skizz. He grabbed the arms of the chair with a glare. “I’ll ask one more time, did your group take the cookies, Skizz?”

Skizz whipped his head away from Grian’s expression. “YES! Yes we did! We, we saw the cookies on the table, and, and Impulse said, ‘Why not,’ so we each took one and ate them!” Grian straightened, brushing his hands with a “job-well-done” and a smile on his face. Skizz released a large breath, “Oh, that felt good.” And for a moment, Impulse swore he saw a halo appear above Skizz, but it must have been a trick of the single light cast above him.

Joel stood, hands on his hips, and switched his gaze between the group of known cookie thieves. “I can’t believe you all ate them!”

Tango raised his hands in defense. “Now hang on here. We didn’t eat them all either. There were two cookies left. Someone ate those too!”

Martyn raised his hand, rising from the floor, “That would be me. I ate one and took the last to Ren while Grian was busy being a star on the tree. I only saw two and assumed everyone had been eating them, so might as well finish the job, right?”

Cleo added, “Yeah, I ate one when I returned from the kitchen.”

“Me too,” Pearl admitted. “I took one on my way to the bathroom.”  

“And I took one after Pearl left,” Gem stood. “They just looked so good! And you can’t have hot chocolate without a cookie.”

Bdubs sprung up from the floor. “I AGREE. I TOOK ONE FOR ME AND ONE FOR ETHO WITH OUR HOT CHOCOLATES! GRIAN HELPED.”

“Yea, actually…” Grian faced everyone who was now standing. “I took two, one for me and BigB, then took a third to Scar.”

Joel confidently raised his voice. “I also ate one—two actually.”

Gem threw him a curious look. “Joel, you ate them too?”

“Of course!” He rubbed his stomach with both hands. “My wife makes delicious cookies.”

Silence encompassed the room as they all stared at one another…

Until Mumbo spoke. “So… we all ate them…”

“Yup.” Martyn nodded.

“What are we going to do!” Skizz erupted. “Lizzie told us not to eat them yet. We’re greedy, horrible people!”

Impulse gently pat him on the back, offering his support.

Tango turned to Skizz. “Whoa, chill out man. We’ll make up for it. No point in dwelling on the past.”

“Tango’s right,” Etho said. “We have to tell Lizzie when she gets back. It’s the right thing to do.”

An upbeat melody came from the hall. Lizzie’s hum. Everyone faced the open entryway awaiting her arrival. Their heads dropped, holding a guilty posture. Lizzie’s hum ceased not too far from them, and BigB was the first to speak. “Sorry, Lizzie, but… we ate your cooki-” When BigB’s voice cut off, the rest of the group looked up to find Lizzie with a tray of freshly baked cookies in her hands.

She burst into laughter. “I knew you’d all eat them. I was just curious how long it’d take! I made more.” She nodded towards the tray. “And there’s a third batch in the oven now!”

The lights of the dim atmosphere snapped on, encompassing the room with warmth and comfort yet again. Colorful strands of lights illuminated the hearth where a soft fire clapped, and gentle Christmas music played in the background. Was it always playing? Jimmy wasn’t sure, nor did he know who turned on the lights because he didn’t think anyone moved.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Gem exhaled a breath of relief. “I was really worried there for a second.”

Smiles stretched along everyone’s faces as they raced to the tray of cookies, thanking the baker as they each grabbed a warm cookie. When Jimmy arrived at the tray and snatched a cookie, he glanced towards Grian who was dressed in his ugly sweater once again. The mysterious man smiled at him, and Jimmy began, “How did yo-” But Grian put a finger over his lips, taking a cookie and departing from the crowd.

“There’s plenty to go around.” Lizzie beamed as she watched their faces brighten upon each bite of her cookies. “Sharing is what Christmas is all about! Now who is ready to start karaoke?”

~ ~ ~

When Scar finished his solo, he exited the designated stage area—which was in front of the couch—and returned to a spot beside the couch, beside Grian. The crowd clapped at his performance. Sweat dripped from Scar’s forehead. He wiped it with his sleeve and attempted to fan himself, but when that wasn’t enough, he removed his ugly sweater. Grian caught this movement from the corner of his eye and yelled from instinct, “SCAR PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!” He noticed the white T-shirt Scar had on underneath and smiled. They both burst into laughter, reminiscing old times.

Lizzie stood before the crowd—the tree still unlit behind her, but fully decorated—and picked up the microphone. “Alright, who’s next?”

“That’s us, G.” Joel and Jimmy rose from the couch, each placing on a pair of shades.

Grian nodded towards Scar, who smiled back, and joined his karaoke group. He, too, took out a pair of sunglasses and rested them on his head. The performance began as they attempted to sing “Jingle Bell Rock.” Each of them sang good at first, but they drastically got worse. Their voices fluctuated and cracked on purpose, attempting to reach notes they knew they couldn’t. At the end of the song, they crossed their arms with Jimmy and Joel leaning their backs against Grian who stood in the middle and said, “Bad Boys out,” before dropping the mic.

“Oh, that was great,” Cleo teased.

Martyn clapped. “It was horrendously good.”

Jimmy smiled. “We’re the only awesome band around.”

“OH YEA?” Bdubs shot to his feet. “WELL, I’VE GOT A BAND OF MY OWN!”

Joel said, “Uh huh, And what’s it called?”

“B.E.S.T.! IT STANDS FOR ME, ETHO,” he glanced around the room, laying eyes on two other people. “UH, SKIZZ, AND TANGO!” He got up, beckoning them to join him in the stage area. “COME ON GUYS.”

“Have at it.” The Bad Boys took off their shades, exiting the stage area. Grian whacked Jimmy on the back. When Jimmy looked at him, Grian gave him a smile and nod of approval as the three Bad Boys returned to the couch.

Etho, Skizz, and Tango stepped forward, discussing with Bdubs which song they should do when Bdubs raced off. He shortly returned with pointy elf ears over his own, and shoved a Santa hat on Etho. “SAY IT! SAY IT!”

Etho rolled his eyes. “Alright, just for you.” He cleared his throat, and emitted his deep voice, “Ho, Ho, Ho!”

“THAT WAS PERFECT!” Bdubs pointed towards Lizzie. “NOW CUE THE MUSIC!”

They all began the song “All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Mariah Carey with the crack of their voices, “Ahh~”

Mixed reactions waved through the crowd. Some “Boos,” some “Oh no’s,” and some closed their ears while others laughed and cheered them on.

When their song ended, Lizzie and Joel had everyone gather around the tree to finally light it for the first time. Everyone counted down, “3…2…1!”

Beautiful white lights illuminated across the pine, highlighting the fun ornaments that garnished it. Jimmy glanced at Scott, finding the multitudes of lights reflected in his eyes—sparkling like stars in a vast night sky—reminding him of some distant memory he couldn’t pinpoint.

In the grand old City of Lights, there stands a grand old building on a busy street. Le Terriere, an aparthotel whose residents aim to experience all that the glorious city has to offer to them. People roam up and down the halls, stroll the streets, talking amongst themselves and taking in the sights around them. 

If you look past the stately exterior, though, you might begin to notice some things amiss. There are tiny holes in some of the windows, just small enough for a tiny creature to squeeze through. There are chunks taken from some of the large pillars and spandrels, the impressions of tiny teeth embedded into the walls. And hidden behind beds and bookcases and boxes and bathtubs, you might find little tunnels leading all throughout the building, much too small for a human to even think of traversing.

Every so often, if you're paying attention, you might catch a quick glimpse of the tiny inhabitants responsible as they run down the hallways, scale the walls, and climb up to the rafters. And if you happened to look into the expansive attic, you would see all the little spaces they've created for themselves. Homes and offices and galleries–whatever the tiny inhabitants could imagine and create, it is up there.

Today, however, if you looked into the attic, you would be sorely disappointed to find no little residents inside. Rather, you should turn to the ledge overlooking the garden. Here, you would find all twenty of them gathered up, each looking over the edge with varying degrees of intrigue. Some of them have yet to take their eyes off of what's happening below, while others are busy whispering among themselves or complaining about all the commotion.

“This is so boring!” One of them in particular cries. A little rat called Tubbo, smaller than most of them in a red plaid shirt, head thrown back mid-tantrum and repeatedly hitting a fist against the ledge.

“Shh, Tubrat!” Another of them calls back to him, a little white rat by the name of Shebly, her gaze locked on the events going on beneath them. “We’re trying to listen!”

“Can’t believe I’m about to agree with Tubrat, but what are we doing here?” Another demands, a rat with shaggy blond hair and an eyepatch over one eye called Martyn, standing just behind one of the rats in a red coat–the pirate captain, Ren–who is knelt over the ledge looking down.“It’s just a bunch of humans being weird. I see no reason for us to care about it.”

“Don’t you think it’s interesting, Martyn?” Asks the rat in the post hat, Water, poking her head over the side.

“Not one bit,”

“Guys, look! They're putting a carrot on it now.” The rat in the sweater–Sniff–comments, frowning. “What do you think it's for?”

“Well it's obviously a nose.” Says the rat in the red dress, called Korva. “Although if the humans think a carrot will help that thing smell, they must be rather dim.”

“Oh, but they’re so cute!” Shelby squeals, her tail swishing faster in her excitement. “They look just like the little humans!”

“They just look bloody creepy to me,” Martyn scoffs. “Why’ve they gone and put faces on them?”

“Maybe they’re supposed to keep away the bad things?” Water muses, still staring intently down into the courtyard where, currently, several of the younger humans and a few older ones are standing around. What’s captured the attention of this little mischief of rats is the center of the yard, where some of the children have come together to stack snow in large spheres and decorate it with various items they’d grabbed from throughout the house.

“Oh, like a scarecrow!” A rat with braided hair and no shirt, called Bekyamon, announces with a smile. “I know those!”

“I think those are usually put around plants, though, aren’t they?” Asks the rat with the white fur and colorful stains, the one called Scott. “And won’t these melt?”

“Maybe they’re to ward off the evil spirits!” The little purple rat called Ros gasps, garnering several odd looks from the rest of the group. “Wh-What?” She squeaks, seeming sheepish now. “Humans do that sort of thing all the time! In the fall, they cut up pumpkins and make them glow and it makes the evil spirits stay away! It’s true!”

“In that case, why don’t we do it too?” The rat in the dark hood, simply known as Ratman, suggests with a cheerful giggle. “If there’s evil spirits coming, we can’t have them getting up into the rattic. Besides, it’ll be fun!”

“Ooh, that sounds amazing!” Ros cheers, getting up immediately and practically bouncing on her heels. “How do we start, Ratman?”

“Hm, well…we need snow.”

Martyn rolls his eyes. “Never would have guessed that.”

“Alright alright, there’s no need to be fighting.” The rat with the ear piercing, called Owen, speaks up for the first time in a while, climbing down from the edge of the roof where he’d been perched before. “It sounds like it could be fun, but whoever doesn’t want to can sit out.”

“I want to help make the snow wards!” Ros throws her hand up immediately, still bouncing in place. “Who’s coming with us?”

“I believe creating these snow wards could be rather entertaining, not to mention extremely practical, Lady Ros!” Ren cries, standing up from his spot and moving to stand beside her and Ratman with a bright smile. Begrudgingly, his lieutenant follows, arms crossed and frowning but right beside him nonetheless.

“Anyone not want to help?” Owen asks, looking around at the group. Only a few of them elect to stay behind in the end, leaving the rest of them to decide how they are going to tackle their newfound quest.

“Okay, let’s figure out what we’re going to need.” The rat with the paintbrush–Eloise–says, her wife hanging over her shoulder to watch as she begins scribbling on a ripped piece of paper. “The wards are made of snow, and they used a bunch of different stuff to decorate them. Are we making ours that big?”

“That doesn’t seem very practical.” Owen says.

“Let’s make them our size, then!” Shelby says. “They’ll look just like us!”

“Right, so we need snow and the bits to decorate.”

“What can we use to decorate?” Ros questions. “Everything the humans use is too big…”

“I’ve got an idea.” Korva steps forward. “One of the women in the west wing keeps rolls of yarn. We can take some pieces of it to use as decorations.”

“There’s all those pebbles outside we can use for eyes!” Bekyamon shouts, raising her paws to cover over her own eyes with a big grin.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Bek!” Eloise praises, and the wide rat’s smile only grows brighter.

“I’m sure the humans will have something in the kitchen that could be used for a nose.” Captain Ren comments, humming to himself in thought.

“I’ll go with the captain, then.” Martyn says with a sigh. “Can’t have him going alone with how much he gets himself caught.”

“L-Lieutenant!”

“I want to go with Korva to get the yarn!” Ros cries, grabbing onto its arm.

“Then Eloise and I will head to the garden and start getting the pebbles!” Bek cries, clinging to her wife’s hand.

“And I’ll join you.” Ratman tells them, ignoring the irritated look Bek shoots his direction. “Gathering all those rocks is more than a two rat job, you know!”

“I’ll join the captain’s team, I guess.” The rat in the red hood, known as Apo, says with a heavy sigh. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the plans were made, and he doesn’t miss the annoyed scoff Martyn gives at his announcement. 

“I think I’ll go with Ros and Korva,” Scott says, standing up and moving to join the two of them.

“Oooh, me too!” Shelby volunteers.

“Why don’t the rest of us help with the snow?” Water asks, looking around at their little group.

“That’s a great idea, Water. Well? Shall we get going?”

“Yes!” Ren cries, pointing in the direction of the way down into the main house. “Let us go forth and forge our magical snow wards, rats! Onward!”

All the lights of the house are just turning off for the night when the group of four little rats turn the corner into the west wing of the building. Korva stands at the front, leading the group down the hallway and to one of the many doors. “I believe it's this one,” it whispers, placing a single paw on the door. “Seems like it's locked, though.”

“Has she gone to bed already?” Ros asks, trying to peek through the tiny gaps between the wall and the door.

“But it's so early!” Shelby cries, feeling around the door hinges. “Is there another way inside?”

“I don't believe–”

“Guys!” Scott suddenly shouts, and all four of them look up at the sound of incoming footsteps.

“Hide!” Scott squeaks, and they all scramble for a hiding spot as a human woman with long brown hair approaches the very door they'd been poking at. She produces a key and unlocks it, stepping in and miraculously leaving the door open behind her.

They run inside, unwilling to let the opportunity pass. Luckily for them, she stops to grab a pair of shoes from the floor and goes to leave again. And in her hurry, she fails to notice the little rat pressing against the door to keep it open. As soon as she's gone, the four of them breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“That was close!” Ros exclaims, smiling brightly. “But we're in now! What colors should we get?”

“Red, obviously.” Korva says, already climbing on top of the stately desk in the corner where a large basket filled with all different colors of yarn sits.

“I want purple!” Ros shouts, climbing after it. Scott and Shelby do the same, until all four of them are standing around the basket.

“We should bring every color!” Shelby suggests cheerfully. “That way everyone can pick their favorite!”

“I don't think we have enough hands for that, Shelby.” Scott says, pulling himself up to rummage in the basket alongside Korva.

“Fine, then I want yellow!”

“We'll grab as many as we can.” Korva promises as Scott withdraws his trusty knife and starts cutting away at different colors of yarn. Korva helps by handing the pieces down to Shelby and Ros, who toss yarn over their shoulders and into their packs to carry it all.

When they’ve grabbed as much as they all can carry, Korva and Scott climb down from the basket and start getting ready to leave the room to meet up with the rest of their friends in the garden. However, just as they’re about to hop down, a new noise makes all four of them freeze in place, eyes traveling to the doorway in unison. 

Crouched in the doorway is one of every rat’s worst nightmares–a cat as black as night, with glowing green eyes and pupils blown wide. It’s already looking right at them, a low rumbling the only warning seconds before it pounces at the table to attack.

“RUN!” Scott shouts as all four rats scatter in different directions. The cat yowls in anger, knocking the basket from the desk as it scrambles after the closest rat, which happens to be Shelby. She manages to duck under the swipe of the feline’s claws and grab onto the windowsill, scurrying her way all the way to the top.

While the cat remains distracted tracking her every move, Korva, Ros, and Scott gather up underneath the desk, breathing hard. “What do we do?” Korva whispers frantically, staring up at where Shelby is still desperately clinging onto the curtains.

“Shelby’s gonna be eaten!” Ros squeaks, fists bunching up in her dress.

“Calm down, we can get out of this!” Scott attempts to cajole their group, looking over at the cat rather than up at Shelby. “We’ve just got to outsmart it.”

“Outsmart it?” Korva demands, placing its hands on its hips with a huff. “It’s got Shelby cornered!”

“Just trust me, okay?” Scott tries, creeping out from under the desk. Both Ros and Korva share incredulous looks before reluctantly trailing behind him, keeping their heads low as Scott makes his way all the way to the door before turning around.

Shelby is watching them with wide eyes, scrabbling for hold on the top of the curtains. “Guys?!” She cries, and the cat yowls again, clawing at the bottom of the curtains and looking about ready to start climbing. “What are you doing?”

Scott raises a single paw and gives her a thumbs up before dashing around the other side of the door. Korva sputters in disbelief for a moment, rushing after him to berate him only to find that he’s stopped on the other side. He’s taken the strings of yarn tossed over his shoulder and is tying them together hastily. Spotting Korva, he holds out one side of the makeshift rope and shakes it frantically.

“Help me!” He whispers, and Korva takes the other end of the rope and starts tying its own strings onto it. When Scott deems it long enough, he grabs onto the edge of the door and scrambles up to the doorknob. He tosses one end of the string over it, and only then does Korva understand his plan.

“Help me tie it off!” Scott hisses, and Korva scrambles to assist. Meanwhile, Ros stands nervously in the doorway, glancing frantically between them and Shelby. 

“Ros, we need you to get her attention!” Korva says. “When we give the signal, she’s got to run!”

Ros nods, turning towards Shelby fully and jumping onto the end of the bed, waving her arms wildly to catch her attention. When Shelby finally notices her, she makes a series of exaggerated gestures involving the door and a lot of running. But Shelby understands her, nodding to show as much. 

Scott and Korva each grab on tight to their ends of the rope, and Ros raises up three little fingers for Shelby to see. As soon as she sees Scott nod, she begins counting.

“One…two…three!” She shrieks the final word, catching the attention of the cat again, who immediately trades its focus for the easier target. Ros squeaks and takes off towards the door with the cat right at her heels, giving Shelby the opportunity she needed to climb down and race after her.

“Go!” Korva shouts, the two of them pulling as hard as they can on their ends of the rope. The door creaks, swinging shut only a little bit at a time. They keep pulling, trying to get the door shut with enough time to let Ros and Shelby escape.

Ros gets there first, slipping between the crack in the door and throwing herself out the other side with a shout of relief. The cat yowls from inside the room, one paw swiping through the open crack. Korva and Scott strain to keep the door shut while Shelby takes a jump for the side of the door, slipping through right above the cat’s head. It continues to yowl and screech, tearing at the wall and doorway while Ros and Shelby both hurry to help their friends pull the door shut. After lots of heaving and pulling, they finally hear the door click shut. The cat keeps yelling from inside, clawing at the flooring underneath the door, but unable to reach the rats outside.

The four of them sit there for a while, catching their breaths and letting their racing hearts slow down. After some time, though, Ros releases her hold on her side of the rope and lets out a breathy laugh. “That was close!” She walks closer, carefully avoiding the swiping paws of the cat trapped inside. “Do you think we can still use these?” She asks, pointing up at the pieces of yarn tied to the doorknob.

“Absolutely!” Korva agrees with a smile, walking over to join her. “Let’s get to work untying these, and then we’ll head out to go meet the rest of our friends. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me.” Scott concurs, moving to the other side to join them. Shelby hops to her feet to join him, and together the four little rats begin working out the knots in their colorful rope. All the while, the pesky cat continues to yowl, mourning its chance at a tasty midnight snack.

Elsewhere in the house, three different rats are making their way down the main hallway towards the kitchen. All of them are intimately familiar with this space, having to run down on practically a daily basis to replenish their store of food stashed in the attic above the humans’ heads. At the front of the group stands Captain Jacques Levy La’rat–or Ren, as he is known by the other rats.

Moving along behind the captain is his trusty lieutenant, Martyn. The lieutenant seems especially irritated tonight, although his mood goes unnoticed by his captain. Slipping alongside of him is Apo, the newest addition to their ragtag group–and one that the lieutenant remains wary of. The three of them sneak silently down the corridor until they finally arrive at their destination–the kitchen.

“We have arrived, gentlemen!” Ren announces with a flourish, turning over his shoulder to grin at his companions. “Shall we spread out our efforts for finding noses for our glorious wards?”

“The ones the humans made were using…carrots?” Apo muses. “Should we do that, too?”

“Carrots are too big, genius.” Martyn snipes, earning himself a glare from Apo.

“Then we’ll use baby carrots, jerk!”

“Those are as tall as us!”

“Well then maybe–”

“Um, gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt, but–” The two of them cease their squabbling immediately and turn to face whatever has made Ren stop in his tracks. Their eyes follow all the way towards the back of the kitchen, to where a human stands–directly in the middle of the path towards the refrigerator and the pantry.

“How are we supposed to grab anything like this?” Apo complains in a whisper, crossing his arms with a huff.

“We’ll just have to maneuver around them!” Ren says, peeking around the corner behind the cabinet out at the human. They’re standing with their back turned towards the rats, humming under their breath.”

“It’s the middle of the night, what’s one of them doing in here this late anyway?” Martyn wonders, peering over his captain’s shoulders. “Is she…cutting something?”

“What’s that?”

“She’s got a knife!” Apo reaches to grab for their thumbtack, but Martyn grabs their wrist before they can draw it.

“Calm down, you idiot!” Martyn snaps, pushing him back. “Look at what she’s cutting!”

The other two pause, craning their necks to look as far as possible. The human is, sure enough, using a knife to cut something into a bowl. After a few moments, Ren lets out a small gasp.

“Why, Lieutenant, those are…carrots! And they’re so small!”

“Must be for a cake.” Apo mutters.

“Let’s take some!” Martyn cries, grinning maniacally. “We’ll grab us a handful, and that should be more than enough to make these wards.”

“But how are we supposed to do that when she’s right there?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to create a distraction, then!” Ren announces, turning around. “Lieutenant, take this!” He empties his satchel, which was only full of sticks and a couple extra potato chips, before thrusting it into the shorter rat’s paws. “Apo, my good sir, come with me!”

“Wh-What, why?”

“We are going to create a distraction, of course!” And before either one of them can protest his decision, the captain takes off running, headed straight for the cabinet where the human stands.

Martyn curses silently to himself, taking the opportunity to scurry up the side of the cabinet they’d been hiding behind and finding himself a sugar jar to hide behind instead. He peers out from the side, watching as his captain and crewmate race over the tiled floor until they’re only a few steps away from the human’s feet.

“What are you even planning on doing?!” Apo demands in a whisper-shout, trailing behind Ren’s much faster gait. “Captain!”

“You must simply trust my judgement, Apo sir!” Ren tells him, not so much as bothering to turn around.

They get to the end of the cabinet and pause, watching as the human continues their work. While Apo is distracted watching, Ren bumps his arm and points to a spot just next to them. Laying right there is a readied and primed mousetrap, with a fresh cube of cheese waiting on top.

Apo shakes his head immediately. “No, nope–no way! Not a chance, buddy! Not doing it!”

“It is for the greater good, Apo! And I will free you myself!”

“Then how about you do it?”

“W-Well, I would, but my joints are quite bothersome today–”

“Oh, gimme a break! If you want to go through with this crazy idea so bad, then you do it!”

Ren huffs indignantly, reaching a paw up to adjust his glasses. “I simply cannot allow such insubordination, Apo sir! As your captain, should you wish to remain a part of this crew, then–”

The captain is cut off by a sudden shout, and when they turn to look the human is looking directly at them. Immediately, both of them squeak and take off running. The human runs after them, shouting about filthy rats in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Martyn slips out from behind the sugar jar and dashes over the rest of the countertops to where the human has left her bowl of cut carrots unattended. As he’s busy filling up the satchel with as many of the tiny carrot shavings as he can, he hears two unearthly loud squeaks from down the hall, followed by a set of stomping footsteps coming back towards the kitchen.

With a sigh, the lieutenant pulls the bag shut and hops down from the counter, right before the human comes storming back into the kitchen with a huff. She grabs the carrot bowl from the counter and crosses over to the fridge, mumbling under her breath the whole way. While she’s distracted with cleaning up her mess, Martyn dashes his way out of the kitchen and back down the hall to free his captain and his crewmate from the cage they’ve inevitably found themselves locked in.

“All in a day’s work…”

Out in the garden, three little rats have taken their bags and are scurrying about the gravel-lined path searching for only the best among them to use. The wide rat with the pigtails grumbles under her breath as she picks through the rocks, tossing any that are too jagged or slightly too large. She keeps shooting glances over towards Ratman just to her left, who hums to himself while he sorts, either unaware of her irritation or uncaring.

“Bek! Bek, look what I've found!” From across the way, the third rat in their group comes running over. She's carrying in her paws a small flower, just the right size to sit in the flat of her palm. She stops in front of her wife with a smile. “It matches your hair, see?”

Despite her sour mood, Bek can't help but smile back at her. “Does it?”

“Yes, it's perfect! Let me–” She pauses, raising up on her toes to tuck the tiny flower into her braid before stepping back. “There, see? It looks wonderful!”

“Aw, El–”

“Hey guys!” She huffs, all of her irritation flooding back at once at the sound of Ratman’s exclamation. “Look at all these ones! Perfect for eyes, dontcha think?”

“Good work, Ratman!” Eloise calls back, walking over to examine them for herself. Bek begrudgingly follows along behind her.

“Help me bag ‘em up, then!” He sings, already crouched to get as many of them into his bag as he can.

“How about El and I get these and you check on the others, Ratman?” Bek suggests, hardly even bothering to disguise the agitation in her tone.

“Hm…nope! I'm good!” Ratman giggles, tail swaying back and forth as he collects. “They'll be fine–this is more fun!”

Bek huffs, certain by now that the other is only doing this just to get on her nerves. Eloise reaches over and pats her hand with a smile before moving to join him.

“How many of these do you think we're going to need?” Bek asks, bending down to fill her own bag.

“As much as we can grab! We'll find somewhere to use them!” Ratman says, which only serves to make her roll her eyes.

“It can't hurt to have some extra, Bek.” Eloise attempts to placate her. “We'll head over to the others when our bags are full.”

Bek huffs, still irritated as she wanders off to start filling her own bag. This isn't how she'd been expecting things to happen today–it had been her suggestion to come down here to gather up the pebbles, specifically to get a moment alone with Eloise. It's as though ever since they arrived, they've barely had more than a few minutes at a time to themselves. And if she didn't know any better, she might assume Ratman knew as much as and was intentionally trying to butt in on her plan.

It's as she is crouched down looking over a few more of the little pebbles that she hears a loud squeal. Her head shoots up just in time to see Eloise scramble away from the hedge bush she'd been crouched near, the contents of her bag scattered in the grass. “S-S-Spider!” She squeals again, turning tail and running to the other side of the path. “It's huge!”

Immediately, Bek drops her bag and rushes over to where she'd run from. “I've got it! I can handle it!” But before she can make a dive into the bushes, she feels Ratman grab onto her tail. She hisses, turning back around to slap his hand away.

“What do you think you're doing, huh?” She demands, resorting to shoving his shoulder when he continues to ignore it. He pokes his head into the bushes to look for himself. Bek does the same, blinking as her eyes adjust to the dark before she spots it. It definitely is huge, and it’s looking right at them. She squeaks, but Ratman isn't running, so neither will she.

“Fear not!” Ratman exclaims, drawing his dagger and lowering into a fighting stance. “These foul beasts don't hold a candle to the amazing Ratman!”

“It's gonna jump!” Eloise warns a split second before the spider lets out a nasty hiss and leaps straight for Ratman’s face.

He screeches, flailing wildly with the dagger as he scrambles backwards, nearly crashing into El. And as funny as Bek feels it would be watching the nosy little rat get tossed around by a giant spider, she also doesn't want to risk getting her wife in the crossfire.

“I'll save you, El!” She cries, launching herself between Ratman and the spider. Only for it to immediately switch its focus to her instead.

“Oh, no…”

“Guys! The hose!” Eloise shouts, but Bek is a little preoccupied diving for her life. She doesn't notice when El takes off running to the left, making a grab for the length of green plastic that's lying on the grass. “We can use the garden hose to scare it away!”

“Brilliant idea, Eloise!” Ratman praises before Bek has a chance to. “Wide rat, help me turn the water on!”

He's already making a run for the other side of the path, following the trail of thick green plastic back to the metal spout hidden on the side of the building. Bek follows him, leaping up to the handle on top.

Ratman grips it with both paws and heaves, straining to turn the old metal. Bek adds her own strength, and together they manage to get it just far enough for water to start flowing.

At the end of the hose, Eloise squeaks in alarm. Bek hurries to get down and join her, but by the time she does she's already managed to direct the spray of water back across at the spider, which lets out a hiss and retreats almost immediately.

Behind her, Ratman starts pushing the handle in the opposite direction, much easier to turn off than to turn on. Bek lets him handle that and instead runs over the grass until she can throw her arms around her wife. “Are you alright?!” She demands instantly, pulling back to look her over. The artist rat smiles, slightly dirty and wet, but fine.

“I'm good, Bek. And hey…that was incredible!”

Bek beams wide. “You really think so?”

“I do! That was great–thanks for saving us, Be–”

“Anytime!” Bek contains herself as Ratman comes back to join them, the water shut off now. “It's all a part of the job…of Ratman!”

Eloise giggles, turning a look over to Bek that she can't help but smile at too. The two of them link hands before reaching down to pick up the other two full bags of rocks. “Yes, thank you, Ratman.” Eloise deadpans. “Let's go find the others, shall we?”

Eventually, all three groups of rats make their way back to the center of the garden, where the humans had set up their special snow wards. The rest of the rats had been hard at work too, collecting snow into small stacked spheres, one for each little rat in the rattic.

Winter comes early that year, heralded by an axe, a death, a king. 

Snow presses on the glass insistently, desperate, grasping hands searching for warmth. When BigB pushes the door to the Cookie Castle experimentally, it doesn’t budge a single centimetre. From what little he can see, the rest of the server has suffered a similar fate as him.

He is glad to have a break from the chaos– the image of red eyes is burning itself into his retinas. He’s much more in favour of the Christmas shade - the one that promises joy and laughter and good cheer. It means evenings spent in the Mafia HQ dipping cookies in hot chocolates. It means snowball fights with the Property Police ‘til they all collapse laughing. It meant gifts and warmth and friendship. It seems it doesn’t anymore.

He misses Mini, misses their misadventures, their schemes, their twin grins upon a successful prank. He misses Jimmy and Martyn and Grian too, the versions of them unburdened by the Red, by this world. Grian has long been lost to the rush and bloodshed of Scar’s adoration; Jimmy’s eyes simmer with flame;. Martyn is loyal to a king draped in scarlet. 

So is BigB, of course. But he had joined for friendship and stayed for the camaraderie of the army. He can no longer tell what Martyn wants; because though his eyes shine green, his heart glows red. Perhaps he has been lost to admiration too.

BigB sometimes thinks that he’s barely holding on to himself. Sometimes he imagines that he hasn’t changed all that much. Sometimes he doesn’t recognise himself in the mirror with his diamond armour pristine, his shield shined, hair dragged out of his face by a red headband, eyes colder than they were before.

He wears green like a cloak of holly leaves and Christmas wreaths, while red surges around him, a flowing river  dancing in the eyes of his enemies, in the eyes of his friends. 

There is no use in trying to break down the door, and he’s secluded enough on the mountain that no one will find him, at least this morning. But, he might be able to sleep away the bone deep exhaustion that clings to him like frostbite if he takes a nap. He can only hope.

When he drifts off, he dreams of a swirling mass of reds and greens, a pine forest in a storm of scarlet, and opens his eyes to hear that the red has claimed three lives.

--

Winter doesn’t end, but those who herald it fall under a rain of arrows, so BigB is left alone. The solitude looms above him, a hulking creature of snow and ice and frost.

He has the clarity of mind to pull the no kill pass from its frame above the staircase, gripping the lifeline as he leaves the Cookie Castle. He draws the weather around himself, a reminder of his lost friends that strengthens his resolve.

The red seethes in his veins, threatens to wrap around the throat of his enemies and  bring the server under his wrath. It’s irrational; fear and anger and isolation all braided into a single rope. BigB has seen it all before.

Is this how it ends? 

He goes out with a deception and cactus spines in his back, the no kill pass tucked into his palm.

When Grian falls, so do the first flurries of snow, flooding the grass where BigB had made his last stand, slain in the mud of the lake. With each falling flake the damage is swarmed under a miasma of crystalline snow, piling up layer by intricate layer.

A gale builds in the silence, wind howling through the castles and tunnels and the hollow absences where players once lived. Roofs are peeled away, nails ripped from wooden planks, walls crumble inwards. The snow only flurries harder and heavier.

The sun sets; the moon rises. Still the storm does not stop.

Is this how it ends? 

Rain thunders, the river swells and bursts at the banks washing away the stain of Cleo’s blood. The platform above Dogwarts splinters then cracks, sweeping their lives and livelihoods away. Snow and sand mingle, weighing upon the bunker’s roof until the pillars collapse, crushing the canary’s wings. 

It is almost as if no one had stepped foot here. A new sun beats down, erases the snow that erased the players. BigB, frozen in his ice cocoon, does not awake where he fell. He dreams of an endless void and opens his eyes in an unfamiliar world.

Gem glanced across the table, readying her stance next to the gumdrops. Next to her, Pearl looked like she was about to maul the bowl of frosting that has been assigned to the two of them. Across the table, glaring back at them with the wrath of a lifetime rivalry, were Scott and Cleo, with their own respective ingredients. Gem glanced at Impulse, who was fiddling with the timer on his phone, looking vaguely threatened by the whole situation.

It was year 7 of the Great Gingerbread Contest, starting when she and her brother were just teens. Over the years, they had acquired Pearl and Cleo as teammates. No one in particular timed the challenges, and this year it was Impulse only because he was in the band Scott and Gem had started.

“Ready!” He yelled. Both teams tensed up. The Gingerbread in front of them was already assembled (because it was the worst part of the whole thing) and every candy fathomable was set in front of them, ready to be used and chimneys or doors or yard decor. “Fifteen minutes… and go!”

Gem and Pearl worked in sync, spreading the icing and sticking the gumdrops to the roof, the mini candy canes to the yard, the chocolate bars as the windows. Impulse called 10 minutes after what had felt like 30 seconds, and Gem whirled her hands around even faster, putting together (what she would consider) her best house yet. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Scott and Cleo’s house, with considerably messier piping, but they had a color theme. She silently cursed them for thinking of only using green and red, unlike the rainbow vomit of colors hers was. 

Gem glanced at Pearl, seeing the same worried look in her eye. They couldn’t stop now, and it was too late to totally restart. They could only hope theirs was prettier. It wasn’t entirely a disaster, it was still a beautiful house with a shingled roof and chocolate square walkway.

Impulse called five minutes, and within seconds, Scott could be heard swearing under his breath. Gem concentrated on the icicles that were being piped, ignoring the cursing until Pearl elbowed her. She looked up, glaring at her friend, before looking across the table.

Scott and Cleo’s house had fallen down.

She stared for a second, laughter bubbling up her throat despite the pit she felt in her stomach. She knew Pearl was grinning wildly, thinking they had this in the bag, but… it felt like cheating. One of the houses had never fallen down, and it wasn’t a factor anyone had taken into consideration. Gem wanted to see both houses finished, side by side, not one finished and then a pile of cookies and candies. 

Impulse started counting down from a minute. Pearl grabbed the icing from her, finishing the icicles herself. Gem looked between the fallen cookies and her gingerbread, sucking in a breath.

“Pearl,” She started, getting the other girl's attention. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes?” She replied slowly, halting in her decorating.

“Great.” 

Gem took one of the walls of their house down, not without momentary struggle. Pearl didn’t say anything about it, but had an understanding look in her eye. It collapsed with barely a bump,  

“Three, two, one!” Impulse finished. He looked up, gazing at each of their houses. Scott seemed to only now notice what had happened. 

“Well,” he started, “It seems we have both been eliminated.”

“It seems so,” Gem giggled. She noticed Cleo looking mildly miffed. 

There’s something about winter – the looming mountains with their coat of ice, frigid lakes frozen over, bony fingers of barren trees combing through the solid white sky – that makes it difficult for Etho to like it. There’s always an associated… dejection.

Or maybe harsh nature isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s the strings of lanterns outlining the wood-framed houses and the blend of cosy cinnamon and laughter leaking from open windows that sour the cold months.

He can’t exactly claim to hate it either, though. One glance at his Familiar, her soft ivory fur covered in cotton-balls of snow as she darts excitedly through drifts, and any onlooker would assume he enjoys the season. After all, if the literal embodiment of his inner sentiments in the form of a small white fox is having a good time, how can he not be?

For this very logical reason, Etho has concluded that the second hypothesis must be the more accurate one – the people-related one. After all, when your emotions enter your estranged family’s house, paws pattering over the hand-made doormat, the shift in her demeanour as she crosses the threshold is painfully noticeable, the way her ears flatten against her head at some invisible, awkward scent.

He has been led to believe that winter, and all its holidays, should be a time to squeeze shut the gaps between loved ones. To stand around watching fragrant cakes rise. To share gifts and time and smiles, keep out the icicles with the warmth of companionship. And yet…

It’s… complicated, Etho and his ‘family’. Well, no, it’s not really. The situation is perfectly simple, entirely predictable, from Bdubs’ overenthusiasm to Cleo’s barely veiled contempt. What’s complicated is trying to fix it.

So seeing his Familiar curled alone in the corner of the kitchen while the other three tussle playfully before the furnace is not the most promising sign.

“Right, no, that’s perfect – just get the flour everywhere, Etho. I’ve got experience with cleaning up your messes.”

 Tearing his eyes away from the wrestling cat, ferret and baby bear, whose scuffle is oddly enrapturing when lit from behind by gentle flames, Etho glances down to find a lot of flour on the counter. And thus not in the bowl. His cheeks heat in embarrassment; Cleo’s dig is deserved.

“Hey, he’s doing his best! Right, Etho?”

Bdubs’ wide, hopeful grin somehow only makes the embarrassment worse. He doesn’t merit it, not after he walked out on them to build ties somewhere else. 

“Oh, can’t the famous Redstoner transfer flour from one container to another without bringing the snowstorm inside?” Scar says, waving a hand dismissively. “Have you really fallen off that hard, dad?”

Well, that stings. It should be a funny inside joke, a nickname from back when they were younger, when Cleo and Etho used to laugh about being responsible for their immature friends, preventing them from accidentally blowing themselves up with faulty magic. Scar using it now should be fond, but his tone is only bitingly sarcastic. By the furnace, his cat Familiar hisses. 

“Hah, no I have not, thank you.” Etho firmly presses the lid back onto the flour box, avoiding another mistake. “I’ll go find a broom.”

In the corner, the fox withdraws closer to the wall. 

Making cookies had been his idea. He’d dug up the recipe and found the ingredients, lied to Tango and Skizz and Impulse about where he was disappearing to, and trekked from his village into the distant rocky mountains. An olive branch.

Looking back, it’s such a weak gesture. Pathetically material, failing to repair any of the cracks in their relationship. And now he’s hiding in the storeroom, the flimsy excuse of searching for a broom, while they mix the dough without him. If his fox wasn’t still in the kitchen, he probably would have fled.

Yeah, pathetic is the right word for it.

Scar’s voice whispers through the wall from the kitchen. 

“Is he coming back?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t. That seems to be his signature move, leaving.”

“Hey, c’mon! He showed up all of his own accord without us having to ask—”

“Interrupted my painting…”

“Still showed up! Watch, ye of little faith, he’s still here. Etho!” Bdubs’ sudden shout makes him jump, nearly smashing his head on the coat hooks. “Wanna put our creations in the furnace?”

Scrabbling frantically through the organised supplies, Etho grabs the splintered handle of a broom and all but topples out of the storeroom. 

“Yep, yep, I’d love to. Found a broom!”

Cleo raises an eyebrow, hands on their hips. “What have you done to my nice, neat storage? If I go in there and it looks like you’ve ignited a stack of TNT…” They leave the threat hanging.

 “…I’ll tidy it before I leave.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes, but nods anyway. “Yeah, you will.”

“Cookies, furnace!” Bdubs thrusts a tray of sweet-smelling, haphazardly-rolled cookies at him, and he fumbles to lean the broom against the wall before taking them with a nervous smile. 

This he can do without messing up, surely. How many times has he chucked raw iron into a furnace without watching, then received by a perfectly melted-down ingot for his efforts? How different can that be to mimic with a tray of cookies? 

Unsurprisingly, it somehow goes wrong.

It turns out cookies and iron are not the same thing. Who would’ve thought? Cookie dough cannot be ‘chucked’ into a furnace; the tray has to be carefully positioned on the iron grill over the fire without being tipped to one side. Otherwise, gravity will take over, dragging the cookies down into the flames. It’s an interesting discovery, but not the best time to make it.

An incoherent stream of shouting bursts from his mouth as the fire rears up, spitting charred dough into Etho’s face in defiance of all laws of physics, and he stumbles away from the heat instinctively. One of the burning ex-cookies lands on the stone floor, rolling towards the wooden cabinets, and all four of them watch in frozen surprise while flames lick the base of the cupboard.

Cleo’s bear is the first to react, nudging her out of her shock. She snatches up a tea-towel and swats at the growing fire like it’s an irritating bug.

“Here, I can help—” Etho tries, but he’s cut off angrily.

“I’ve got this, thanks. I think you’ve helped enough. Just… all three of you go sit in the living room, or something. Get out.”

They don’t mean ‘leave the house,’ and Etho knows that, but his stomach drops anyway. Spilling flour was one thing, but setting the place on fire? Definitely worse. Every inch of him itches to run, yank on his boots and flee back to the village, where Tango, Impulse and Skizz can make fun of his total failure, but he came here with purpose. He won’t waste another winter wondering how his family are from a distance.

His fox isn’t bound by the same mental override, though, fuelled purely by his emotions, and with a yelp, she leaps from the corner to an open window and disappears into the snowy landscape.

“She’ll come back,” Bdubs says cheerfully, patting Etho on the back. “Familiars never run far.” 

Easy for Bdubs to reassure. His ferret is curled securely over his shoulders, sleepy head buried in his mossy jacket, snoring softly. Meanwhile, based on the pang in Etho’s chest, indistinguishable from homesickness, his fox has covered quite a substantial distance. And worryingly, he doesn’t sense she’s gone in the direction of TIES.

“Mm. Probably.”

“Jellie’s never left my side,” Scar comments, waving a cat toy in his Familiar’s general direction and snorting when she pounces for it. From his tone alone, it’s hard to tell whether he means it as a pointed jab or innocent input, except Scar never does anything innocently, and the side-eye he directs at Etho confirms his true intention.

“This little fella neither, but that doesn’t mean Etho’s hates him.” Bdubs scratches his ferret’s head softly. Gee, thanks, Bdubs.

Cleo’s bear pads into the room, closely followed by Cleo themself. They’ve got soot smearing their face and hands, and the heat from the flames has puffed up their hair like an angry cat, but given the house is still intact, Etho assumes they were successful.

“Alright, fire’s out. Couldn’t rescue the cookies though — poor things were burnt to a crisp.” She glares at Etho pointedly. “Totally unsalvageable. Ruined.” 

“Ah.”

“Has your Familiar returned?”

Scar answers for him, still mostly focused on teasing Jellie. “No sign of her. Though since she’s linked to Etho, she’s probably pretty good at leaving and not coming back.” 

“You’re never going to leave that be, are you?”

“Nope!”

“And that’s why Bdubs is my favourite.”

Jellie forgets the cat toy in favour of scampering over and swiping at him with an offended paw. 

“You know what, everyone, this is a golden opportunity!” With a flourish, Bdubs claps his hands together, somehow not waking the creature asleep on his shoulders.

“An opportunity?” Cleo crosses her arms sceptically. 

“To play a game!”

“A game?” Scar and Jellie tilt their heads.

Etho gets what Bdubs is trying to do, and he’s grateful. He’s here for a reason, and he’s determined to see it through, burnt cookies and accidental arson and all. Even if it’s clear his efforts aren’t exactly… appreciated by fifty-percent of the group.

“Yes, Bdubs, excellent idea. I’ll go first, whatever it is you have in mind.”

From the mantle, Bdubs retrieves one of Scar’s top hats, already filled with pre-prepared pieces of paper. He offers it to Etho expectantly, watching with eager brown eyes as he takes a slip and opens it.

“It says—”

“A-bup-bup!” Bdubs interrupts. “Can’t tell us – we gotta guess. Like, um, goodness’ sake… what’s the name?”

“Charades?”

Bdubs nods rapidly in confirmation, settling into the couch beside Cleo. All three of them stare at Etho, waiting for him to begin.

Icing a cake.

He flounders for a moment, unsure how exactly to mime the prompt, and Bdubs takes this as a sign to begin guessing.

“Confused! Going for a swim! Oh, oh, one of those silly inflatable dancing things they have outside the stables!”

“Absent dad who only shows up when it’s convenient to him?”

With a sigh, Etho crumples the paper into a ball and tosses it into the fire. “I haven’t started yet, thanks Cleo.”

“Shh, no talking,” says Scar. “And you shouldn’t throw out the paper – how will we know you’re telling the truth? Although I suppose burning things is second nature for you.”

He’s one to talk. Etho keeps the come-back to himself, though.

Preparing his invisible piping bag, he acts out icing a cake, a mime which one would think would be fairly simple to figure out, except either his guessers are terrible at charades or purposefully dense. (Etho would put money on the latter.) Bdubs shouting every thought that pops into his mind doesn’t help, but at least it covers up the scathing sarcasm of the other two.

In the end, it’s Scar that wins the round, presumably bored of finding ways to not-so-subtly call Etho washed up, so he rolls his wheelchair into the centre of the living room and unfolds his paper. A mischievous glint flickers in his eyes. He flings his prompt into the flames.

It’s not hard to see what he’s miming. First, rolling out balls of cookie dough – Bdubs guesses warming hands by the fire. Then bending down to clumsily place the tray in a furnace – Bdubs guesses posting a letter. And finally, an explosion, flames filling the room – Bdubs guesses… oh, no, that clue is apparently enough for him.

“Etho burning our cookies! Huh, I don’t remember putting that one in the hat…”

“That’s because his paper didn’t actually say that,” Etho says. Scar shrugs innocently.

“I guess we’ll never know, since I threw it into the fireplace. Just taking after my dad, hmm? Maybe I’ll disappear next, or nearly burn down my family’s house.”

“I clearly didn’t mean to do that!” He looks to Cleo beside him for support, but they don’t seem interested in defending him. Not surprising, honestly. Their bear turns its back to him, and if his own Familiar hadn’t run off into the mountains, she’d probably be hissing in frustration.

“Which part, the desertion or the arson? Because you seemed pretty sure of yourself when you galloped off to the village, betrayed us for your fancy Redstone buddies.”

Are they seriously doing this now? Etho didn’t come here for an argument; he came for the winter magic of reconciliation and family. That was how it worked in the stories. Someone showed up on the doorstep with a carol, or a gift, or a box of cookies, and everything worked itself out. Back on good terms by the time the bells were ringing.

Except real life isn’t a story. Oh boy, he’d been naïve, hadn’t he, imagining he could erase their problems with a simple recipe and good intentions? He should know better than anyone that it takes a few explosions before a machine works smoothly. And even then, there will be loose cogs and wonky gears clogging the system, constant repairs, careful attention required.

And setting it on fire, even accidentally, probably won’t help. 

“I’m not sorry for leaving.” Bdubs gasps at the admission. “I like my… ‘fancy Redstone buddies’. We work well together, and they’re good guys. You can’t exactly blame them for disliking you, either – Bdubs almost killed Skizz that one time!”

“Accidentally…”

“But I am sorry for not visiting more often, or only visiting on my own terms. It honestly never occurred to me that showing up uninvited today, even with the suggestion of baking together, was selfish. I’m sorry for interrupting whatever you were doing, Scar, and for almost burning down your kitchen, Cleo, and… well, we actually get along pretty well, Bdubs, so I suppose I’m sorry for being bad at charades?”

The room falls silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace, until a distinct purring sound resonates from Jellie. She stalks over, pouncing on Etho’s lap and curling up happily. He can hardly risk petting her, afraid to move in case he annoys her, but Scar is grinning too.

“My actual prompt was ‘playing solitaire’ – can I draw again?”

As Bdubs and Scar rummage through the top hat of papers, Cleo leans over and whispers to him, in a low tone. “For what it’s worth, it’s nice to see you. Thank you for making the effort occasionally, even if a letter forewarning us would be appreciated. And I’m sorry we never give you much of a chance before the teasing begins.”

He smiles at her, finally daring to scratch Jellie behind the ears.

“Aha! Oh, oh, I know this one – ‘falling asleep’.”

“Bingo,” Scar winks, shooting Bdubs a finger gun. 

They play charades until the light outside dips into an orange glow, the ache in Etho’s chest lessening with each genuine laugh. Cleo nearly loses her mind over no-one guessing ‘carving a statue’, but in Etho’s defence it really did look like she was just hitting a judge’s gavel. 

It’s while Etho is taking his twenty-something-th turn of the evening that there’s a gentle scratching at the window. Outside the frosted glass is a small white fox, blending in with the snowy environment, only visible for her black eyes like melon pips. Her paw pats against the glass again, the gentle tip-tap of claws.

Cleo opens the window for her, and Scar wheels over, gently lowering her into his arms and holding her tight. She doesn’t shy away from him or lash out to frantically reach Etho, just settles against his chest with a happy chatter.

“Look who it is!” Bdubs nudges his ferret awake, gesturing to Etho’s Familiar. “Told you she’d come back.”

Like fire in the bleak midwinter, the ache in Etho’s chest warms and burns away into soot, gentle wisps of smoke dissolving into the darkening sky. She did come back; she felt safe and welcome and enough like she belonged to return. 

“You know what, I think we’ve had enough of charades,” Cleo says, and Etho’s fox yips worriedly. Has he overstayed his welcome? He’s happy to come back another time, but he thought they were finally— “We should still have the ingredients for gingerbread – do you guys fancy building a house?”

As they clatter through to the kitchen, Scar and Bdubs arguing over which style of roof to design, Etho shoots a glance back at their Familiars. 

All four, curled together on the rug in front of the fireplace, Jellie playing with his fox’s tail, Bdubs’ ferret resuming his snoring, Cleo’s bear letting the other three lean against them like a fuzzy brown pillow. He can’t help smiling at the sight.

“Etho?”