#312ss

Christmas sweaters were probably one of the more amusing Christmas trends in the last few years, Nico had to give them that. There was enough of a demand for them that there was a popup shop dedicated solely to the sale of the things - like a Christmas season's version of Spirit Halloween. It was only when it came down to what size to buy that it became an issue for Nico, because Marshall was, well, freakishly tall, so the sweater had to be the right size so it didn't look like he'd inadvertently bought the dude a crop top Star Wars Christmas Sweater. So in his circling racks of sweaters, he had texted Mog, and after ten minutes of not getting the answer he was actually looking for - leave it to Mog to dance around the subject and have outside commentary - he finally got it. Then it was onto the presentation.

Wrapping presents was something Nico would like, rather die than do, on account of the fact that he was terrible at it. That was his mom's thing, wrapping. So instead, he picked out a nice gift bag and some tissue paper that would match and threw that together. He was a little overzealous with the wadded up tissue paper stuffed into the bag around the sweater itself - because what the fuck was he gonna do with that much extra tissue paper in his suite? Nico went the extra mile (if it could be called that, anyway) and went so far as to leave the wrapped gift at the hotel front desk for them to page Marshall at whatever point and let him know that he had a package waiting for him there.

Of course, even still, there was a small card attached so that there was some indication of who it was from, whether it was left as a surprise gift or not.

'Merry Christmas (happy Christmas? is that Australian? Just British, right?)

 From, your Secret Santa. 

P.S. You're still in the moon pile.'

She’d already dropped by the downstairs bar to pay off his entire tab – and then some for any future crises that might arise and require a drink. That step went without saying, and she was going to do it regardless. Barely even counted as a gift to her, but it felt like a nice gesture.

After glancing over his wishlist, she’d made a quick and impulsive decision. Books weren’t the choice to her, and neither was any kind of stationary. Boring. So there was really only one way to go, and she’d gone there. Some people might call it breaking and interesting, but Mog liked to think of it as more of an advanced Santa Claus maneuver.

While she knew he’d be performing down at the restaurant, she had headed up to his floor and let herself into his suite to grab a pair of his shoes. For sizing purposes, of course. If she was going to be Santa, she was going to absolutely nail it, and how else was she supposed to make sure his new Docs would fit?

Perhaps she’d ended up kind of forgotting to return the shoes he already owned, but she figured that was easily chalked up to the whims of Santa’s elves… or whatever. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed that they were gone. Still (just in case), when she let herself back into his suite to leave the large present on his bed, the boots had a shiny lighter hidden away inside of them as a little apologetic addition.