Something Shadow and Bone?
Many thanks to @silverbirching for this truly important scenario. As in, I had to get my computer and write it immediately. God Bless Us Every One.
Jesper Llewelyn Fahey, by virtue of being Jesper Llewelyn Fahey, has had a number of truly great days in his life. In fact, you could argue that all his days are great, though the reason that they are great can vary as needed. Maybe the Crows pulled off an especially impressive heist and made a lot of money, he did a very tricky shot and looked cool doing it, he had sex with a gorgeous and willing partner of whatever variety (though these days it's just the one), he walked out and really strutted his new fit -- whatever. When it comes down to it, there are many ways for Jesper to have a great day. This, though. This might beat them all.
"Step this way!" Jesper bellows, clanking his bell-trimmed hat in a suitably jolly fashion and waving vigorously at the passerby. "Come in and tell Father Frost what you want for the Winter Fete! Bring your kiddies, bring your friends! That's right, step right up! Step right up!"
Next to him, Wylan -- also dressed in a homemade elf costume because look at him, he embodies the very word elfin -- gives him a sidelong glance, as if the last thing they want to do is actually direct more children toward Ded Moroz (as is the Ravkan name for the merry old magical gift-giving gentleman of winter-holiday yore). "Jesper," he says in an undertone. "I don't think we really want to -- "
Jesper cheerily takes this opportunity to ignore his dearest boyfriend, because honestly, he really does want it, and that's final. It might be strange to see someone as wholesome as Father Frost and his elves plying their trade in the rainy streets of Ketterdam (he could do with a bit of snow like back on the farm in Novyi Zem, but it stubbornly refuses), but they're in the nicer, tourist-friendly Financial District and it's actually imperative that Jesper make as big a spectacle of himself as possible (somehow, even more than usual). That's because a hundred yards or so away, Kaz, Nina, and Inej are stealthily breaking into the Geldbank and certain Pekka Rollins-related accounts within, and Jesper would much rather that the Stadwatch wander in this direction, rather than that one. Thus he jingles his bells with renewed diligence, beaming with especial gormlessness at the nearest purple-clad officer. "What about you, sir? Have any kiddies you want to bring along for a special visit?"
The Stadwatch officer looks amused and keeps moving, which was what Jesper mostly wanted anyway. On that note, he'd better just nip in and check on Father Frost, because some of those kiddies might be dead, and that would ruin the whole thing. Leaving Wylan to project the requisite air of elfishness, Jesper prances inside. Nobody seems to be dead yet, but he can't be sure.
Father Frost, or rather a man costumed in a heavy blue robe with white fur and a matching hat, face glued with a thick white beard, sits at the far end of the room in a painted-white throne decorated with plaster snowflakes. It's especially fortunate that he has the magnificently bushy fake beard and the hat is pulled low, because otherwise all the kiddies might shriek and run in terror at the full revealed intensity of the death glare (barely) concealed within. As Jesper reaches Father Frost's side, the Great Spirit of Winter hisses at him, "Fuck you, Fahey. Get me out of this. I didn't agree to -- "
"Oh, but you did." Jesper stations himself solicitously at Ded Moroz's side, beams at the adorable urchins clutching their mother's mittened hands, collects several kruge from them (nobody said that a good diversion couldn't also turn a profit) and pointedly lifts the first chubby imp into Father Frost's lap with a well-fed thump. Father Frost closes his eyes as if mortally stabbed and visibly wishes for a swift and sudden death.
"Well?" Jesper chirrups helpfully. Saints, he loves his life. "Aren't you going to tell Father Frost what you want for Yule?"
Instead of answering, the little boy stares at Father Frost with the dawning realization that his life might be in critical danger. His lip wobbles. His eyes go wide.
Jesper leans closer. "Just so you remember," he whispers. "We promised that we'd hide you from the law and get you on a ship to Novyi Zem or wherever if you cooperated. And remember, Wylan is still outside, and it would make him very sad if you suddenly slaughtered all these helpless and innocent children. Remember?"
"I'll slaughter you." Father Frost is almost vibrating with rage, plucked like a finely tuned string about to snap. "That is, if I don't -- "
At that moment, completely ignoring both her baby brother's terror and her mother's dawning awareness that this is definitely the wrong place to take her children for a holly-jolly holiday visit, the little girl marches right up to Father Frost, hops on his lap with no fear at all, and tugs his beard. "I want a new doll," she announces. "And some candy and a chocolate sinterklaas and fifty kruge." She pauses, thinking about it. "Also a coat. In velvet."
Father Frost's lips press down on what is doubtless a truly breathtaking selection of Ravkan swear words. Jesper can now see him switching seamlessly into aghast old-man warrior-monk mode about children these days and all their greed and when he was a boy (which was what, eighty years ago?) they got one lump of coal and one willow switch apiece and they liked it. But under Jesper's benevolently dictating gaze and the reminder that he is still dependent on the Crows to hide his identity and get him to safety (it's hard when you have a death mark from the vengeful new Queen of Ravka, but that's a whole other kettle of salted herring), Ivan Sakharov forces the fakest of fake smiles and utters a pathetic simulacrum of a jolly laugh. "Is that so," he says through his teeth, as another child grabs his leg and he flinches like he's been shot. This, in contrast to Jesper's greatest day ever, is clearly beyond all doubt his absolute, no-holds-barred, depths-of-hell worst. "Ho ho ho."
