In this story, Santa Claus is both the commercialized 'Jolly Elf' of today's 'real world' and the darker historical figure that predates Christianity. The setting is a multi-dimensional universe with historically notable, legendary references and figures, as well as my creations. And no, I didn't confine the historical characters to their previously known tellings. I made a few leaps that while not traditionally accepted, are theorized as possible by some historians. This world blends realities but leans toward the one Jim Butcher described. While some names are the same, I assume he took them from the same historical legends I did. The two specific references to his story world are included with permission.
To help you enjoy this tale, here are a few pseudonyms given to the figure you may know as Santa Claus.
Aldafaor : Father of men, or Father of the world.
Haptasnytrir : Teacher of Gods.
Haptagud : God of the imprisoned.
Oski : God of wishes...Not the mascot from U.C. Berkeley
Erlking : King of the Fey, and leader of the Wild Hunt.
So... if the thought of the 'Jolly Elf' living amongst immortals with very high libidos upsets you, try to understand that there is a war going on. While most of the characters in this story will never age, death comes often to the Fey. Their high libidos are needed to counter losses to the Outsiders. That being said, this is not a war story...
The Mrs. Santa Clause:
A novella by R.C.PeterGabriel, all rights reserved.
I blew gently across the top of my mug, cooling the steaming cocoa blend. It was a bad habit born of centuries of cooking over an open fire. I didn't need to cool the cocoa. It was the perfect temperature, just below too hot. I transferred the mug to my left hand so that I could sign a requisition for more glitter.
I had no idea how we could go through so much of it. Everyone knows a single pinch of the stuff can grow like a virus until your entire house is coated in it. But we somehow go through tons of it. Red glitter, green glitter, gold glitter, pink and silver glitter, silver and blue glitter, plain silver glitter. Hell, we seemingly can't live without the over two hundred verities of glitter used in the wrapping department alone.
If you want to know the truth, I hate glitter. But, the world loves it, so we keep using it. As I sipped my 'almost' too hot but deliciously creamy cocoa, I flashed on the idea of sending an emissary to the Earth's World Health Organization, requesting glitter be declared a carcinogen. Then I realized that for that to happen, I'd probably have to threaten to stop the whole toy delivery gig I have going. Even though it's not profitable, I just can't see myself pulling the plug. After all, who am I to stop offering hope and joy to the kids of the Earth?
Yeah, I know. They're all going to grow up to be pessimistic, hate-mongering, victims of self-imposed ignorance. People bent on the pursuit of vanity and greed. But, before they grow up believing they've invented a whole new way to profit from pointless crap like glitter, I make them happy. At least for a few weeks a year anyway.
I glanced up at the knock at my door. My daughter was half-leaning into the office, looking so much like her mother it almost hurt. I could tell the weather had started to turn because her legs were no longer bare and her hem had dropped several inches. She was wearing one of her green almost-knee-length dresses with fir trim and matching leggings. Her usual curly-toed ankle boots had been replaced with her curly-toed calf-length boots. I glanced at my calendar and noticed that it was already November thirtieth.
"Daddy, we have a problem that you need to address."
"Sweetheart, you know I'm busy."
Just then she gave a little squeak, as my Head Elf, squeezed past her with his eyes locked onto her cleavage. With her leaning into the room, the display was better than normal. That, and he would usually be required to look up slightly to admire the view. But now with him being one of the shortest of Yule Elves, it was at a perfect level for his four feet of height.
"Hey, Noelle," he cheerfully greeted, while continuing past. As he did, I watched his hand drop from under her skirt.
She said nothing as he grinned up at her and moved towards my desk.
I saw the disgust in her squinted eyes as he turned his back to her. I knew what was about to happen but didn't stop it. If I'd known why my lovely progeny was gracing my office, I would have offered a far more significant punishment. Instead, she waived a finger slightly, sending a lance of sparkles to the rug at the front of my desk and a moment later it yanked itself from under Bernard's feet. He was pitched forward with a yelp, followed by the sound of his skull striking the edge of my desk.
I waited as he slowly righted himself. There was an angry gash on his forehead with a large trickle of sparkly blood running into his eye. He wobbled momentarily and steadied himself with a hand on my desk. I watched the wound close slowly before I ordered him to apologize to his sister.
"Half-sister!" exclaimed Noelle in an obvious attempt to distance herself from her lecherous half-brother.
He glanced at me, spotting my annoyed expression, before turning back to my daughter. "I am most sincerely sorry that you, Noelle, are more beautiful than even a man of my formidable impulse control can withstand. Aphrodite and Venus, both have the face and body of a walrus, compared to your stunning form. I beg your forgiveness, and ask you to remember that I will try harder to restrain myself in the future."
I smirked as Noelle, stepped forward to emphasize her height advantage. Bernard on the other hand wasn't intimidated. Instead, he used the opportunity to ogle her from close up.
"I remember that you're a very small man, Bernard. Small of stature. Small of character. Small in every way."
My head elf put hands to hips and puffed up indignantly. "Who's small of stature?!?"
Noelle sighed, palmed his face, and pushed him aside before looking back at me. "As I was saying Daddy, you need to come with me"
"Can it wait? I'm very busy, Sweetheart."
"Mother was spotted entering the Peppermint Refinery!"
I was on my feet instantly, while uttering "Skitr!" before I could sensor myself. We rushed from the room, almost knocking Bernard down again.
"You should have led with that, Noelle. I've warned her over and over! If she contacts too much Oil, we could be done for. Even if I could forgive her again, the spells won't allow it!"
We rushed past hundreds of startled elves that moments before were happily singing away as they worked to bring joy to countless little girls and boys. The typical factory noises were slowing as the workers started to pause and take in the unusual sight.
I heard a few whispers of 'wild hunt', and not wanting a panic, I called out praise and encouragement as we ran. We waved and smiled as I sent magic to activate the aroma therapy diffusers stationed around the massive building. Soon, the scents of holly and warm cookies filled the air, calming the worker's nerves.
It would be a disaster if my concerns slowed the toy production at this time of year. But worse still, if word gets out that Carol is relapsing again, not only will half the workforce want to jump on that train but I'd be forced to invoke the Mrs. Santa clause.
No, not Mrs. Santa Claus, like in my wife's name, THE 'Mrs. Santa Clause'. The magical binding that limits my marriage. Once triggered, I would be instantly single again. My ex-wife would be sent back to Alfheimr in disgrace to face her mother at the Winter Court.
Think of the clause as a postnuptial contract. Back in 1581 the supernatural community, more or less forced me to give Carol one more chance in the name of interdimensional good will. Not to mention appeasing the Queen. I only agreed because of the finality of the 'Mrs. Santa Clause'. But, that had been so long ago, that I no longer hoped the clause would ever be invoked.
I realize that none of this was ever her fault. Simply put, my wonderful wife, has always been an addict. And addicts do stupid things when they're strung out. In Carol's case, she turns into an insatiable cum slut. She'll fuck and suck anything. It doesn't matter if they're human, fey, or in between. Hell, the last time she was caught, she was with four elves, a pixie, and a centaur. Rumors told of an additional two satyrs and the Tooth Fairy, making their escapes as I landed on the roof of her little love nest. She couldn't even keep her dalliances to the Winter Court!
Before that, she hadn't even tried to keep her needs in check. I tolerated it at first for two reasons. One, I was in love with her, well I guess I still love her more than I want to admit. The second was that I was too busy trying to build and operate a global enterprise to knock her up every few weeks. But without her birthing at least two older siblings for Noelle per month, we never would have been able to get the factory up and running.
Once every department was more than fully staffed, I insisted Carol seek counseling and attend rehab. It was difficult for everyone at first, but once she kicked the Peppermint Oil, our relationship eventually became perfect. Or at least as good as it could be.
It took a long time for me to trust her again but we agreed to a child. Our first, to my knowledge. Noelle was born thirty-nine weeks later, which was a testament to her being mine. Although, I did secretly have two separate blood-magic paternity tests done... Just in case. That was just over a hundred years ago.
I knew this had to be hard on Noelle. She has known the origin story of the Yule Elves her whole life, but to her, it was just like any other tale from Faerie. A story from the past that she wasn't forced to equate with her mother. She seemed to be handling it well so far, but being made to confront her mother's depravity couldn't be easy.
We made it to the factory's northern exit, where we burst through without regard for the weather. Our winter gear sparkled into existence around us with little more than a thought. Noelle looked simply stunning in her's. The tailored calf-length coat and matching mittens kept her warm but allowed her nubile figure to be known even under layers of thick cloth. The fir-trimmed cowl of her riding cloak framed her face perfectly without a hint that any amount of wind could displace it.
My outfit on the other hand, always makes me look fat. I hated it almost as much as glitter. Well, not really, I hate glitter more, but my usual winter outerwear is a manifestation of how people perceive me. I just wished they realized that being from Faerie, I couldn't get fat if I wanted to. Being a god does have some advantages.
