Bernard was sulking. Again.
"Curtis?" Scott (Ahem, Santa) asked, catching the elf on his way to supervise something or another.
"Yes, Santa?" Curtis asked, professionally.
"What's up with Bernard? He's not usually this gloomy." He watched as Bernard began to scold another elf, then gave up and sighed halfheartedly. The little elf looked shocked.
Curtis looked around suspiciously, then beckoned Santa closer. "It's his birthday next week," he whispered.
"His birthday?" Santa asked loudly. There was a collective gasp and a huge silence, broken only when the elves started muttering amongst themselves about whose birthday it could possible be.
"Shh!" Curtis hissed. "Come on." Curtis led Santa to a random, out-of-the-way room.
"Haven't you noticed that all of us elves are hundreds of years old. Never 101, never 304, always 100 or 300."
Santa nodded, though he had no idea what Curtis was talking about.
"Right," Curtis continued. "So we only have birthdays once every five-hundred years, and we are then a hundred years older."
"What?" Santa asked, confused by Curtis's illogical math.
"Okay," Curtis said. "An elf is born, right? Then, five-hundred years later, they turn 100. Five hundred years after that, they turn 200. Understand?"
"But, wouldn't birthdays be happy?" Santa reasoned. "If you only have one once every 500 years?"
Curtis looked annoyed. "No!" he cried. "Of course they're not happy! Every 500 year mark puts them that much closer to their 2000th birthday!"
"So?"
"So!?!?" Curtis repeated. "So!?!? So, at 2000, an elf has to retire!"
Now Santa saw the reason for Curtis's alarm. "ANd how old is Bernard?"
Curtis looked around suspiciously and whispered again. "1900."
"Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh is right," Curtis agreed. "Next week, Bernard will have to retire, and chances are he'll turn to dust."
"What!?" Santa exclaimed. "Why didn't you mention that before? Why will Bernard turn to dust?"
"Well," Curtis began. "At 2000, an elf has to retire. If they're happy when they retire, they get to live happily as they usually do. Surely you know that elves retire?"
"Of course," Santa said defensively. "I just thought it was by choice."
Curtis shook his head. "No elf retires by choice," he informed Santa. "Because if an elf is sad when they retire, they turn to dust. You can't exactly have a bunch of unhappy elves wandering around. It's very old magic."
"And Bernard's not happy?" Santa asked, although he already knew the answer.
Again Curtis shook his head. "An elf is only happy either making toys or if they're in love. And…well, you know Bernard."
Santa nodded. "Well, you know what we have to do?"
Curtis nodded. "Prepare the funeral."
"No!" Santa admonished. "We have to begin Operation Find Bernard A Girlfriend."