Disclaimer: If I were ruler of the world, I would own David Krumholtz (JK!) and would not be broke and hungry. The Santa Clause copyrighted by Disney and Bernard is copyrighted by the Awesome Curly Hair Foundation….a.k.a. David.

NOTE: This is mostly written in third person omniscient, but will be labeled on first person thoughts.

Carol of the Bells

The two dimwitted toy soldiers grabbed Bernard and roughly started to shove him towards Santa's office. Bernard was still trying to convince the elves around him that the Santa standing before them was a fake and had a rubber tushy…

The soldiers finally reached the main hallway in front of the office, after many colorful protests from the elf hostage stuck in between them. Bernard could see the door to the big man's office to his right, but the soldiers seemed to have navigational disabilities. He roughly nudged himself to the right, in hope that the toys would believe he had trying to run from something on the left side of the hall.

The soldiers pulled the elf back and started going towards the left, towards the ball room. 'Guess they can't read,' Bernard's hope was regained as the soldier to his right reached out for the handle to the large brass and burgundy door. He could just hear the balls flying through the air, and for once in his life, he relished the idea of having the room built.

The door was opened and a ball flew out and hit the soldier, on the left, square in the face. The soldier fell over and let go of Bernard. The other was too stupefied to realize that he loosened his hold on Bernard. Bernard yanked away from the soldiers and ran in the direction of Santa's office. He was almost to the other side of the hall when a huge navy-colored arm blocked his view and he ran into it, causing him to fall to the floor. He gripped the front of his head in agony as two more metal arms surrounded him and lifted him off the floor. The first soldier, whose arm he ran into, swung his upper body and hit Bernard in the stomach. Bernard coughed and attempted to lurch forward in order to protect his stomach. To no avail, the second soldier just held Bernard tighter, slightly crushing the small elf's chest. This made Bernard panic even more. He completely forgot about the first one until a metal arm struck his head again. This time, however, Bernard surrendered to the soldiers and to the crushing of his chest.

He saw the first toy turn around, and finally, walk in the direction of Santa's room. The second toy held Bernard off the ground and carried him to the room. As they were passing the corner of the hall to the main floor of the factory, Bernard looked up and saw a smaller yet extremely familiar elf staring at him. Curtis. In his almost unconscious state, he still held Curtis responsible for what was happening. But, he too, felt responsible for he lied to the other elves in order to let Santa go find a wife. He just hoped Santa was waiting until after Christmas to have the Honeymoon.

***Curtis***

'Bernard. The hardest working elf, who always knew how to solve a problem, was defeated. And by mere toy soldiers! How did it come to this? The rubber and plastic Santa was just supposed to walk around and say "Good job!" to the elves until the real Santa came back. How did the plastic one become the dictator of this new confound communism?' He watched as Bernard stared at the floor in a daze while the soldiers took him into the old Santa's office.

'This has to be stopped! It's gone too far!' Curtis imagined steam flaring out of his soft pointed ears. He swiftly turned around and walked away towards the sleigh room to devise a plan.

***Bernard***

Bernard could see the dim light radiating off Santa's desk as the soldiers carried him across the room to another door, which led to the living room of Santa's suite. There, number one grabbed some lights and tossed them to the second one, who miraculously caught them while still holding the limp elf. Bernard felt the cord of the lights bound his hands together behind his back. Number Two placed him on the floor, in a kneeling position. Then, Number One returned with a bundle of green and silver tinsel and the two proceeded to wrap the tinsel around Bernard, as an arrangement of a bondage trick. They finished tying him up; tightly, I might add.

Once again, Number Two's arms snaked around Bernard's fastened torso and he was lifted into the air and then, abruptly tossed into a closet, with the door slammed behind him.

***Curtis***

He had seen the soldiers take Bernard into Santa's office, and he even caught a glimpse of them tying him up through the crack in the door. He had originally gone to the sleigh room, but then he realized that he needed to know where exactly Bernard was and where the soldiers were. So, with a pair of quick feet, he rushed back to the door to Santa's office, which was the destination of the soldiers' drop-off was, and peeked through the crack. He watched the resignation of the older elf flare as he was dropped to his knees and bound like an adolescent's hand-wrapped gift. He couldn't even bare watching the soldiers toss him through another door and walk away; their glimmering, metallic smiles painted on the hollow faces of a monstrosity, only created and manipulated by an atrocity, fake, just like them.

Once the soldiers had left through the north door to the room, Curtis swiftly flung the door open and caught it with an ease, 'Just like skipping E.L.F.-cons training.' He quickly pulled himself away from his nostalgia and scampered over to the closet door.