Happy holidays, everyone! As promised, I have a little Christmas story. Hopefully, this doesn't span more than ten chapters, and my goal is to finish this before New Year's. And I promise this isn't crack. Enjoy!
Box. Fold. Wrap. Send out.
Box. Fold. Wrap. Send out.
Those were the orders Orbot received and the orders he was carrying out. The small, red, orb-shaped robot grasped another toy sent from another robot in the assembly line, placed it on top of a box, folded, wrapped, and sent it out, following the commands built into his programming. His holly green pointed hat that ended with a bell drooped over him, and his red and green outfit fit awkwardly over his hinges and gears. He fought the nagging sense to tug at it. He couldn't really complain though since that was the official uniform for one of Santa's workers.
Thousands of robots bustled in the large room deemed 'The Present Hall', and they worked all in one assembly line, which started at one side of the hall from making basic toys and zigzagged all the way to the end, which was the boxing and wrapping station. His station. The mechanical elves were not loud with their voice but with their work. Their metal limbs clanged boisterously with remote-controlled cars, fairy princess toys, or whatever else they were required to assemble.
Still, Orbot didn't mind the noise of the other elves but enjoyed the occasional glance toward the homely windows where outside of them fat snowflakes rained heavily down in the night. It was only a week until Christmas and the 'hustle and bustle' would only get more hectic as the days passed, so it was a nice relief for the robot to look at a change of scenery rather than looking upon panicking elves and Christmas presents being tossed about.
Box. Fold. Wra-
"Incoming!" a voice called before Orbot barely deflected the gift-wrapped toy thrown at him. The owner hastily bounced over, his elf ears hanging incredibly out of place on his yellow, metal, cube-shaped structure.
Orbot finished wrapping his current present and sent it along the line. "Cubot, what am I going to do with you?"
"Come and deliver the Christmas letters with me, that's what," Cubot handed an armful of envelopes over to Orbot.
Quickly, he scanned through his data for an excuse. "But I have to finish up all these presents—"
"Just find another elf to do it," his partner dismissed, already bouncing away. "C'mon, Santa's workshop is this way!"
It seemed Cubot's programming wasn't too slow to identify his pattern of making excuses after all. The orb-shaped robot merely whirred a low tune in defeat and leapt from his chair to follow. On their way, they passed many other robot elves, some juggling boxes and others fumbling plastic and metal junk for toy parts. Orbot wished he could be a part of the grunt work rather than doing this.
Cubot sprung to two large, ornately-decorated red and gold doors. To the left of them, a sign neatly printed in opulent cursive: Santa's Workshop. With a minute push, the doors eased open just enough for the cube-shaped robot to slip through the small slit and Orbot to reluctantly pursue. He could vaguely process merry holiday music lazily playing in the background, and because of that, he almost let his guard down.
Until he nearly ran into a wooden board.
"I wonder why he leaves so much junk on the floor," Cubot commented as he jumped over the overturned table.
Orbot sprung onto the top of the sideways table to view the whole main workshop. It looked as if a winter storm cruised through. A torrent of gaudy decorations lay littered on the floor, on walls, and stuffed in the shelves, which also contained other various ornaments. The flashy, glittering green and red holly wreaths swathed the walls of the workshop, and several towering Christmas trees of different colors and wacky shapes were huddled in the four corners of the place. Tables were overturned except one that was overflowing with various plastic pieces and metals and half-attached toys and snow globes. The room itself probably would've looked more elegant and festive if the decorative exterior wasn't plastered with what seemed to be unfinished projects.
The source of the jolly music was a wind-up toy sitting not far from the working man, contrasting greatly from the disaster scene. To both the elves, Santa's Workshop was gigantic enough when it wasn't this chaotic, so having towering obstacles to hurdle over made it impossible to traverse across the place. While they approached, Orbot couldn't help but take note of his boss.
His boss's rounded blue glasses hung on the edge of his pink nose and his taut cheeks were a rosy red as he toiled over a strange-looking contraption, probably a toy experiment of some kind. The iconic red and white coat fit him snugly and the only facial hair upon his visage was a static-y orange moustache which stuck in every direction imaginable. A cup of eggnog sat within his reach, and several other mugs lay strewn on the floor, stained with the same liquid.
No elf must've been allowed in there for quite some time for that mess to pile up.
During his examination of the room and his boss, Cubot had gotten several feet ahead, approaching the large oak desk with glee. "Oh, boss, boss!" he cried, approaching the ledge to climb onto.
The man's head snapped up, and a look of anger glinted underneath his blue spectacles. Panicking briefly, Orbot dived forward and managed to climb up onto the desk before his less-competent co-worker could. "What is it?" the man said slowly, peering down at the red elf.
"Here, boss," the orb-shaped robot said, handing the rotund man his mail, "Christmas letters. From the children."
"Oh, really...?" The man grasped an envelope and slit it open, presenting it and reading the letter in a flash. His expression, which was already not so happy, became quite disgruntled when his eyes met the epistle. "Not another one of these," he growled to himself, thrusting a metal part out of his hand. There was a loud clack, and the merry music halted from the wind-up toy.
Cubot peeked over the desk in curiosity, crawling slowly to not be a distraction.
Grasping his orange moustache, the man pulled at it, the hairs threatening to cause pain if plucked off. Turning to his red elf, he burst, "Orbot, can you believe this?" He studied the letter for the correct quote, and then in his best imitation of a little kid, he read, "Jerry says, 'Santa, I've been very, very good this year. My older brother Tom doesn't believe in you, but I do. I wish for...' and he lists all these things. You think I'm going to give someone all these things for just saying that they believe in me, which is most obviously true?"
"What a difficult boy," Orbot answered in what seemed to be a deadpan tone, but the man ignored the slight.
"And get this—! He says, 'I'm looking forward to your visit on Christmas Eve. I hope to see your reindeer and your magical sleigh and your white beard and red suit and all the presents you'll have for me. Merry Christmas, Saint Nick!' "
The cube-shaped robot leaped onto his boss' shoulder. "At least he got your name sort of right," he replied in an optimistic tone.
"It's Saint Ivo Robotnik, Cubot," he snarled, "But that's beside the point. What absolutely infuriates me is that 'Jerry' only asks for stuff...like I'm some present ATM! Tell me, what side of the list is he on? Tell me he's naughty!"
Feeling the pressure of his boss' intent stare, Orbot waded through the stacks of papers on the oak desk, finally finding a clipboard with an official-looking paper. "Uh...he's nice."
The sudden pound on the desk scared the living Christmas lights out of Orbot. "What!? How—how can they decide he's nice?! He's greedy, always asking for stuff, never satisfied, throwing his own brother Tom under the bus..."
"The kid's writing a Christmas wishlist just like the other kids, Saint Kringle Claus," Cubot offered helpfully.
"Exactly! Why don't they ever send letters asking me how I'm doing or what inventions I've come up with? How rude of them!"
Orbot tried to coax as gently as possible with the most reason inserted. "That's not how the world works, boss."
"Tell me, where is he from?" he demanded, ignoring the elf's statement entirely.
"Station Square in the US."
"Figures." Saint 'Nik stood up to from his cluttered desk, hoisting his weight to shift out of his office area to another larger desk filled with various colorful parts and musty tools. "Everyone in that area believes preposterous myths about me. Myths, I say! To think I could circle the world, delivering presents to every good little boy and girl in a matter of a few hours with just magic is such an egregious insult to my work!"
Orbot sighed, cupping a robotic hand around his mouth towards his partner. "He's monologuing again."
"And using big words," Cubot adlibbed.
Saint 'Nik spun around and slammed his palms onto the table. "I mean, I like this fuzzy red suit and all, but I don't have a white moustache and beard. What's wrong with red? Facial hair only becomes white naturally because of age, and much age at that. Do you think an old man would be toddling around, making and giving gifts to everyone when he himself is on death's row? I think not!"
"And talking to himself."
"It's my life's work to make these gifts, and it was my father's and grandfather's life's work as well. It's not some silly old man that lives forever and has found an entire fictional, supernatural race of midgets with deformed ears that can make toys by the power of...magic." With fury, he flipped over the table, pieces large and inscrutably small flying in every direction. "It's entirely illogical; that's what it is!"
Sensing that it was starting to get out of hand, Orbot kept a safe distance above Santa on the top shelf of a bookcase with Cubot hiding behind him. "Everyone agrees that magic is basically unreal and ill-proven to be otherwise. There's no need to get worked up about it."
"Yeah, 'specially since you have that whole 'new reindeer' thing to worry about," Cubot joined.
'Nik swiveled around to meet his creations, his brow furrowing even deeper if that were possible into his navy blue spectacles. Both robots winced and prepared themselves for the explosion. However, Santa merely exhaled and slumped against the wall, shaking his head in obvious disappointment. "The problem is not that bad. I have a solution."
"A solution that can get you around the world in one night?" Orbot countered, " 'Cause since he's gone, you're definitely gonna have to find something at least half as fast as him to even have a chance to meet the quota."
Santa 'Botnik waved his hand, trying to act flippant but failing. "I was thinking about finding real reindeer, y'know. Then build and somehow attach jetpacks to them. The problem is to prevent them from combusting in thirty seconds."
Cubot put a finger to his metallic square head. "The jetpacks or...?"
"Are you sure that'll work, boss?" Orbot asked hesitantly, "The variables are innumerable—"
"You can't be serious!" the fat man exclaimed, snapping back to his angry self and staring at the two tiny, geometric-shaped robots, "Do you think I'm not capable of building jetpacks that'll fly reindeer across the world? Do you think that all this evidence, all the toys I've made, the robots—the 'elves'—I've built to help me with these toys, the workshop that I've designed cleverly hidden from all mankind, is not proof enough of how intellectual of a man I am, un-needing of an excuse like magic to cover my hard genius work?!"
"Uhhh...no?"
Orbot quickly shoved Cubot away and leaped onto the fat man's shoulder, red and green clothes ruffled in the movement. "Sir, we're not questioning your intellect, but perhaps, with all this stress that you're undergoing, especially since it's December, you might not be thinking right—"
With a single glare disguised under the red-suited man's glasses, Orbot was shut up. "Orbot, Cubot, find six, fresh, young-looking reindeer in the next two days. Alert the other elves of this order; it's top priority. I need to get back to my work."
"Don't be such a martyr, boss..."
"Now!"
They quickly disappeared by the ornate gold doors, and all was silent, save for a deep, muffled sigh from the room they were previously in. The two dressed-up machines exchanged glances before going on their way back to the Present Hall to spread the word about Santa's new orders.
Sometimes, it seemed to Orbot he was working for a mad scientist rather than a benevolent gift-giver.