Authors' Notes: Hey there, Triad Orion and Village Idiot here. Here we are writing an Advance Wars story together, so beware the oncoming stuff. It could prove to be dangerous if you don't have any sort of sense of humor.

Well, anyway, we thought it would be pretty funny to see how the AW COs would handle some part time jobs. So, we wrote it! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: We don't own Advance Wars. Surprise surprise.

-----------------------

The battles that had ravaged Wars World were over. The peace that had been disrupted by Sturm's ambition had returned when Hawke had turned on his old ally and cast him down once the Death Ray had been destroyed. So, what now would the people who had devoted their lives to war do? Because everyone has to make money, right?

"Aren't you a little tall for an elf?!" Olaf stood in full Santa swag, looking down at Grit, who was dressed in a green tunic with long red and white striped stockings. Because what mall is complete around Christmas time that doesn't have a Santa and his friendly elf?

"Now look here, Frosty. I won't have any sass out of you, Santa. You may be a commanding officer, but I still got this here revolver hidden somewhere." Grit's long pointy hat stood atop his head; it looked so positively idiotic that it took any seriousness out of his threat and made it nothing more than a mere jest.

"You're addressing a commanding officer! Answer me when I ask you a question!"

"I did answer you, O Bearded One."

"You know what? I'm the Santa Claus here. The elves have to do what Santa says! Besides, who are the kids getting their picture taken with? You or Santa? Now shut your mouth and start giving out the candy canes."

"As you wish, my master." Grit said with such a blast of sarcasm that it would've made the Death Ray look like a squirt gun. Olaf shot Grit an icy glare, but Grit merely shrugged it off like it was a flurry rather than a raging blizzard. With that, Olaf put on his Santa hat and he walked out into the main lobby of the Orange Star Mall.

There sat the very chair where he was supposed to sit, sitting next to all the other Santa-themed elements in the area. You know, the tiny little house, the sleigh, something that resembled an Elvish workshop, and some stuffed reindeer. As Olaf took his place at the chair, a thought crossed his mind that he quickly conveyed to Grit.

"You know Grit, I really miss my old chair."

"Beg your pardon?"

"You know, my old chair. From Advance Wars one."

"Advanc-what who now?"

"You know? A Gameboy Advance game?"

"Y'all lost me. Have you been dipping into the orange juice again, boss?"

"I told you never to bring up orange juice in my presence again!"

"Better sit down, Olaf. I reckon the kids are starting to line up outside. Looks like we might be busy for awhile." With that, the newly appointed mall Santa sat down and Grit, his trusty and faithful elf companion, stood next to him. The security guards opened the front door and the line of kids proceeded forward, the first child quickly climbing into Olaf's lap.

"Ho ho ho! Have you been a good boy this year, son?"

"Of course I have, Santa!"

"That's great. Now, what would you like for Christmas, lad?"

"Hey Santa, have you been putting on weight?" The kid asked, innocently, but with a smile.

"Beg pardon?!"

"Yeah, you should go on the Atkin's Diet! That will help you get rid of that fat!"

"I'm not fat!" Olaf bellowed.

"Sure, he's not fat; he's just big boned." Grit said before tacking on a sly whisper to Olaf. "And fat."

"Shut it, Elf."

"Santa, why are you being mean to your helper?"

"Because my helper hasn't made it on to my nice list this year." Olaf said, shooting a glare to the now grinning Grit. "Now, what do you want for this year?"

"I want a train set, and some dominoes, and a new bike, and a 'Little People's I'm A Big Marketer Now!' set! I want to go into marketing when I get older! Maybe even call people up on the telephone and tell them how great stuff is!"

"Just. just, go." Olaf said, gently pushing the kid off his rather large lap. "Next please." The next kid climbed up onto Olaf's lap and the phony Saint Nick began his bogus role all over again. "Hello son, what can I get for you this year?"

"Hi Santa! I like your clothes. They're red. I like red. My parents told me that the reds will overrun the world in a glorious victory over the capitalists dogs!"

"Oh really? And what do your parents have to say about the glorious general of the Blue Moon army, Olaf?"

"They say he's a capitalist dog who wears the color blue. They don't like blue. But for Christmas I want a red flag, and a hammer, and a sickle, and domination over the western world for all my comrades! Oh, and a rap CD!"

"Rap?! Be gone from my sight! I won't have any of this new age nonsense near me! I'm Santa Claus!"

"And isn't rap kind of against your thought kid? I mean, ain't it some capitalist thing? You asked for all the, ya know, well. . .yeah." Grit never had time to finish talking to the kid, though, for Olaf had quickly ushered him away, constantly mumbling under his breath the horrors of rap music. They watched as the child was picked up by his two parents, both of which were clad in red with small hammer/sickle symbols planted on their backs.

"Now that is something to worry about. Want me to call the cops Frosty?" Grit looked warily at the retreating couple and their son.

"For liking rap music? Is that a crime now? Took them long enough." Grit turned to look at Olaf and shook his head, letting the next kid in.

"Ho ho ho! Have you been a good little girl this year?" Olaf said, faking a jolly voice.

"Shouldn't you already know? Haven't you been watching?!" The girl asked incredulously.

"Well, I just thought I'd see what you had to say. Now, what can I get you for . . ."

"Can the pleasantries! I know you're not Santa!"

"Of course he's Santa." Grit cut in. "Look at him. He's old, he's got a beard, and he's fat. A guy like that has to be Santa. There's no way a man with that build could be anything else." The sharpshooter mused.

"And you're not any better! What are you supposed to be, a Keebler elf?"

"Hey now, y'all, that's just downright unneighborly."

"And what kind of elf speaks with a southern twang anyway?!"

"My shooting iron speaks with a southern twang too. Care to hear?" The girl arched an eyebrow at this and returned her comments to Santa, the original target.

"Anyway, your very existence is impossible. There is no DNA evidence supporting the existence of you, your elves, or your stupid reindeer that look very much stuffed."

"Well actually, y'all never did gone and studied your genetics well, didja?" Grit pointed out. "You see, a certain mutation in the 32X gene allowed the existence of. . ."

"Now you're just making stuff up, elf-boy."

With this comment, Grit whipped out his revolver and gave a quick reply: "Teddy says I'm not lying. So why not just be a good girl and tell Frosty what you want."

"I want a cell phone please." The girl smiled, as she got off Olaf's lap and walked away.

"I suppose no job is complete without a disbeliever." Olaf sighed.

"Boss, I could still cap her from here. Do you want me to take the shot?" However, before Olaf could answer, a new kid had jumped into his lap.

This girl, though, was not like the other. Her skin was pale white, and her hair was the most jet black color you could imagine. And Olaf's draw dropped in a mix of surprise and fear as he saw her, because this little girl was one genius who had made the last war a lot harder than the first one. Lash sat staring at him.

"Hi Olaf! Or rather, I should say Santa. I wouldn't want to ruin Flak's fun now, would I?" She smiled and nodded towards the burly, ape-like man who stood in next in line. Even all the way from Santa's pseudo-throne, you could hear him saying "Oh boy Oh boy! I'm gonna meet Santa! My dream come true!"

Olaf, still recovering from shock, worked to recover his composure. He put on a false smile, and said, "What would you like for Christmas young lady? And I hope you've been good." Then he quickly muttered under his breath, "Aside from creating weapons of death and destruction."

"I heard that," came Lash's reply. "And I want. . .A laser, and a Death Ray, and a Black Cannon, and a Mini Cannon, and. . .a pony!"

Olaf sat dumbfounded. Grit gave her a sidelong glance and said, "A pony? You want a pony girl?"

"Tee-hee-hee," came Lash's reply. "I'm a little girl, aren't I? I reserve the right to want a pony for Christmas! But I shouldn't keep Flak waiting, now should I?" She smiled. "Toodles!" She quickly leapt up and nodded at Flak, who began to hop up and down with excitement.

Olaf watched, horrified, as the large man walked forward, a ridiculous grin spread across his face. Grit, on the other hand, was doing his best to stifle his laughter as he saw the large Black Hole CO plump down in Olaf's lap, causing "Frosty" to let out a gasp of shock.

Coughing, Olaf said, "And what would you like for Christmas.ah.young man?" Watching, Grit could hardly keep his wits together, and quickly took a few steps to the side, and began to laugh haughtily. Flak, on the other hand, saw nothing funny about this important and profound event in his life.

"Santa! I want a pony! And.um.an Easy Bake Oven! Oh, and an Encyclopedia Britannica! "

Olaf sat, very, very confused, as well as very uncomfortable, looking desperately for Grit's help. Unable to find the gun toting shooter, he tried to hastily get rid of Flak.

"That's great son. I'm sure you'll find that last one in your stocking. Now hurry off, your friend is waiting!" Disappointed that the monumental event had ended, Flak stood up and walked out with Lash. Sighing with relief, Olaf took a minute to catch his breath. Suddenly Grit was back at his side, a grin spread across his face.

"So, did you have fun with that last one, oh illustrious leader?"

"Grit. . .you just wait. I'll get you yet boy. But lets get this last kid in so we can go!"

Unfortunately for Olaf, this last boy was far from the best boy he could've gotten. No, in fact, it was probably the worst. Like the very gates of Hell itself opened just so all the demons and lost souls could laugh at the overweight CO's plight. Yes, the worst possible thing had happened. A boy with spiked hair clad in an insultingly loud orange jumpsuit ran up to Olaf and Grit.

"SANTA!" Andy yelled, bounding over like Olaf was some kind of rare novelty item. "Santa Santa Santa Santa!" Andy exclaimed, hopping into Olaf's lap.

"Andy?!" Olaf exclaimed.

"Wow, you know my name, Santa? That's cool. How did you do that?"

"Uh, I'm Santa?"

"That he is, Junior."

"Wow, your elf sounds a lot like this guy I know." Andy paused. "And don't call me Junior!"

"Have you been a good boy this year, child?"

"I helped stop an invasion! That counts, right?!" The mechanic said with a stupid grin on his face. Meanwhile, a nearby janitor walked by as he was sweeping the floor and muttered in a mechanical voice:

"Stupid kids."

"Well, uh. what can I get you for Christmas, son?"

"Uh, I want a new wrench, and some cheese, and ooh, a wrench made of cheese! Ooh, I also want for Max a new Medium Tank and I would like for Sami to relax and stop giving me the evil eye! And that guy Grit could use a new gun! Grit's cool. 'Cept when he calls me Junior."

"Well, isn't he the most generous boy?" Grit mused to Olaf. The sharpshooter was pondering just what kind of gun Andy had in mind. . . he could use a new rifle.

"Anything else for anyone else?"

"Ooh, and for Olaf, I want him to get rain. He likes rain, right, Santa?"

"Hardly." Olaf grumped.

"Well, lastly, I hope Sonja gets whatever she wants."

"And what DOES Sonja want, Junior?" Grit asked, doing his best to stifle his laughter once more.

"ANDY!" A loud voice shouted from across the room.

"Uh oh! Santa, save me from the crazy clipboard wielding woman!" Andy exclaimed, trying to hide behind Olaf.

"Andy! You said you were going to help me Christmas shop for my father and then take me out to dinner!" Sonja said, walking up to the hiding mechanic.

"I did?" Andy asked, bewildered.

"Just be quiet and come on." Sonja replied, grabbing him by the ankles and dragging him across the mall, his fingernails leaving deep trenches in the tile flooring. "We've got a lot more stuff to do."

"Aaaaah! Save me, Santa!" Andy called out. "Save me from the super-smart seeing woman!"

"You know, sometimes it's okay to shut up and act civilized." She said to him.

"That's awfully hard, dear." Andy replied.

"Kids and their little flings." Grit chuckled. "Looks like Junior's got his hands full eh, boss?"

"He wanted to give me rain. Serves him right." Olaf grouched.

"Well, I reckon that takes care of today's work. Come on, boss; this elf suit is chafing." Grit whined as he and Olaf left their post from their first day of work.

------------------

Authors' Notes: What did you think? Feedback would be much appreciated!