a/n: The final gift exchange is ready to happen, so exciting. Feel free to have some punch and cookies while you wait!
All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.
L must have made a habit of offering personalized matches, or maybe other young people had come up with the same genius idea as Gwin and L had been all too happy to accommodate them, for a slight fee. Either way, up until the close of registration a stream of BLADEs and civilians had visited the store, all with some degree of furtiveness. L had reworked his matchmaking protocols to streamline the process, and he was able to satisfy the majority of his visitors, although he kindly pointed out that only so many matches, ideally just the one, could be made for any given individual. As a result, he could not promise success for high demand targets, although he gladly accepted the increased registration fee.
Now it was the day of the party. The cards had been sent and received, with slight misdirections, but as L pointed out, since all the cards were his own design it didn't really matter. Trees or candles, snow Nopon or saltat angels, all of the art was of the finest quality. Similar mix-ups happened with the beverage delivery, but since those were quickly consumed, there was little proof of failure left for senders to complain about.
However, there would be no mistakes made with the final round. L had guaranteed worried participants that everything would be done without mishap. "We are checking the list twice, for the sake of goodness. We will cross our heart with each name off the list." He made much of attaching the sender's name to each gift before fitting it neatly into one of the multitude of boxes he had ready and waiting. Then it was only a matter of wrapping the hoard.
"My fingers are getting a little sticky, okay?" twittered Giogion.
L frowned at his Ma-non assistant. "Will we need to recount the cash box at the close of business tonight?"
"From the tape, L, from having to use all this tape!" He waved a skinny arm at a growing mountain of finished boxes, now brightly wrapped in shining paper. "I don't know why you couldn't have used what I suggested earlier, because it would have been so so much better, I think?"
"Alas, spray-on decorative skins are not traditional for gift wrapping, and you know how humans do love their traditions with all their hearts and other organs."
Giogion pulled a strip of clear adhesive tape from the dispenser, winced as it tangled in his fingers, shook himself free, and grabbed another box, all the while warbling his complaints under his breath. At the other end of the table, L was doing his part to finish the task. He tied a wide bow around a present wrapped in paper printed with angelic Nopon prancing across a field of pink snow. There were only a few presents still to be wrapped, as it should be after almost 5 hours of effort.
L set out to comfort Giogion, who was as much a collaborator as an employee. "We are sure that there is another use for your clever concept. Perhaps we can find a way to paper over other issues. Skells, maybe?"
"Oooooo, paint jobs for skells, now you're talking! Wait, no no no, they get testy when people march down the alley, remember?"
"Then we must wrap the mountain around the molehill. Perhaps a secondary location. Or we could develop a remote paint bomb."
This topic was of enough interest to fill the remaining minutes until the chore was done. Giogion looked at the packages with fresh concern. "You're sure that the labels were correct, right?"
"Absolutely. We have placed a tracker in each box, in the mischance the outer label should become undone."
xcxcxcxcx
The party was a mixed success. The punch was weak [1]; the cookies were plentiful but dry and too small. The cupcakes had been provided by a Nopon small business, and while the snowman toppers were realistic, the decorative branches for arms turned out to be real twigs. No one wanted to find out what the eyes were made from. The Repenta had contributed a platter of homemade tamales, but those had been demolished within the first 5 minutes. Rosemoss' hotdish had congealed due to lack of interest, and remained untouched for the remainder of the party.[2]
All the same, the mood was festive. The Outfitters had decorated their hangar with long loops of paper chains and bunches of native flora that could charitably be called holly-like. A group of Curators were providing a cheerful seasonal soundtrack which thumped across the hangar from the upgraded sound system of a second generation skell. Conversation sparkled and people were happy to talk with close friends and new acquaintances. Guesses were flying, with sly hints being slipped into the chatter.
The crowd grew quiet when the music cut out. All eyes turned to L, now wearing a jaunty pointed hat, its pompoms clearly indicating a Nopon origin.[3] "My friends, we were told that it is better to give than to receive, so we must apologize that the best is over. But we are willing to make sure you get what is coming to you." L turned to Giogion, who pushed a button on a small box in his hand.
From high in the rafters of the hangar there was a whispered crackling noise. The crowd looked up and shouted in surprise as packages pelted down on them. The shiny boxes weren't simply dropping, however. They were swerving in midair, aiming with determination toward their destined recipients. Tiny puffs of parachutes halted them before they crashed into the party guests, although a few of the taller BLADEs found their gift bopping them gently on the head. Shock turned to laughter, and the party goers began to open their presents. Some ripped the paper, pulling their gifts impatiently into the light. Others methodically peeled the wrapping away, taking more time. But within a few minutes, every gift was visible.
At first, everything seemed wonderful. Most people were pleased with their gifts. Several were bemused but still happy. A few felt uncertain, possibly insulted. Such is the nature of Secret Santa exchanges. And yet, after the excitement of revealing their own gifts was over, a general malcontent spread. Something had gone wrong, very wrong indeed.
"That was supposed to go to ..."
"I thought my gift was going to ..."
"You told me the name was ..."
A small mob bunched around L, protesting the results, some furious, some whiny, some slightly ashamed. In every corner of the hangar small groups formed, trying to untangle the confusion, negotiating whether gifts should be re-exchanged or left with the first recipient. It was becoming clear that every single gift had been given to the wrong person. The more clever and patient participants realized that the same mistake had happened with the cards and beverages they had sent. Each round had gone to the same person, but that person was never the one they'd been told was their match.
L looked across the mass of confused humans and smiled. "Secret Santa Surprise!" he caroled.
1. Two Mediators were stationed by each punch bowl, with strict instructions not to let Frye within 2 meters of the beverage.
2. This is slander against hotdish, I admit.
3. OF COURSE it was a red Santa hat!
4. No, really, Merry Christmas. I may have something for Boxing Day.