"Beck, open the door!" Bernard pounded his fist on his charge's front door.
It opened, revealing a rumpled, sleepy Beck, grouchy at having been disturbed from her nap. "Can I help you?" She grumbled, glaring at the clock which declared 1:00 pm. Bernard shoved past her into the room.
"It's Christmas Day."
"…And?"
"With it comes the Pole Christmas party." He opened her still-packed suitcase and dug around.
"So?" Beck groggily replied, rubbing her sleep-filled eyes and wondering why the hell he was going through her stuff.
"You're late." He pulled out some clothes and threw them at her.
Rolling her eyes, Beck caught the clothes. Without a second thought, she peeled off her pajama top. Startled, Bernard quickly turned his back to her and covered his eyes. His pointed ears were bright red. Beck just laughed at him, shimmying out of her sweatpants. "Prude."
He cleared his throat nervously. "Just hurry up." Now he sounded impatient.
"Alright, alright. Jeez." She put on the clothes – a blue dress she hadn't worn in years and a black sweater. She then shoved her feet into her trusty converse sneakers. She yanked the hair tie from her hair and let it fall messily down her back. "How do I look?"
Bernard tentatively turned around and gave her footwear a skeptical look.
"You've already put me in a dress. What more do you want from me?" Beck huffed dramatically.
"I don't have time for this." He took Beck's arm and led her out of the apartment building.
Stomping after him in the snow, "Why do I even have to go?" Beck whined.
Bernard resisted the urge to pull his hair out. "Because, Beck, it's part of your probation. You need to be involved in as much as possible here at the North Pole to convince the Council of Legendary Figures that you're fit to stay. That includes being involved in social functions."
"Ugh, fine." She paused briefly in her steps. "Wait a minute, who says I want to stay?"
"Santa wants you here because he thinks you have 'potential' or something. If it were up to me, you'd never have come back in the first place, but hey. I'm just the Head Elf. It's all up to the Big Guy."
"Harsh. You have wounded me to the core." Beck rolled her eyes. "I still don't get why you have to be my babysitter."
"I'm your parole officer, remember? I have to make sure you're behaving. We don't want any repeats. If it weren't for you I wouldn't be going to this thing either. I don't like it any more than you do." Bernard told her crisply.
"The party or me being here?" Beck inquired, one eyebrow raised.
"Both."
"That makes two of us, then."
When they reached the main part of town, the Christmas celebration was in full swing. At the North Pole, Christmas Day proper was always an extravagant affair. The "party" was really more like a huge parade. The reindeer paraded proudly down Main Street, displaying their bells and medals. There were several (rather short) Pére Fouettards* and Krampuses* running around, smacking people with switches. Beck thought that just about every cultural Christmas tradition was represented somehow (back in elf school, the one subject she had excelled in was "Culture and History of Christmas" – a sort of elf social studies).
The young elf girls who usually wore fanciful princess dresses and tall hats were even more outlandishly decorated, and Beck felt extremely underdressed for the occasion. The town was decked out even more than usual, in preparation for the house-lighting contest that night. There were a few groups of elves rehearsing for the caroling competition later on.
The elves were always a very competitive group of people. Whether it was playing touch football with Santa or betting on who would finish their work quota for the day first, it was all about the thrill of the game. Christmas day was no exception to this. There were tree decorating contests, baking contests, and reindeer exhibitions, to name a few. The elves tried to look busy but couldn't hide the whispers and pointing.
"Hey," Beck tried to get Bernard's attention while trailing after him. He either hadn't heard her or was pretending not to. "Bernard." She tapped him on the shoulder. He kept walking. "Hello-oh?" She raised her voice a bit. Bernard stopped, but it was only to buy some roasted chestnuts. Alright, this is getting ridiculous…
"Hey!" He continued to ignore her, walking briskly past a Pére Fouettard riding a donkey. "Hey." Nothing. "Hey!" She huffed in frustration and tugged on his coat. "Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey." She tugged more forcefully. "Bernie!"
Bernard whirled around, furious at having been called that. "WHAT?"
The entire square went completely silent. You could say that you could have heard a pin drop, but elves have extremely good hearing and could have heard one anyway. Every single elf turned to stare at the two, wide-eyed.
Beck looked around in awe, mouth agape. She quickly became bored with that and turned to the fuming Head Elf. "'S there any booze being served at this thing?"
Bernard gave everyone a look that scared them into minding their own business. The constant buzz of noise returned. "Well, we have eggnog and cider."
"No, I mean hard stuff. Like vodka, maybe?" She asked hopefully.
He rolled his eyes. "'Like vodka maybe?'" He mocked her, walking away.
"No, I'm serious!" Beck marched after him. "If I'm supposed to get through this thing with my sanity intact, I'm gonna need a good, stiff drink!" She stomped for emphasis.
"Look, Beck, the strongest thing here is the glue used in Assembly."
"I can make do!"
"I'm supposed to be watching you, so please don't start rooting around in search of the 'good stuff.' I will buy you a cider if it'll shut you up." He stopped at a vendor and paid for a tall cup of apple cider. He gave it to Beck, who sipped sullenly.
"This is going to be a long probation." She rolled her eyes yet again.
"It's not just for your probation. It applies to the whole North Pole. Alcohol slows down production and lowers morale." He stated matter-of-factly.
"Oh, I'm not staying," Beck laughed and waved her free hand. "Do you really think the Council will want to keep me here? Anyway, the no-liquor thing is kind of a deal breaker for me." She winked and Bernard couldn't tell whether she was serious or not.
Suddenly, a young elf dressed as Krampus ran up and took his switch to Beck's rear-end with a loud "thwack!" Bernard stared at Beck, expecting her to get pissed off.
Beck caught the boy by his large pointed ear. He looked up at her, petrified. "Sorry, but you're not exactly my type. You're cute though. If only you were older," She smirked and dragged a finger down his chubby cheek. This made him extremely uncomfortable, and his cheeks turned dark crimson. Beck threw her head back and laughed, walking away. Bernard looked back and forth between them for a moment, before hurrying after her.
"Okay, what just happened?" He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm just looking to cause a bit of a stir. It makes things more interesting." She replied innocently, finishing off her cider. "Anyone who says they don't like drama is lying."
By this point, they were near an eggnog stand, and they each bought a cup.
"You know, I think I prefer cider." She murmured, nursing her eggnog.
"Hm, is that so?" Bernard asked, not masking his disinterest.
"Yeah. Not only does eggnog vaguely remind me of breast milk-" This caused Bernard to nearly gag on his own beverage, "-but cider has a much higher alcohol content. And you can't even taste it. You know it's a good drink when you can't even taste the alcohol." She leaned in closer to Bernard to whisper, "But between you and me, I like a good, straight gin every once in a while, too." Her eyes shined with mischief.
Bernard sighed, disgusted. "Beck, you are fascinating." He remarked dryly.
"Well gee; tell me how ya really feel!" Beck scoffed, tossing her rumpled red hair.
"Bernard!" The two saw Scott, otherwise known as Santa, strolling up. "How is everything? Are you comfortable in your apartment?" He addressed Bernard and then Beck.
"I was," She shot her parole officer a dirty look and gulped down the rest of her drink.
"Good, good!" He looked pleased.
Beck continued to stare at him. Santa looked around awkwardly. "Do I have something on my face?"
"Oh, no, no," Beck waved a hand, "Sorry, you just look a lot like Tim Allen."
Santa laughed heartily. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
"Actually, you know, Santa," Bernard spoke up, "I think, since it's just after the big night and all that I'm just going to be swamped trying to get the elves back on track with their work - just swamped - so I don't really know if I can do a very good job mentoring Beck…"
"Actually, this is the least busy time of year, so you should have plenty of time!" Scott reasoned. "And actually," He continued with a knowing smile, "If it's too much work for you, Curtis can cover your duties at the workshop."
"Actually Santa, that's a wonderful idea!" Curtis popped out from behind a pie stand and smiled self-assuredly over his spectacles.
Bernard glared at him "Not a chance." He said sharply.
Curtis shrugged. "It was worth a shot." He pushed his glasses up farther on his face, adjusted the Rule Book in his arms, and trudged away.
"Now Bernard, I know there may be hard feelings between you and Beck-"
"Hard feelings? She treated me like dirt! She treated everyone like dirt! I'm pretty sure she doesn't even have a heart." He stated bitterly.
"That's kind of a harsh thing to say," Scott raised his eyebrows, taken aback. Bernard might be short with people, but he never outright disliked them.
"Yes, well, it's true. But at least she's getting what she deserves." Bernard sullenly crossed his arms.
"By the way, where is Beck?" Scott asked, looking around. Bernard did the same. When he didn't see her, his stomach dropped.
"Oh, for the love of Christmas!" He took off into the crowd, frantically looking for his wayward charge. Santa followed him, looking over some child-sized elves' heads. Bernard spotted Curtis. "Curtis! Where's Beck?"
Curtis gave him a look. "You were supposed to be watching her!"
After combing through the crowds, Bernard finally spotted Beck at a vendor, chugging a cup of cider with some other elves cheering her on.
"Chug, chug, chug, chug!" They chanted.
She finished it off and slammed down the empty cup triumphantly. She pumped her fist in the air as her fans cheered.
"Excuse me!" Bernard shoved the crowd out of his way. "What is this?" He confronted her.
"Uh…a drinking game?" She offered and leaned against the stand in order to steady herself.
Scott arrived. "Okay, nothing to see here!" he shooed away some onlookers and turned to Beck disapprovingly.
"How many have you had?" Bernard eyed the empty cups on the ground.
"I don't know. Only like, two or three… or six." She finished in a small voice, smiling sheepishly up at him.
"You are absolutely ridiculous." Bernard said through his teeth. What happened next was attributed to the alcohol.
Beck's misty brown eyes grew wide. "You're not mad at me, are you Bernard?" She moved up uncomfortably close to him, fiddling with his necklace. "Don't be mad." The way she was whispering and the way her breath hit his neck seemed much too intimate for Bernard.
He sighed, feeling extremely uncomfortable with her uninhibited behavior. "We need to get you back to your apartment," He told her firmly, noticing the looks they were receiving.
Beck nodded, and made a face as if she were going to sneeze. Bernard was ready to greet it with a "gesundheit" when she suddenly leaned over and emptied her stomach on his shoes, before collapsing on him.
He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, counting to ten, lest he do something he might regret later. He held his hands up as if she was something disgusting that he couldn't stand to have touching him.
This was when Scott finally decided to intervene. "Here we go," He took hold of Beck under her arms and held her up. Bernard gave him an "I told you so" look.
"You're going to hit a few roadblocks!" Scott insisted. "And uh…it'll probably get worse before it gets better." He offered a weak smile.
The two were able to get Beck back to her apartment with the help of Blitzen. They awkwardly dragged her through the lobby and into the elevator. Finally they reached the apartment and got her onto the bed.
Scott pulled off her shoes, and then walked over to Bernard, who was livid. "Bernard, I need you to stay here."
"But-" Bernard tried to protest.
"Just until she sobers up. Please, just watch her. I have to judge the reindeer show." With that, Scott hurried out.
Bernard stared at Beck, passed out on her bed. "You are more trouble than you're worth."
He spent the better part of the next hour or so in the bathroom, trying to clean his shoes off. Afterwards, he slumped down onto the couch in the living room, letting his head rest on the back and pinching the bridge of his nose.
I can't believe it's only the first day…this is going to be one long year.
He dozed for a while, until a rustling sound from the other room woke him. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 7:43 pm – he had only been asleep for two hours. He heard Beck moan softly.
Bernard grabbed a bottle of painkillers from a cabinet in the bathroom. He walked into the bedroom, not attempting to hide the contempt in his expression, and handed the pills to Beck. She swallowed them gratefully.
"You're a mess, you know that?" She rolled over and stared at the opposite wall. "Do you realize what you've done here? I have to handle the whole workshop, and you. You definitely have a knack for ruining people's lives." He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe.
She rolled over again to face him angrily. "And what about you?" She was still slurring a bit. "You've completely uprooted my life. I was happy there in the human world. I don't even want to be here!"
Bernard stared at her. Her red waves were spread out on the pillow and framed her face. Her freckled face was utterly miserable: her doe eyes sad and stubborn. He wondered why Santa wanted to waste his time on someone so utterly hopeless, someone who didn't want to change.
He must have been looking for a long time, because her brows knit together in an annoyed expression. "Staring is rude, you know." She turned her face away again. "I think you should go."
Bernard didn't protest.
He had a bone to pick with Santa.
* Pere Fouettard and Krampus are cultural traditions in France and Germany - They're like Anti-Santas for naughty children. Look them up - they're really neat!
Watch for the next chapter, where we'll learn more about Bernard's history with Beck.