Chapter 2
A Reluctant Nutcracker
The loud chime of a clock jerked Gajeel from the best sleep he had had in ages. Between the guild being full of overly-cheerful mages getting ready for Christmas Day and avoiding a tiny, blue-haired mage, Gajeel found little time to nap while at the guild hall. Every fairy seemed to make it their personal mission to brighten the place up until it was an eyesore of clashing colors. They were still in the middle of decorating when old man Makarov turned his voice to booming, declared everyone finished for the day, and practically shoved everyone out of the guild hall with strict instructions to "enjoy their Christmas Eve."
A distinct twinkle in the old man's eyes instantly put Gajeel on edge, but he wasn't about to complain about a break from all the decorating and cheerful laughter.
Not that it mattered one bit. He looked around the dark room with a frown, a snarl on his lips from missing out on precious sleep. He rubbed his eyes, certain his mind was playing tricks on him.
He distinctly remembered falling asleep in a dirty hotel room, the only thing he felt comfortable renting with the small bag of money the Master loaned him when he first joined the guild. But the dirty carpet had been replaced by a giant, round rug, the dingy bed transformed into a giant contraption of wood and fabric that towered above his head, and the hardback chair in the corner had turned into a comfy looking arm-chair, which more closely resembled a mountain from Gajeel's spot on the floor. Christmas decorations filled every nook and cranny, filling the small space with color and cheer.
Gajeel studied his surroundings with a frown and shook his head at the strange dream his mind decided to create. He scratched his head, wondering when he pulled his hair back into a tight ponytail, and groaned when he saw the bright red sleeve covering his arm. His eyes traveled down the rest of his body, his lip curling as he cringed.
Why in Fiore am I wearing this!?
His entire torso was fitted into a snug, red uniform he normally wouldn't be caught dead in. Gold tassels and stitching traveled the length of his arm and decorated the front of the uniform. The front of the jacket stopped at his waist, but the back split into two tails that would have hung down to his knees if the fabric wasn't bunched under his rear. His legs were wrapped in a soft white fabric that stretched easily, but hugged his legs enough that he couldn't help but be grateful for the long jacket to cover his rump. His sturdy black combat boots were nowhere in sight and were instead replaced by shiny black studs that only a dandy would wear. The only redeeming part of the strange getup was the long, silver sword strapped at his waist.
Gajeel sighed and hung his head, mentally berating himself for dreaming up the ridiculous outfit, but was jarred out of his thoughts when the room shook around him.
A giant twisted off of the bed, bending over him. Gajeel's heart pounded in his chest as he was picked up and placed directly into the sight of the same girl he tortured all those weeks ago.
The girl frowned, her dark brows furrowing over her bright eyes. "How did you fall off the shelf?" she whispered.
Gajeel blinked and the girl gasped. She brought him closer to her face until he could see flecks of gold in her chocolate eyes.
"What in Fiore–"
The clock chimed, striking midnight. A low chuckle filled the air. Gajeel's gaze jerked to the bookshelf where a small man sat on the top shelf. Old man Makarov grinned and wiggled his fingers at Gajeel.
"Have fun," the guild master winked and the room flashed white.