Duman had done a great many ill-advised things in his life. He'd list them, but he'd hate to make people feel bad about how boring their own lives were. Actually, no, he'd love to do that, but this story can only be so long, so a list of Duman's exploits would regrettably have to be provided elsewhere, perhaps in his biography, if Ogron would ever stop being unreasonable and just go ahead and ghost write it! Honestly, what else did the guy have to do?

But anyways, on to the latest item on the aforementioned list. This escapade involved crouching in the bushes outside the house of a polar bear gang. How did Duman know they were a gang? Well, they dressed like gangsters, they were loading and unloading a lot of what looked like stolen goods, everyone was nervous of them, but, mostly, he'd read the synopsis of the story. Wait, what now? Oh, great. Someone really needed to reinforce the fourth wall, this guy just kept breaking it like any of Ogron's rules.

'So, we clear on the plan?'

'Duman, your plan was 'just break a window and grab what we need',' Stella sighed.

'And?'

'And I love it. Finally, a plan everyone can understand.'

'Right?!' Duman grabbed a weirdly glittery rock from the ground. 'Okay, I'm just gonna chuck this.'

'What if they hear us?'

'Cross that bridge if we come to it.' He glanced left and right as much as when he crossed the road, before tossing the rock up and through a window. 'Go, go, go!' They hurried forwards, scrambling inside, carefully avoiding the shattered…glass? Duman picked up a piece, squinting at the sticky substance. Glass? No…he licked it. Sugar. He crunched it down, along with the pieces of candy cane he'd snagged from the fence when they'd climbed over it.

'Ew! Duman, you don't know where that's been!'

'Yeah I do. In this window.'

'But what hairy polar bears might have leaned up against it?'

Duman paused. The woman had a point…meh. He snarfed down the rest, licking his lips with satisfaction. Mm…polar bear-y.

'Ew.'

Duman shrugged, skulking along the hall. Nobody was there, but this was how one heisted. And as someone who had totally been there when Anagan had watched Ocean's Eight, he knew these things. Technically, they were meant to infiltrate some kind of high society event, but even he knew that was opening a can of worms. He had about as many formal manners as Ogron had misspellings in his texts. Also, formal events made him sad. All the food was really tiny for no reason.

'Sneaky sneaky…sneaking along…'

'Are you…are you singing?' Stella hissed, creeping after him.

'Yeah. Why?'

'…Are those the only words?'

'Mhm.'

'…Sneaky, sneaky…sneaking along…'

'Sneaky sneaky, sneaking along…' It was a very good thing that nobody happened to be around, or their impromptu musical rendition of their own actions would have certainly got them eaten by polar bears.

'So where is this eggnog? It say on the wrapping paper?'

'…Basement.' Stella squinted at the paper. 'Hey, Duman, can you make out what this says?' She proffered the paper in his face, and he frowned at a tiny asterisked note. It was so small…he supposed that was what happened when elves wrote. They were practically pixie-sized.

'Uh…' He shrugged. '…Something about a bog? A…grime bog.'

'Ew!' Stella paled. 'You don't think we have to go to a bog, do you? I almost died in one once. In a school-sanctioned exercise.'

'Your school sounds awesome. Nope…' He handed it back to her. 'Probably just warning us that this place has totally gang vibes. Crime boss, probably.'

'We still don't know that for sure…'

'Sure enough to make me invested!'

The house was surprisingly empty as they continued their sneaking, with the exception of the intermittent heavily-armed suited bears wandering the halls. Duman wanted to antagonise them to see if they'd shoot at them. Stella wanted to not get shot. Stella won the debate. Duman was still huffy.

'You think this is it?'

'What, the door marked 'basement?'' Duman remarked sarcastically. 'Nah. It's obviously an observatory.'

Stella punched him playfully on the arm, kneeling down in front of the locked door and pulling out her credit card.

'Are you really still set on using that? You can't pay for stuff up here with your dad's plastic.'

'Oh, ye of little faith…' Stella slid the card into the gap between the door and the wall, jimmying it around for a few seconds before Duman's ears twitched at a loud click. The door swung open, and Stella spun the card into her hand like a smoking gun, tucking it back into her pocket with a smug grin. 'My dad's plastic can do a lot. And, for the record: this is my plastic. I have my own money, judgy wizard.'

'Who said I was judging?' He was totally judging; people with as much money as Solarian royals had made zero sense to him. What could anyone ever do with that much? And how did people who could literally bathe in money hope to govern a kingdom of people who could barely hand money over to their mortgage broker? In all fairness, Solarian was pretty rich, but still.

He sniffed the air as they headed down the stairs. Yep, that was a definite boozy tang…eggnog, here they came! If they checked this off, then they'd be well on their way, and he could still rob the mall in time to get Gantlos a really nice hat. Hats were always hit and miss; they needed plenty of time to find one that would be worn with delight rather than loving obligation.

'Yipe!' He stumbled, almost tripping his way down the stairs in the fuzzy darkness.

'Duman!' He felt delicate gloved fingers close around his wrist, yanking him back upright with a scrape of heels on stone. 'You okay?'

'Yeah…' He took a deep breath, shaking the adrenaline off. 'All fine. This place is a hazard, though.'

'Let me take care of that.' Stella snapped her fingers twice, and Duman's pupils shrank rapidly in the silvery light that spilled from her spellcraft, coming to hover above their heads to illuminate the stairs Duman had almost tumbled down. Right down to the flagstone floor. Damn, he coulda died. Well, time to compartmentalise that.

'Thanks, Stell. You're a little Christmas angel. Maybe literally.'

'Says the guy that sported angel wings,' Stella teased. Duman pouted. It had hardly been on purpose.

'Let's just find this eggnog.' Duman hopped down the last few steps, shivering in the frigid temperatures. The damn drink would be frozen in these conditions! Wait, what was the freezing point of eggnog? Ogron would know. Maybe he should text him. Would he even have any reception? Maybe the alcohol did something to the freezing point…

A grin spread across his face as something occurred to him. 'Hey, Stell…'

'Yeah?'

'You know, when eggnog ages, it needs plenty of booze in it to keep it good.'

'And?'

'We're gonna get so wasted on this stuff!'

Stella jackrabbited upright from inspecting one of the bottles along the wall of the room. 'Say what now?'

'We gotta drink this, right? So, we're gonna get absolutely hammered then fly a sleigh! I think I'm finally invested.'

Stella huffed, shaking her head, glitter falling from her hair like snow. 'Hate to break it to you, but Santa said we only needed a few sips. We won't get wasted on that. I have a high alcohol tolerance. Maybe you don't, though…'

'Hey! I have an amazing alcohol tolerance!' That was a lie, two beers and he'd be drunk flirting with Gantlos and asking if he was single. But Stella didn't know that. 'You even allowed to drink?'

'Legal drinking age on Lynphea is seventeen; I went on vacation there with Flora and so I've been drinking since then. And having an amazing alcohol tolerance.'

'It's not a competition.'

'Not a close one, from how defensive you're getting.' Stella smirked, grabbing a bottle from the wall. 'I got the eggnog.' She slipped her card out of her pocket, her hand creeping closer to the shelf.

'Don't you dare. We're doing a crime!'

'What if it was expensive to make?'

'We don't care! Where's your Christmas spirit?'

'This is the opposite of Christmas spirit!'

'You've clearly been doing Christmas wrong. And at the end of the day, what's a polar bear gonna do with a credit card?'

'Use it to buy a stake in American companies.'

'Exactly!' Stella concurred. 'Use it to-' It was then that it occurred to both of them that neither of them had suggested that. In the slow-motion fashion usually reserved for the people in horror movies that the script opted to kill off when faced with the murderer, they both turned.

A dozen huge polar bears stared back at them, each one glaring with the full rage of an apex predator having their festive beverage stolen, which, turned out: that was a lot of rage.

'Stella, I got this,' Duman hissed. 'Hey, fellas!' He made finger guns at them in what he thought was very charming fashion. 'We were just looking for the appropriately idyllic festive Snowman festival. Think we took a wrong turn, so we'll just get out of your fur-' He couldn't finish his brilliant argument, as he found himself answering the age-old question that had plagued humanity since the dawn of time: what was it like being punched in the face by a polar bear? Well, now he could tell you!

It hurt.