The fire in the hearth was glowing, burning high and bright. There was a table next to it and on the desk a row of opened books. They were standing, spread towards the flames. The Boogeyman was sitting next to it, frowning at those miserable piles of paper and words, turning the pages every now and then.
"What on Earth are you doing to those poor books?" Hazel stopped in the door, watching the whole scene.
Pitch lifted up his head with a wry reply: "What am I doing? Better to ask what that frozen menace of yours did."
Hazel sighed. It was her idea that Jack could keep borrowing books from the Lair's library. He was a lot older spirit than herself but as he spent vast majority of that time alone, he was in a desperate need of education. And Pitch's library, that was nothing but education.
However easily distracted winter spirit was truly... a menace to the books indeed. They always came back a bit frozen, with snow between the pages - which both quickly turned into water, soaking the ancient paper and parchment.
She crossed the room to the hearth, placing a soothing hand on Pitch's shoulder: "You know he doesn't do that on purpose. We could tell him to dry them first."
"And end up with half wet, half burnt books you mean?"
As on cue, shadows let them know that there is a visitor to the Lair, shivering slightly. Jack didn't announce himself here anymore.
"Hey, you two!"
If Pitch's glare could kill, the world would have one winter spirit less.
Hazel simply nodded to Jack, keeping her hand exactly where she put it before: "Hi, Jack."
The was burning, the books were in a little bit better shape, there was tea and biscuits and Hazel's firm rule over the room and for once, things got a little bit more civile. The winter sprite brought in the news from the Pole and as a messenger, he was pardoned for now.
The conversation flowed and Jack was talking about some old, forgotten traditions he read about and he concluded with a sigh: "Where did that creativity go? People don't come up with such things anymore."
The Boogeyman shrugged: "They are lazy. But in the old days, it was us who came up with many of those in the first place."
Jack looked at him with a hint of disbelief: "Like, spirits? You just made something up?"
"Sure," Pitch nodded, "it was a great way how to pass time. For mortals as well, in fact. Usually the more unhinged thing one could invent, the more popular it got..."
"That does sound fun," Hazel poured herself more tea, "I don't see a reason why people nowadays should be any different on that matter though."
Her words fell into a thoughtfull silence.
"There are winter traditions that seemed pretty funny to me..." Jack mused cautiously.
Hazel caught the glint in Pitch's eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Go on," she smirked at him, "what could revive them better than cold and dark."
Those two were discussing for hours inside the study. Hazel, every time she passed the door, threw a suspicious glance that way. What on Earth could they possibly be plotting in there for so long?
Finally they made it to the Small Hall with victorious grins. They made it. They found and reinvented tradition.
A completely terrifying snow-white costume they'd perfected, a custom of catching the kids day after St. Nick's day - Ambrosius should be both scary and funny, rewarding the courageous children with candy. Candy stuck to the broom in his hand. Who dares, wins.
Both were absolutely delighted.
Hazel was left just to shook her head.
"And," Pitch proudly added in the end, "it's in your honor, my dear."
"Is it now?" Hazel raised an eyebrow.
Jack helped himself with a biscuit: "Of course! Ambrosius is a patron of beekeepers!"
Hazel sighed: "Is that your way of forcing my cooperation?"
The winter folklore was about to be brought back.
It doesn't take much to inspire a tradition. A precisely formed nightmare. A properly placed winter spell that immediately reframes scary to funny.
Both spirits were sitting on a low wall opposed the village church. On the littler square in front of them there was a bundle of whooping, screaming kids, running in circles around a guy in the most nonsensical, scary costume a saint could ever get. A short white cloak that ended by his knees, dark trousers, high pointy black hat and a long white veil. That all had some explanation, some symbolism - there had to be something behind that riddiculous outfit - but none of that was important. He was trying to catch the kids wit a short broom - and the children were trying to snap candies glued to the sait instrument.
It was an absurd havoc.
Both the Boogeyman and the winter spirit were watching their creation with a deep satisfaction.
"So, how does it go?" Hazel stepped out from the shadows.
"According to plan," Jack grinned in response.
Pitch made her space to sit down with them: "You were right. Choosing the beekeeping club was the right place where to start."
"Thematic concistency," she shrugged, "when you two picked their patron..."
"Well, that went smoothly," Jack cut in, "what's next?"
It was a day after 's day, the advent just broke in its peak.
And in the middle of the pre-Christmas chaos, North almost choke on his morning coffee. Something in the Christmas folkloric scenery just got very shifted in a familiar, but almost forgotten way.