Hark! The Herald Angels’ Sting (Pt. 1)

Most midnights, Northeast P— City was a desolate wasteland. Tonight, however, the streets were bustling with masked and hooded strangers slipping in and out of bars. A few unsupervised middle schoolers were out past curfew, heading toward a cemetery wearing wicked grins. Overhead, the full moon was like a terror-stricken eye. 

The atmosphere was perfectly eerie, fitting for the beginning of a horror film. 

Step. Drag. Step.

The sound came from a pair of dragging, unsteady feet. Like a living corpse, a man dressed in a tattered, puffy red jacket was staggering across the road towards a hotel.   

This was the Tap Mistletoe Hotel, which had been awarded an unheard-of four-and-a-half stars in recent years. Out front, a well-dressed doorman stood slumped against a post, checking his phone. A chilly breeze tunneled down the street, causing him to shiver. The doorman adjusted the cuffs of his red uniform, as if that would help to retain heat. Then, unaware that he was being approached, he continued skimming the smutty webtoon on his screen. 

Step. Step. Step—

The doorman looked up, only to make eye contact with the living corpse of a man, standing just a few feet away. 

“Blood…” the stranger huffed, wobbling in place. His wavy brown bangs shielded his eyes from view. Unless one looked closely, it was easy to miss the sharp, shining fangs glimmering behind his bloodstained lips. “So thirsty… need more blood…”

“First and last name please,” the doorman obliviously asked. 

“No name… only (hic) bloodlust…”

The doorman shook his head. “Sir, as this is a private party reserved for members of Gumiho Entertainment, I unfortunately cannot let you in without—AAUGHH!!!”

The obviously-a-vampire sprung, aiming his fangs at the doorman’s jugular. The doorman futilely thrashed around and screamed, unable to dislodge the monstrous attacker suctioned to his neck like a leech. Finally, out of nowhere, a taller man swooped in to the rescue, heroically grabbing the vampire’s tattered red hood and jerking him back. 

“I apologize,” the taller newcomer said, immobilizing the vampire in a headlock with seemingly zero effort. He wore a black turtleneck and blazer, as well as a pair of tiny cat ears nestled in his dark hair. “My husband is very drunk.”

“Mr. Shen, sir!” The doorman smiled, forgetting having been assaulted seconds ago. Motioning to Shen Dan’s cat ears, he added, “Stunning costume.” The doorman then shot the squirming “vampire” an inspecting look before continuing, “Is that Mikhail? I didn’t recognize him with that new haircut.”

Mikhail slumped over in Shen Dan’s arms. He spat out his plastic fangs onto the ground, slurring, “Who’s Mikhail, I’m not… I’m… uuuugh, Shen Dan, I’m gonna barf for real.”

Shen Dan petted Mikhail’s head. “We are here for the Halloween party. It would be best if we came inside quickly to use the restroom—”

Suddenly, a bright voice from the distance cut through their conversation.

“Shen-geeeeee! Mikki!”

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There came the sound of clacking heels. 

Holland, wearing fuzzy brown horns and a mustard-yellow crop-top covered in brown spots, was staggering down the sidewalk. A bottle of ambiguous liquor was in his hand. Struggling to keep him upright was none other than the bone-tired Manager Wei, dressed in a black tux and cape. A white mask was covering the right half of his face, which he had awkwardly taped his glasses to.  

Spotting the junior actor, Shen Dan immediately scowled. 

“Happy Halloween, Shen Dan,” Manager Wei sighed, joining Shen Dan and Mikhail at the hotel’s front doors. “I see Mr. Li did some drinking beforehand as well. As your PA—I mean, husband, he should comport himself better. What if the paparazzi show up!”

Mikhail wagged his middle finger in Manager Wei’s face. “Yo, Grandpa Wiener, you can tell the poopoorazzi—”

“I’m sooOOooo happy I get to see my bestest, most sexiest friends in the whole world~~” Holland tottered towards Shen Dan and Mikhail, only to wrap his arms around the pair of nearby potted shrubs beside them.

The two plastered drunkards must have been sharing the same liver. Moments later, they proceeded to bowl over and, at the same exact time, threw up all over the concrete floor. 

Shen Dan: “…”

Manager Wei: “…”

The doorman: “…”

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Gumiho Entertainment was the talent agency Shen Dan and Holland were contracted under. According to the email Manager Wei received, attendance to the company’s Halloween party was mandatory, or else the holiday-averse Shen Dan would surely be at home, comfortably reading a book in bed.

As for Mikhail? Old habits die hard. He was itching to let loose, but didn’t want to go anywhere without Shen Dan.  

This Halloween party was therefore the perfect excuse to get blitzed together. 

It took approximately two hours for Mikhail’s blood-alcohol levels to dip back below 0.15%. Consciousness gradually trickled back into his brain, which had blacked out for most of the celebration. The dinner, dancing, barfing, karaoke, company raffle, traveling circus routine, magician act, more dancing, and still more barfing had all combined into one massive blur. 

At last, coming to, Mikhail found himself standing upon a stage, blinking at a massive crowd of Gumiho Entertainment employees and actors.

A loud voice over a mic yelled: 

“Let’s give it up for our winner of the costume contest! Shen Dan’s hubby, Mikhail Li!!!”

“Wha…?”

The spotlights were blinding. A pair of seemingly disembodied hands handed Mikhail a trophy. Teary-eyed and still extraordinarily drunk, Mikhail cracked a smile and did a princess wave, thinking, The scary vampire costume I worked on all day yesterday actually got appreciated? Ahhhh, I knew my hard work wouldn’t go to waste—

“That’s right, everyone, Mikhail Li with his impressive sexy angel costume is our first-place winner!” There came a symphony of cheers, hoots, beeps, and whistles as the voice over the mic continued, “Bravo, Mikhail! So realistic, too!” 

Across the room, Mikhail caught his reflection in a large mirror in the hotel’s lobby.

Rather than the neatly trimmed haircut Shen Dan had recently dragged him to the barbershop for, his wavy brown hair had inexplicably quintupled in length, now hanging majestically down to his chest. The expertly-altered tattered puffy red jacket he had arrived in had been replaced with white damask silk robes, wide sleeves billowing. Out of his back, a pair of large swallow wings were splayed out. The hovering gold halo at the crown of his head was emanating a harsh light.

Mikhail: “…”

Fuck! Why was it every time he got drunk, the weird-ass angel gear had to come out?!

And since when did these robes come with a boob window?!

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Without the System attached to him, the only way Mikhail could bust out the angel wings and halo was from clapping. From past experience, the more times he clapped in rapid succession, the equipment would power up, akin to a charging battery. Conveniently, Mikhail was a happy drunk. Seeing Holland in his giraffe costume get voted off during the contest’s first round, he must have started clapping and barking like a seal…

As Mikhail stumbled off-stage, a few female Gumiho Entertainment employees congratulated him with giggles. 

“Mikhail, are you into cosplay? You really look like XXXX from XXXX!”

“Did you glue all these feathers together by yourself, or did Dandan help you?” 

The two women reached out and gently fingered Mikhail’s partially folded wings. The unexpected ticklish sensation caused Mikhail to blush. The more they toyed with his long flight feathers especially, his heart began to race, and a tingly feeling wormed in his groin.   

Mikhail brought his wings together to cocoon his body, hiding his flushed face from view. “Ahn! D-don’t touch it’s sensitive—I mean, uh, toxic!”

The women paused with their hands midair. “Toxic? You mean… like asbestos?”

Mikhail nodded. “Yeap.”

“…”

The two women immediately made a beeline for the restroom to wash their hands. 

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Now to figure out where the hell Shen Dan disappeared off to…

Mikhail tucked the costume contest trophy under his arm and began to scour the hotel lobby with his glowing amber eyes. Not to mention his wings being sensitive, whenever he was in this “supercharged angel form,” all five of his senses were more attuned. The improved hearing was especially useful whenever he wanted to eavesdrop on Shen Dan’s phone calls. As for the improved sight, which could occasionally see through walls, he often used it to spy on Shen Dan while the man took a shower.  

If this were a Christmas extra, we would undoubtedly see the name “Mikhail Li” scrawled on a certain jolly man’s naughty list. 

Alas, the topic being Halloween, his demented tendencies were only too fitting.  

Mikhail pricked his ears up at a familiar voice: 

“Shen-ge, if you keep looking at me so seductively, I’ll have no choice but to kiss you~”

Mikhail’s lips curled into a snarl.

That mustard jerk! Was up to no good again! 

A gust of wind ripped through the hotel lobby as Mikhail flapped his massive wings. Propelled forward, he streaked over to a table where Holland was presently puckering his lips together, slowly inching his face closer to Shen Dan—whose forehead was planted on the table, drool pooling out of his mouth.

“The fuck ‘looking at you seductively!’ Shen Dan is so drunk he is not even conscious right now!” Mikhail seethed, grabbing Holland by the collar of his giraffe-print crop-top and shaking him.

Holland flopped around bonelessly. “Aiiiii, Mikki, can you really blame me? Everything Shen-ge does is seductive, even sleeping! I remember one time when we were first dating, waking up next to his angelic face, I couldn’t help but use my mouth to—” 

“DON’T YOU FINISH THAT FUCKING SENTENCE!”

Seeing red, Mikhail snatched a gin and tonic off the table and sent its contents flying. Unfortunately for him, Mikhail forgot that Holland was a pro tennis player with inhuman reflexes. The mustard jerk nimbly dodged out of the way…

Causing the projectile cocktail to be dumped all over Shen Dan instead. 

Mikhail: (°ロ°)

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If this were a video game:

Achievement “Friendly Fire” unlocked! 

Heartlessly attack your drunk husband with a beverage of your choice!

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Shen Dan slowly sat upright. Ice cubes tumbled off the man’s shoulders, clear liquid dripping between his unfocused eyes. Coupled with the look of bewilderment on his face and his cat ears, he really looked like a house cat that had been cruelly left outside during a rainstorm.

“Eeeeee, Dandan, what happened?”

“Wuwuwuwu, didn’t you see? Mikhail dumped that drink all over Dandan, how mean…”

“Kyaaaaa, are Mikhail and Dandan in a lover’s spat?”

As the words “lover’s spat” began to circulate amongst the partygoers, Mikhail’s teeth started up their usual stress-induced chattering. Using his billowing sleeve to wipe gin off of Shen Dan’s face, he was about to make some half-assed excuse about heroically putting out an electrical fire when suddenly, from outside the hotel, there came a deep rumbling sound.

Like a curious lion cub in a Bisney movie, Mikhail glanced down at a pebble on the floor. The pebble was vibrating from the distant rumbling, not unlike the sound of a thousand wildebeests stampeding. 

That better not be what I think it is—

On cue, the hotel lobby doors crashed open. 

The sound of camera shutters flashing and people clamoring with inappropriate questions quickly drowned out the cheerful Halloween music in the room, sending the drunken actors and trainees in the room scrambling for cover.

What fucking timing! The paparazzi were here!

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“Mr. Li, didn’t I say this would happen!?” Manager Wei yelled, shaking his fist. 

While Mikhail stood stock-still like a useless wooden chicken, Manager Wei grabbed Holland by his bun and stuffed him under a tablecloth. Around them, all hell had broken loose. The two or three security guards employed by the Tap Mistletoe Hotel were attempting to push back the wave of uninvited paparazzi, to no avail. Any minute now, the soaking-wet Shen Dan and Mikhail’s rated-M boob window would be right in their line of sight… 

“What are you waiting for, Mr. Li?!” Manager Wei’s voice cut through the chaos. As if he were on a battlefield, he helped the piss-drunk Shen Dan to his feet and draped the man’s arm over Mikhail’s neck. “Take Shen Dan and get out of here! Don’t worry about me or Holland. We’ve survived worse situations before, we’ll definitely pull through—”

He turned, only to find Mikhail had left him in the dust a while ago. 

Manager Wei: “…”

Worry a little more, why don’t you! 

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The life of an up-and-coming actor was not always sunshine and roses. 

It was all very well and good making six figures and having one’s face plastered on the side of mineral water bottles, billboards, and public buses, but being tailed everywhere by shameless photographers snapping photos to sell to the tabloids was a stressful ordeal. With the Tap Mistletoe Hotel overrun with paparazzi like termites, the place was a talent manager’s nightmare. 

But as it happens, this chaos was the perfect distraction for a certain secret mission. 

Hark! The Herald Angels’ Sting (Pt. 2)

For the umpteenth time, supernatural happenings were afoot in P— City. 

In a beam of moonlight, a winged angel clad in teal robes stood upon the Tap Mistletoe Hotel’s roof, gazing down from on high. 

The angel’s skin was dusky brown, warmed by the light of the halo of golden sigils hovering over the crown of their head. Their hair alternated in white and black rivulets; the two massive wings sprouting from their back were similarly mottled with white and black feathers, reminiscent of a snowy owl’s. Looking closer, the right one was bent at a severe angle, evidence of an old injury.  

Their bespectacled eyes were glazed as they surveyed the swarm of paparazzi below. For a moment, those camera-holding figures seemed to flicker. 

The angel opened their mouth, their monotone voice coming out with the regular rhythm of a fax machine: “As extensions of the Universal Order and the Nine Heavens’ Will, it is our sworn duty to contain and make sensible Disorderly Realms. Consulting St. Oguinas’ Maintenance of Spheres Handbook, page 23119, Section 605, Subsection F-22, Sub-subsection 11.4, take note that that in our district, class-C illusions and higher are forbidden from usage for lower-ranking agents, outside of strict supervision from Archrankers. However, this restriction can be bypassed by filling out… a what?”

Tossing out this pop quiz, the angel’s unfeeling eyes moved lower down. Squatting beside them on the rooftop, gripping a pencil and notebook, was a young woman with 2D chibi wings and a gold halo. 

This young angel—Juliel—was a newly-contracted member of the Universal Order. Two years ago, she had died working at a government post office when a shelf of heavy packages toppled over and crushed her. After anxiously waiting in limbo for her case to be processed, she had been surprised to receive a letter instructing her to transfer to the Half-Heaven for onboarding. 

Hearing the Archranker beside her prompt her with a question, Juliel blanched. “Erm, the form… it’s called an—an—an… an… Oh, I remember! P3—”

“The time to answer correctly has expired. The form is denoted with the code P34-S900. System, deduct five hundred IP from Juliel’s account.”  

In Juliel’s head, she heard a robotic voice chime in:

【ARCHRANKER (PHANUEL LXXX) MANUAL OVERRIDE - HOST (Juliel MMMMMMCM)’S UPDATED IP TOTAL: 6】

Juliel: “…”

Minus 500 Intellect Points? Shit, in the Half-Heaven she had use that stuff as currency to pay rent and buy food, too! 

“S-so, Lieutenant Phanuel, sir,” Juliel peeped, “you made those fake ‘paparazzi’ down there to interrupt the humans’ party? C-can you repeat why?” Her hand gripping a 2B pencil was a blur scribbling down notes. 

Phanuel reached towards the sash around their waist. A silver scabbard glinted in the moonlight. With one swift movement, they unsheathed a gleaming sword and twirled it in their hand. Their face remained uninterested, as if they were merely presenting at a Webinar. 

“Anzelm’s Art of Containment, Ver. 6, page 341: ‘To flush out a demon,’” they recited, drawing a pair of fingers along the dangerous blade, “one must needs employ a bit of chaos.”

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It took less than ten minutes for said chaos to successfully send most of the attending actors and staff from Gumiho Entertainment’s Halloween party hightailing it out of the Tap Mistletoe Hotel. 

Carrying Shen Dan on his back, Mikhail was similarly headed for the exit when he bumped into someone.

It was an angel with wavy brown hair, golden halo, and boob window. But unlike Mikhail’s current massive swallow wings, her wings were in chibi-form. 

Someone dressed up as me for Halloween! Mikhail giddily thought. He tried to rouse the drunk Shen Dan slung over his arm to gloat, to no avail.

“Oh! Are you part of Operation Killjoy, too?” the angel asked, giving Mikhail’s halo and swallow wings a quick glance. She stuffed her notebook and pencil into her billowing white sleeve. Mikhail noticed she had a wooden sword hanging off her hip and a golden pin on her lapel that read: “IN TRAINING.” 

Mikhail: “Nice job, but you got my character design a bit wrong. I usually wear a red—” 

“That class-A demon is in here somewhere. We should probably stick together,” the angel said, ignoring him. She took out her wooden sword. It slipped between her fingers and clattered to the floor, after which she blushingly rushed to pick it up. “My name is Juliel. I report to Lieutenant Phanuel. Who in the Universal Order do you report to?”

Mikhail: (°ロ°)

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As if a thunderbolt had struck the top of his head, Mikhail suddenly flashed back to last year’s Christmas. 

Universal Order? Wasn’t that what those angels that showed up in the mall to arrest Experiment 112-B called themselves? Wait a second… 

A terrifying thought entered his head: 

If the Universal Order found out he still had the halo and wings, working System or not, would they take them away from him? 

Mikhail immediately began to sweat. He tightened his grip on Shen Dan’s arm. 

No way could he let that happen! 

The stupid-looking halo could go into the trash for all he cared, but these luscious, feathery wings had established themselves as a necessary prop for his nightly activities with Shen Dan! He didn’t even know if he’d be able to get off again without feeling Shen Dan’s insistent fingers teasing him in those sensitive, inhuman places! 

Intent on blending in, Mikhail remembered the fearsome angel with cold eyes and platinum-blonde hair who had sparred with Experiment 112-B, sword against sword, in the mall. 

What had her name been again? 

Leonardo? No. 

Donatello? Nah.

Michelangelo? Nuh.

Ah!

Mikhail grinned toothily at Juliel. “Actually, I report to Raphael.” 

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Judging from the way Juliel’s jaw hit the floor, it took only 0.0000001 seconds for Mikhail to realize that that had been the wrong answer.

“THE Raphael XCII?” Juliel squealed, fumbling her wooden sword again. When she bent to pick it up, her notebook and a handful of pencils tumbled out of her sleeve. “That doesn’t make sense. Lieutenant Phanuel told me she only works alone. Plus, since the succubus incident, I heard no one has seen her. She’s totally, inexplicably MIA!”

Mikhail’s teeth started chattering as he bullshitted, “Ha-ha. I mean, she works alone, yeah, but only cuz she’s… shy.” 

“Shy?! But Raphael is the Arbiter of Inexistence’s protege! I read the Universal Wiki, doesn’t that mean her heart—” 

The Tap Mistletoe abruptly lurched, causing Juliel to sprawl onto the floor.

A magnitude 3.6 earthquake had interrupted her!

The quake was followed by an aftershock. Then another. Then another. 

The shaking was ten times stronger than the arrival of those paparazzi. While Juliel barked the word “backup” over and over like a broken record, Mikhail fought to keep Shen Dan from ragdolling. The earthquakes continued with a regular rhythm, getting more and more forceful. It occurred to him that the sound resembled…

Footsteps? 

As if to answer this thought, a massive pair of shiny black boots rounded the corner. 

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The rotund man who rounded the corner on thundering footsteps was the size of two adult men stacked on top of each other. Aside from his ridiculous height and girth, there were a few other physical traits that made Mikhail’s eyes triple in size. 

Rosy red cheeks. 

A snow-white beard. 

A red cap and red suit with a black belt and white fur trim. 

Round gleaming spectacles. 

If Mikhail had a tail, it would be wagging at a breakneck pace. His inner child, after knocking out his inner adult with a lead pipe, took control of his brainstem as he pointed a finger and shouted: “SANTA!!?”

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The astute reader might be wondering why Mikhail Li, who was first introduced as a person who quotably “didn’t care one lick about Christmas or the coming New Year” was now getting starry-eyed over this top-tier Saint Nick specimen. 

Rather than this being a case of OOC, it must be said that, truly, magic was in the air…

Even from a distance, one could tell the Santa smelled like cookies, hot cocoa, and peppermint. When he waved a gloved hand, a chilly breeze blew. Mikhail felt something like a cold water droplet land onto his cheek. 

He looked up. From the ceiling, puffy flakes of snow had begun to fall in a gentle dance, turning the interior of the Tap Mistletoe Hotel into a winter wonderland. 

Unfortunately, the mystical atmosphere wouldn’t last.

In a flash of light, Mikhail saw three more Universal Order angels materialize in the hallway ahead of him. The leader of the group was obvious; compared to the two other stock-photo angels, they had a unique design of layered black and white hair and enormous snowy owl’s wings. Eyes hooded with boredom, they pointed a silver sword at the Santa’s face and intoned:

“Scourge, for violating ontological order in this district, I, Phanuel LXXX of the Fifth Heaven Battalion, have come to delete you from the environment—”  

The angel didn’t get the chance to finish their sentence. 

“HO, HO, HO!” The sonic boom produced from the Santa’s mouth sent Phanuel, Juliel, and the other two angels flying backwards. 

Only Mikhail, with Shen Dan draped over his back, remained upright. He blinked in surprise. 

Whereas Phanuel managed to expertly tumble backwards onto their feet, the two angels to their left and right had to awkwardly help each other up. Juliel, whose wooden sword had broken in twain, merely lay unmoving on her back, pretending to play dead. 

“Cassiel, Zaphkiel—Virtues and Kings Formation,” Phanuel commanded, pushing their glasses up their nose bridge. Sword raised, they moved at such a breakneck pace that they seemed to disappear into thin air.  

The partnering stock-photo angels nodded. Linking arms, the two made a mad dash towards the Santa. Before striking, their swords combined into one giant sabre made of golden light. 

At the same time, Phanuel appeared in the Santa’s blind spot, silver blade flashing— 

Mikhail yelled without thinking, “Santa, look out!”

The Santa didn’t flinch. Gazing at Mikhail, his rosy red cheeks lifted in a smile that radiated pure kindness. He raised one white gloved hand, placing his index finger and thumb together, and snapped.  

Poof!

Before they could land a scratch on the Santa, the three attacking angels, in a cloud of marshmallow dust, turned into gingerbread men. 

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The palm-sized gingerbread man cookies dropped to the ground with a soft clatter. Smiling, the Santa took a step forward through the snow, his black boots squeaking. 

Juliel sat up, eyes wide with terror. “P-please, have mercy—”

Poof!

She, too, was turned into a cookie. 

Mikhail: “…”

He looked at the Santa. He looked at the four cookies on the floor, which wore shocked expressions made of icing. He looked up at the Santa again. Then, he took a step back.  

Santa or not, wasn’t this homicide?!

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“Mikhail Li, isn’t it?” a merry voice laughed. The Santa reached into the pocket of his red suit and pulled out an ultra-long paper list. The list was so long, it bounced two, then three times before rolling to stop. Skimming the list, he thoughtfully stroked his fluffy white beard. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Tell me, have you been a good boy this year?”

Mikhail quavered. ‘Keeping an eye on me?!’ Stalker! You tell me!

“It wasn’t that long ago that you were just this tall,” the Santa continued, bringing his hand to about three feet of height. “Do you remember what you wished for in the second grade?”

“I never wished for anything! Santa isn’t real, so you must be a de—”

The Santa waved a hand. After snowflakes whirled around, a squat toy robot dog appeared on his palm. The dog was white, with silver ears and a silver nose. In place of eyes were a bunch of colorful dots in a circle.

Not only did Mikhail’s guard completely drop, he also dropped Shen Dan onto the floor with a sad whump. Eyes filling with tears, he galloped over to the Santa and snatched the toy. 

“Th-th-this is a jDog?! But, I never told anyone…”

“Ho, ho, ho! Wishes don’t have to be made aloud, Mikhail. I am the true Santa Claus. Every man, woman, or child on this planet who makes a wish in their heart…” He poked Mikhail’s boob window. “I hear it, too.”

I really hope that means Santa didn’t hear me wishing for Shen Dan to hold me down while XXXXing my XXXX—

The Santa must have felt indecent thoughts radiating out of Mikhail’s brain. Side-eyeing, he coughed. “I feel the need to clarify, not all wishes go to my department…” 

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Mikhail looked at the Santa. He looked down at the jDog in his hands, which wore zero expression because it wasn’t turned on. He looked up at the Santa again. Then, he took a step forward.

Truth be told, this Santa was nothing like the poorly disguised Experiment 112-B. 

It must be that… this Santa was real.  

Mikhail tried to peek at the list Santa was holding, but Santa angled it out of view. He could only ask, “But Santa, what are you doing here in P— City? Aren’t you supposed to be at your workshop making elves make toys for children? Er, unless that’s a stereotype.”

“I came here to give you and your friend a little gift. An early Christmas present, if you will. Ho, ho, ho! You can stop hiding now, Holland Howard! Come out!” 

“Mikkkkkkki~”

From behind, Mikhail felt a pair of arms wrap around him, cutting off the circulation in his wings. A sopping-wet kiss was planted in the crook of his neck, making him want to vomit. He heard Holland’s musical voice in his ear, “Mikki, what’s going on? Benny sent me to look for you, but all the commotion scared me so I hid behind a plant. Were those angels real? Is this really Santa? Wowwwwwww~ I feel like I’m dreaming~”

While Mikhail tried to claw his way out of Holland’s grip, Santa ho-ho-ho’d again. He then bent over so he was at eye-level with Mikhail and Holland and held out his gloved hand. 

On his palm were a pair of train tickets. 

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The matte tickets were pitch black, like an endless, yawning abyss. Mikhail and Holland accepted them into their hands. The paper was cold to the touch. In blood-red, cursive font, each one read:

Névé Express

North Pole Round Passage 

Date of Departure: December 23rd

Admit One

Mikhail: “Nice, Christmas train! Can I get an extra one for Shen Dan?”

Holland: “Benny needs one, too!!!!”

But Santa only smiled and said nothing. He took a step back, his eyes seeming to disappear behind his glowing white spectacles. He put a gloved finger up to his lips. The snow that had built up inside the Tap Mistletoe Hotel’s hallway suddenly swirled together in a flurry of ice and wind, so that Mikhail and Holland had to shield their faces with their sleeves.

When they could see again, the snow, the angels-turned-gingerbread-men, and Santa along with them had all vanished.  

“Aiii, Mr. Li, Holland, what are you two just standing there for!”

Mikhail and Holland turned to find Manager Wei in the hallway, helping Shen Dan to his feet. It seemed Shen Dan’s drunkenness was mostly gone. The man inspected his wet hair and shirt, smelling like gin. Then, coming over to Mikhail’s side, he pinched Mikhail’s waist and teasingly said, “Why do I feel like you had something to do with this.”

“Holland!” Manager Wei called. “We’re heading home. The Halloween party is over.”

Mikhail blinked. “…”

Holland blinked. “…”

The two wordlessly trailed behind Shen Dan and Manager Wei, exiting the Tap Mistletoe Hotel and disappearing into the dawn.  

The only thing to prove that the whole thing wasn’t one big dream were the train tickets still in their pockets.

Ice-cold. 

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