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Christmas in the Bingo Hall
Calliaphone digs in her pocket. she's still got a half-a-hipflask of talkydoor's apricot brandy from that party recently. She offers it to Santa Bernard.
Santa Bernard looks around, and then takes a nip of apricot brandy. Immediately he gets a rosy glow on his cheeks and a contented look on his face, “You don't have a mince pie too, do you?”
Calliaphone shakes her head. “just some chocolate. that any good?” she digs in her pack and produces a bar of the good stuff.
Santa Bernard again looks round guiltily, then snaffles the choc and begins to munch . . . “Oh blimey, with Sink on the warpath, I doubted I'd ever see a sweet-meat again! Bless you, child, bless you!”
Earth Mage Paul Lo nudges Santa Bloke. “You'll need a great excuse if Sink finds it.”
Santa Bernard whispers, sotto voce to Paul, “To be honest, child, I'm getting a little fed up with Sink's regime. I'm supposed to be fat and jolly. It's health and safety gone mad! It's the nanny state!”
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim looks around, the team full of booze,Santa on the march, and sits in a corner, hugging his bottle and rocking quietly . . . If this doesn't go to plan. . .
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim doesn't know what he'll do. It's been a year in the making, and if Santa cocks up just ONE delivery, all his hard work will be ruined. RUINED!!
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim sobs quietly.
Robin Reverb hops up to Sink and packs him rather painfully in the shins. “Tweet-bloody-tweet. Need a hand with fattie?”
Earth Mage Paul Lo looks around; most GERMlings are asleep, like innocent victims waiting to get . . . to wake up with presents. He pats Sink's back for a while, then waves at Reverb.
Robin Reverb simply glares at the hare-morph. Someone made his dress up for christmass, and he's not too happy right now. In fact, Sink's plan of a speedy christmas appeals to him, it'll be over faster . . .
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim picks himself (and his bottle) up, and slopes off to the office to track Santa on the radar. All the presents should be delivered, but Santa hasn't returned. Sink suspects he's probably in the pub . . .
* * * some time later * * *
Santa Bernard rolls back in, bleary eyed, and looking a little . . . shall we say . . .anti-climactic? He hates these days, these few days after the most important day of the year. They're always so . . .crap.
Santa Bernard wishes it could be Christmas Eve every day, it's the only day he truly feels alive. Perhaps it's because he never gets 'owt in his stocking. He's wondering what the perfect Xmas pressie is!
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim runs up to Santa, a proud and expectant look on his face. “SO, Santa. We'll over look the current transgression, because that was very good. I've analysed the radar trace though . . .”
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim “. . . And there's a couple of places you could save MINUTES. If we keep you on the diet ad exercise regimne for the whole year, there'll be none of this 'stuck in a chimney' lark . . .”
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim brandishes his clipboard, going through the trace pattern, indicating inefficiencys, slow patches and places where there were obviously, ahem, fuel stops.
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim looks at Santa, slightly annoyed as he points those out, all 5,470 of them. “If we cut it down to a , say 2- or 3-stop strategy, you could shave 2 hours off.”
Santa Bernard plays his one remaining card, “But, but I'm sure, if someone within the team of elves were to do a PR exercise - amongst our demographic - they'd prove the public want me fat and jolly!”
Santa Bernard turns to face the elves, robins, hats and steam engineers and wonders if one, just one amongst 'em has any public relations/ communications experience, whilst Santa plays Sink at his own game.
Santa Bernard asks, “Can anyone here run a consultation exercise? Get some ideas as to what our customers want from their Santa Claus ™ experience? Do they want lean and fit, or kindly and portly?!”
Logistic Elf 1st Class SinkOrSwim stands, tapping his foot, dubious. He looks around the assembled crowd, not sure he trusts any of them. A terrible think for a Chief Elf to think, but he knows what this clan is like . . .
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