NAMES AND CHRISTMAS SORROWS
(OTHERWISE KNOWN AS NACS)
When Christmas takes a turn for the worst, Newt is here there to try and keep the magic alive, but no matter how hard he tries, he always fails. Every year more and more elves quit, ĪĪ½ĻĪÆĻĻĪ¹ĪæĻĪæĻ being at the root of it all. Looking in the mirror day after day, he slowly loses himself. He wants to - needs to bring Christmas back to life, but how can he when no one even takes him seriously anymore. Will he ever be able to bring back āChristmasā back to itās former glory, or will he continue chasing a dream of once was?
NAMES AND CHRISTMAS SORROWS
SOMETIMES, HE WONDERED; WHERE DID THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT GO?
Newt has always been the most festive out of the elves, but after AĪ½ĻĪÆĻĻĪ¹ĪæĻĪæĻ wrongfully took over the once merry place, it seemed that the Christmas spirit was fading all year āround. Not even Santaās daughter loved Christmas the way she used to, but that was probably a given, since the female version of the Grinch literally killed her parents. Actually, she was worse than the Grinch.
He tried his absolute best to keep everyone from giving up, but his efforts were always wasted. Even though the kids still managed to get their toys every year, present making became a chore, one they antagonised and despised, eventually leading some elves to quit in the process. Christmas was fading for them, and for kids all around the world too.
Sooner or later, Santa would only be a myth - a lie. He didnāt want that, but what could he do when no one was willing to take him seriously?
Newt turned to an elf who seemed awfully peeved at him - a familiar setting. āYes, Ī¦ĻĻĪ±?ā, he asked, awaiting an answer.
Ī¦ĻĻĪ± sighed, exhaustedly. āYouāre supposed to be in charge of the last minute mail, you fuckwit. So, tell me why you havenāt you havenāt fucking left yet?ā
The festive one winced at the foul language. It wasnāt like he wasnāt used to it, yet it still hurt. Everyone of his elven family were getting more and more on edge as the years rolled on by - as the result of the Antichrist. Everyone was giving up, but he swore to himself he wouldnāt.
Remembering the conversation at hand, he bowed, pathetically. āSorry! Iāll get right to it!ā
āYou better, Newt. Otherwise, weāre not having that Christmas Turkey that you insisted on getting.ā
After nodding frantically, Newt scurried away, throwing a snow globe on the floor and entering the portal without a second thought. He didnāt know when the elves collectively decided on calling him Newt, but over time he got used to itā¦ Too use it, in fact, that he forgot what his real name even was.
What was it? he would constantly ask himself, but nothing resurfaced, so eventually he got used to the cruel title - he had to.
He sighed as he got into the van, hiding his inhuman features with the magic of the bloodstone. Why couldnāt things be like they used to?
He looked in the mirror, to see the crystal was losing its magic - was Christmas fading that badly? His reindeer ears were now more like those iconic elf designs humans created, instead of them being normal human ears like intended, and although his bushy tail, along with his half-hooved, half-clawed hands and his smokey grey skin; his white hair and candy corn horns never went away.
Itās okay, he decided. The horns he could pass off as part of his elf hat, and his hair could be excused as dye. The main problem was his stereotypical-elf-like ears. How was he going to hide them?
Newt looked down. It looked like he was going to have to do something about his clothes too, as the effect of the crystal wasnāt any help with that whatsoever. His so-called āugly Christmas sweaterā (he thinks itās cute), was fine, but his stockings didnāt help his human feet feel any comfort, being that it was meant for his true form, and the fact that he didnāt have any underwear or pants to cover up his lower half.
At home, it wouldnāt be a problem; his sweater covered all it needed to, allowing his tail to roam free, and no elf bats an eye at home, since they were intersex and mostly asexual creatures, however, in human society, he knew that covering up those parts were important and essential.
The amount of times heās been flirted with by both men and women wanting to drag him back to a hotel, (whilst in his human form), he didnāt want to imagine what type of perverts and predators would come after him when he looked like this.
He needed to think. How could he get out of this situation?
Newt looked in the back of the van, in hopes to find something useful, but all he could find was a bunch of empty sacks that were going to be used for the mail. How was this going to work in his favour?
He hummed in thought, attempting to weigh his options. He thought back to last year, and how little sacks were filled - only about six sacks and a quarter. In the van, there were a total of twenty sacks, and assuming this year would be a repeat of the year prior, he made his decision.
He searched around the van, finding the target at last; the sewing kit. They normally kept it in here since a couple of centuries back the amount of mail they got normally left the sacks tearing at the seams, but now he kept it in here as a reminder. A reminder of how great Christmas once was, how great it can still be.
He couldnāt stall any longer. āTime to get to work,ā he announced to himself, determinedly, not wasting another second longer.
Thirty minutes eventually passed as Newt was finally done, holding the pair of pants up to admire his work. Obviously it wasnāt as good as his hand-sened or hand-knitted sweaters, but he couldnāt help but feel proud of himself. It was like he was making hand-made sweaters for his family again, except this time he wasnātā¦
Newt shook his head. The letters, he reminded himself.
He slipped off his candy cane patterned stockings, already missing the warmth of familiarity, before putting on the scratchy pants.
To say the material was uncomfortable against his skin was an understatement. He was already chafing badly, his lower region copping the worst of it. He whined. Was there really nothing else?
He looked around, but it rendered hopeless. āItās okay,ā he whispered to himself. It should be an in and out mission anyways. As long as he can get inside before the shop opens, he would be all fine.
Newt parked across from the shop, only to find it was already too late - the shop was open. He covered his face with his hands, feeling utterly exhausted. Come on, Newt! Think!
Then it came to him. The back door! Surely people were far too busy to go through the back, unless it was for a minor break. He doubted that they would get any breaks today, seeing as how jammed-packed it is inside, and what time of the year it is.
He turned off the engine and jumped out, folding eight sacks. Should he get another? He does.
Newt made his way to the back door, the curtain allowing access to see inside. He looked through the transparent, slightly stained glass, cautiously, relieved to find no one wandering around on the other side. In and out, he encouraged himself, choosing to ignore the excruciatingly uncomfortable chafing.
He rolls the snow globe on the ground, before entering the portal and picking the device up. He was so glad the globe was working as smoothly as it was, seeming as the crystal was less compliant.
Focus. He went towards the junk mail room with the sacks, the path already a familiar one, despite him only repeating this process once a year. For elves though, a year was only a minor thing, he supposed.
He reached for the door, glad that he was going to be quickly down with this and back in time for the Christmas Turkeyā¦ If only.
HE SHOULDāVE KNOWN THE UNIVERSE HAD OTHER PLANS.
[ALSO BONUS PICTURE OF NEWT!!]
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