Secret Santa - Blaise Corso
It’s Boxing Day, and the streets are bustling with shoppers. Their masses are dizzying; the concept of “personal space” virtually non-existent on the streets and in the stores. It doesn’t help that you’re moving against the plethora of squirming bodies, pushing and shoving through the crowd, on your way to work. Your feet have been trampled on countless times, and you’re pretty sure that some kid discarded his gum onto the back of your jacket. Wriggling limbs and hands are everywhere, touching you in places that you’re really not comfortable with being touched by strangers, but there’s nothing you can do. It’s one of the biggest sale days of the year, and you know that the precinct will be swamped with frantic calls from store owners soon enough.
But maybe there IS something you could do…
“Excuse me, SFPD, coming through!” you yell, holding out your badge at arm’s length and putting on a mask of urgency. The crowd parts a bit around you. The situation’s not ideal, but it’s better than it was before. Of course, you shouldn’t be taking advantage of your position like this, but nobody’s going to know…
In a few more moments, you reach the precinct. You go to hang up your jacket (and possibly pick off the gum), and a tightly wrapped package tumbles out from your pocket. A package that you most definitely did not have in your pocket when you left your apartment. Somebody must have slipped it to you in the crowd.
[TO: BLONDIE - FROM: YOUR SECRET SANTA] it says.
Hesitant, you peel apart the brown wrapping paper. You’re left with a pair of fingerless leather gloves. A quick look-over tells you that they’re well made—thin but sturdy, with exceptionally neat seams. You decide to try them on, and they fit your hands perfectly. The knuckles and palms are lightly padded, which you KNOW will feel like heaven against the recoil of your gun (no more painful blisters!).
The present isn’t malicious in any way, which greatly raises suspicions. Unsure of what to think, you flex your hands, reluctantly loving the feeling of the leather against your skin. That’s when you catch the glint of gold—on the inside of the right glove, printed in small, gold lettering… by the manufacturer? Is it a product code? At least that’s what it looks like…
You pull the edge of the glove back, squinting. You read five short words:
"Oh good grief! This is just like Thanksgiving and those damn Black Friday sales. Americans…” Blaise grumbled under her breath as she fought through the sea of people intent on serving as a live obstacle course for her and seemingly for her alone. Shouldn’t these people still be at home sleeping in? Recover from their “food coma” or “food babies” and yadda yadda? Because they’re too full to even move? How the hell did they ALL manage to swarm the streets and not be the slightest bit of uncomfortable? If it were up to her, she’d be downing hot chocolate while curled up on the couch and staring bleakly out the window. Family cheer? Sentimentalities? Psh. Those were not in her dictionary, no thank you.
But alas, duty called. No thanks to the crowds, of course. If they had just stayed indoors and minded their own business and NOT about that one awesome tv priced at an unbelievably low price, people would not somehow be trampling other people. But hey, what could she do? People were people, and she was the one who had determinedly signed up for this job and stuck to it. Speaking of…
“Excuse me, SFPD, coming through!” Ok, yeah, so she had to pull her hand away from her very warm pocket to wave around her badge, but the nippy air was a small price to pay if she could reclaim her personal bubble. But to maintain the bubble, she would have to keep her arm in the air. She wasn’t worried about the chapped skin so much as about the cold numbing her hand. She hurried the last few paces to the precinct and breezed in just before she’d lose total feeling in that hand for who knew how long.
Letting out a content sigh, she basked in the warmth blasting from the indoor heat before leisurely removing her jacket. Except a tightly wrapped package tumbled out from one of her pockets. The one pocket that had been left empty when she had so wisely put her badge to good use. Of course she couldn’t enjoy even the smallest reprieve from the outside world. Of course.
So my Secret Santa struck again. Without my knowing. Again. Great. And 'Blondie'? Really? Blaise rolled her eyes. That's the most obvious and impersonal moniker. Which doesn't narrow down the list by much...
She cautiously examined the gift. The quality I’d buy for my mother… And it fits like a dream! But wait. This isn’t something that can kill me. ?? Hold up. Is that some Au flashing in there? Peering at the inner seams, she read the unmistakable lettering.
'Catch me if you can'? 'CAN’? Are you questioning my ability here? Playtime’s over, bitch, so back to the playpen for you. I’ll be keeping the gauntlet you’ve thrown down.
If anybody at the precinct noted the dangerous smirk that seemed to stay for forever on Blaise’s face, they smartly looked the other way.
OOC: I am so sorry for how late I posted this. It's been about nine months since Christmas, so I thank you all, especially to Shirley, for your patience with me :)
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