"What's Santa?" Said Io to Pipa as he wheeled her back to her room after breakfast, slightly disappointed that they couldn't spend the rest of the morning outside due to the heavy snow. "Santa sounds like a type of fish," he said after some consideration. "Look, I caught a Santa!"

They laughed at his act—a performance that would have insulted Vaughn's eye for aesthetic but scored hearts in a certain eagle's—and pardoned his terrible skills at pretending to catch fish.

"Santa's a big, beer-bellied person with a white beard who laughs with 'ho' instead of 'ha'," Pipa explained as she ticked each characteristic of the popular Christmas symbol off her fingers. "He likes cookies and milk and drops down from your chimney to put Christmas presents under your Christmas tree! But only if you're a good kid, at least that's what I've heard."

The pair couldn't help but be terribly invested in the conversation. It all started when the canary mentioned an upcoming 'Christmas Event' that was exclusive to Predators, adding off-handedly that she would have liked to attend a Christmas party as well. Io didn't know what Christmas was, so he asked if it was like giving offerings to the Sun God that his fellow villagers worshipped back in the village. "So that the harvest would be good next year," he'd said.

As a result, Nash (of all people) was entrusted with the task to enlighten Io of the season festivities that he was apparently missing out. "You put salt instead of sugar in Santa's cookies. He likes that, I assure you," was what he'd relayed very convincingly, to which Io had nodded. Thankfully, Pipa was quick to correct him.

Right after, they'd parted ways because Nash was quietly pleased with being snowed-in since the night before and wanted to return to his room, and that was when Io popped the question.

"That's...very specific," noted the sparrow, having processed Pipa's detailed description of the big-bellied man. "I wonder if the crime rates go up because of all the trespassing that Santa's been doing. Either that or if he's been caught on camera and people are trying to stalk him."

Pipa laughed and nudged his elbow. The entire wheelchair shook. "People don't report Santa for trespassing, Io! He comes with gifts. Everybody wants gifts."

"Well, it would be nice if he knocked on the front door...I mean does the act of trespassing become null when the person doing it has good intentions? Would anyone ever know what Santa's intentions are?" Io was being his usual self, and Pipa nodded to his questions. Rhetorical nods.

"Mhm, I guess no one has ever considered that before. We all just focus on the gifting part—which is real nice because you actually get to ask Santa for something you want," she went on, getting to the juicy part. "Like, you could ask for anything in the world!"

Io blinked.

"Really? A-are you sure?" Even he was drawn to the prospect of being able to ask for anything in the world. Yes, asking and receiving were completely different things and Iolani Tori was one to understand that.

"Yeah! Oh uh—I forgot to mention that he's not real," Pipa cleared her throat, looking away awkwardly. "Sorry to, um, disappoint."

Io poked her cheek. "And you'd think I'd fall for that," he rolled his eyes. "Someone who'd give a stranger anything he wanted for cookies and milk is either not human or...not human." They laughed, having arrived at her door.

"Fine," Pipa crossed her arms. "I know you're smart, alright. I mean—we'd all like a Santa in our lives, ri...hold on a second," she paused, staring straight ahead. Io followed her gaze. She was staring at her front door.

"Secret Santa," she whispered all of a sudden, as though arriving at some holy conclusion, some philosophical answer, some stage of enlightenment. "That's it."

Io blinked.

"Is...Santa a secret? He's not very good at being one, then—"

"No no," Pipa turned to him with smiles and sunshine anew. "It's a game! Secret Santa. We pretend to be Santa's to one another! I-it's brilliant!"

And that was how the flight crew began their season festivities.

__________________________

This was harder than Pipa'd expected it to be. One, she hadn't foreseen the difficulties of collecting everyone else's Santa letters (that, and it wasn't as though she was the most mobile person around, so Sylvey was tasked with the collecting); Two, drawing the names of their respective Santees had to be done in the most limited time frame; Three, there was still no party.

Eventually, she had, by some miracle, managed to gather the Santa letters in a drawstring bag of exquisite velvet. It reminded her of the very first draw she made during the season games, which admittedly wasn't exactly the best memory she would like to recall.

Naturally, she would have to draw first. As the one who'd collated and planned the event, the canary could not resist the temptation of joining in the fun and becoming a participant herself. After all, this harmless game couldn't possibly turn out as dark as Season, could it?

Pipa raised her gaze to the higher power above. Hm. There was no confirming what the evil cupcake was up to. She wouldn't place her hopes on anything positive at present.

Nevertheless, she reached into the bag for a draw.

_____________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: ___________.

Love,

Luka

_____________________

As expected, Luka Sullivan did not like to write. The extent to which he despised to do so was so severe that the dude did not fill in a single word of his pre-written (pre-written! Pipa would like to emphasize, since she had made the effort to write the template for every participant) letter to Santa. All he did was write his name and that itself brought immense stress and disappointment to her poor heart.

What came unprecedented however, was the draw. Pipa had drawn Luka as her Santee and he had not written a single word of what he would like for Christmas. It was disastrous.

The canary groaned aloud and slumped her head over the side of the couch, stuck in the greatest dilemma she could think of. That, or she could pop Io in a box and hand it to the eagle but that itself was a dilemma as well. How to get Io in a box—someone should write a book about that. 10 ways to get Io in a box. Best-selling novel. Even better than this one you're reading!

"This is terrible," said Pipa to herself, having repeated the word three times in the past minute. She couldn't have picked Luka. It was the worst possible pick! Unless...

Her gaze rested upon the drawstring bag that was calling to her. Logically speaking, no one would ever know of her redraw. It simply didn't exist in their realm of perception. Even if she'd stuffed her face in the bag or laid out every letter and choose which Santee to pick, no one could know.

Carefully, she re-folded Luka's letter, placed it back into its envelope, and drew another.

_______________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: Answers.

Love,

Io

________________________

Strictly speaking, Vaughn was upset. No no, not 'let me cry for my life is tragic'-upset, but 'oh I am disgusted and stressed please leave me alone'-upset. Casting his gaze skywards and giving the cupcake above an appreciative glare, he tossed the useless letter into a nearby bin and cursed everything that made him who he was. Including Iolani Tori. Also including his author.

"That stupid sparrow!" Out of everyone else he could have possibly drawn, he'd drawn him. The coincidence was uncanny and most likely the doing of the higher power he so detested. Even drawing Sullivan would have made his life easier but since when was life ever easy for Evaughn Alekseyev? Never. He was written to be that way.

"Eve!"

All Vaughn wanted was a break. Unfortunately for him however, his author did not like the sound of that. Henceforth, she assigned more trouble to be served (it was like a menu, really—two servings of Io to irritate, one serving of Viktor, five servings of salt).

With a great sigh, the vulture turned around to face his step-brother who crossed the hallway in a couple of strides. "What do you want."

"Aw," Jae-min reached up to ruffle his hair but Vaughn was not going to let anyone touch his precious locks so he swat those hands away as though they were flies. "You're grouchy? That's cute. So I heard you'll be having a Christmas party next Saturday at your place? Why didn't you tell me—I could always whip up some food for you guys."

Christmas Party? Saturday? His place??

"No no, there's no party. No Christmas. No Saturday," the vulture responded calmly, breathing deeply to retain his sanity. "There's no nothing, you're terribly mistaken."

Jae-min stared at him incredulously. "You sure? That classmate of yours. Ford, was it? He said you guys were having a party next Saturday at yours," he laughed shortly. "And here I was thinking that my little baby's all grown up and hanging out with his friends. You're not going to forget about me, are you?"

"Ford?" Frowned Vaughn with an instinctive hiss because he was not in the most pleasant of moods which would sometimes show when his guard was dropped. "Tsk, that rotten liar. With so much on my hands I cannot possibly deal with another childish—"

"You're free every Saturday, Eve."

"—tantrum that should have none of my concern or—"

"Eve, you spend every Saturday in bed, doing nothing."

"I am certainly not available every Saturday, J—Viktor. I am a very, very busy perso—"

*

"I've got the venue for the party nailed," Dmitri reassured Io, who'd been very helpful in explaining the procedures of Christmas and its festivities. "All we need now is some good food, good music, and good gifts. Well, they better be good."

Io laughed. "Thanks Dmitri! You saved me there. Pipa was really worried about there being no venue for a party. I suppose I'll settle the food part! But, um, I'm not too sure about music. Do you guys like flutes? That's all I know how to play."

"Holy hell, not that kind of music," Dmitri doubled over with laughter, accidentally using all the strength in his arm to slap Io on the back. "Party music. Like, you know, blasting on the speakers? Not saying you can't play your flute, I mean. Sullivan would love that but you know, just uh, keep it for other times."

Io nodded, getting the message. "Luka likes quiet things, I suppose. Do you think Abigail would handle the music?"

"Abby? Sounds good to me," shrugged the falcon. "I'll drop her an Avian. Look out of mine, 'kay?"

"Okay!" Io beamed in return, feeling the excitement well up from within. "Who did you get, by the way? Your Secret Santee."

"Duuuude, it's secret for a reason!" Dmitri lowered his voice and shot a playful glare at the sparrow. "No telling."

"Aw but I'm curious..."

"OK FINE DARN IT Y U GOTTA BE LIK DIZ MAKIN ME SPILL DA BEANS—"

Oh, he gave in pretty easily.

_______________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: a new pair of Adidas, size 42 half. That, or Nikes. If you can't afford either, a nice book will do. I hope you have decent taste in literature—I'd prefer anything by Wilde or Shakespeare. Aristotle is a pain. Plays are welcomed, just no comedy. I detest romance and the likes of it, unless written by the above-mentioned. Those are excused. If you can't even afford a book, then a calendar would do. Or a hairbrush. If your unfortunate wallet cannot afford either, you could always give me your petty and disgusting soul. Farewell.

^No Love,

Vaughn Alekseyev.

________________________

"Looks like I'll be giving my soul away, Jerry-o," cried Dmitri to the kite. "It was nice knowing you."

Jeremiah snorted, glancing over his shoulder to take in a crestfallen Dmitri contorting in confusion all over his couch. "Who'd you get?"

"Of all people, Vaughn." The falcon sighed, wishing he'd gotten Lucienne instead. They'd walked to class together often enough for him to hear her plans of ordering the next exquisite earing before complaining about the absurd prices. "I don't know a dime about books. He said a pair of Adidas but, like, what color? Model? Do I change the shoelaces or no? I swear, getting this dude a gift is like trying to please a poodle. They're never pleased, by the way."

The kite slipped the letter out of his hands and gave it a quick read. "Hm. Get the hairbrush then. Can't go wrong with that."

"You chose the hairbrush over the calendar?" Dmitri was hurt. "Seriously?"

"You chose your soul over the hairbrush? Seriously?" Shot Jeremiah in return, a smirk upon his lips. "Between your soul and the hairbrush, I'd have gone to the latter."

"What! Unbelievable. You betrayed my feelings."

Just then, Jing entered the common room with several books in her arms.. "Hm? What's this noise about?"

"Jerry-o's bullying me. Please help."

"I'm not your mother, Dmitri Ford."

____________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: centimeters. That, or heels.

Love,

Meryl

____________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: warm days.

Love,

Jing

____________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: something funny! I love jokes. That, or you could give me a prank thing. I mean, to prank other people—not myself. Please don't prank me. Shit, I think I got that idea into your head already omg no please erase that.

Love,

Dmitri

____________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: DON'T GIVE ME A BAGUETTE that's it. I like the color of the sky. I would appreciate it if the gift has nothing to do with me being French, thank you very much.

Love,

Lucienne Deveraux

___________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: dancing shoes. Unisex, so that my brother can use them too.

Love,

Odette. S

___________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: dancing shoes. Unisex, so that my sister can use them too.

Love,

Odile. S

__________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: food! I like food. Something tasty would be nice ;)

With^ Love,

Jeremiah

________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: bigger boobs thanks (you can get me a push-up bra, those are expensive as shit) my size is a sad B70. I hope you're good with choosing colors. If not, you could always ask Abby. If you're Abby, then thank god.

Love,

Shri

________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: happiness! You could make me laugh :)

Love,

Aaqil. Z

____________________________

Dear Santa,

I've been good this year. Please give me: back my master.

___________________________