Work Text:
Stomping through the house, his face like thunder and a handful of letters held in his fist, Satan slammed the door of his room.
“Uh yeah MC, I shoulda said - give ‘im space this time o’year. He gets a bit tetchy,” said Mammon.
The door dramatically flew open again.
“I am not tetchy! I’m overworked!” Satan yelled in a tetchy tone of voice, before slamming his door shut again.
****
“Every year, every damn year. Why don’t humans teach their children how to spell?”
Now Satan was muttering to himself as sat at his work desk, the letters from his hand added to the growing pile on the desk. Sighing he picked up his penknife and opened an envelope.
The letter was written in a rounded childish scrawl and Satan read out loud.
Der Satan I hop yor raindear are wel. For my chrisms i woud like . . .
Groaning, he made a neat list summarising the request before writing a cheerful reply to the letter.
Once he had worked his way through the pile he took the summary list he’d made and placed it in an envelope. It was addressed to someone with a name surprisingly similar to Satan’s. The correct spelling was heavily emphasised and the name underlined.
Over the next few days he collected more misdirected mail, sitting at his desk and answering all of it. Tired now, he couldn’t help wondering how that foolish old man managed to keep up with it all. Mind you, he had elves to help him so that was probably something.
***
Sitting in the common room, MC, eyes narrowed, glared at Mammon. Mammon stared calmly back and said “Yer really need to work harder on that poker face ya know,” before adding “Go Fish.”
Satan burst into the room in a shower of sparkles, yelling something about ‘those little buggers” and “that old northern bastard”. He was in demon form now, his raging temper incandescent.
Alarmed MC looked at Mammon who didn’t bat an eyelid and just said “Glitter in the envelope I betcha.”
***
A few days later another letter arrived. This one was in an already opened envelope, originally addressed to the North Pole. It included a neatly written note that read “Pretty sure this one is genuinely yours, although it’s hard to tell with some humans. If it was up to me I’d add him to the naughty list, please advise.”
The letter read:
Dear Santa, I hope you are keeping well. This year for Christmas I would like a throne made of skulls so that I may sit upon the corpses of mine enemies as I reign over the world
Satan just sighed.
At least it wasn’t glitter.