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"Shelby!" Drift calls, the bags hooked over her arm beginning to slide alarmingly and pinch her wrist. Vampiric strength aside, the box she's carrying is not just heavy, but bulky, and slips down against her arm pixel by tense pixel as she makes a valiant effort to crook her hand in just the right way to put the key in the lock. "Shelby, I could really use some help here! I know you're in there!"
Only silence answers. Groaning, Drift braces the far side of the box against the door. If there's one thing she doesn't want to drop, it's the elaborate set of crystal wine glasses she bought for Scott. If she knows anything about Scott, it's that he's a man of expensive taste, and she did not just strain the limits of her savings just to be left with a box of shattered pieces, thank you very much.
"Shelby, come on, man!" she calls again, clumsily trying to shift the box farther up in her hands. Frustration rising in her throat, she kicks the door a few times for good measure. "Shelby!"
Just then, the door swings open with no warning, sending Drift stumbling into the hallway. She can feel her weight getting too far ahead of her instantly. For a single, tense moment, Drift knows for certain that she's going to fall, sending Scott's unreasonably expensive set of wine glasses clattering across the floor.
And then her chest makes contact with something, her feet slide forward as if on ice, and she falls the other way, instead, landing flat on her back with the box safely against her chest.
"Shelby!" Drift cries, taking in the space around her. A rope stretches taut above her, and as she sits up, she finds her hands landing in a liberal dusting of flour. A marble lazily rolls away from her finger.
Shelby chuckles awkwardly. "Well, I guess it's good to know that works!" she chirps, her smile a crooked grimace as she waits for Drift's reaction. Threading her arm out from the handles of the bags, Drift brushes flour off her sleeve. Words evade her for a moment as she takes in the scene around her.
"What are you doing to my apartment, man?" she mutters. Shelby bounces on her toes a little.
"Drift, don't you know? Christmas is in just a few days! You know, I got so caught up in being a vampire and our travel plans that I almost forgot to start setting up. We need to get a head start since we're in a new space. Like, I had the foundations for everything worked out in my head at home, but I need a whole new plan if I'm going to be spending Christmas here. I think that with us being vampires and everything, this is finally gonna be the year!"
The nice, engraved fountain pen she bought for Sausage has slid out of its packaging. Drift shifts onto her hands and knees to tuck it back into the bag. "What do you mean, this is gonna be the year? Why is there flour on the floor?"
Shelby's scoff is so packed with dismissal that for a second, Drift believes that it really is obvious, and that she's the one being weird. "Oh, come on. The year we catch Santa!"
Drift blinks. "Huh?"
With little fanfare, Shelby plops herself on the floor besides her, a small puff of flour drifting up from the ground as she does. "Catching Santa! Obviously, Bigfoot is like, my white whale, but Santa is a close second. He only shows up once a year, so you've gotta make it count."
Drift feels like her mind is lagging a few seconds behind the world around her. Each time her mind churns up a response, it also churns up a reason that response might crush Shelby's spirit, so she's slow to reply. "Just like, for proof he's real, or what?"
"Look," Shelby levels, crossing her arms, "I don't think that guy is all he's cracked up to be. Like, sure, there are lots of good people in the world, but you're telling me he spends all year making presents and uses so much magical power to distribute them, and there's no ulterior motive? Some of our vampire abilities are too taxing to use very often or when we're at too low of a stage, so what's to say Santa is any different? I just don't know about it. I want eyes on this man, and then I'm going to ask him what his deal is! It just doesn't make any sense. He's gotta be up to something."
As she talks, her words cascading over each other smoothly, Shelby's eyes shine with a glimmer stronger than any of the decorations Drift had seen at the stores. It makes her heart squeeze a little, and as she picks herself up off the floor, something as light and soft as cotton fluff settles into her chest. Drift chuckles. "Okay," she says, smiling now. "I'd have liked a little warning, but I can get behind a stakeout. We don't sleep anymore, anyway." Shelby scrambles up off the floor.
"I knew you'd be down!" they cheer, hands balled into eager fists. "You should take a look at the plans I've drawn up. I still need to go to the store for more rope, and I want to try and get a big net, if I can find one. You also know your apartment better, so you should let me know if you have better ideas for the choke point. I think I picked a good location, but you can never be too sure!"
Drift laughs, free and clear. "Just don't do any permanent damage! I know Scott is planning on giving us a bunch of money once he sells off all that stuff he had stashed, but I rent this place. No busting down any walls."
"No promises!" Shelby chirps jokingly. Drift starts the process of gathering up her fallen gifts, shaking flour off the bags as she goes. She won't be catching Santa, obviously, but scheming with Shelby sounds just as rewarding.
xxxxxx
With the whirlwind of planning, shopping for materials, and rigging that follows over the next few days, Drift barely manages to find time to wrap the presents she bought. Early evening finds Shelby pacing the parlor, double and triple checking every knot in the ropes that criss-cross the room. She even goes out of her way to precisely rearrange the marbles on the floor a few times.
"Sausage had a really good idea with the bells, you know," Shelby says. "I'm glad I mentioned it to him in my last letter. It's such a good way to track with sound. Nobody is going to think that some bells around are suspicious on Christmas. I'm kind of jealous I never thought of that."
"Yeah, it's good to have those for the places we can't see," Drift says, sitting in the place they'll be waiting as she watches Shelby do the final preparations. "You're right that the night vision is going to be a big advantage, but it doesn't help if he's behind a wall, you know?"
"Exactly." After bending down to check a final knot, Shelby stands up, emphatically plants her hands on her hips, and turns to Drift with a gaze like clear water. "Alright!" she swears. "It's all ready to go."
Drift's eyes sweep over the finished setup. Shelby's rolled the rug up so that she could cover the whole floor in a liberal dusting of flour, which will pick up footprints like a charm. Besides that, there's the array of marbles, a much more effective slipping hazard than the flour itself, and what managed to get Drift a few days prior. Drift set up the tripwire running across the bottom of the door to the hallway herself.
That's just the general measures, though. As Shelby picks their way through the tangle, slowly crossing to their waiting point, they weave through more targeted traps. First, there are a set of ropes laid across the floor right in front of the fireplace, which will swiftly contract around an ankle when given a good tug. Drift knows from experience; she'd giggled as Shelby used her as the test subject. If that fails, hoisted up to the ceiling opposite the fireplace, there's a solid metal curtain rod, which is rigged to swing down at knee height if Shelby plucks the release. Finally, if all else fails, there's the net. Honestly, it's Drift's favorite. Hanging spread over the ceiling, it's sure to confuse their culprit for a good few moments if all else fails.
Drift finds herself grinning as Shelby settles into place besides her, their backs against the same wall the fireplace sits on. It's the last place in the room someone entering from the chimney would look.
"Everything's ready," Shelby says, voice low, but thrumming with enthusiasm. "This is gonna be the year! I've been waiting like, my whole life for this moment!"
"Yeah. You know, I've never actually done a stakeout before," Drift muses. Shelby turns to her with wide eyes.
"Really?" How'd you catch criminals, then?
Drift shrugs. "I'm not really that type of detective, you know? I've always been more of a paper trail kinda gal. The excitement isn't really for me. But I'm not gonna lie, I've always wanted to do a good stakeout. It's dramatic, you know?"
"It's so weird that I've done stakeouts and you haven't."
Drift laughs, and Shelby laughs in turn, high and melodic. "Hey, I'm doing one now!"
"Baby's first stakeout," Shelby giggles.
Just then, however, Drift catches Shelby's eyes flick to the clock, after which the smile falls from her face and a wave of rigidness spreads throughout her body as she settles lower into her crouch. "Nine pm," she whispers gravely. "Game time."
"Okay, okay," Drift smiles. "Game time."
And then they wait.
Drift's night vision puts every part of the room in clear, sharp relief. She can make out every pine needle on their tiny little tree, the paper edges of every ornament, and the exact location of every hazardous little marble on the floor. No festive candles burn in this room. The net waits high above them like an elegant spider's web, and despite the fact that Shelby hasn't produced any body heat in months, they feel pleasantly warm next to Drift, close enough that their shoulders touch with a comforting pressure. Drift shuffles a little, settling their back more heavily against the wall.
As hours pass, though, Shelby stays dutifully crouched, ready to jump into action. The night is still, and the inside of Drift's apartment is warm.
"Did you have any weird holiday traditions growing up?" she asks, the gentle softness of the moment keeping her voice quiet. "My little brother used to always sleep with three pairs of socks on. He said it was lucky. Upped his chances for better gifts, I guess. And we—"
Drift is cut off by a harsh, sharp, "Shhhhh!" Turning to look at Shelby, she finds her face set in stony determination.
"Shush," she hisses again. "We've got to be completely quiet. We don't know what kind of magic abilities he actually has. Anything could tip him off."
Miffed, Drift closes her mouth. She thought this would be like a sleepover, but so far, it's actually kinda boring. With a small sigh, she pulls her knees up to her chest and settles in for the long haul.
The hands of the clock tick along agonizingly slowly. Drift, not for the first time, begins to wish she still had the option to sleep; sure, not having to is nice, but she'd like to have the capability. It's good for relaxing or passing the time. Instead, she just glumly settles her chin on her knees.
And then there's a tapping sound.
This close, Drift can feel the way Shelby tenses and hear the tiny catch in her breath. Her hand moves to hover over the releases for the traps.
The tapping stops, giving way to a persistent and uneven set of low scraping sounds. They travel across the ceiling, settle above the fireplace, and then begin to creep down along the wall. Shelby's eyes begin to shimmer. Her jaw sets in a grim, determined little smile.
Drift watches, mouth agape, as a pair of black boots land in the fireplace, and with a groan, an old man in a red coat shuffles out of the small space.
"No shot," she breathes, the words falling from her mouth without her input.
Santa Claus turns towards them.
At that moment, several things happen in quick succession. Shelby curses sharply, tugging at the ankle-snagging rope, which contracts harmlessly around the bottom of Santa's shoe. His face shifts from shock, to alarm, to something like frustration. Adrenaline leaps into Drift's limbs, and she springs up from her spot against the wall. Shelby plucks the release for the curtain rod, next, sending it careening across the room in a broad arc before dutifully making contact with Santa's knees, sending him stumbling back against the chimney, but failing to upset his balance.
"Oh, goodness gracious!" he says in a creaky, but melodic old voice. When he looks at the curtain rod, he's bewildered.
When he looks at Shelby and Drift, his face hardens.
Drift doesn't stop to examine the expression before she's moving, smoothly drawing the metal fire poker from its place next to the fireplace, safely crossing the field of marbles by sliding her foot along the ground, raising the fire poker above her head, and delivering one sturdy, solid blow directly to the intruder's head.
He falls to the ground unceremoniously, and Drift is left standing above him, the weapon still in her hands. Ice floods her body.
"Oh my god," she babbles, staring at the limp body below her. "Oh my god. Shelby — fuck, Shelby, I just killed Santa."
When Drift turns to look over her shoulder, Shelby is grinning.
"Don't be silly, you didn't kill him," they say, stepping over and crouching down beside him. "You just knocked him out! This is actually perfect!" They quickly pace back to their waiting spot and snatch up a coil of rope, after which they set to work enthusiastically binding Santa's arms and legs. Their hands tug the rope tight mercilessly. Drift, eyeing the process dubiously, winces. She feels like she needs to move immediately, run out the door and away from the scene of the crime; she settles for just shuffling on her feet, antsy.
"Shelby, oh my god," she repeats, ringing her hands as Shelby dutifully attends to her work. "Shelby, you're trying up Santa Claus in my apartment."
"Well, yeah! That's been the plan the whole time!"
"It's kind of super different when it's actually happening, though!" Drift cries. "Like, I didn't really think we'd get anything! I was kinda hoping to have some fun planning and setting everything up, and then have like, a sleepover, you know? And — Shelby, Santa is unconscious on my floor!"
Pausing in their work, Shelby squints at Drift suspiciously and disapprovingly. "I thought you might not really believe," they grouse.
A new realization hits Drift with a pang. "Oh my god, Shelby, who's going to deliver the rest of the presents? It's only just past midnight! I bet there's like, half the world still left!"
Shelby, though, Shelby doesn't panic; no tension leaps into her shoulders. Instead, she stills like a stalking predator and slowly, slowly turns her head towards Drift. She's grinning like — well, like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Drift," she breathes with ecstatic reverence. "Drift, I didn't think about that. Do you know what this means?"
Drift feels like her head is spinning. "What?"
Tugging her last knot tight, Shelby stands up, takes two firm steps towards Drift, and grabs her by the shoulders, her joyous gaze like a beam of light. "This means it's up to us," she says firmly and seriously, though as she continues to stare into Drift's eyes, she begins to buzz at the edges, as if her body can't contain her excitement: she bounces on her toes and taps her fingers against Drift's shoulders. "It's up to us to finish delivering the presents! Just like in the stories! Oh, Drift, this is the best day of my life!"
All the sudden, Drift feels a little bit like she's watching herself from outside her own body. She stutters. Shelby's grin is so bright and soft that Drift's heart wants to turn to mush, and yet Santa Claus is tied up on her floor while Shelby proposes an insane task.
But she's right. Someone needs to do it.
Blowing out a tense breath of air, Drift runs a hand through her hair. "You're right," she admits. "You're totally right. It's up to us now. How are we — we don't know — how are we gonna do this, man?"
Shelby snatches Drift's hand and starts tugging her towards the hallway. "We'll figure it out! Now, come on," she smiles, a bounce in her step. "To the roof!"
Feeling almost dizzy, Drift follows.