Author's Note
A story suddenly conceived in a moment of holiday inspiration and a pseudo-sequel to one of my favorite stories I've done on this site? It's a holiday miracle! (And, once again, all apologies to the late, great Terry Pratchett.)
Note that if you have not read Reaping Rainbow, no worries: it's not necessary to enjoy this little holiday jaunt.
Enjoy, and happy Hearth's Warming to all!
Dashing Through the Snow
It was three days before Hearth’s Warming, and Rainbow Dash had just completed her last day of duty for the Wonderbolts before Hearth’s Warming break. She packed up a few official souvenirs for the ponies back in Ponyville, which ended up being more than she could comfortably fit in her saddlebag, which in turn meant that she had to carry some of them in her forelegs.
This, it should be noted, was exactly the type of behavior that the PFA (Pegasus Flight Association) discouraged, as it could lead to accidents and getting lost and dropping heavy things on ponies for whom gravity was not optional, as well as the sort of occasional wacky situations that bureaucracies frown on.
Also, somepony at the Weather Bureau had apparently made a miscalculation for the previous week’s snowfall, which meant that they’d had to schedule a snowstorm right in Rainbow Dash’s path home. (Such mishaps seemed to occur often around the holidays, by the way. Princess Cadance, when accused of secretly authorizing such things to provide backdrops for sudden holiday romances, has generally responded by laughing nervously and teleporting away after offering excuses about Crystal Empire- or baby-related emergencies.) Between the heavy load, her full hooves, the icy wind and the snow splattering against her flight goggles, she was having trouble just keeping on course.
“Aw, man!” Rainbow Dash grunted, flapping her wings as hard as she could as she veered to the left and right. “Maybe I should’ve just taken the train like everypony else!”
The reason she hadn’t, of course, was that she felt that taking the train from Wonderbolts Headquarters as a Wonderbolt would be seen as a sign of weakness. She could imagine the ponies on the train saying things like:
“What’s the matter, can’t handle a little snow, Rainbow Dash?”
“Those gifts don’t even look that heavy!”
“Ooh, so much for being ‘the best fliers ever!’ Why, when I was a colt, the Wonderbolts were way tougher! Come on, everypony, let’s laugh derisively at her!”
“(Derisive laughter here)”
Pfft. The heck with that! Rainbow Dash thought to herself, shaking her head. And what the hay does ‘derisive’ mean, anyway?
Before she could question her brain’s odd grasp of vocabulary words, a gust of wind blew one of the gift boxes from her hooves.
“Hey!” she cried in the vain hope that verbal commands would shame the box into flying back to her. When that didn’t work, however, she instead flew after the box, which was being carried on a gust of wind so strong and wild that suggested it was training to pick up a farmhouse and drop it on a hapless old lady with fashionably sparkly red shoes. (Silver if the wind was an originalist.)
In any case, Rainbow Dash took off after the box, which was sent twirling and whirling through the clouds. She kept after it, but never seemed to get any closer, despite her best efforts, and the effort wasn’t made any easier by the near-constant snow that she had to clear from her goggles or the numbness in her wings.
Yeesh, maybe I better let this gift go… if I keep this up, I’m gonna get hypothalamus!
(Somewhere, for some reason, Twilight Sparkle felt a shudder and the sudden urge to get Rainbow Dash a word-of-the-day calendar.)
Regardless, Rainbow Dash was flying nearly blind after the gift, which was why she had no time to react when the gift seemed to stop in midair, as if it were caught by someone unseen, and even less time to react when she got closer and saw that someone had indeed caught the gift in his hoof, and that someone was a reindeer in a red suit who was looking very puzzled at the gift and then very shocked as Rainbow Dash rainbow crashed right into him, sending her, the reindeer, the gifts, and the sleigh he had been pulling through the sky tumbling down to the ground.
“Ugh,” Rainbow Dash groaned as she regained consciousness. She got to her hooves, her legs shaky and uncertain, and looked around at the aftermath. The gifts she’d been carrying were strewn all around but they, like her, were mostly intact due the thick layer of snow that had cushioned their fall.
“Sweet!” she cried, clapping her hooves together. “Looks like no harm done! …Wait, what happened to that other guy?”
She heard a groan behind her and turned her head.
“Ooh, never mind,” she muttered.
The reindeer in the red suit was lying face-down in the snow, and while the snow might well have cushioned his fall, that meant that he, in turn, had cushioned the fall of the sleigh he’d been pulling as it landed on top of him. (The sleigh was fine, at least)
“Oh, jeez, uh… you okay, Mister?” Rainbow asked.
“R… rain…” the stranger groaned, raising a shaking hoof. “R-Rainbow Dash…”
Rainbow froze. (Not literally, of course; it wasn’t that cold.) How did this stranger know her name?
“...You… you are going… on the permanent… Naughty List…”
The reindeer groaned again before falling silent.
Rainbow blinked, staring down at the strange reindeer. The strange reindeer wearing a red suit. The strange flying reindeer wearing a red suit and pulling a sleigh. The strange flying reindeer wearing a red suit and pulling a sleigh who somehow knew her name and kept a list of naughty ponies for some strange reas—
“Oh buck me, I killed Santa Hooves,” she breathed, her eyes going wide.
“I’m… not dead,” Santa Hooves groaned.
I would leave that to the experts, thank you very much.
“Hey, who asked you?!” she demanded, whirling to face the pony who’d spoken.
She faced a skull with dim blue lights burning in its eye sockets. The skeletal pony before her was wearing a black cloak and carrying a black, obsidian scythe. Hallo, Rainbow Dash, he said in a voice that one felt more than heard. I wasn’t expecting to see you today… or for at least a few more decades.
“Oh, uh… hey, Death,” she said awkwardly. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
Indeed so, Death said, trotting past her, curiously leaving precisely zero hoofprints in the snow. As I said, I hadn’t thought to see you again so soon, but life - in a manner of speaking - is full of surprises.
“Sure is,” Rainbow said, settling down. Somehow her memory had more or less blocked out the time she’d nearly died in an accident and had to take over for Death while he went on vacation, but with him standing there, her memory was once again reminded that there were no take-backsies when it came to Reality, at least not when it came with a capital R.
Now then, Death continued. It seems you’ve killed Santa Hooves.
“I’m not dead,” Santa Hooves groaned again, trying to raise his head, the snow clinging to his beard. “I’m… immortal…”
Oh, pish-posh. I’ve often found that ‘immortal’ is applied far more liberally than it ought to be these days, Death said, taking out his pocket watch. Let’s see… hmm, it says that something is dead here… or about to be, at least.
“Wait wait wait!” Rainbow Dash shouted, standing protectively in front of the prone reindeer. “I can fix this! Death, maybe we should get him to a hospital! Do you know the way to one?”
Oh, I know the way to all of them by now.
“No… no hospital…” Santa Hooves groaned, shaking his head as vigorously as he could, which wasn’t that hard, but just hard enough to cause one of his antlers to snap off at the base.
I am inclined to agree, Death said. Not only would that cause a commotion, the very idea of the embodiment of Hearth’s Warming laid up in hospital would utterly destroy everypony’s spirit. Ah, and now I believe I understand why my watch brought me here.
“Why?” Rainbow asked uneasily.
It may not be Santa Hooves who dies this evening, but with him incapacitated and unable to bring his gifts to all the good fillies and colts of Equestria, the very spirit of Hearth’s Warming itself may wither and die.
“Oh no!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed, taking Death by the shoulders and shaking him, producing a sound like a garbage bag filled with dice tumbling down a hill. “We can’t let that happen, Death!”
Indeed not. For there may be more at stake than silly celebrations, presents, and holiday treats.
“Hey, don’t knock presents and treats!”
Santa Hooves groaned again loudly.
“Yeah, you tell him, Santa!”
Regardless, as an anthropomorphic personification of a larger concept like myself, normal notions of ‘health’ do not apply to our friend here. Modern medicine will do little to preserve him. What we need to restore him is a sizable dose of joviality.
“Uh, do they sell that at P-Mart?”
I mean jolliness. We must surround him with jolly things and merriness if he is to have any hope of recovery.
“Oh. Um… oh, I could sing a Hearth’s Warming carol!”
“No.” / No.
“But—”
“No!” / No!
“Tch, fine,” Rainbow Dash grumbled, sitting down in the snow sulkily.
Now then… I admit that this is a bit out of my field of expertise, Rainbow Dash. Any idea where we can find a ready supply of holiday merriment and joy?
“Preferably… with cookies,” Santa mumbled. “And please hurry… I think I am bleeding internally…”
He gave a hacking cough, sputtering up a liquid that appeared to be filled with silver, red, and green glitter.
“Eugh,” Rainbow Dash said with a gag. “Uh, let’s see… merriment, joy, cookies… probably need to keep him hidden while we’re at it…”
Her eyes lit up as a thought, like a firefly caught in an empty milk can, began fluttering in her brain.
“Oh. Em. Jingles, Rainbow!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed, sliding down into her party cave with a fresh plate of gingerbread cookies. “I can’t believe you know Santa Hooves! And that, of all ponies, you chose me to take care of him in my secret Party Cave until he recovers! Eeee, what an honor!” She trotted past Rainbow Dash and Death. “Oh, and hey, Death.”
’Sup.
“Yeah, we’ve established all that,” Rainbow said, rolling her eyes and wondering why Pinkie Pie had a hospital bed in her party cave beneath Sugarcube Corner. Or how she’d gotten it down the slide, for that matter. “Anyway, you feeling any better, Santa?”
“A bit,” the bearded reindeer said in his deep baritone voice. He’d been placed in the bed and put into traction, his antler reattached and bandaged with what looked like a bough of holly. “I must say, Pinkie Pie, these cookies are excellent! Ho ho hoOHHH, merciful holiday elder gods, my ribs!”
"What I can't figure out is what you were doing flying around today anyway," Rainbow said. "It's not Hearth's Warming, yet!"
"I needed to do a little test run, make sure the sleigh and I were both up to the task," Santa replied. "Thank you for bringing the sled with us, by the way. I just had it refurbished."
“Sure sure... sooo, uh,” Rainbow began, sidling up alongside Santa’s bed, “you think this might get me back off the naughty list?”
“I don’t know,” Santa said, looking away. “Think maybe you can help Pinkie refill my I.V. bag with more cocoa?”
“Ugh, fine,” she grumbled, taking down the empty bag. “But no marshmallows this time. They keep getting stuck in the tubes!”
Death then cleared his throat. As pleased as I am to see Santa Hooves on the road to recovery, I fear that this may not be enough to avert our holiday crisis. If he has not fully recovered by the time Hearth’s Warming Eve has arrived, then he will not be able to make his deliveries, in which case the result will be the same: the Death of Hearth’s Warming.
Pinkie gasped. “Not the You of Hearth’s Warming!”
Stop that, he said flatly. As I was saying, we must take precautions to keep Hearth’s Warming alive.
“Ooh, what should I do?” Pinkie Pie asked eagerly.
Do as you are doing now. Provide Santa with all he requires. Keep him jolly at all costs.
“Aye aye, Captain Bonybeard!” Pinkie exclaimed with a salute.
Hmm. As for you, Rainbow Dash…
Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh… you’re going to ask me to be Santa, aren’t you?!” She took a deep breath and puffed out her chest. “Don’t you worry, Santa! You can
count on me to—”
Ah, no, Death said, holding up a scythe and literally cutting her off mid-sentence. No mere mortal can truly take on the role of Santa Hooves. Therefore…
He loudly tapped his scythe on the ground, and his black cloak turned red and was suddenly trimmed with a lining of white fur. The scythe itself was wrapped in a pine and was now the color of a candy cane.
...I will be Santa Hooves this year!
The three of them stared on in appropriately deathly silence.
“Pinkie, please hurry with those cookies,” Santa whispered urgently.
“Right, right,” Pinkie said, nodding vigorously as she hurried away.
“I’ll help!” Rainbow Dash said, trotting after her before Death suddenly hooked her back with his peppermint scythe.
And where do you think you are going, Santa’s Little Helper?
Rainbow Dash looked down and saw she was now wearing a bright green suit with jingle-bell buttons and a curvy, conical hat. She was also wearing equally curly boots with even more jingle bells on the tips.
“...Oh, crap.”
Ah ah ah, remember, Rainbow… we have to keep jolly, he said, staring deep into her soul with his burning blue eyes. Ho ho ho.
To be continued...
Who's Got a Beard That's Snowy White?
Rainbow Dash blinked as her eyes adjusted to the lighting of this new place. She’d just stepped through a Rift and followed so closely behind Death that she actually bumped into him. She gave a small cry of pain and protest at being jabbed by his decidedly boney posterior.
Hmph, Death sniffed. My apologies, but not all of us were blessed with ample ‘junk in their trunk,’ as the foals say.
“Yeah, well unless you can pull off the big-boned look, I’m pretty sure ponies are gonna be able to tell you aren’t actually Santa.”
Well, the liberal application of some throw pillows might make me appear sufficiently plump. Perhaps not ‘bowl full of jelly’ levels, but we can always tell little ponies that Santa is trying to eat healthier.
“Yeah, nothing says ‘healthy’ like ‘giant living skeleton.’ I’m pretty sure the weight thing is the least of our problems convincing ponies,” she grumbled.
She then took a look around and saw that they were in the midst of a workshop. There were long workbenches covered with half-finished toys and strewn spare parts. Tinsel was hung from the low, wooden rafters, and a crackling fire radiated heat from the fireplace. It was all so picturesque that one might have thought that it was actually plagiarizing from the hundreds of greeting cards, advent calendars, and cookie tins that seemed to pop up out of nowhere across Equestria every Twelfth Moon (or, to be more accurate, just after Nightmare Night these days).
“Whoa… this place looks just like I always imagined it!” she exclaimed.
Not surprising, when you think about it, Death said. After all, Santa Hooves himself relies on the belief and hope of ponies everywhere, and thus his home, his workplace, and all that he is are shaped by ponies’ collective consciousness.
“...Yeah, I didn’t get any of that, but it’s cool either way!”
She went to one of the workbenches and picked up a half-finished doll in one hoof and a toy train in the other. “Looks like Santa’s elves have been working pretty hard, but I guess they must’ve stepped out for… I dunno, a hot cocoa break?”
It would appear so.
Dash set the toys down, giving him an uncertain look. “Well, it’s probably a good thing they weren’t here when we came in. It would’ve scared the daylights out of them, and it’s gonna be hard enough dealing with them if they think you’re an—”
“Imposter!”
Rainbow Dash barely had time to scream as a dozen tiny figures suddenly swarmed her and the air was filled with the sounds of her screams, the shouts of a dozen angry elves, and the merry tinkling of bells (that was mostly the result of Dash being kicked in the ribs repeatedly with curvy boots with bells on them).
Oh, good work, Rainbow Dash, you’ve found the elves!
“Augh, get them off me! Oh, Sweet Celestia, now they’re biting me! I’m gonna catch the shortness! Helllp!”
Oh, I suppose I should, Death said, tapping his scythe loudly on the workshop floor. That will be enough, little friends. This one is just another of Santa’s helpers. Ho ho ho.
The elves ceased their pummeling of the hapless pegasus and, after a quick glance at “Santa” for confirmation, finally released her.
“Sorry, Santa!” said several high-pitched voices in unison as the elves all bowed to him.
“Wait, you little guys could tell that I wasn’t an elf, but you still think he’s Santa Hooves?!”
“Well, sure!” said one of the elves. “He’s wearing red, has four hooves… yep, that’s Santa!”
Ah. Obviously, Death agreed.
“But… but I—”
“But elves do not have four hooves! So you, Miss Thang, are clearly not an elf!”
“What?! But I… that’s… wait, ‘Miss Thang?’”
Just then, a loud cough was heard and they all turned to see a pudgy little biped creature with a conical green hat, a brown waistcoat, pointy ears, and a fluffy white beard.
“Well, hellooo~!” the little man said in a rich baritone before strolling right up to them. “And sorry to say, my friends, but despite the uncanny resemblance, this creature standing here is, in fact, not the real Santa Hooves!”
The other elves looked to each other in surprise and confusion.
Ah, it seems you’ve seen through my disguise, Death said, bowing his head. Forgive us, good sir, but the real Santa Hooves suffered an injury while on his practice flight. We have decided to take on his duties while he recovers in the hope of preserving the Hearth’s Warming Day spirit.
“Hmm,” said the little man. “Well, it is a bit unorthodox, but I suppose if it’s for the sake of Hearth’s Warming, then we’ll just have to make do!”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Rainbow Dash said. “Anyway, I’m Rainbow Dash, the fastest pony on two wings!”
“A pleasure to meet you! I am Mr. Moochick, the Head Elf of this workshop!”
“Actually he’s a gnome,” whispered one of the elves, leaning in toward Rainbow Dash. “Got the job through Affirmative Action, I hear.”
“Uh… you don’t say?” Dash replied, uncertainly.
“And this red-suited fellow,” Mr. Moochick began. “Is—”
Perhaps you should not—
“—the Grim Reaper!”
The gaggle of smiling, happy elves all turned pale as they stared at Death with wide-eyed horror.
Hallo, Death said. When that was met with continued silence, he hastily added, Er… Ho ho ho?
The elves instantly screamed and ran for their merry lives, scrambling through doors, into the rafters, and one managed to sneak into the ventilation ducts (and satisfying a lifelong urge fostered by years of watching old action movies while he was at it). One tried unsuccessfully to jump out the window, only to bounce off the glass with a surprisingly satisfying tonk and land on the floor in a daze.
“Oh dear,” said Mr. Moochick. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems we’ve just lost a dozen or so workers, and we were short to begin with!”
“Ha!” Rainbow guffawed. “I get it!”
“Get what?” Mr. Moochick asked, staring up at her in perplexion.
Rainbow glanced over at Death, who was just shaking his head and uttering a raspy groan.
“Never mind,” she said. “Anyway, how bad is it that we lost those guys? Please tell me you guys didn’t wait until this week to make all the toys!”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Mr. Moochick with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, that’s a relief. I was worried—”
“We only have 25% of the toys left to do!”
Rainbow froze on the spot - not literally, of course, which was more than one could say for the elf who’d run out the back and into the blizzard outside - and locked eyes with Death.
I see… that, I’m afraid, could cause a small problem.
“You think?!” Dash shrieked, seizing Death by the shoulders. “Twenty-five percent, Death! That’s half the toys left!”
Death’s burning blue eyes seemed to dim, as if he were narrowing them at her. Be that as it may, he said, turning back to Moochick, we really should get down to business. Are there others who might take up this work, at least until the others can be found and sufficiently calmed?
“Oh, yes, certainly! We’ll just leave off the bit about you being the anthropomorphic representation of the oblivion that awaits us all next time.”
Yes, that might be for the best, I think.
When Starlight Glimmer and Trixie walked into Sugarcube Corner to pick up some holiday treats, they weren’t surprised to see that there was a line at the counter. They were, however, a bit surprised to hear the pony at the head of the line asking Mrs. Cake for a refund.
“But why?!” Mrs. Cake exclaimed. “Oh, cinnamon sticks, were they burnt? Too much icing? Did they contain too many raisins?”
“Oh, no,” the stallion at the counter said. “Well, I mean, they do look heavy on the raisins, but that’s not the problem.”
“But I just don’t understand!” Mrs. Cake fretted, wringing her hooves. “You’re the third pony in a row to ask for a refund! And we almost never have returns, especially this time of year!”
“It’s nothing personal, Mrs. Cake,” the stallion said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I just… I dunno, I don’t feel like celebrating Hearth’s Warming that much this year, so I don’t really need to buy more snacks. You understand, right?”
“W-well… I suppose so…”
The mare behind the stallion in line cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m here to return these gingerbread cookies.”
“And I’m not sure why I bought this fruitcake!” chimed in the pony behind her.
Mrs. Cake heaved a sigh. “Well, if that’s how you all feel…”
One by one, she gave each pony in line a refund until she at last came to Starlight and Trixie.
“And I suppose you two are here to return something as well?” she asked dejectedly.
“Us?” Trixie asked. “Oh, no! The Great and Powerful Trixie would never turn down seasonal snacks! Be they Hearth’s Warming cookies, Nightmare Night caramel apples, or Dia de las Quesadillas quesadillas, Trixie will devour them all!”
Mrs. Cake raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I know that last holiday,” she said.
Starlight rolled her eyes. “Trixie made it up to scare the wings off of Twilight,” she said. “Which in turn led to the first annual Festival of Starlight Not Telling Trixie About Her Friends’ Phobias.”
“And you know what food would go well with that Festival?” Trixie asked.
“...Is it quesadillas?”
“It is!” Trixie cried, clapping her hooves together giddily.
For anyone who might be curious, Dia de las Quesadillas has actually become a popular holiday in certain parts of Equestria in more recent years, though it has evolved from Trixie’s original vision of the holiday, which mostly consisted of making quesadillas and throwing them at Twilight Sparkle while shouting about how cheesy they were. Other communities have instead taken to celebrating with other dairy-based foods or foods from Mexicolt, much to the chagrin of those traditionalists who insist that ponies should remember the “reason for the season” and make an annual pilgrimage to visit Princess Twilight… or at least they used to until she declared them all guilty of high treason and they became the most festive fugitives from justice since the committee in charge of the Canterlot Ladybug Festival went into hiding.
These are just the sorts of things one can expect when living in a country where one of the royals has more neuroses than she does patience. But enough about politics…
“Um, I’m sorry ladies, but it’s been a stressful day,” Mrs. Cake said. “So unless you’re here to buy something…”
“We are! Trixie will happily buy up all of the snacks returned by those ponies who were just here!”
Mrs. Cake’s eyes lit up with joy. “Oh! Oh, my goodness!”
Starlight turned to her friend and smiled. “Wow, Trixie,” she chuckled. “Who knew you had such a big heart?”
“The Great and Magnanimous Trixie is happy to help… especially since those snacks are half price!”
“Half price?!” Mrs. Cake shouted. “Now, wait a minute, I never said—”
“Trixie is simply paying market value,” Trixie said. “Everypony knows the value of a baked good drops significantly the moment it comes off the lot.”
“I think that’s the rule for hay carts, Trixie,” Starlight muttered.
Mrs. Cake heaved a sigh. “Fine, half price for the second-hoof baked goods,” she said. “I’d rather take that than have to toss them out entirely. Especially since somepony keeps going into our dumpsters at night. I think I heard them get into a fight with a raccoon last week.”
This prompted Starlight to give Trixie a withering glare as she recalled the night last week when Trixie collapsed at her door covered in frosting and tiny claw and bite marks. Treating her wounds hadn’t been fun, and it was even less fun when Fluttershy showed up at her door with a stern expression and a warning that “Mr. Ringtail says to tell your friend to keep off his turf… um, if that’s okay with you.”
Once Trixie paid for her own goods, Starlight smiled at Mrs. Cake and added, “Oh, and I’m here to pick up the two dozen cranberry and white chocolate cookies for Twilight’s get-together.”
“Yes, of course!” Mrs. Cake said. “Oh, but where were they…” She stomped on the floorboards a few times and called out, “Pinkie?!”
From beneath the floorboards, a familiar voice faintly called back, “Yeah?”
“Pinkie, can you come up here for a moment please? Mr. Cake and I need your help!”
“Okey dokey lokey!” came the reply.
Pinkie appeared a few moments later in a pink blur.
“Pinkie, could you please ring up these two while I go find Starlight’s order?” Mrs. Cake asked.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Cake! Oh, and if you have any holiday records, can I borrow them to play for my secret patient downstairs in my Party Cave?”
“I… suppose so,” Mrs. Cake said slowly. “Ladies, I’ll be right back.”
Starlight turned her attention to Pinkie, offering up a sack of bits to pay for the cookies.
“So… secret patient, eh?” she asked as Pinkie rang her up. “Who is it? Wait wait, let me guess… you’ve got Santa Hooves himself in the basement!” she exclaimed dramatically before bursting out with laughter.
Her laughter faded when she saw Pinkie Pie gawking back at her.
“Uh, Pinkie?”
“Oh my gosh, how did you figure it out?!” she demanded, seizing Starlight by the shoulders and shaking her.
“Figure… what out?”
“That I’ve got Santa Hooves in my basement!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “YOU CAN’T TELL ANYPONY, STARLIGHT!”
Starlight and Trixie both glanced at each other for a moment before erupting into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, Pinkie, that’s just silly!” Starlight laughed.
“Huh?” Pinkie asked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for one thing, Santa Hooves isn’t real,” Trixie replied, rolling her eyes.
Pinkie froze when she heard a groan faintly through the floorboards.
“Aw, c’mon, sure he is! And even if he wasn’t real - which he totally is, by the way—” she added, yelling loudly over her shoulder, “then you still shouldn’t say something like that so close to Hearth’s Warming! Where’s your holiday spirit?”
“Ha!” Trixie loudly guffawed. “Spirit shmirit! You know Trixie once asked Santa Hooves for a Breezie Bake Oven, and what did she get under the tiny plastic tree in her dad’s wagon? Nothing! Nada! The Great and Powerful Trixie got the Null and Absentful Bupkiss!”
Starlight smirked. “Well, abuse of language aside, I’m going to have to agree,” she said. “Santa Hooves is a nice fantasy and everything, but once you get a bit older and realize how silly it all is…”
Pinkie’s expression grew tense as a much more audible groan was heard from below.
“Um, um… oh, hey, abruptly great idea! Let’s sing an impromptu emergency spirit-restoring Hearth’s Warming carol!”
“Pinkie, I—”
“Ponies' voices fill the night,
Hearth's Warming Eve is here once again
Happy hearts so COME ON, YOU KNOW THE WORDS, SING, DARN IT!
Hearth's Warming Eve is here once again…”
As Pinkie continued singing the most threatening, urgent-sounding version of that song that had likely ever been sung, Mrs. Cake returned with the cookies. Seeing Pinkie in such a state, she wisely passed the cookies off to Starlight and Trixie and whispered “Just go, girls, she’ll tucker herself out eventually.”
Pinkie continued to sing obliviously for another minute until she noticed that she was alone at the cash register. She quickly grabbed the records Mrs. Cake had brought and returned to her Party Cave.
“Oh my gosh, Santa, are you okay?” she gasped, rushing to his side. “I heard you groaning from upstairs!”
Santa Hooves, still in bed and in traction, winced as he tried to sit up, sweat gathering on his forehead. “I heard the ponies upstairs… they were returning their goods, talking about not celebrating Hearth’s Warming… and those two mares…”
“Oh, don’t worry about those two! They’re just not the festive type!”
The elder reindeer shook his head. “It isn’t just them… I can feel the spirit of the holiday weakening. It’s as if the world itself can just tell that I’m vulnerable…”
He let his head hit the pillow as he heaved a sigh.
Pinkie bit her lip. “Don’t worry, Santa! I’ll go put some classic carols on the record player and get you some more peppermint bark!”
“A bit of mulled wine would be welcome too,” he muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he said hurriedly. He shut his eyes as Pinkie started up the music. “Trixie Lulamoon… Breezie Bake Oven… why does that sound so familiar…?”
Rainbow Dash stood next to Death with a sour look on her face. The elves standing before them looked disheveled, tired, and some were barely conscious. And the rest that weren’t sleepy just looked grumpy or dopey (and for some reason she felt compelled to find four more adjectives to describe them).
“Ya know, Moochick,” said one of the scruffier looking elves at the front, “when Santa said we could take it easy an’ let a small team do the rest of the work today, we took him at his word. And here it is, not even a day later, an’ now ya want us to pick up the slack an’ take orders from… what was this rube’s name again?”
Er… Door. Bill Door.
“...See, that don’t even sound like a good replacement for the Big Guy!”
“Well, Grundle, I admit that it’s a bit unorthodox,” Moochick admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Ugh, we’re wasting time on this!” Rainbow Dash groaned. She crouched to look the grumpy elf in the eyes. “Look, Santa’s out of commission, the holiday’s in danger, and me and De— er, me and Bill here are all you’ve got! Now, can you guys make a bunch of toys in a hurry or not?!”
The elf took a step back. “W-well, yeah, sure, but—”
“No buts!” She paused for a moment to chuckle to herself about saying “butts” and then turned serious again, poking the elf in the chest with her hoof. “We’ve got a deadline to meet and you guys get most of the year off anyway, so put in a bit of overtime for pony’s sake!”
“All right, all right already!” the elf groaned. “But I still say that guy ain’t jolly enough to be Santa Hooves!”
Death tapped his chin, creating an unsettlingly hollow noise. Hmm… perhaps something is missing, now that you mention it…
He tapped his peppermint scythe and a fake white beard with a strap appeared in his hoof. He quickly put it on and tried his best to give a jolly grin.
Is that not more to the effect of things? he asked. I believe there’s a song that identifies the Bringer of Gifts as having a beard that is snowy white. Oh, and also a cherry nose, though that effect might be difficult to recreate. A cherry might get lost in my nasal cavity, and I’d really rather not have that rolling around in there. Er, should I perhaps sing the song for reference?
“No!” everyone cried in unison.
As you wish. Well then, Mr. Grundle, is this not an improvement? Am I not… merrier? Ho ho ho.
Grundle began to sweat. He stepped back, wincing. “Ehh… it’s a start,” he replied. “Anyway, we’ll get your toys made for ya.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Rainbow said, heaving a sigh. “Uh, by the way,” she added, pointing over at one of the elves nearby, “what’s with that guy?”
They looked in the direction she was pointing and saw an exceptionally tall elf with a broad forehead, flowing blond hair, and who seemed to be staring off at something in the horizon while holding a bow and arrow.
“That’s just Laslegos. He mostly keeps watch, but he’s pretty good at building blocks for some reason, so he agreed to help out.”
Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Well, if he’s here to help, then he’s okay by me!”
It should be noted that elves do not, contrary to popular belief, live year-round at Santa Hooves’s workshop. Indeed, they have numerous hidden communities around the world in oft-forgotten lands, rarely emerging except to participate in rare events where their kind are welcome, like Rennaissance Fairs, epic raid parties, and LARP events.
In a manner of speaking, then, most elves are simply glorified seasonal workers. (And they’re sick of that Mareiah Merry song too, for the record. You know the one I mean.)
I am glad to see we’ve settled the matter of our workers, Death said. Now, Mr. Moochick, what else needs to be done between now and Hearth’s Warming night?
“Well, we’ve just received the final confirmed wish list from the Gift Givers of the Grove that needs your approval,” Mr. Moochick began, “you’ll need to double check the Naughty/Nice list, and tomorrow you’ve got to make some appearances at a few shopping centers.”
“Wait, you mean the real Santa Hooves does that?!” Rainbow exclaimed. “I thought they just got somepony in a costume!”
Oh, come now, Rainbow Dash, Death said, shaking his head. Who would be so brazen as to impersonate Santa Hooves?
Rainbow Dash narrowed her eyes and tugged on Death’s fake beard. “A-hem?”
Ah. Point taken.
“Well, how can I help?” Rainbow asked. “I kinda feel like I’m just tagging along at this point, to be honest.”
On the contrary, Rainbow Dash. Though I may be taking the lead role here, I still require your assistance in other matters. Ponies have expectations for Santa Hooves, after all, and it is through your perspective that I might fulfill them. The more believable this disguise, the more likely we are to preserve the spirit of the holiday. Simply put, I cannot do this without you.
Rainbow smiled and placed her hoof on her chest. “Aw, you really mean it, Bill?”
Indeed. Perhaps I could ask for your assistance with checking the Naughty or Nice list? I do not, as a rule, judge the moral actions of mortals.
“Hmm… I guess I could try,” Rainbow said, scratching her mane. “But it’s not like I know every colt and filly in Equestria, so I’m not sure how I’ll be able to guess who’s naughty OR nice.”
And then a shadow fell over them all and a new voice said, “Not to worry, Ms. Rainbow Dash. I am here to be helping with list as well!”
Rainbow slowly turned around and found herself staring into a pair of blood-red eyes set in a brown, hairy face.
“Ahhh!” Rainbow Dash screamed, immediately hiding behind Death as she gawked in horror at the monster standing there. “What the hay is that?!”
“Hi!” the creature said, waving a clawed paw. “I am Krampus, friend to Santa Hooves and bane of naughty ponies everywhere!”
The creature was large, stocky, and covered in brown fur. He wore a dull brown jacket over a red sweater and had large, pointed ears as well as a pair of upwardly curving horns. His eyes were completely blood red and his grin revealed two little fangs. He stood upright on a pair of goat-like legs with cloven hooves.
Ah, of course. How foolish of me to have forgotten about you, Mr. Krampus.
“Please, please, ‘Mister Krampus’ was father’s name!” the Krampus said, holding up his paws. “And not to be worrying! List is magical and lets you see flash of little foal’s behavior when you read name. Used to get detailed report from tiny elf that hides on pony’s shelves, but ehhhh… was not appreciated by naughty foals. Snitches get stitches, as they say, and he retires to warm country!”
Death turned to face Rainbow Dash. The Krampus, Rainbow Dash, is a lesser-known entity of legend who travels on Hearth’s Warming Eve to terrify naughty foals, he explained. A sort of karmic justice to balance the presents received by the good foals, you see? He had actually disappeared for a great many years, but was recently hired back into Santa’s employ.
To the Krampus, he bowed and said, We would be most grateful to have your help, of course.
“Is good to hear! And hopefully we are to be saving Santa Hooves’s life. At least for Miss Rainbow’s sake.”
Rainbow tilted her head to the side. “Me? Why? That sounds like the least of our worries!”
The Krampus’s grin turned sinister. “You think so? Because if Santa Hooves does not live to take your name off of permanent naughty list, little pony,” he said, leaning down at her, “then all your Hearth’s Warmings hereafter belong to Krampus.”
Rainbow Dash gulped. “L-let’s get that list!” she croaked, and sped off to find it.
My my… that certainly motivated her, Death observed.
“Seems like nice kid,” the Krampus chuckled. “Krampus looks forward to terrorizing her after she screws this up.”
To be continued…
Author's Note
...Yeah, I hadn't planned on waiting a whole year to update this thing. Sorry, folks. 
Happy Hearth's Warming, 2022! 🎄❄🎁🎅
Quick reference list for posterity's sake:
- Mr. Moochick is a character from MLP Generation 1, originally voiced by the inimitable Tony Randall.
- Grundle is named after and loosely based on the Gen 1 Grundle King, voiced by Danny DeVito.
- The Krampus, as he appears in this story, is a bit of a cameo from another of my holiday stories, "Lyra and Bon Bon: Big Mares on Krampus," from 2019.
Hope you're enjoying the story! Hopefully it'll get more updates this next year and finally be completed. Thanks so much for all your patience if you were waiting for it, and I hope it brought a smile to your face this holiday season!
And, if you need more holiday stories, I've got a whole collection of annual holiday stories for your perusal! Check out the Hat Man Holidays bookshelf here!
