Santa's been Captured in Stalliongrad.
Minor Setbacks
A random Hearth's Warming Eve fic.
By Migol-18
Hearts' Warming Eve, somewhere in the Far North.
This year has definitely not been an easy year for Santa Hooves, tax rises, more restrictions...
And half of his reindeer were deported back to Olenia due to immigration issues, can you believe it?, that immigration procedures to the north were repealed and work permits to the North Pole were revoked, what a scam, Velvet, what a scam.
The usual setbacks, I guess.
“What a bad time of year to get sick, Rudolph, you must be kidding, now it turns out that that red nose of yours wasn't Christmas magic, it was a tumor… now you're waiting for surgery… I'll have to pay your disability, right?... seriously?”
Added to this is the fact that half of the elves - I mean, penguins - that work for him went on strike, for Celestia's sake, someone can't even move his production to the North Pole to avoid labor laws, and taxes and now it turns out that his workers are demanding better conditions. Ain't it great?
“I told you, Skipper, the raise and maternity leave are luxuries we can’t afford until we deliver all of this year’s presents.” Santa recalled what he had told his foreman, or should I say forepenguin?, never mind.
He loves his hard-working penguins and want to treat them as a good boss should, but right now he can't afford it, economic situation and all that boring stuff of economics and statistics. Boring.
For legal porpoises, this narrator is obliged to say that they're paid workers.
And to make matters worse, now the authorities of the Polar Bear Communities have raided his factory for alleged piracy... and a lawsuit from a company from Equestria about image rights issues about his red uniform.
Everything goes from bad to worse for him, it seems.
All in all, Santa Hooves has had to work a lot of overtime this year, considering that the foals these days are asking for more and more, those spoiled little bastards, back in my times, they just asked for... wait, am I allowed to say the brand... no?... asked for generic action figurines, not this expensive-ass construction blocks.
“No, Dorothy, I already told you that I will give you child support after I deliver the millions of gifts I have to deliver this year and the parents pay me… Yes… no… no… uh-huh… Oh for Celestia's sake, I already told you that she insinuated to me first...” Said Santa, speaking on the phone with his wife.
Well, ex-wife… Or is it current? how should I know, the paperwork hasn't been completed yet, alright?
“Sir?” asked Skipper, dressed in green like all of Santa’s workers, his right hoof, his forepenguin. “Private and Kowalski were unable to find the navigation route charts.”
“I ain't got time for that right now, Skipper,” Santa said curtly, turning back to the phone. “No, Dorothy, the lawsuit can’t proceed until the last one is over. Don’t you understand?”
“Sir, if you do not carry these maps you may enter restricted airspaces.”
“Sorry Skipper, but I’m talking to a real B-I-T-C-H right now,” Santa said before turning back to the phone. “What? Well, how was I supposed to know you could spell? I never saw you read…”
Minutes pass and Santa Hooves finally hangs up the phone. “Well, Skipper, it’s already eleven o’clock at night, time to leave.”
“Sir, what about the maps? Rico couldn’t find them either, I think he ate them.”
“Oh, ho, ho, ho, no problem, I already know my route, besides, it’s already very late,” Santa demerited, climbing into the sleigh, with only half the reindeer left, only Dasher, Dancer, Prance and Vixen were able to get their visas in time for this day, so they will have to carry more.
Well, there's no other way, you work with what you have I guess.
And so Santa took off from his striking factory at the North Pole to the rest of the world.
“The sleigh is overloaded and is travelling at half the speed we should have, between high mountains and snowy valleys at midnight and without a reindeer guide, a tremendous danger for commercial aviation we are… in fact, I think that because of this blizzard I have not been able to see any other plane in this area… by the way, where am I?”
Santa searched the glove compartment but found only a few coins, a piece of gum, and a half-eaten cookie from last year.
“That’s weird, I don’t have my navigation charts,” he said, bringing his hoof to his chin and stroking his beard. “Damn it, Skipper, now I don’t know exactly where I’m going. Do you know where we're going, Dasher?”
"How am I supposed to, chief? I can't see shit in the night."
"Yeah, you should've brought a substitute for Rudolph, boss, like a spotlight or something." Prance added.
"Oh, ho, ho, don't worry, my deer, I've got it covered.
Then he took out his compass and tried to see the stars, but the blizzard prevented him from seeing well. Dang it.
“Meh, from what I know, we're on our way to… Crystal City?… who knows, but I’ve always seen these mountains, what could go possible wrong?”
And that's when everything goes wrong.
Below him, several very powerful spotlights came on, illuminating the clouds and the path, accompanied with a loud sound.
“Oh, how kind of those citizens, guiding me on my way… they will be on the list next year,” he said to himself.
The lights came and went, but some were fixed only on his sleigh.
“Uh… Santa, I'm starting to think they don’t want to help us,” Dasher said in the lead.
"What do you mean?"
“That sounds like an alarm, not a friendly one.”
“No?”
Suddenly, small rays of light rose from the ground and buzzed around him, and the spotlights focused on his sleigh.
“Well, that's new, what could this be?” Santa asked.
“I don’t know, but that wasn’t there last year we passed by,” Dasher replied.
Suddenly, a rocket came out of the ground, very fast, it made a couple of turns and went straight to his sleigh.
“What's that, by the way?!” Dasher shouted.
“It doesn’t look like a firework,” Dancer said.
“It’s an S-75 Dvina, a high-altitude, command-guided surface-to-air missile, guys,” Vixen said.
“And how do you know that?” Prance asked from beside him.
“I read the script before going here,” he replied.
"The script?" They all asked.
“It doesn't matter, guys, ABORT, ABORT!” Santa Hooves shouted, before equipping his emergency parachute and jumping out.
The missile exploded, destroying the sleigh, causing his reindeer to scatter and the presents to fall to the ground.
Santa opened his eyes and a white light blinded him for a moment, it was the ceiling lamp. Everything around him was dark, but he could tell he was locked in a brick room, with a table in the middle and two chairs on the other side... and he was completely dirty.
“Where am I?” he wondered out loud.
His vision adjusted and he saw that on the wall to his right there was a mirror and a door.
This place could have, no, it needs some christmas decoration, urgently.
Suddenly the door opened and two ponies entered, wearing military uniforms, red shoulder pads and a military-style cap.
One was a gray earth pony mare with gray eyes and a white mane with blue highlights, the other was a cream-colored thestral mare with a red and gray mane. Their credentials said Black Paint and Alexia Goldgear, both with a hammer and horseshoe symbol. How odd.
They both sat silently in front of him and placed their caps on the table, as well as a briefcase underneath it.
“Ho, ho, ho, how nice of you to turn up, ma'am–”
The soldiers did not let him finish, the gray pony began to speak: “Командир, он вошел в воздушное пространство Сталлионграда в 23:20, к западу от Сталлионграда, недалеко от границы с Кристальной Империей.” [Commander, he entered Stalliongradian aerospace at 2320 hours, west of Stalliongrad, close to the Crystal Empire border]
He didn't understand a single line of it, “I think there's been some sort of mistake, you see, I have a very busy night tonight.” He said, raising his hooves.
“Заткнись!” the gray pony, Black Paint, according to the nametag, cut in. [Shut up!]
He didn't understand, but he fell silent immediately.
“He was found attempting to hide in a chimney.” Black Paint said, now in his language.
“Chimney?” Alexia Goldgear asked her subordinate. “дымоход?”
"Да," the gray pony answered whispering.
Santa immediately remembered what happened when he fell to the ground.
“Ho, ho, ho, this is a bit inhospitable than I anticipated. I must have taken a wrong turn at Our Town.”
“Stop right there, Equestrian spy!” The soldiers shouted, getting off the truck with weapons raised. "Остановитесь!"
Santa preferred not to ask and ran.
Bullets whizzed past him, but between the night and the blizzard he saw a cabin, it was his chance.
Santa climbed onto the roof and lost sight of the soldiers and tried to get into the chimney.
“Ho, ho, ho, this is tighter than I imagined, when the divorce is over I'm going on a diet... next year.”
He finally manages to get into the chimney, but gets stuck as soon as he gets a bit down.
“Heck, now I'm stuck in a chimney in the middle of Celestia-knows-where, could it get any worse?”
Suddenly he heard soldiers knocking on the cabin door and a pony opening the door.
“Oh fuck me.”
“Good evening, comrade, have you happened to see…” They said down there.
Suddenly Santa got unstuck, falling headlong down the chimney, hitting the ash-filled floor and falling unconscious.
“What kind of spy uses a chimney to get in?”
“Oh,” he said to himself.
“What are you doing in Stalliongradian airspace?” Alexia Goldgear asked sternly.
“I already told you that–”
His words were cut off by a slap from Black Paint.
“Ho, ho, ho! That was naughty…”
Suddenly Black Paint took out a scroll that when unrolled reached six meters in length.
“We found a list of names.”
“Oh, my list, you've found it,” Santa said happily.
“These are Equestrian spies,” the thestral, Alexia, stated aggressively.
"No no-"
“Who is little Sweetie Belle?!” the earth pony began to question.
“Well, I’ve never met her personally, but I’m sure she’s a very good girl,” he replied, pointing with his hoof.
“There is also a second list, Comrade Alexia,” said the interrogator.
“Oh, you don’t want to be on that list,” Santa stated warmly.
“You plan to kill these people?” Alexia stated.
“No, no, they’ll just get a bad present…” He said calmly. “It used to be a bag of coal, but the whole climate change thing and all that stuff–”
“We intercepted a communication from one of his assets, comrade,” Black Paint said, passing over a small note of paper.
Alexia read it.
“Dear Santa. Stop.
I've been a good filly. Stop.
I would like a Friendship Castle of the Princess Twilight. Stop.”
Black Paint looked in confused briefly, “This is clearly a code!”
“No, it’s not a code!” Santa said with pent-up nervousness.
“Then who is Santa?” Alexia began to ask.
“That’s me!”
“And you said your name is Father Hearth's Warming.”
“Yes, I am known by very many names,” he stated warmly again.
“So you’re a spy?!” Black Paint interrupted.
“No, look, if only you would let me on my way–”
“Tell us about your fighter plane,” the gray pony continued.
“…The sleigh?”
“We also have your accomplices and they are singing like swallows next door,” Alexia said.
“Oh, I didn't know they knew how to sing… they can be somewhat useless without Rudolph at the head, but they are my helpers anyway.”
“So you admit that they are your accomplices.”
“No… yes, but no… it’s more of an employment contract–”
“We are not hurting them if you tell us about your vehicle, it does not on the radar,” the thestral questioned him, fed up.
“Well, it is actually quite magical, you see the reindeer and the penguins–”
“ПИЗДОБОЛ!” she exclaimed. [Liar bullshit]
“Oh, now there’s no need for that type of language, you’re setting a very bad example for little Tatanya and Vasily,” Santa said calmly.
“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY CHILDREN’S NAMES!” The thestral screamed, rising up to almost hit him.
“What are you doing in Stalliongrad?!” Black Paint asked.
“Presents, I deliver presents!” he said uneasily.
“For who?” Black Paint asks.
“Well, to all the children in the world!” he said happily.
Alexia looked confused, “All the children in the world?”
“In return for what?” Black Paint asked inquisitively.
“Well… nothing.” Santa says it in the most serious way possible.
Both interrogators stared at each other.
“Nothing…” —they said at the same time— “So… you are a communist!”
He saw his chance and stood up.
“Да, why do you think I wear red, товарищ?”
Their expressions immediately softened and Black Paint turned to the mirror in the room.
“Comrade, two vodkas, one cookies and milk.” She ordered.
"It's good to see you, comrade." He said, extending his hoof.
“You should have told us from the beginning, comrade,” Alexia said, shaking hooves with him.
For Santa Hooves this was a relief, it seems that Hearth's Warming Eve will be saved after so many setbacks…
Wait… What time is it?
6:00.
Oh fu–
Author's Note
Jingle Bells,
Jingle Bells,
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun it is to ride,
In a one-horse open sleigh.
The Red Army Choir Sings Christmas - Jingle Bells
