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The noise.
The noise is always the worst of it.
This is hardly the first holiday season Elliot is spending aboard Rhodes Island, but it still feels like a slap in the face each time.
Of course, not all of it is quite so bad. Some parts are actually enjoyable: the food; the drinks; and, most importantly - the emptiness of the workshop in the evenings. Most people doing god knows what instead of working in an effort to enjoy the holidays. Well - those people who are still interested in that sort of thing. Those with families, and friends, and enduring notions of normalcy.
But that hardly makes up for the rest. For all the obnoxious, saccharine cheer. For the banal conversations, 'Happy holidays! Do you have any fun plans?' exchanged ad nauseam. For all the stupid decorations, fake snow and pine branches and ugly dollar-store garlands hanging from the ceiling beams. As if anyone ever looks up there.
And it certainly doesn't make up for the noise.
It's practically unbearable where he is sitting now, in the centre of the department floor and, thus - in the centre of all the hubbub. Footsteps and music; chewing, laughter, the shuffling of chairs; shouts, giggles and conversations, a slew of languages and accents that turns into a grating amalgamation in his ears. Elliot only realises after that fact that he has closed his eyes in some vain attempt to stop it all from assaulting his senses; his focus entirely on the increasingly difficult task of holding his cup steady in his hands, the last whispers of warmth from his drink still palpable even through the fabric of his gloves.
A new song starts on the speakers. Must be the eighth time this one is playing. Was this some technical error, or did someone think this was a particularly funny joke? Or perhaps it is a different song, and all these cheery, chime-filled Christmas ballads really do sound just that similar. He can hardly tell anymore.
When the second verse starts playing - something about love, and warmth, and snowmen - he is unwillingly jostled out of his stasis by a sudden bump against his ankle.
Elliot peels his eyes open, expecting someone's foot or a perhaps a stray chair leg, but - no. A tiny, featureless face stares up at him, a red-and white hat balancing precariously on its shiny metal head.
It looks up, or something like that. Since it has no eyes, Elliot can't quite tell what it's really doing. After a long moment of processing, the dog-like robot reroutes its course - around his foot this time - and stumbles further on into the mingling mass of legs, tails, and half-drunken chatter.
Elliot spares a quick glance around the circle of chairs he is sitting in. It is slowly filling up, people lazing over to take their places, not forgetting to bring with them their cups of mulled wine. A few chairs down, Greyy enthusiastically nods at something Mechanist is saying, a drunken flush painting his round, boyish cheeks. What a terrible lightweight.
Elliot shifts in his seat, and, seeing how he has nothing particularly interesting to look at, decides to close his eyes again. To his displeasure, a voice interrupts him before he can.
"Hey. This seat free?"
He glances up. With how short she is, he barely has to.
Blue hair. Pink halo. Irritating smile.
Elliot swallows a sigh. Why she wants to sit there he has no idea. They hardly like each other, as far as he can tell.
"Hello. Yes, please, go ahead."
"Thanks," Spuria responds as she slides into the chair next to Elliot's. But instead of leaving the interaction at that as he had vehemently hoped, she turns to look at him. Her eyes run up and down his body in a quick judgmental survey, from the tips of his shoes to the tips of his feathers.
"I like your... look," she finally says, gesturing over the entirety of him. "Were you going for, like, a Christmas tree thing? How festive of you. It's cute."
...Cute? Festive?
Christmas tree?
Elliot glances down at his shirt. It is a dark mossy green, yes, but he hardly wanted to look like a tree, thank you very much. Perhaps the gold jewellery in his ears and hair - that he only put on with the simple goal of looking good - is not doing exactly what he hoped for.
He feels his mood deflate even further; perhaps as far as it possibly can. Like an emptying balloon letting out its last wheezing breath.
"...How very kind of you to say," he responds, voice as dry as sheet paper.
He recrosses his legs, and swirls the last dregs of his drink around the cup. "It's interesting to see you here. I'd thought you'd be in Laterano for the season. I know it's an important time for your people."
"Just happened to be in the area."
Elliot makes a flat, disinterested sound in his throat. "Isn't that nice."
Thankfully, a mousy voice, near trembling with the effort to cut through the general hubbub, gathers their attention and kills any further possibility of a conversation. What merciful timing.
"Gather round, everyone, gather around! It's time to share the gifts brought here by all of our 'secret elves'!" Pudding calls with an irritatingly sincere smile.
Elliot sighs. Maybe he can come up with some excuse to leave. A sudden Oripathy flare-up? Just morbid enough to possibly work.
Closure clears her throat as she comes up to stand next to the young Aegir. "Umm, actually, HR has decided that for inclusivity and PC reasons we should call it secret something else. So we'll call it uh... I don't know. Secret reindeer. How's that?"
Ignoring the eruption of inane comments in the crowd, Elliot glances at Sesa who has plopped down on the opposite end of the circle. Watches as he converses with Feist, both of them cackling at some undoubtedly idiotic joke. For a careful second, Elliot lets his eyes linger on the flex of tendons in Sesa's neck, and the exposed sliver of clavicle peeking out from underneath the collar of his shirt.
Really, it is his shirt. Elliot's shirt. He lent it to Sesa in an attempt to get him to comply at least a little with the dress-code of this Cheerful Christmas Celebration, as they had so eloquently dubbed it. In his infinite kindness, Elliot even braided Sesa's hair and gave him one of his ties. But it had taken only a few minutes for the tie to disappear, for the top three buttons of Sesa's shirt to come undone, and for the sleeves to get rolled up to his elbows, exposing pale, wiry forearms. Killing not only any hopes of adherence to the dress-code, but also all of Elliot's efforts.
Still, certainly the most assaulting feature of Sesa's look tonight are the gold-and-red baubles he has hung from his horns that jingle with each turn of his head. Perhaps he, unlike Elliot, actually does want to look like a Christmas tree.
"We have some people joining us for their first Engineering Department Christmas party, so let's try to keep it classy, okay, guys?" Eunectes, ever the conscientious manager, calls out as she sits a few chairs down on Elliot's right.
"Yeah. No being weird like last year, okay?" Closure echoes as she walks to sit down in her own seat. Before she can, a shout interrupts her.
"Speech!" Mayer demands, a wide grin on her face - currently framed by a pair of fuzzy felt reindeer antlers.
"Damn it," Closure mutters under her breath, walking back to the centre of the circle.
Thrown around her neck like a shawl is a shiny gold-and-silver garland. Perhaps it would have looked quite endearing on someone else, but on her, the innocent festive decoration, in contrast with her paper-pale skin and vampire fangs, creates a somewhat ghoulish combination.
"Um, what can I say? It's been a busy year, as it is every year. But there's more of us than ever, and we're doing cooler and cooler stuff, and I love to see all of you working so hard. Thank you, guys. And I know this is corny as hell, but I really do love being here with you all and I think of you as my family," she says, somewhat abashedly, over a surge of aww's and ooh's. "Have a happy holiday, and celebrate however the hell you do in your part of Terra, and, uh, have fun." Before finally turning back to take her seat, she adds, "But, you know, those of you scheduled to come in over the holiday season - please do so."
Afterwards, Pudding takes the stage again. Elliot tries (at least a little) to listen to her explanation of what's going to follow, but is entirely distracted by Sesa, who has chosen to entertain himself by rocking back and forth on the rear legs of his chair. Elliot waits. After a minute, to no one's surprise, the chair finally tips back too far. Much to Elliot's chagrin though, Sesa manages to catch his balance at the very last moment - but not without a flail of his arms and a wild thrash of his tail that almost catches his seat mate in the back of his head.
"Tsk. Quit it!" Stitch Canvas, who has, to his visible displeasure, found himself in the seat next to Sesa's, hisses as he kicks his calf. "Can't you just be normal for five freakin' minutes?"
Sesa only snorts a laugh, entirely uncaring of the Durin's complaints. "Lighten up, will you, grumpy? So much negative energy in that tiny body of yours."
Before it can escalate any further, Pudding claps an energetic clap and announces, "Okay, let's start our secret gift event!" gathering the architect's, and even Elliot's attention.
The following thirty-something minutes are a loud, insufferable blur.
Finally, the gift exchange - a topic of endless rumours and discussion over the past couple of weeks - reaches its climax. Names are called one after the other, and the person is expected to open their gift - enthusiastically delivered by Pudding from a pile in the middle of the circle - in front of everyone. Each present, and the receiver's subsequent reaction, elicits a wave of ooh's and aaah's and endless loud, cackling comments.
The noise is worse than ever now, and pounds like a jackhammer in Elliot's head. An Oripathy flare-up might just be more merciful than this.
Elliot manages to follow most of the proceedings. Operator Alanna is given a new bandana, which she accepts with great excitement, seeing how the last one got burned to a crisp in an unfortunate soldering accident. Feist receives a pair of headphones, much to the relief of everyone in the department - for the feline loves blasting Victorian rock music out loud, seemingly convinced everyone else wants to hear it too. Sesa's present is a box of authentic Sargonian sweets, which he receives with a long-winded monologue about generosity, friendship, and the connection between the material and the sublime. He is quickly cut off by everyone's demands that he stop talking, Stitch’s being the most enthusiastic.
Weedy receives a motion-activated sanitiser dispenser, which the reserved Aegir accepts with a polite nod and a questionably interested look. Eunectes' present is a book on mechatronics - which, admittedly, looks quite interesting. Perhaps Elliot can borrow it later. Stitch is given a set of elegant mechanical pencils. From the near maniacal gaze with which operator Almond watches his reaction, Elliot can only surmise she is the giver. Many others follow, including a bag charm for Pudding, and a knit scarf for Greyy. They both accept their gifts with eyes that look much too teary for an event everyone was forced to participate in.
Then, it is the turn of the recipient of Elliot's present - Roberta.
Elliot might not exactly be a fan of these types of trite activities, and their interests could not be further apart, but he is still courteous - so he had put considerable thought into finding an appropriate gift for her.
Roberta opens the box with an excited hum. She blinks down at the contents for a moment, before sliding the present - a makeup palette - out to show it off to the room.
The crowd seems rather impressed, with a few of the women giving especially enthusiastic nods. Unfortunately, Roberta, who is simply staring at the gift with a strange, wobbly smile, does not seem to echo their sentiment.
"Oh, wooow. This is so, like..." she drawls, before cackling a sudden laugh. "Last year."
Everyone else bursts into laughter alongside her. Everyone except Elliot.
Well. He did try.
"Hey, let's, you know, at least try to pretend to like what we got. For morale," Closure chides.
"No, no, I do, totally!" Roberta defends herself. "I meant that as a compliment. It's cute. It's like... retro, or something."
She gingerly puts the palette back in its box. "I love it. Thank you to whichever man got it for me. I can tell," she says with an amused, knowing giggle.
At least no one can prove it was Elliot. Not even Sesa who gives him a deliberate and comically disapproving look, having seemingly read the situation from Elliot's stone-dead face.
Whatever. Elliot graciously looks away, and mentally curses him with only a few stiff words.
__
After the remaining operators receive their gifts, Elliot's own is last. Most people's attention has already started to shift toward whatever food and drink they're planning to have after this, so only a few watch him open it with any real interest.
Elliot expects something simple; something inoffensive and impersonal. He is well aware that he is not close enough to the great majority of his colleagues for them to know anything about his preferences or interests. That is fine. He is ready to accept his new mug, or notebook, or something equally utilitarian and equally uninteresting with a polite, appreciative smile.
But the box Pudding hands him - small and square, with a pleasant balanced weight to it - most certainly does not contain either of those things.
And when he opens the box, he sees that what it does contain instead is a gold pocket watch.
Elliot stares at it. Watches the light caresses the intricate details on the cover, a complex circular engraving of runes and geometric patterns that suggest the imagery of clouds and stars.
Gingerly, he takes the watch from the pillow it sits on and opens it, finding that the inside is just as beautiful as the outside. The clock-face is an iridescent nacre, with the dials a combination of pale gold and blue. Subtle, elegant, and just his style. A part of the face is cut, leaving a crescent-moon window that exposes the intricate mechanism underneath. Elliot's sure that if he put it up to his ear, he could hear it tick at a perfect, measured pace.
"What is it?" Spuria asks after Elliot's prolonged silence, peering over to look at what he's holding.
"A watch."
"A watch? What the hell, we had a spending limit," Alanna complains at him. As if this is somehow Elliot's fault.
"Which one of you was it, 'fess up so we could publicly shame you," Spuria sighs, looking around the circle.
A murmur of voices follows, people whispering and glancing at each other.
"Oh my, looks like someone was feeling mighty generous. Isn’t that right, Sesa?" Corroserum giggles, cutting through the noise.
Elliot narrows his eyes. The smile on Corroserum's face is perfectly casual, but Elliot doesn't particularly appreciate the insinuation.
He's not wrong, of course. Who else could have possibly gifted him this? Something that is likely twenty, fifty, a hundred times over the budget? Something so thoughtful and refined; something that shows such a great degree of familiarity with his tastes? Of course it was Sesa.
Still, the Pythia should hardly have guessed that so easily. What exactly does he suspect about their relationship?
Thankfully, Corroserum's words don't linger for even a second.
"Pf, him?" Stitch snorts. "The most tasteless person here? No way."
"You just don't get my nuanced style, pipsqueak," Sesa drawls, all ease and indifference as he stretches himself out in his chair.
Stitch practically turns to stone. "Pipsquak?!" he spits in a tone that makes Elliot wonder whether the new pencil was going to end up jammed in Sesa's eyeball. "Yeah, okay. I'm short. What's new? I'd rather be short than what you are - cringe. And your hair is totally gauche. It's such an eyesore that they should pay me a thousand dollars a day as compensation for having to even look at you."
Elliot could see Sesa purse his lips in an attempt to stifle a laugh. Or perhaps hold back another cutting remark.
"Okay, okay, settle down," Closure interjects before Elliot gets to find out. "No cursing, no insults, and no public shaming, okay, guys? That's not very holiday-like."
She glances around the entire circle. "Though, you know, the budget existed for a reason, okay? Now everyone feels like a dick. Just let that weigh on your conscience, anonymous elf. I mean, anonymous reindeer."
Then, she turns to Elliot. "Congratulations on your nice gift. Put it away before these kids start a riot."
Elliot obeys, carefully slipping the watch into the pocket of his jacket.
"OK, that's all the entertainment for now. Let's drink a little more and then we can mingle and have some cake, okay?" Closure says, getting up from her chair.
As people start to disperse, Elliot shoots Sesa a questioning look across the circle. But Sesa quickly lowers his eyes, too quickly for Elliot to find anything in them, and empties his own cup of mulled wine in one fell swoop.
It's perfect. Just the right size to sit comfortably in the palm of his hand.
Elliot can feel the watch in his pocket as he descends down the corridor and away from the main floor. Hidden from view, he runs his fingers over the frame, the cotton-silk of his gloves sliding over the smooth curve of it. It is a heavy and pleasant weight when he holds it, and Elliot has the childish urge to take it out and play with it, mess with the dials and run his fingers over all the cool, sleek metal. Perhaps he'll allow himself to when he gets to the privacy of his and Sesa's shared office.
Elliot expects the space to be empty, but when he enters, he finds Sesa already there, resting against his desk and fishing for sugar-dusted candies from the box in his hands.
He glances up at Elliot, and shakes it in his direction.
"Want one? I loved these as a kid, man. Really missed them. The nostalgia of the flavor really touches my heart."
"I'm fine, thank you," Elliot responds as he leans his shoulder against the doorframe. "That's a nice gift you got. Not quite as nice as mine though."
"Guess so." Sesa shrugs as he tosses the now visibly emptier package onto the table. Just how many did he manage to eat already? "But no need to rub it in. That's totally against the holiday spirit, you know."
Elliot gives him an offhand hum, and finally, slides the watch out of his pocket. In this light - dimmer, more delicate than the one out there - his eyes are drawn to entirely different details. The metal of the frame has a pleasant, warm gold-to-brass shift that reminds him of desert sand in the afternoon heat. Elliot lets his thumb run over the delicate engravings on it, the complex pattern of runes on the outer edge; over the elegant pale bezel; over the small blue gem in the crown.
Elliot follows the watch's run, the hands moving in perfect strokes. Tik-tik-tik. It's beautiful.
How thoughtful of him. How stupidly, saccharinely, unbearably thoughtful of him.
Elliot clears his throat.
"Thank you. You truly didn't h-"
At that, Sesa makes a face. The kind of face one would make at a crude insult.
"Wasn't me."
…
…Hm?
Slowly, Elliot blinks at him.
Of course it was him. Who else in the world could it be?
Elliot almost says as much.
"...Is that so?" he responds instead.
"Yep."
"I see. Tell me then, who did you get a gift for?"
Sesa gives him an offended look. "That's a secret. It's called secret reindeer for a reason, okay? Jeez, it's like you don't know how this game works at all."
"...Uh huh. What's quite interesting though is that some of the particular design elements on this watch are terribly reminiscent of your style. These runes here especially seem very familiar."
Sesa shrugs. A quick, clever tongue darts out to lick the dusting of icing sugar off his fingers. "I don't think so. You're probably thinking of someone else."
"Am I now..."
Elliot narrows his eyes, and stares.
In the distance, the party continues. Voices, songs, shuffling; a loud bang, followed by laughter. All that terrible noise. But between them, silence stretches out like a rubber band.
Sesa does not wither under his gaze and stares right back. Elliot watches him carefully: his neutral expression, his perfect performance; his utter, unbothered relaxation. What a great actor. What a pointless, amusing little show.
Elliot can play along.
He straightens out, and finally takes a proper step into their workshop. Brushes the recrimination off like dust off his sleeves. "... I see. Well, pardon me. My mistake."
"Seeing how this is the season of forgiveness and everything," Sesa responds, all dramatic righteousness. "I'll let this one slide."
As Sesa reaches for his mulled wine, left cooling on the desk beside him, Elliot steps close. "I do wonder who got this for me though," he says.
Sesa glances at him over the edge of the cup. "Couldn't tell ya."
Smoothly, Elliot nips it out of his hand, and brings it to his own lips. The wine, strong and sweet, burns a pleasant trail of heat down his chest.
"And I also wonder how much they spent. What do you think? A few hundred? thousand?"
"Don't know."
Elliot brings the watch up to Sesa's eyes. 'Humour me. Take a guess."
Sesa leans in to inspect it, the baubles still hanging from his horns clanking against the keratin with an oddly pleasant sound. He examines the watch with meticulous attention - or pretends to, rather, humming and hawing at each detail. Elliot has to give it to him - his performance is quite convincing indeed.
"Welp," he announces after a minute of inspection. "If you ask me - it looks handmade."
Elliot's brows raise a millimetre. "Oh? What makes you say that?"
He does not miss the quick look Sesa shoots to the side nor the few seconds of silence that follow. Certainly considering how to answer without implicating himself any further.
"Uh, see, if you look closely you can see that some of the parts don't quite match. Seems like the cover might have higher purity gold plating, or something. Plus, in the mechanism, you can see the gears are from different metals and look differently aged. Maybe. But what do I know," he finishes with a carefully casual shrug.
"...Yes, perhaps you're right," Elliot hums, inspecting all the details Sesa pointed out. "But that would be just too thoughtful, wouldn't it? Why would a mere colleague go to these lengths?"
Ah. There it is. A wobbly twitch of Sesa's mouth.
How very amusing, how immensely satisfying to see his act slip even a little. How much further can Elliot push it?
"No idea," Sesa responds, all innocence.
Elliot takes another sip from Sesa's cup, before breathing an overdramatic, disappointed sigh.
"How sad this is. I do so wish I could thank this person properly."
Sesa brushes the words away with a wave of his hand. "Don't sweat it, man. This is the time of giving and everything. I'm sure they did it because they're such a nice, thoughtful, generous guy," he nods. Then, rushes to correct himself with a quick, "Or girl. Or something. Could be anybody."
"That may be so. But, really, with such a fancy gift..." Elliot leans in, giving Sesa a suggestive, guileful smile. "I would think they had other intentions."
That waver of his lips again. How nice.
Sesa clears his throat. "What intentions?"
Elliot levels him a knowing look. "Oh, please. We're both adults here. You know precisely what I mean."
Sesa gawps at him, scandalised. "Elliot, how can you say that! Maybe they just really value you as a colleague. I mean, your wiring skills are no joke. Bar none, really," he says with a solemn nod.
"Oh? I rather think that if they valued me as a colleague or appreciated my wiring talents, they'd gift me something like... a nice box of candies. No?"
Sesa shrugs again. "Maybe so. I wouldn't know."
Still playing his part, then. Elliot has to applaud his commitment.
He quickly glances toward the entrance and listens for any noises outside the doorway. Nobody there. At least nobody close enough for concern.
With one fluid, confident move, Elliot steps in front of Sesa, very, very close. So close that his own leather shoes brush against Sesa's boots; so close he can see the tiny streaks of pale bright scarlet in his eyes.
Elliot reaches for his collar under the guise of fixing it. He does, but more important than straightening the creases in the fabric is seeing the surprised look in Sesa's eyes and the hairline cracks in his composure.
"How do you think I should properly express my gratitude to this person if I ever find out who they are?" Elliot asks, voice that bit quieter now, as he does up one of Sesa's buttons. The ones he so carelessly undid earlier.
Sesa doesn't seem to mind, or even notice. Likely much more focused on stealing a glance down at the exposed skin of Elliot's pale neck.
"I don't- I don't know," he mutters.
Another button follows. "...Well, that's fine. I do have a few ideas of my own."
"Like what?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Well, that would be quite inappropriate. That's between me and them."
Sesa's eyes narrow. "Inappropriate? How generous exactly do you plan on being?"
Elliot smiles. Wily, knowing, and perfectly teasing. "Quite."
The top button slides into its place, and Elliot adjusts it one last time. The way Sesa stiffens when his fingers brush his bare skin is not lost on him. "Why are you so interested, anyway?" he asks.
"I'm not. I'm totally not." Sesa leans in closer. His voice just barely above a whisper now, rasping in his throat like dusty gravel. "But maybe you can give me a hint on whether it involves putting on a sexy Santa costume and telling them that they've been a good boy this year?" He then blinks, and catches himself. "...Uh, or girl. Like I said, we don't know."
This time, it is Elliot who almost fails to stifle a laugh.
But he controls himself; masks it with a low, curious hum.
How very, very amusing this is.
"Would they enjoy that, you think?" he whispers.
Sesa has, seemingly, given up on not staring at Elliot's lips with unconcealed interest. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably."
The tension between them is palpable now. Hot and prickly like static. Who will move first? And where? Toward each other, or further apart?
Before Elliot gets to find out, a shout cuts through the air.
"Cake, everyone!" Someone screams outside. From the loud, chieftain manner of it - probably Eunectes.
Ah. What a shame.
Swallowing a disappointed breath, Elliot straightens out and steps away. They shouldn't linger lest someone comes to look for them.
"Shall we, then? We can continue this conversation later. Perhaps you'll have more invaluable insights to provide," he says, mirth creeping into his voice, as he turns to walk out the door.
He does not watch Sesa follow. But the pang of disappointment he feels at having missed Sesa's expression - certainly one of unbridled frustration - makes him think that perhaps he should have.
The walk down the hallway is silent, only the heavy echo of Sesa's footsteps letting Elliot know he is even there.
Elliot feels the watch in his pocket again. He focuses on its pleasant shape, the wonderful curves of it. For a moment, he considers whether he should feel at least a little guilty for teasing Sesa after having received such a thoughtful gift, but decides he should not. This entertaining little spiel was not his idea, after all. And if Sesa wants to maintain this pointless facade, then who is Elliot to object.
It happens as they're passing through one of the empty lounges on their way to the main floor. Suddenly, Sesa catches Elliot's wrist, and pulls him in with a nimble, determined movement. It's only Elliot's quick reaction that lets him put his hand up in time before their lips meet, pressing it firmly over Sesa's mouth.
Elliot raises his eyebrow like a knife. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks coolly.
Sesa points up, all innocence on his face. "Mistletoe," he mumbles against Elliot's palm.
Elliot glances up. Indeed, hanging from a low ceiling beam, there is the little green-and-red bundle. Another stupid decoration Elliot's eyes had glazed right over.
"Huh. What a curious location."
Elliot looks back at Sesa, mere centimetres between them.
An eager gaze meets him. One of Sesa's hands is still wrapped around his wrist, while the other he now gingerly traces over the curve of Elliot's waist.
Elliot throws a glance over his shoulder. No one there. So he leans in even closer, as close as he can; only Elliot's hand keeping their lips from meeting. Sesa stiffens in expectation, his gaze darting between Elliot's eyes and his mouth.
Suddenly, Elliot sighs, and steps back. "Sorry, I don't think I can do this. I suspect my mystery suitor wouldn't appreciate it if I went around kissing other people. Don't you think?"
The frown on Sesa's face is almost comical. Elliot is sure that if he had Perro or Feline ears, they would be drooping pathetically.
"But...But it's tradition!" he complains.
"Yes, I'm aware. But why don't you exercise that vivid imagination of yours and think of how you would feel in their shoes."
"Me? In their shoes?" Sesa deadpans. "Now that's a scenario so implausible, so outside the realm of possibility that I can't even picture it."
"Well, you'll just have to take my word for it then."
"You- but, you... But it-" Sesa stammers, eyes pathetically glued to Elliot's lips. The hand around his waist squeezes in frustration. "Well, but they don't have to know. I can keep a secret."
Elliot sighs. "Oh, I know you can. But it would really weigh on my conscience, especially considering it's Christmas season. The time to be good, and righteous, and so on, no?"
Sesa opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water as he considers what to say. But, in the end, having neither come up with any way to convince Elliot to comply nor wanting to give up his act now, Sesa simply pouts, and reluctantly releases his hold.
Elliot gives Sesa a pleased smile, and, before turning to continue their walk toward the crowd, the festivities and the noise, straightens his collar one last time.
As he does, Elliot leans in, very, very close, and against Sesa's ear whispers, "Good boy."
The dumbstruck, wide-eyed look on Sesa's face is immensely satisfying. Better even than a gold watch or a thousand boxes of candies.
Elliot can admit that perhaps he was a little wrong. Perhaps the holidays can be at least a little fun. And while he might not have the costume for it, surely he can think of his own ways to repay Sesa’s generosity later. This is the season of giving, after all.