Christmas Countdown Day 3
They tiptoed past Mrs. Claus’s knitting room (where something growled — nobody questioned it) and crept through the hallway of Santa’s private living quarters, which were far more intimidating than any elf wanted to admit.
Operation Hot Chocolate
By Wednesday night, the Chaos Four were buzzing with determination and delusion. Last night’s planning meeting had been a sticky disaster, but Peppermint stood firm: Operation Hot Chocolate continues.
So here they were again, sneaking across the snowy courtyard toward Santa’s private quarters, the enchanting maze of cozy rooms and hidden nooks that housed the legendary Christmas Kitchen.
Peppermint and Joe were assigned kitchen entry, while Buttercup and Mason were on lookout duty.
This already screamed “bad idea,” but the Chaos Four thrived on bad ideas.
They tiptoed past Mrs. Claus’s knitting room (where something growled — nobody questioned it) and crept through the hallway of Santa’s private living quarters, which were far more intimidating than any elf wanted to admit.
The hardwood floors gleamed.
The peppermint air smelled suspiciously judgmental.
Joe swallowed hard.
Peppermint kept whispering, “We got this,” mostly to herself.
Finally, they reached the door to the Christmas Kitchen — the holiest of holy places, the birthplace of magic hot chocolate, and the site of more elf arrests than anywhere else in the North Pole.
Peppermint grabbed the handle—
CLUNK.
The door swung open immediately.
Both elves blinked.
“…That was too easy,” Joe whispered.
Inside was warm, glowing, peppermint perfection — and absolutely empty.
Peppermint gasped in awe.
Joe stepped forward reverently. “This is it, Pep. The real deal. This is—”
“A-HA!”
They froze.
Standing in front of the open fridge was Bob the Bulky Elf Guard, holding a ham the size of a small reindeer.
Peppermint shrieked.
Joe squeaked.
The ham thudded to the floor.
Bob puffed up his chest. “HOW did you two get in here?!”
Peppermint stammered, “We—we were—uh—this isn’t what it looks like—”
“It looks,” Bob growled, “like you’re trying to steal Santa’s secret recipes.”
He ripped a strand of Christmas lights from the counter and grabbed them both at the same time before they could even think about running. He then expertly hog-tied them into one sparkling, glittery elf burrito. This happened in seconds, it felt like they blinked and boom there they were draped in Christmas lights.
“Stay put,” Bob said with a glare. “I’m telling Santa.”
The moment he stomped out the door, Peppermint hissed, “Joe! JOE! DO SOMETHING!”
Joe grinned like a man possessed. “I got this. I saw this on McGyver once.”
What followed was a series of alarming wiggles, questionable contortions, and one truly unholy shoulder pop — and Joe slipped right out of the lights.
Peppermint stared. “HOW—”
“MacGyver."
He untied her, and they bolted out the side door, immediately spotting Buttercup and Mason distracting Bob in the hallway:
Buttercup was telling him an emotional story about being allergic to mistletoe.
Mason was holding an ornament and insisting, “It DEFINITELY won’t explode. Probably.”
Peppermint dragged Joe away before they all got roped into a mandatory Santa meeting.
The four met outside, panting and glittery.
Peppermint put her hands on her hips. “Okay. Attempt One did not go well.”
Joe nodded. “Forgot Bob’s addiction to ham. We didn’t plan for that.”
Buttercup flicked snow off her sleeve. “I tried distracting him, but Mason kept making explosion noises!”
“They were small explosion noises,” Mason argued.
Peppermint took a deep breath and declared: “Tomorrow… we will try again.”
The others groaned in exhausted agreement.
Operation Hot Chocolate was still on.
