“‘I need a favor’ my boney ass,” the hooded figure muttered to himself. He took a few small boxes from his black bag, his skeleton hand careful to set them down gently so as to not wake anyone in the house. When Claus had called him, asking to honor a favor, Death desperately wanted to deny him his request. “That fruit loop knows better than to make me do this ‘holly jolly’ crap.”
A small creak of the floorboards above made him freeze in his tracks, mentally cursing himself out for talking too loud, thinking a whisper was still enough to rouse anyone in a five mile radius. When the sound of little footsteps coming down the stairs reached him, he started frantically placing the presents around the small white tree.
“Santa?”
