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Infelftration by Arcie Emm Chapter 1 Impossible to stop himself, every time the end of shift bells jingled, he looked out the window. Sometimes he would keep watching as the workers excitedly poured forth from the innumerable factories making up The Big S's Workshop. Watching and wanting to become one of them. Yet the longer Snorri stared, the greater grew the chance someone would look towards the N&N Building and see his big, fat head. This could result in anything from a pitying grimace to a shouted, "What you looking at, freak?" The only guarantee, he would like himself less as a result. Something that, at some point, should become impossible, but he'd not yet reached bottom. How could he live in one of the happiest place in all lands, when he felt so miserably unhappy? Ducking, as much as he could, before anybody spotted him, Snorri indulged himself in a moment with his favourite fantasy. Where the manager of one of the factories presented him with a master's red velvet suit, trimmed in glossy white fur, as the Yule cycle's top producer. Then nobody would consider him a freak, they would respect and want to be like him. A silly dream. Rather than the best, he recognized himself amongst the worst. He did not even wear the green of a journeyelf, just the grey of an apprentice. The most incompetent apprentice at The North Pole. His big head matched his big everything, particularly big hands. Too big to make widgets. He'd tried; taken all the requisite courses, studied all the guidelines, knew all the secrets, but every attempt ran afoul of his sausage like fingers. Backwards Snorri, about as nice a taunt he ever received, yet so appropriate. Everyone knew an elf grew larger with each skill he perfected, providing room for more knowledge. Yet Snorri stood taller than those who turned gadgets into thing-a-ma-jigs, never mind someone who couldn't make gadgets or even the widgets that became gadgets. Only the masters and grand masters stood larger, though none of them knew as much as Santa. It placed Snorri outside the rigid norm, even led to whispers calling him a human changeling. And no evidence, not even the fact he'd lived over ten times as long as the oldest human, changed the minds of the prejudiced. They did not even believe Lore Master Harald's statement that, as good a story as it made, no examples existed where humans exchanged their baby for an elf baby. Never mind the fact nobody could remember the last elf baby. So they stuck Snorri, all by himself, to toil from before the others woke until after they fell asleep, prepping silver bell cartridges for the Naughty or Nicerator. Slotting the 10k cartridges, containing judgment bells, into the machine. Only during Yule cycle crunch, with many decisions every second did he share the space, but early in the cycle he remained all alone except when... "Hey, what a surprise, Snorri is working late again," Tyr said. Turning, Snorri looked up and then even further up, to see the newcomer who balanced a tray of food on his single hand. "Hello, Master Tyr, what's for supper?" "The usual. Any spectacular naughties today?" Many reasons existed why the one-handed Grandmaster occupied the top of Snorri's good guy list, beyond the meal deliveries. The elf's size, almost as big as the Big Guy himself, meant Tyr did not notice his weird size. Plus his place in the hierarchy allowed him some freedom on how to use his time, which often meant bringing some joy to the Pole's outcasts. With Snorri, this involved reviewing what tarnished a bell. "I doubt you'll find anything, Master Tyr. It's too early in the cycle for the machine to finalize most decisions, particularly with the recent repeal of the extended licentious amendment." "About time. The only reason Michael's staff implemented the rule was because they worried about running out of soul space in seven hundred thousand millennia. They never thought about the amount of business they would lose to their competitor. But don't get me started on Heaven's bureaucrats. I'm here to be entertained by the amazing creativity of humanity and with the old school naughty criteria, it takes real planning to tarnish out this early in the year. Go ahead and eat, while I see what the birds found." "I didn't notice anything, Master Tyr. " "That's because you never look, Snorri." Warmed by the companionship, Snorri dug into his meal of turkey, dressing, potatoes, peas, gravy, a roll for sopping up the remainder and a steamy cup of cider to wash it down. Good food providing a counter to the distraction of Tyr's chortled explanation, only stopping the master once to ask, "I didn't think humans used vacuums for that?" "Which is why it's naughty. Though, personally, I give young Leroy points for creativity. But enough with the mortal souls, how's your immortal one?" "Same old." "Sorry to hear that," Tyr said, the recent glee siphoned from his voice. "Do you want me to try and find you a new assignment?" "I don't know. As boring as it sometimes is, this is the best job I've had." Standing, Tyr grasped Snorri's shoulder with a supportive grip before he reached for the tray of dirty dishes. He said, "I'll check and let you know. In the meantime, chin up. I feel, like Rudolf, there will come a time when you'll step forward as the hero." "Master Tyr, if it happens, don't let me forget my freakish friends like he did." "I'll try," Tyr said with a smile. Then with a wave of his handless arm, he left the apprentice to his self imposed overtime. Thinking about other assignments, he prepped two more cartridges, his self-maligned hands moving in a blur of magnificent efficiency, before Tyr's prophecy took wing. Working on another cartridge, he heard the machine ding, a warning that it would momentarily spit out a bell. An early judgment, but as Tyr said, humans often proved creative, sometimes creatively evil. Yet, when he spun to catch the bell as it popped out, Snorri felt unprepared to find it a dull, flat black. A symbol reserved for only the most naughty. Trembling, Snorri ran over to the never-before-used intercom and pushed the button to speak. Not sparing time for pleasantries, he said, "Tell Santa that I just got a black bell." 'A black bell?" the operator asked, shock in his voice. "Yes. Someone wants to ruin Christmas!" * * * An aura of savagery should seem out of place in an office permanently decked out for the holidays, but it's existence made the Grandmasters feel more alive than they'd felt in years. It brought forth Santa's true self, made him feel like he sat upon Hli?skj?lf, rather than a red, cushioned, armchair like throne. But like those days, he sat and listened as one of his sons urged him to go on the attack. Unlike then, his son's short pants and striped knee high socks stole much of his appearance of ferocity. "Before we can attack, we'll need permission," Santa said. "We do?" Thor asked. "But the pact gives us control over Yule." "Just the celebration, not the observation." Tyr said, "Which may prove difficult. There are rumours some in the Host grow nervous with the success of our celebration, thinking it comes at the expense of their observation. This is particularly true amongst those who originally disagreed with the pact. " "It's their own fault. For all their blather about their Lord creating humanity, they really don't understand humans. Short lived, short memory, and shorter attention spans. Some are useful, most are useless. Who cares what the latter celebrate? Why would you want all of them to worship you?" his brother asked. "There is something to be said for overwhelming numbers." "Please, Father. Everybody knows you did not propose the pact out of fear of their numbers, but because you expected their intransigence to trigger Ragnarok." "And just imagine my chagrin to learn they'd already co-opted Loki," Santa said, his expression of beaming benevolence temporarily cracking at mention of the slayer of one of his sons. An enemy with whom the pact harnessed him. "Where is the two-faced bastard?" Tyr asked. "I expected him to be at this meeting." "He's gone to plead our case before the Host." Tyr gawked in disbelief, but Thor turned as red as his cap, which his father expected to squirt off his head when the steam blasted out. Before that happened, his most impetuous son shouted, "What?" "Trust me, Thor. And trust in Loki's hate." "You expect me to believe he hates them more than us?" "Of course not, he at best feels ambivalent towards them. It's us he hates, but...let me explain in a way you can understand. Hatred is like Hei?r?n's mead, while ambivalence is akin to that beer crap in the human world. Like sex with your J?rnsaxa versus your hand. Battle to checkers. Living versus existing. For Loki, hatred is breath. Ambivalence is nothing." A slight misjudgment. Within the Council of the Host's antechamber, Loki's ambivalence slowly turned into annoyance. His visits often lead to curses, even physical attacks, but never before did anyone force him to cool his heels. By the time the golden doors swung open, annoyance transformed into pique. And when he realized that seven deputies, rather than the archangels to whom they reported, sat at the front of the chamber, pique turned to cold anger. A mistake on their part, for this state always brought out his best. He should have guessed. Sitting in the center chair, he saw the Angel Yesenia, Uriel's enforcer. Uriel, the last holdout against the assimilation of the Norse pantheon into the Heavenly Host, who'd only agreed when Michael promised to spread them throughout the Host and to marginalize the leaders as a child's fable. Uriel, whose power waxed as Michael's waned, as for the first time under the latter's stewardship the faith lost ground. "Next item. A petition from the North Pole, speaking for them is one Loki the Trickster," Yesenia said, pleased at how smoothly she reminded her colleagues to consider his words for any treachery, while not offering him any grounds for complaint. He'd signed the Pact with that very name. "What matter do you bring before us?" They knew, of course. But that did not diminish the need for a show. "A bell," Loki said, holding up the object, drawing their gaze to it by flicking it across his fingers, as a gambler would with a poker chip. "Tarnished beyond all redemption for the laughable sin of thinking about ruining Christmas." "You are not disturbed by the thought? "I rarely value anything Odin, I mean Santa Claus, holds dear." Yesenia asked, "May I see it?" Fighting an urge to toss it to her, in the hope she would fumble the catch, Loki gestured towards a page, to take it forward. Studying it, she settled upon the one distinguishing mark. Aloud, she questioned, "Agatha Lipton?" One of the others, an angel Loki did not recognize, said, "Agatha Lipton, I recognize her name. She is a believer of one of the Protestant religions, quite devout. She even built a church. I struggle to believe your sign as true. How did you come upon any evidence?" "Santa's two ravens gather information for him," he answered, without answering. "Muninn?" "If it came from him, it would be too late to petition. No, this information probably came from Huginn." "And you believe it?" "No more than anybody in this room. After all, I am sure none of you believe thought is as powerful as action?" "You seem a poor Ambassador?" Yesenia said, not raising to his bait. "Odin, I mean Santa, who has played victim to it many times, believes I can use my honeyed tongue to convince you to let him send forth an agent who will determine if thought may become deed. Though he's probably just looking for a chance to remind some of his Einherjar of who they were, before they became his ever so adorable elves." "I agree. Any more questions? Then let us vote. I say no to the North Pole's petition" Only Kellian, Michael's assistant, voted yes, everyone else voted no. Bowing in acceptance, Loki said, "Then I guess I will use my honeyed tongue on my old foe. Should I explain to him how nobody will spare a thought for Santa, if Devout Agatha does something worthy of a tarnished bell? That it is not him, but your boss who people will doubt. Do you think that will prove enough to spare me his wrath?" That thought got their attention. Naive children, Loki thought, later in the day as he walked from hall. So gripped by the desire to protect their Lord, while faithfully believing he watched over them. Yet when confronted by a known trickster, they proved themselves no different than any of his defeated enemies, rushing to a decision in an attempt to show themselves unaffected by his words. What they failed to recognize, is how either result made him happy. Admittedly, he did prefer obtaining tempered approval for the one-eyed bastard's plan, since for a time, it would make life at the North Pole less frosty. * * * Neither Tyr nor Thor could restrain a groan as they entered their father's office and found him staring dubiously at a remote control, while Loki looked on with his normal sneer. With approval to act contingent upon proof, they tasked the Trickster, along with Huginn and Muninn, to gather additional information on Agatha Lipton. Unfortunately the threesome liked to create PowerPoint presentations and, what with two of them being ravens and the third an asshole, they tended to use a Christmas themed template consisting of a border of flashing, Christmas lights while the font evoked candy canes. Hearing their groans, their father looked up and said, "Good, you're here. Can one of you get this infernal device to work?" Taking the remote, Tyr changed the input and a slide with a link labeled 'Infelftration' appeared on their television. By this time they knew quite a bit about Agatha; from her childhood, with sixteen straight years on the children's nice list, right through today as the president of the family's road construction business. A role that made her the most important person in Penniesburg County. Yet in between these periods of small town living, they found fertile ground for conspiracy and years when she did not even end up as a neutral (the default level for an adult on the naughty or nice list). Agatha's years at university opened her up to a larger world, in particular she found herself, as many did during the 80s, drawn to the nuclear disarmament movement. A cause worth believing in, a cause she did wholeheartedly believe in, and a cause that frustrated her more as the years passed and her government did not respond in the way she wanted. In this frustration, she found a kindred soul in Darren Wynchynski. Unlike Agatha he grew up on the naughty list. Rebellious from day one, he visited juvi for the first time at age 13 after beating up a classmate who would not hand over his lunch money. In and out of detention centers for the rest of his teen years, he took a hard look at his life when he realized his next time in a jail would result in adult prison. This led to a decision to give up petty crime for rabid anti-establishment. Easy to believe Agatha fell under his Svengali like sway, as went the story upon her return to Penniesburg, a toddler in arms, her violent, soon-to-be ex-husband locked away for a failed plot to bomb a bar catering to air force pilots. Most everyone believed her, look how great she'd turned out as a boss and how much she did for the community? For a time, only the most cynical of old farts continued to question; however, old farts are a renewable resource and the newest breed now included those who once worked for her. However, old fart elfs never die off, nor does the joy they bring stop them from growing more cynical. Through millennia they saw too much of the heavens and its reflection amongst humanity for that. Unmoved by her good deeds, they conducted further investigation and learned she kept in contact with Darren throughout his imprisonment. Never a visit nor a letter, nothing direct. But through friends in the movement, some of whom now lived in Penniesburg County and worked for her. Even when Darren's sentence ended it appeared they stayed physically apart. In fact, he seemed to drop off the face of the earth. Then a few days ago, Muninn discovered Darren living under an assumed name in Penniesburg county, working for the company who provided security for Agatha's businesses. None of the elfs believed this coincidental, expecting the two planned whatever triggered the Naughty or Nicerator." The problem, Santa's team could not discover that plan. Despite the myths spread by his P.R. team, neither Huginn nor Muninn could read minds. Equipped with Godlike hearing and minds like computers, they could listen in on any spoken conversation. For example, it was something overheard in a parking lot that triggered their investigation; however, in a time of so much written communication, they lacked the ability to open letters or hack emails and texts. The North Pole team needed to put eyes and ears on the ground. From his seat behind the laptop, Loki said, "We've been searching for a way to get one of your elfs into either Agatha's or Darren's circles. However, both they and their followers are amongst the most closed off, paranoid people I've ever encountered. Always wary of the authorities sending undercover agents into their midst." "Is that admiration I hear, Loki?" Thor asked. "For their lackeys? Most definitely. I can't tell you how often I wished for such a loyal and quiet group; however, I've too often found myself followed by people like their leaders. It's such a nuisance when those who supply the manpower and the human passion think that is enough to make them my equal. It is always great fun to prove them wrong." "And how will we do that?" Tapping the right arrow key, bringing up the next slide, which showed a good looking, young man, Loki said, "Here we see Agatha Lipton's son, Justin. Somewhat spoiled, impulsive, and in his second year of university. One reason why I am sure he does not play any role in his parent's plot is because I doubt he could manage a secret like his elders. Yet his mother dotes upon him. This, combined with his general weakness of character, is something that might provide the key to get past their guard." Triggering the next slide, which showed the cover of Journey into Mystery #85, he waited for the expected interruption. Thor obliged and said, "Hey, that's one of my picture books. Did you know I'm also in movies? I'm a superhero. I guess you know, since you're the villain. Is he a fan? Are you wanting me to convince him to help us out?" "Umm...no! Actually, though Justin does enjoy comic books, he is more interested in ones like this." "What in the name of Asgard is that?" "To be honest, I don't fully understand it myself. It's the cover from something called Inu x Boku SS. A type of comic book from the Far East called a magma, though it doesn't seem to have anything to do with volcanos." "Why does that girl have pink hair?" Santa asked. "And a leash around her neck?" Tyr asked. "She looks cute in that black dress, particularly with the apron," Thor said. "Is it wrong that I'm kind of turned on by her? How old is she?" "I can't answer most of those questions. Though, based on the many picture of drawn girls, all wearing similar outfits, we found on Justin's cloud, it appears you are not alone, Thor." Tyr said, "Are you sure you are not jumping to conclusions." "We also found a number of videos like this," Loki said. Mouth dropping open at another reminder of humanity's 'ingenuity', Tyr said, "Okay, you're not jumping to conclusions." "How come my drawing never gets to make thunder with big breasted, blue haired girls?" Knowing how easily such a topic could sidetrack them, Santa said, "As stimulating as these appears, I don't see what good it does us?" "There are actual girls who dress like these drawings, who go to conferences and let horny guys, like Justin, take pictures of them. I'm thinking we hook him with one of his fantasy girls. And since he visits home regularly, if he takes her with him, she can snoop." "We are not what I would term flush with fantasy girls. Even my Valkyrie ended up working with Frejya as part of the Pact." Tyr said, "About that, I always wondered. Were you drunk when negotiated the Pact?" "Well I do admit I kind of pushed Yeshua at first about his powers. And maybe when he transformed some water into wine, I may have asked him if he could transform wine into mead. When he did, I kind of had to drink it, for politeness sake. But only about a hogshead, so I might have been a bit tipsy, but definitely not drunk." "Really, father?" "This is not the time, Tyr. Let's hear Loki's plan." "Have any of you ever looked at your Einherjar since they got elfed up?" "Of course," Thor said. "Notice anything about them?" "They don't have beards." Loki said, "No they don't. Anything else?" "They're smaller." "That they are. And..." "I don't know, they're just elfs." "Anybody else? No? Have you all been in the mead today? Forgive me. Okay, watch this." The next slide started out with a picture of an elf on the left side and a picture of Ririchiyo from Inu x Boku SS on the right. Through animation, those two pictures grew closer and closer together, Loki expecting a eureka moment from his audience at any moment. "You idiots, your elfs are half a breath away from looking like the Asian girls these drawings are based upon. Thick black hair, petite features and bodies. After changing the mouth breathing behemoths into their current form, how hard would it be to change one of them into an Asian babe?" "But they're men." "They were men, Thor. But now, neutered as they are, they may as well be dolls." "I guess I kind of see it," Santa said, running a hand through his beard while he thought. "How big of elf?" "Up to about 3.5 ell, which is around 65 inches in our target's parlance." "Tyr?" "Gadget maker size, at least. Probably more like an elf who makes thing- a-ma-jigs." "Of course it would be someone that size. We hardly have enough of them to keep up with orders. Why does it take most of these idiots so long to learn anything? It took over a thousands years, as humans measure it, for us to grow enough skill to start my gifting efforts and, since then, only two handfuls have taken any steps beyond gadgeteering." "Father, it's not like you asked your Valkyrie to gather craftsmen. Most of them were lunkheads." "Blame it on clever sons and clever enemies who made me wish for the company of simpler sorts in my hall. So clever sons and clever enemy, how are we going to manage this and meet all of our manufacturing deadlines?" "Snorri!" Tyr said, struck by inspiration. "He's looking for something new to do." "Who?" "The elf who discovered the bell. You quarantined him and the other elf he talked to, so they don't tell everyone and spread panic." "Oh, you mean Snorri the Berserker. Really, Tyr, do you think he is a good choice?" "He's the right size and he doesn't play a role in production." "Was he the one who died at the Battle of Hafrsfjord with thirty two arrows in him, just after biting out the throat of his final opponent?" Thor asked. "Only twenty seven arrows," Tyr said. Loki asked, "Isn't he the one so full of rage and venom that Brokkr needed to pull him out before he broke the Elfing machine? You know we're looking for bubbly and sweet not venom and bile." "Life as an elf has drained all of his rage and venom. He's rather sad, I'm sure he would happily take on a new job. Besides, he is going to need to learn a bunch of new stuff and despite his size, he's not full of manufacturing knowledge." "Okay," Santa said. "He will work, I'll give you the job of convincing him to volunteer. Thor, run a production contest amongst the widget makers. A contest should provide the needed buffer so you can take the winning team off the production line and train it as our strike force, in case we get the needed information. I'll talk to Brokkr to get him and his brothers working on a transformation machine. Loki, start establishing an identity for our agent. Plus, based on that video you showed, make sure to obtain him, well I guess, her a Class 4 Sin license." "I'll make it a Class 5." "Is that really needed?" "I spared you when picking the video. There was this other movie, with a strange plant and...no, I don't want to talk about it." Chapter 2 Though somewhat ashamed to admit it, even to himself, Snorri felt a moment of excitement when he learned Santa's plan to quarantine him. The thought of something new, no matter how bad, just felt interesting. He did not get many opportunities with interesting. Unfortunately the building housing the Naughty or Nicerator served as the best quarantine spot at the North Pole. Life did not change for the better, but for the worse. He now needed to share his space with the elf who manned the other end of the intercom on the night of the black bell. Everything came easily to Dagmar, making him Snorri's opposite, his skills at crafting almost making him a master, which resulted in the cushy job, early each Yule cycle before enough thing-a-ma-jigs were created, of elfing Santa's intercom. Dagmar did not take to quarantine with aplomb. He ranted and raved, wept and cursed, but, throughout it all, he blamed Snorri the Outcast. Always before, Snorri could escape the many taunts and jeers tossed in his direction, but not these. They slowly chipped away at the civility in which he always tried to protect himself. With his civility shield blasted away, he found temporary solace in the better-than-hims. Unlike Dagmar, he did not wallow in self pity and selfishness while their very existence faced the greatest threat it ever faced. But righteous indignation proved difficult to maintain. Instead, when his annoying companion finally grew quiet he found himself thinking, really thinking for the first time about the human world and humans themselves. A world imperfect. He found the idea of imperfection rather attractive. However, Dagmar would not allow him the distraction, regaining the wind needed to return to his whining. "Is this all you do? Just place bells in cartridges and cartridges in the machine? You would think we could make a machine to do it, but then what would they do with you?" If outside, amongst the rest of the elves, this is when everybody would laugh and call Snorri names, which would always cause him to slink away in embarrassment. The N&N building did not allow for escape, slinking or otherwise. Without that option, something new came over him. Actually, not new, it felt too natural, too comfortable. Even though he could not remember feeling this way before. He suspected he owned the power to stop the taunts, he just needed...what did he need? Fortunately for his tormentor, before Snorri discovered the answer, the door of the N&N building opened and in walked Tyr. Rushing to the one- handed Master's side, Dagmar, almost groveling, said, "Master Tyr, oh, Master Tyr, please, you must know I won't say anything. Just let me go back to my work. Please?" "Don't worry, Dagmar. You will soon be free, your services in the crafting house is needed." "Oh, that is so good to hear, Master Tyr," Dagmar said. "I am glad to know Santa recognizes that I can do so much more than this manual job. Best to leave it to the freak." In that moment Snorri discovered what he needed. Not through thoughtful evaluation, he would never be a thinker. But following behind Dagmar, he found himself stopped just short of an arm length away from the other elf. Something he learned when the sudden straightening of an arm, hand clenched, ran into elf face resistance before fully straightening. He knew he should feel ashamed as Dagmar crumpled to the ground. In fact, he instantly felt it, but not at the level normally felt after an encounter with someone calling him a name. Probably because he also felt release of pride, adrenaline and anger, all of which felt rather great. Yet as the sub seconds passed, as Snorri watched Dagmar flop upon the floor, then looked up at the wide-eyed Tyr, he suspected those might not number amongst the correct feelings in this instance. "Sparkling tinsel," Tyr swore. "Where did that jab come from? Actually don't answer, I'm guessing Dagmar proved his arrogant best, which I suspect is my father's true reason for quarantining him. Besides, you're you and we knew the treatment did not fully take." "I don't understand, Master Tyr?" Snorri asked. "Umm...ignore that. Won't you, Snorri? There are more important things we need to talk about, but maybe I should run Dagmar to the medics first. I'll be back." Not giving Snorri a chance to respond, he scooped up Dagmar, with his good hand and hurried from the building. After he did so, Snorri's head exploded with questions. Why did the punch make him feel so good? Why didn't Tyr immediately punish him? What treatment did they make him undergo, which even a master could not mention? Why did Tyr speak in a strange accent when he said he would be back? Would he punish him? Why did the master appear in the first place, he did not bring the normal tray of food? And why did all of these questions make Snorri feel so excited, so much so he did not want to hide it? He could no longer deny it, he needed something new. And he hoped his deeply satisfying punch did not ruin his chances to experience it. Satisfying enough that he found himself first reliving it in his mind, then acting it out with appropriate sound effects. Unfortunately he found himself in such a reenactment when the master returned, who did not buy Snorri's roundabout nose scratch attempt. "Am I in trouble, Master Tyr?" "Wrong first question, Snorri?" "Umm...ahhhh?" "Is Dagmar okay, Master Tyr?" "Oh? Oh yeah. Is Dagmar okay, Master Tyr?" "Just a headache. Plus he is filled with a desire for revenge. Why are you smiling?" Snorri said, "Because that will give me another chance to punch him. It was fun." "Fun shouldn't come at the expense of others." "Someone shoulda told him and his cronies about that." "True, but...I don't know. Just try not to punch anyone again, even if you think they deserve it." "Like Dagmar?" Snorri asked, immediately realizing his mistake. The look on the usually mild mannered master's face caused him to add. "Got it, no more punching." About to let out what showed on his face, Tyr took a deep breath and focused on his assignment. He said, "It's about the black bell, we're looking for someone to..." "I volunteer!" "Please let me finish, Snorri. This might prove very dangerous." "Then make me do it as punishment for punching Dagmar. And enjoying it so much." "We're not going to punish you. I just think you need to be fully informed of the dangers and weirdness you might encounter if you volunteer." "Master Tyr, you're real smart. Way smarter than me. I don't want you to tell me anything because you might convince my head it is the wrong thing to do. But my stomach knows it's right, so just let me volunteer." "It will be dangerous. We will turn you into a human and send you to their world." "I don't care, it can't be worse than being an elf." * * * When Tyr, Thor, and Loki took their seats, Santa said, "Thanks for coming everybody. I just wanted to get a quick update on Operation Silver Bell." "What?" Thor asked. "When did we name it that?" "We didn't. I did. It's a great name." "It sucks." "No, no, hear me out. This all started with tarnished bell, which we want to turn silver. Plus there is the Christmas carol tie in. See it works in multiple ways." "Really, Father. Can't you ever let Odin out from behind the beard? This is about who we were, not who we are. Can't the one-eyed bastard, we sometimes liked, come out to play? Let's name it something like Operation Vengeance." "How about Nutcracker?" "Better, but still too Christmasy." Loki said, "But you need a good acronym, so you need to use more than one word. It does not even need to make sense, as long as the acronym works. For example, Bangers and Mash gets you BAM!" "If we flip around the words in Father's option we get a good acronym," Tyr said. Thor's face momentarily crunched up in thought, before a smile took over and he said, "I like it, so how about Operation Bastard Sword?" "Boom Shakalaka," Santa said. Tyr said, "Boom Stick." "How about Bacon Sandwich?" Loki asked. "Bacon sandwich," Thor said. "I love any type of sandwich with bacon. Let's go with Bacon Sandwich." "Very well. Next, let's hear everybody's update on their part of Operation Bacon Sandwich. For my part, I convinced Brokkr to modify the Elfing machine to create our agent. Tyr, did you convince our agent to volunteer?" "Yep, days ago, though Snorri needed no convincing. He's been going through the material Loki provided ever since." Loki said, "Additionally, I subcontracted a minor Japanese deity to train our agent and am putting the final touches on a secret identity." "Okay, let's perform the transformation today, we don't want to run out of time," Santa said. Tyr said, "I'll get Snorri." "And I'll inform Kami Sensual Scroll to prepare for her student," Loki said. "Let's meet at Brokkr's workshop in an hour." After the others left, Thor asked the empty room. "Doesn't anybody want to hear about the contest? No? This is such bacon sandwich." * * * Even the incompetents kept busy at the North Pole. Outside of a short break around the big night, the elfs worked full time at crafting, polishing, stacking and stuffing. They liked to keep active, it felt normal and made for the wondrous sleep of the well earned tired. Sure they liked to visit with friends at meal time and for the short period between supper and bed, but staying up late did not exist in their DNA. Four full work/sleep cycles after volunteering, operating only on intermittent naps, with no all night sleep, left Snorri feeling strange. Tired? For sure, but not ambitious enough to get up from his chair and go to bed. Hungry? Not at all, but still craving sugary treats. He felt blah. Yet never more mentally stimulated. Over stimulated if anything. After his discussion with Tyr, the master took him from the N&N building and deposited him in a room inside Santa's headquarters. Sometime later a most amazing pair of companions joined him, an electric pair who went by the names of television and PS4. Along with these came a number of rectangles, some shaped as plastic cases and others that consisted of flimsy books. Research material to help him go undercover as a human. Looking through each, staring at the glossy and fantastical covers, Snorri found himself drawn to one of the less colourful. A plastic case with a number of faces and the words, Sleeping Dogs. Inside he found a circle of strange metal, one side covered in a picture like the box. After some trial and error, followed by a perusal of some books telling him to do the same thing in multiple languages, he fed the metal circle to the PS4. This caused the television to show pictures he could manipulate with a weird plastic wand. Since this discovery, with only short breaks for food and naps, he allowed himself to become Wei Shen. An undercover cop trying to bring down the Triad in a place called Hong Kong. Wondrous. And he controlled almost everything. The clothes he wore, so much more diverse and colourful than his normal grey apprentice elf number. Plus the cars and motorbikes, Snorri could only imagine how much better they could make the North Pole. Nor could he ignore the fighting. It spoke to him; he felt that it, not crafting for Santa, defined his purpose in life. The only problem with Sleeping Dogs, Snorri knew he should read and watch the other rectangles. And he constantly told himself he would do so. He just needed to finish the current mission. But each end led him to the next start, to find out where the story would take him. Even the diversions distracted him. For example, he currently found himself in Club Bam Bam playing the karaoke sub-game, trying to score over ninety percent at Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. A good start, as he found himself singing under his breath as he played along. He even handled the first 'when the working day is done' line with no problems. Palms sweating, worrying about his fingers twitching when they should not, Snorri tried to bring it home. Of course that is when the door opened. "Okay, Snorri, it's time," Master Tyr said. A war raged in his mind, politeness versus being so close. However, the war proved a large enough distraction he flubbed the next few marks. Giving it up, he paused the game. "I guess I'm as ready as ever to become Wei Shen." "Who?" "The guy on the screen, he's real tough and he's undercover, just like I will be." Tyr looked at the screen, then searched through the other boxes and flimsy books. Selecting one he, held it towards Snorri and said, "Not like him, more like her." "Why is her hair pink?" "I don't know," Setting the plastic wand down, he took the flimsy book, giving him time to think. The concept of boys and girls always existed in his mind; from the different toys he once helped pack, to the different types of trouble each could get themselves in with the N&N machine. But not until he started playing Sleeping Dogs did the difference become real. While playing the game, it seemed right and natural to control Wei Shen. To go on dates with Amanda or Tiffany. Besides, all the elfs at the pole referenced each other as he. "Umm...wouldn't it be better if I go like him, instead of her? He's good at dealing with the bad guys. I don't think she could." Tyr said, "It won't be your job to deal with the bad guys, just to find out their plans." "Wei Shen can do that too, Master Tyr. He runs errands and missions for them to gain their trust. I can do the same." "I don't think there is time for that, Snorri. Besides, the only opening we can find requires someone like her. It's not a big deal, the big change is going from elf to human." It felt all types of wrong, but he could neither understand or verbalize why. For a moment he even regretted volunteering. He asked, "Would you do it if it's not a big deal, Master Tyr?" "Umm...yeah...ah...of course. But I can't. It needs to be one of you." Probably the least convincing Snorri ever saw Master Tyr. But he did volunteer and he could not imagine going back to the way things were before, because he doubted he could stay here playing games forever. Trying to gather his nerves, he flipped through the book. Then he saw it. The girl from the cover, now not coloured, punching a big dude who went flying through the air. He felt relieved girls could beat up people too. "Can I finish this song first? I need it for a trophy," Snorri asked. "Sure." Setting down the flimsy and picking up his wand, Snorri unpaused the game to sing and play along. "Some boys take a beautiful girl, And hide her away from the rest of the world. I wanna be the one to walk in the sun..." * * * No matter where you went in the greater metro North Pole, everybody considered a fat guy with a bushy, white beard the boss. But at Research and Development that did not mean Santa, it meant Brokkr the Dwarf Master, though for him, his appearance did not change much from the days in Asgard and the only time someone called him jolly, it involved enough sarcasm to kill a fairy penguin. With him, at R&D, you could always find his two brothers, their appearance differing only by girth. In the middle, an even better smith than Brokkr, though without his brother's minimal social skills, stood Eitri. While the skinniest, least skilled, and socially dead Sindri rounded out their numbers. Ever since the order, from Santa, to build an elf maidening device, the brothers focused on nothing else; Brokkr spouting ideas and orders, Eitri tinkering and tailoring, and Sindri sitting and staring. They did not finalize their prototype until Brokkr lost or won numerous arguments with himself, Eitri attempted and discarded many attempts, and Sindri spun his chair nine hundred seventy two thousand and eighty eight revolutions. "I don't know if the blasted thing is going to work. Eitri don't know if the blasted thing is going to work. But Sindri is confident and you are in a rush, so we can to try it out if you want," Brokkr said to Santa, Thor, and Loki. Santa said, "Let's try it." "You're the boss. Besides, if things go horribly wrong, it's not like you don't have more elfs." "I would prefer not to lose any elfs. So cut the bullshit, you're our expert. Is this going to work or not?" "In theory it should, since it's just a variation of the Elfing machine and we all know how well that worked. Though unlike it, which removed rage and aggression, we want the Girlifinator to add sweet and sexy, hence those." Those looked like two stainless steel kettles, the larger over blue flame and the other over flickering charcoal coals. If anything, they looked like they belonged in a distillery, glass piping coming out of the top and feeding into the person sized glass tube at the centre of a contraption similar to the Elfing machine, though the glass piping contained pink, rather than the previously used blue neon liquid. An impressive contraption right out of any number of low budget sci fi movies, though these dwarf's special effects came with real consequences. But they still needed their egos stroked; therefore, Santa asked, "What's with the kettles?" "The catalysts for the transformation. In the kettle on the right is liquefied wasanbon, which is a fine powdered sugar from Japan. While the left one holds a combination of orange peel, toasted sesame seeds (both black and white), ginger, cayenne, Szechuan pepper, and nori. It was Sindri's idea to toast the spice, to bring out it's full potency." With his normal disdain barely kept in check by his interest in the current operation, Loki asked, "Are we really going to rely on children's rhymes." "I'm surprised you continue to doubt our skills, Loki. Would you consider another wager?" "No wagers. Besides, Loki, as the masters of the North Pole, we shouldn't sneer at the power of children's rhymes or dreams," Santa said. "Touche," Loki said. "But I did learn Brokkr is more confident in this contraption than he led us to believe." "Well, I don't know about...Hey, what's he doing here?" Brokkr asked. "Who, Tyr? You knew he was coming." "Not Tyr, that barbarian with him, Snorri the machine wrecker." "Oh, you remember him?" Santa asked. "Course I remember him and how he almost broke our beautiful Elfing machine. Wait, don't tell me. He's the elf we're supposed to transform. You should have taken my wager, Loki, it'll likely fail. Brilliant choice guys, two thumbs up." "There's no need for sarcasm." "Is that what you think, Thor? Then why did you idiots pick Snorri, of all elfs?" "It was Tyr's idea." "What was my idea, brother mine?" Sparing a thought for how he wished his almost all powerful sons, enemy, and dwarfs would act like grown ups, Santa interrupted another probable argument to say, "And here's the hero of the hour." Snorri did not feel like a hero, he felt sick, like the time he ate a twenty four pack of candy canes during one shift with the N&N machine. Nor did the presence of all the grand masters help his mood. Sure he knew an attempt to ruin Christmas seemed like a big deal, but he hoped not this big. It both expanded his worry and his curiosity. He wanted to become a human, but to become a human female? He still could not figure out why that felt wrong. Gender never used to mean anything, at least before he played Sleeping Dogs and awoke fleeting memory fragments. At least one of Santa's eyes recognized the look on Snorri's face. It held fear, apprehension, but also a doggedness. That look is what he sought in the good old days when he chose a human to help him in the many conflicts that once guided his life. Important to act quickly, to not allow the fear and apprehension to overpower the confused determination. "I guess there is no reason to wait, is there, Brokkr?" "Not really." "Snorri?" "Ummmm..." "Excellent, so let's get started." Almost before Snorri realized it, he found himself undressed and strapped into a glass tube at the centre of a weird contraption. Unable to take his eyes off two nozzles overhead, he never noticed the gas that appeared from the grates at his feet. "What happened?" Tyr asked, starting towards the machine when Snorri's body went limp. "Don't worry, Tyr. Just a protective measure we built in so our subject does not consciously fight the transformation, which, seeing how you bunch picked Snorri the Neck Chewer, shows brilliant precognition on our parts. Now why don't you all join me at the control console?" When the five red velvet, with white fur trim, clad masters took a seat behind console, the shortest and fattest, who sat in the centre, clicked the mouse to exit the power saving mode and entered his password, the other four politely looking away, to turn off the screen saver on his dual monitors. On the left they saw Snorri, while the left held a 3D image of a beautiful Asian girl, naked and slowly spinning in a circle. Allowing his visitors a moment of appreciation, Brokkr said, "Based on your requirements and source material you provided, along with additional details we found on the Internet, which by the way is full of crazy shit, we created this composite form. What do you think?" "What type of crazy shit?" Santa said, "That doesn't matter, Thor. What do you think, Loki, how does the composite mesh with this Justin's desires." "Based upon my limited understanding of the genre, I assume so. However, if you wish to see her through a teenager's eyes, you'd better ask Thor." "You know, Loki, I'm not even insulted by your insinuation. In fact I take great pleasure in studying the magnificence of the fairer sex. So, gentlemen, step aside and let the connoisseur consume. Let's see...hmm...well that's nice...how do I spin her around? How about zoom in? Okay, I'm ready to pronounce my judgment." "Do tell, oh mighty judger of the female form," Tyr said. "Father, can I add that to my title, right after the God of Thunder and Lightning?" "We're waiting," Santa answered. "Rather spectacular; however, and forgive me for coming off all as expected, maybe she could do with a bit more up top." "But this is the result of diligent evaluation, they are my best guess at the average size for the character set Loki provided," Brokkr said, in semi-protest. "I believe you," Thor answered, still looking at the rotating image. "Yet nothing else about her is average." "He's right," Loki said. Nodding his head, Santa asked, "Is it possible to make a change, Brokkr? Not up to the size Thor normally prefers, but a bit more?" "Sure, just need to boost the proportion of spice versus wasanbon in the transformation. Here let me model it, tell me when to stop." "There," Tyr said, a few seconds later. "Perfect!" "I agree," Loki said. "Well, I'm thinking just a bit..." "No, Thor, they're right. Let's do it, Brokkr." "Wait!" Barely stopping himself from growling, Santa asked, "What now, Tyr?" "How does it work?" "No, no, no," Thor said, holding out a hand towards the dwarf turned fat elf. "It's probably a bunch of technical mumbo jumbo that either won't make sense or I won't understand. You can talk about it after I leave, after the transformation is complete." Loki said, "I can't believe I've agreed with two of Thor's last three ideas." "Do it, Brokkr." Chapter 3 The shrieking of a demon blasted Snorri from his slumber. Trying to stand, to prepare himself to fight the beast, he flopped about in the darkness, unable to gain his knees, never mind his feet, on the overly cushioned surface upon which he lay. Finally, with flailing arms and a heave-ho flip he spotted the three, red eyes of the beast. With a mighty lackadaisical swing, he brought his hand down upon the 5:22. Before he could work up the energy to groan, additional assaults rained down upon his senses. First, the burning energy of a thousand suns, as the fluorescent lights of the room came on. At the same moment someone started shouting. "Reveal! Reveal! Reveal yourself! Drop the clock and grab your frock. That means, get out of bed, you slug-a-bed." Shrugging aside the flowery comforter, Snorri swung his legs over the side. At that moment he remembered everything. "That is not out of bed, recruit! Stand up, then come stand in front of me. Hurry, hurry, hurry!" Though the voice pitched itself far below a bellow, it did command him to stand at attention. Even better, it offered a reason not to think. Ignoring everything that felt different, he scrambled to his feet before trotting to the foot of the bed. There he stood in front of a gorgeous Asian woman dressed in a British military officer's, red tunic dress, if treated to the Prince and the Revolution filter. From under a fanciful tricorne, which kept long, thick black hair from her face, she stared at him until he found himself fighting the urge to fidget. Before that happened, she asked, "Where are you from, recruit?" "Umm, the North Pole." "Do I look like an Umm to you, recruit?" "Umm, I mean, no, ma'am." "Do I look like I work for a living? Of course not. Which is why i am neither an Umm nor a ma'am. I am Kami Sensual Scroll, your Divine Instructor, but you can call me Sensational," The woman said, placing her hands on her hips, turning her head to stare upwards and off into the distance. Holding the dramatic pose for a moment, she looked back towards Snorri and asked, "Do you understand, recruit?" "Yes, Sensational," Snorri said, standing straighter. "Then once again, where are you from, recruit?" "The North Pole, Sensational." "I thought the only presents and pheasants came from the North Pole, and you don't have any feathers. Are you a present, recruit?" "No, Sensational." Before he could react, she exuberantly wrapped him into an embrace, trapping both of his arms as his side. Rocking him side to side, she said, "Of course you are a present. A pretty girl who your target will want to unwrap and play with, but first you will undergo my basic training program to turn you into a vivacious and curvaceous seducing machine. You do want to become a vivacious and curvaceous seducing machine, don't you recruit?" "I don't know what that is, Sensational." "It's you at the end of your training. Can I get an oolah, recruit?" "Oolah?" "Once more, recruit. This time with a feeling and a shimmy. You do know how to shimmy, don't you?" "Yes, Sensational." "Show me." "Oolah!" Snorri said, shaking his body. "That is not a shimmy, it is a seizure. Like this!" "Oolah!" Snorri said, confused but doing his best to copy the slinky shiver. "That is better. One more time." "Oolah!" "It's a start."What is your name, recruit?" "Snorri, Sensational," he answered, his head starting to hurt from confusion. "What type of name is Snorri?" "Elfish, Sensational." "Shouldn't it consist of a bunch of Ls and vowels?" "Not that I know, it's a semi-common name at the North Pole, Sensational." "Okay, okay, we're going to need to work on both our names. The new you does not look nor will you soon act anything like a Snorri and, surprisingly, I am not sure I want you to continue calling me Sensational. It loses much of its complementary power when used in a routine. Plus it seems quite a mouthful to keep repeating." "It is, Sensational," Snorri said, with a nod. With her hand on her chin, a finger tapping her full lips, Sensual Scroll pondered the importance of names. "Let's see. You need a Japanese name; however, since you are not too smart, no insult intended, we should try for something that sounds similar to your current name. I got it, Shiori. It means bookmark, which is one of my favourite things. And since you are from the North Pole, we'll go with Yukimura for your last name. What do you think, do you feel like a Shiori Yukimura?" "Not really, Sensational." "You will. And why don't you shorten my title to Sensa?" "Yes, Sensa," the once Snorri, but now apparently Shiori said, ensuring to duplicate the long eh sound in the second syllable. "Okay, recruit Shiori, time to get started. But first you need to make your bed." Snorri, excuse me, I mean Shiori welcomed this return to familiar ground, even if the way he walked felt so very different. Drawing upon the bed making skills Santa militantly demanded from his elfin minions, the new recruit squared everything off, even going so far as to do the whole cover tuck around the sleeping pillows thingee. "Done, Sensa," he said, returning to attention. "I don't think so, recruit. What about those?" Looking where she pointed, he saw a pile of pillows and cushions, of multiple sizes, many with frilly covers. "The corner is not their proper place, recruit." "Sorry, Sensa. Where can I store them?" "Well place them on the bed where they belong." "But I don't need them for sleeping, Sensa, they'll only be in the way." Speaking slowly, almost as if she found herself doubting his intelligence, Sensual Scroll said, "Of course they are not for sleeping." "But..." "No buts, recruit. Accepting their place on your bed is the first step on your path to enlightenment. Only when you no longer question their presence will you near the end of time under my tutelage. * * * It took some time, after his arrival at girl school before he quit startling back when he saw the person in the mirror. On first sighting, after the initial bed making, when entering the next room an entire wall covered in mirrors, he initially wanted to believe Sensa Sensual Scroll split in two, but knew the reflection of the figure wearing the pink nightshirt decorated by a cartoonish cat with a red bow over its left ear marked his new appearance. Besides he could see the Divine Instructor, standing behind him in her weird soldier outfit. Definitely different, maybe Sensa's younger sister. But absolutely more of a Shiori than a Snorri, which left his head spinning as he grasped at a sense of self. That sense of self did not quite shatter in the days, possibly weeks, which followed. Instead it stretched and grew, bulging out to accept the many new lessons he learned. Foremost among these, hair and makeup exercises that offered him all the time he needed to get used to seeing the new him, while offering him plenty to distract from what that meant. Surprising, at least to him, he found himself a quick learner. Hands not dexterous enough for widget making, yet nimble enough to efficiently load bells into cartridges, also proved skilled in the art of the makeover. Show him how to do something, at most three times, and he could forever replicate it. The only problem, while he possessed the physical skills of an artist, Snorri did not own either the eye or the soul. For a time, Sensual Scroll pressed him to colour outside the lines, to add his personality to either hair or makeup styles. However, after a number of efforts that would only get a passing grade if at a Clown College or for a Celtic warrior shaping his hair with clay, they decided to treat him as a forger. Each hairstyle received a letter and each makeup combination a number, though rarely did he need anything other than styles A to F combined with number 3. The choice usually made for him as a result of the uniform he wore each day, many of which matched the school uniforms worn by the girls in some of his favourite manga. For example, today he dressed as a school girl from Highschool of the Dead, which allowed him to choose hairstyle A, while trying to emulate Saeko Busujima. Slowly he spun in front of a full length mirror, looking over each shoulder to get a good view, to make sure his appearance met Sensa's high standards. If she spotted anything amiss, she would pick something new out of his closet, expect him to pick another letter number combination, and change his look before she allowed him to eat breakfast. And since he woke up particularly hungry, he did not consider that an option. Satisfied with his appearance, he spoke aloud the mantra of Sensual Scrolls teachings. "How I look is meaningless if my attitude does not match." Before he brought himself before his teacher and submitted himself to her morning evaluation, he needed to achieve the right attitude. Quirky cuteness needed to become second nature. To do this, Sensa began teaching him Kata, multiple movements strung together almost like a dance. No longer a beginner, he now knew seven of those movements and she told him if he continued to improve, she would soon teach him the next. In front of the mirror, he stood tall though he allowed his body relax, arms hanging at his side. Eyes closed, Snorri took a deep breath and reminded himself that speed did not matter, instead he should strive for perfection of form, grace between movements. Opening his eyes, he allowed a smile to grow on his face, let it take ownership of what anyone would see when looking at him. Only when it felt right would he start. The first movement began when it felt right. Instead of his mind telling him to start, his left arm flowed upwards, bending at the elbow. His hand, the thumb and all the fingers except the index, curling inwards, though not tightly, just enough to allow pride of place for the straightened index. Pointed vertically upwards, he centered it just before his slightly pursed lips, the pink of his fingernails lighter than on his lips. At the same time, he allowed his left eye to close in a wink and breathed a gentle 'shhh'. Holding the pose for a moment, he then brought up his right hand, his left moving as well, both hands forming an L shape with thumb and forefinger, the rest of the fingers still clenched tight. When both hands came to a stop, the left showed its knuckles, perpendicularly downwards, while the right showed pink tipped clenched fingers, the index finger pointing upwards, which left the thumbs of both hands parallel. Looking through the frame formed, into the mirror, he allowed the gentle smile to return. From there, he slightly twisted his left shoulder forward, allowing his elbow to drop to the same height as the right. Hands forming into claws, fingers spread gently apart, he bracketed his face, palms facing outwards, and allowed a look of mischievous ferocity to appear on his face. This often did not look right, but today it felt perfect. His pleasure at the success almost broke his form, but the next movement naturally overrode the reaction. Elbows dropping closer together, fingers spreading out as he placed both hands on his cheeks. Forming his mouth in a comfortable circle, showing some of his perfect teeth below the top lip, he opened his eyes as wide as possible. Over halfway there. Holding the surprise pose for a moment, he regained calm almost lost. Next his hands dropped away from his cheeks. Eyes back to a normal width, though still exaggerated by his makeup, he smiled, putting even more teeth on display. Dropping his left hand to his waist, he slightly tilted his head slightly in that direction and, once more creating a pointer with his left hand, he pointed at the mirror. Without pause, Snorri opened both hands and brought them together just below his chin. Shifting somewhat saucily to the left, he blew himself a kiss in the mirror. So perfect, so natural to sway back to the right, now looking over that shoulder as the matching arm dropped to his side. Then forming a V with the first two fingers of his left hand, Snorri raised it and brought the index finger almost to his cheek in victory. Three times he flowed through the Kata, leaving him feeling wonderful. It pushed Snorri into the background, allowed him to leave his bedroom, in search of his divine instructor and breakfast, as Shiori * * * "Section 227?" Santa asked, wondering if he heard Tyr correctly. "Yep, Section 227." "But there are only 227 sections." Tyr nodded his agreement. "At this time, that is correct." "How in the name of our family did the most recent group of lunkheads, as you rightly called them, to become widget makers win a production contest? We're usually happy if they make it through a couple of seasons without getting impaled on the equipment. Did Thor rig it somehow?" "Probably." Santa asked, "How? Actually, don't answer that. If that's who he wants to have on his team, he can have them. Besides, losing them will impact production the least." "Very well, I will let him know he can begin training. Thor also mentioned he will need a sled and a team." "We recently mothballed the 70s models, he can dig one out of storage. As for a team, get him to round up the bullies who are always calling the smaller reindeers names, he can use them." After checking his notes, Tyr asked, "Any word on Snorri's training." "Loki's last report said that his subcontractor is pleased with her trainee's progress." * * * Up to eleven movements in his Kata, Snorri found himself spending more of his time thinking of himself as Shiori. But nothing brought his old self back like emotional reading exercises. Hours spent in front of a television, watching characters interact with each and trying to interpret their feelings left him feeling dumb. Not since the attempts at free styling his hair and makeup did he struggle this much. In truth, he always found it easier to physically do something, but thinking never left him feeling great. Therefore, when he heard Sensual Scroll enter the study room, he hoped she would distract him from the video. Though he stayed working until she gave him permission to stop. "Recruit, give me your attention." Given the hoped for permission, Snorri jumped out his chair and hurried to stand before her. "Yes, Sensa?" Sensual Scroll's right hand stretched towards him, her palm facing upwards, a pair of shoes appearing to sit just above it. Somewhat like the shoes he wore; rounded toe, strap with buckle, and made of black leather. But unlike his shoes, the heel reached almost as high as Sensa's shoe, though not quite as spikily. When she saw his attention upon the shoe, Sensual Scroll said, "This is a high heeled shoe, the preferred weapon of our enemies. It makes a distinctive sound when you walk, which all the boys remember." "Who are our enemies?" Snorri asked. "The Lord of Sore Calves and his mistress, the Lady of Aching Feet." "And they make you wear shoes like that? How mean." "Well, not exactly," his Divine Instructor answered. "Nobody makes me wear them." "Oh, you mean those aren't real people. But why wear high heeled shoes if they make your feet sore?" "See, it is like this." The Mary Jane disappeared, in its place appeared a purple pump, then a brown suede pump, and then...Snorri found himself caught in a kaleidoscope of rapidly appearing and disappearing footwear. Every type of shoe, every type of boot, in every colour, both solids and multi- coloured, and so many different materials. The display hypnotized him, reclaimed all Shiori ground lost during the emotional reading exercise. The kaleidoscope stopped, the high heeled Mary Jane once more resting above Sensa's palm. With the mindlessness of a zombie stretching through a barred window in an attempt to grasp a victim, he reached towards the shoe. In a dazed voice, he asked, "Can I try?" "Be careful. * * * Sometimes, you just don't have it. Unfortunately, his D.I. did not believe in that excuse, which meant every time he made an mistake