Chapter Text
“I thought you were supposed to be the good guy,” Boney grumbled.
It and Santiraphale walked down the row of houses, hand in hand. Boney occasionally stuck out a limb to trip a running child or kicked a post box, emptying it into a conveniently placed wood chipper. Santiraphale’s LED blinked merrily when it did. He swiftly confiscated the sweets and pushed them into his mouth. The more he ate, the more they rustled in his big inflatable belly, and when his lights blinked, they cast fuzzy shadows on his plastic skin.
“Oh, pish posh. I’m not a real Santa.”
Boney unhinged its femur for a moment to bonk a running teenager over the head, cricket-style, and hopped in place from the effort. Santiraphale quickly steadied it and lit up bright red.
“I had no idea you would object to casual violence?”
Boney’s hip joint clicked back into place, and it hissed. “I am a skeleton. I don’t like shooting people’s heads. Gives me phantom pain.”
The pair opened a small gate and headed towards another door. “But the stories you told me?”
Boney sighed. It really should have kept count because dead people were not supposed to breathe that often. “Are just that. Fiction.”
Santiraphale’s lights violently blinked as he knocked on the door. “You foul fiend! And I really thought you impaled our previous owner with pitchforks!”
The door opened to reveal an orange-painted skeleton in a velvet robe, holding a steaming mug. If skulls could look unimpressed, they would look exactly like that one, quizzical brow lifted behind thick gold-rimmed glasses.
“This house is occupied. Get lost.”
“Or what?” Santiraphale pushed.
The skeleton sipped on the drink. It trickled at its feet and soaked into its fluffy socks. Boney tugged on Santiraphale’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Or I’ll let Gaston out.”
Santiraphale ignored Boney, who pushed him, groaning with exertion. The sweet wrappers sloshed with each boink to his belly.
“Alright, go on! I’m not afraid!”
The resident skeleton shrugged and stepped aside. Immediately, a giant white dog appeared and growled at the intruders, its neck hair bristling.
“Aww, what a lovely little… OW!” Santiraphale leaned in to pet it, but the dog chomped down on his hand. A cut in the plastic pfffftttted out air.
Boney finally turned on its heel and ran for it, a rush of rattling bones. Santiraphale was only a step behind, plugging the tear with his other hand.
“Boney! Do something!”
“Yeah, because I provoked it!”
As they rushed across the lawn, growling on their heels, Boney spotted a plaster gnome smoking a bubble-gum cigarette, uninterested in the chase. It took two rattly steps aside, grabbed the critter, and threw him behind its shoulder. The gnome exploded the moment it hit the ground, but the dog dodged both shrapnel pieces and the deadly German profanity the gnome screamed before it blew up.
“Fuck!”
They rushed onto the street. The dog jumped and attempted to chomp through Boney’s fibula, and only narrowly missed. This time, Santiraphale decided to save his partner. He stuck his thumb into his mouth, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and bowed. The next second, a mighty gust of hot air shot out of his rear valve, blasting the dog with wrappers and undigested sweets. Gaston faltered, shook and then set out after them again.
“Well, that went down like…”
“I’m running out of air, and you are joking about balloons?” Santiraphale huffed and puffed and sagged two steps behind Boney. “Sometimes you are a massive pillock!”
“I’m out of ideas, ok?” Boney jumped over the remains of a blue phone box. “The stupid dog breaks all Geneva conventions by being indestructible!”
“Awww, look at that doggie!”
As they rounded another corner, all three stopped. A group of little girls dressed as witches stood in front of them, each holding a fairy stick. The air around them shimmered with glitter and giant bubbles, and they all stared intently at Gaston. He gulped.