Prompt: In a universe where cookies are currency; a dip in the market lends to interesting scenes at a local branch of a global bank.
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"Ho, ho...ho," mumbled Mr. Claus as he watched the cookie count crumble down, his face tightened with concern. It must've been another bad batch. The North Pole Co. really needed to get their burners burning, or at least burning at the right temperatures less they really ended up in a crisis, and would be going on his not so nice list. How were businesses supposed to operate if there weren't any cookies? How were people going to get to town, buy what they needed, if there weren't enough cookies to go around? Not only that, but the ingredients were getting harder to come by.
He ran a hand over his face while letting out a sigh.
Clang.
Mr. Claus turned away from his desk upon hearing the noise. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, he saw Donner and Rudie in the dipping fountain. Without their knickers! They had taken their clothes off and were using them as makeshift pouches to scoop up the milk at the base of the fountain.
This was a high class bank for Pete's sake! It was one thing for the masses to act up, he had no control over that, but in his bank?
He opened his door to yell at his employees, when Blitzen, out of nowhere, threw a lump of coal at the flour stock exchange, causing flour to billow out like a cloud of dust and coating everything.
"Now, Donner and Blitzen!" Mr. Claus yelled, wiping flour off his reddening face. "You need to come to my office... right now!" The bank had gone quiet, all except for Rudie, who was still splashing in the dipping fountain, milk streaming down from his hair. "Rudie!" he called, his hand clenched in frustration.
Bowing their heads in shame, they made their way to the office, as Donner and Rudie hastily retrieved their clothes before joining Blitzen. They knew that they'd gotten on Santa's bad list, meaning they were about to be without a job.
"Ahh!" A hollar was heard throughout the bank, stopping everyone in their tracks.
Mr. Comet, ever the vixen, had knocked over Mr. Claus' favorite cookie butter statue, which had stood proudly on display, near the entrance. He now hung on to it for dear life as it went sliding through the office.
Having had enough, Mr. Claus, without a word, donned his coat and made his way out to the front door. He paused for a moment, looking at everyone who all stared wide-eyed at him.
"Goodnight, all," was all he could offer up, hoping that after some sleep things would be better. And he couldn't really help but to think of how he could really use a vacation. Preferably someplace warm.
