BFDI AND II ONESHOT BOOK!

Something so Simple: Trife

Trophy loves his herbal tea, so for Christmas, Knife surprises him with a beautiful gift box full of different blends. Trophy's not quite sure how to react at first, he's touched, a little flustered, and doesn't quite know what to say.
(AU where Knife is NOT a ghost.)

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It was Christmas Day, not that it meant much to Trophy. The holiday had never held any kind of sparkle for him. Maybe it was because he'd never had anyone to spend it with, or anyone who cared enough to give him a gift. Either way, it was just another useless date on the calendar. A holiday for people desperate for an excuse to pretend they were happy.

The Mansion, of course, was plastered wall-to-wall with Christmas decorations, garlands, tinsel, blinking lights, and those disgustingly cheerful inflatable Santas. Trophy hated every inch of it. It made him feel sick. All that fake joy, that shallow celebration.

Apparently, the OSC had set up some kind of "mini Christmas party" outside the mansion. There'd be food stalls, music, gift exchanges, the whole cheesy package. Everyone would be there, all smiles and fake laughter. Trophy thought about skipping it entirely, but if he didn't show up, someone would inevitably call him a grinch or whatever. And besides... maybe there'd be drinks. That'd make it tolerable.

So, with a heavy sigh and the enthusiasm of someone walking to their own execution, Trophy headed out.

The courtyard had been transformed into something out of a cheap holiday movie. Little tents lined the area, each glowing under strings of fairy lights. There were tables of snacks, drinks, trinkets, and homemade crafts, a whole "Christmas market" vibe. It was all way too wholesome for his taste.

Some of the objects who hadn't been competing this season had started side hobbies... painting, crafting, selling little ornaments and keychains. "How lame," Trophy muttered to himself. "Why make useless junk when you could be competing?"

He wandered through the rows, avoiding eye contact with anyone who looked like they might want to talk. Everywhere he looked, there were people hugging, laughing, handing each other presents. The whole scene felt like one big glittery stomach ache.

Then he passed a stall run by Balloon. Of course. The guy was selling little keychains with tiny snippets of his poetry on them, because of course he was.

"Seriously lame," Trophy grumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Balloon to hear.

"Wow," Balloon shot back, his smile dropping. "Merry Christmas to you too, You're a real joy to be around."

Trophy rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He kept walking, hands shoved deep in his pockets, already bored out of his mind.

If he couldn't buy anything interesting, maybe he could at least find the drinks. He scanned the area until he spotted the OSC booth, OJ standing front and center like he owned the place (because of course he thought he did). Trophy could already feel his patience thinning.

"Hey," he said sharply, approaching the booth. "Where's the alcohol?"

OJ blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, didn't you get the memo? We're not serving alcohol this year. We didn't want anyone getting hurt or... well, you know, causing a scene."

Trophy stared at him in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope," OJ replied, his tone overly polite, which only made it worse.

Trophy's jaw clenched, fury flashing across his face. "So this is your idea of a party? No booze, just crafts and cocoa? Fantastic."

Behind OJ, Suitcase peeked around Knife, who was chatting with her, clearly having overheard. She looked concerned. Knife, on the other hand, was trying very hard not to laugh.