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kentuckywrites · 1 year

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Santago’s New Sleigh

Pongo accidentally reveals his secret persona to Fudge a few days before Christmas. What does the Outfitter do? He builds a core component for Santago that’s been sorely missed. Featuring @anryl ‘s Danny and @deltheor ‘s Sydney, with brief mentions of @skell-pilot-sora ‘s Ruadha and @stargazer-ele ‘s Polaris.

“Damn, Pon. Whatever you’re reading, it must be important.”

Pongo squeaked, looking up from his comm device to meet Fudge’s gaze. He’d decided to visit Fudge’s lab, a routine at this point since Fudge had the tendency to lock himself away for days on end working on new inventions. Most often he’d make conversation with the Outfitter as he worked, a measure against Fudge’s self-inflicted loneliness, but today was not like most days. Pongo had decided to get a headstart on the Christmas list for the year, and instead of using the regular paper, he’d made the transfer over to keeping a digital list on his comm device. After all, the last few times he’d been out in public checking over the paper list, he’d gotten caught and sheepishly had to explain himself. His identity as Santa had to be a secret, after all! Wasn’t that the point of being Santa? If everyone knew that he was the one dropping off their gifts, then the magic of Christmas would surely be ruined!

So, with the transfer to a digital list, Pongo was excited to covertly check everything over and make sure he’d gotten all the residents of NLA. Since Fudge was busy building stuff, Pongo didn’t think he’d notice or deign to bring it up. When Pongo didn’t respond immediately, Fudge raised an eyebrow. He was perched on top of a ladder looking down at Pongo; he’d been working on his Skell and had been too short to reach the back panel behind its face. The height advantage made Pongo feel more than a little exposed, and he had to briefly wonder if Fudge felt like that all the time.

“So? What are you reading?” Fudge probed.

“N-Nothing!” Pongo defended himself, tucking his comm device in his pocket. It was a harder maneuver than he anticipated, considering he was awkwardly seated on what may have possibly been the only clean chair in the entire lab surrounded by spare parts and mechanical debris.

“Ooh, did you get a text from that rich guy you’re dating?”

“Oh, ah, n-no.”

“Wait…Pongo, are you reading something naughty?”

“WHAT?!”

“I’m just messing with ya,” Fudge cackled, stepping down off of his ladder and approaching Pongo - who, at that moment, was as red as a tomato. “Whatever it is, you’re like…super into it. I mean, you didn’t hear me ask you if you could hand me a tool before.”

“...RIPS, did he really ask me that?” Pongo mumbled.

Fudge’s AI system responded nearly immediately. “AFFIRMATIVE, MASTER CALDRAVIX. IN FACT, MASTER CARSON ASKED YOU FOR THE SOLDERING IRON TWICE WITHIN THE PAST THIRTY SECONDS.”

“Gods above,” Pongo sighed, putting his head in his hands. “Sorry, Fudge. You are right, I got distracted.”

“You still haven’t told me what you were reading, though, so now I’m curious,” Fudge knocked some stuff off of his desk, leaning against the empty space he had created and crossing his arms over his chest. “Spill the beans.”

“...What beans?”

“Fucking hell, it’s a saying. Means ya gotta tell the truth.”

“Oh, well, um…” Pongo shrank into himself. His hand palmed the pocket containing his comm device despite his uncertainty. Why did it seem like every year, someone new had to learn about his masquerade? And why couldn’t he lie?! Seriously, this would be so much easier if he could think of a valid excuse for being distracted, but nothing came to mind. At least it was Fudge and not some stranger, right?

With a defeated sigh, Pongo pulled his comm device back out. As it opened back onto the Christmas list, he explained, “It is the list of gifts for the residents of NLA this year. The songs always say that Santa checks it twice, so I was going through it again to make sure I got everyone.”

“Your list has everyone in the fucking ci - wait a fucking minute,” Fudge’s eyes widened, his arms falling to his sides. “Are you the fucker that delivers everyone’s gifts each Christmas?”

“Y-Yes,” Pongo admitted.

“Holy shit!! Holy shit,” Fudge exclaimed, slowly becoming more and more excited, “The Outfitters have tried laying traps for you for years now! They wanted to know who you were so badly! I should’ve fucking known it was you, only someone like you would be able to pull a stunt like that off every year, you gotta tell me everything about how you operate - are there people that help you behind the scenes? Did you recruit some aprica for your sleigh? Oh fuck, I wonder what your sleigh looks like, I bet it’s a -”

“I do not have a sleigh,” Pongo interjected, “I just use my Skell every year. Eros is able to carry the weight of everything just fine.”

Fudge stopped suddenly. “You don’t have a sleigh.”

“No?”

“...”

Pongo prepared himself for another rant, a bout of frustration. Fudge was an easy man to annoy, and something about that confession made him feel defenseless. He’d never really thought about the specifics regarding Santa’s sleigh, taking it as something he could easily swap out and get the same result. But maybe the decision to do so cost him some necessary Christmas magic? As Pongo silently cursed his oversight, Fudge’s shock slowly turned into something else. Pongo expected a scowl, but he was greeted with a far greater sight. A devilish grin, a plan hatching in Fudge’s mind. Oh, he looked positively demonic like this, but the wider the grin grew, the better Pongo felt. After all, that grin could only mean one thing.

Fudge had an idea.

“RIPS, cancel all the plans I had for tonight,” He told his AI, spinning around and scurrying around to the side of his desk. “Tell Alexa I came down with mimfluenza or some shit, I don’t fucking care. Someone else can take up repair duty for the week. We’ve got a rush order to deal with.”

“What are you planning?” Pongo asked, standing up. At the same time, Fudge pulled out some blueprint paper, slamming it on the empty space on his desk. He kept his hand firmly placed on top of it, whipping a pencil out of thin air and smirking over his shoulder.

“Tonight,” Fudge said, “I’m building Santa’s sleigh.”

True to his word, Fudge sketched out a sleigh to build, decked out with all sorts of functions that Pongo couldn’t wrap his head around. All he was able to gather was that it’d be able to fly in a similar manner to a Skell and wouldn’t require the use of reindeer (or aprica, which couldn’t fly anyways!). It’d have a functional GPS system and a way for Pongo to input all of his stops, as well as check which locations and people had been given their gifts and which hadn’t. The sleigh would be powered by nuclear energy and have safety guards in place in case of an emergency, and - above all else - it would have a sick paint job. Pongo didn’t make the comment in the moment, but Fudge’s excitement almost made him cry. He was acting like a little kid, waiting for his presents under the tree, living in the memory of youth. It was too beautiful a moment for Pongo to squander.

After assessing what necessary for the sleigh, Fudge gave Pongo a shopping list of parts to acquire from the Outfitters and the shops in Armory Alley. The names boggled Pongo’s mind, and trying to pronounce any of them was hard enough, but he didn’t even know their purpose! It resulted in a lot of confusion. Thank the gods Pongo never decided to become an Outfitter, honestly.

Luckily, none of the parts Fudge requested were too big to carry, and Pongo now walked confidently with a shopping bag full of pipes and gears and other knickknacks. It was heavy, of course, but nothing Pongo couldn’t handle. He decided to peruse the commercial district afterwards in the hopes that he could pick up some last-minute gifts from the list. It was busy, but predictable at this point - Pongo was a pro at his job, after all! Years and years of experience shopping for the good people of NLA taught him a thing or two about savings, navigating the crowds, and -

“Pongo!”

Oh, someone said his name! But in the thick of the crowd, Pongo couldn’t identify the source right away. He scoured the road, the sidewalks, trying to see who could’ve called out to him. Only when a hand clasped his shoulder did he realize that the person had been behind him all long, and that person had some rather recognizable metallic red fingers.

“Sydney!” Pongo twisted around and gave Sydney a hug, wrapping his arms over his shoulders. Sydney chuckled underneath him, returning the embrace gingerly. When they separated, Pongo asked, “Doing some last minute shopping for Christmas?”

“Kinda,” He replied, “Looks like you are, too. Is it for the…you know…”

“Oh! Well, technically yes,” Pongo realized Sydney was referring to the bag of parts he was holding onto, “One of my Outfitter friends caught on and insisted that I need a sleigh. He asked me to get some parts to help construct it. He needed…” A pause, as he attempted to remember the names. “...A regeneration corepipe, a couple formstruct plating adhesives, a type three automotive latching mechanism…” Another pause, when he couldn’t bring himself to try and pronounce the names of the more complicated ones. “...some other things, too. I must admit, this kind of stuff is not something I understand well.”

Sydney peered into the bag, his head tilting in curiosity. Pongo made a mental note that he looked rather dashing today, dressed up in one of his fancier white suits. The red tie around his neck matched his arms in grandeur, a slight sheen to them that reflected the sunlight just enough to stand out. Gods above, it even made his eyes pop, a vibrant and passionate crimson hue.

“...Pon?” Sydney glanced up, wearing a faint smile.

“Mm?”

“That’s not a regeneration corepipe. That’s a regeneration corner pipe. Same material, but not the same purpose.”

Pongo’s face fell, the color draining from his face. “Oh, shoot! I should go back and get the right one then, gods I thought -”

“I’ll come with you, if you want,” He offered, “And don’t beat yourself up for not getting it right. It’s a pretty common misconception. Lots of Outfitters mix it up, even.”

“I appreciate that,” Pongo smiled wide, the quick bout of fear residing into his typical cheeriness, “Goodness, I am lucky to have someone so smart by my side!”

Sydney rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush forming across his cheeks. “I mean, I’m an Outfitter now. I’m supposed to know these things.”

“I wonder if Fudge would welcome your help in constructing the sleigh,” He mused out loud, a careful hand upon his chin. “He insisted that he would be able to complete it before my departure, but…”

“If you’re trying to play friend matchmaker again, I’m not really sure it’ll work out.”

“One bad introduction should not define the entire experience! I mean, do you remember how we met?”

Sydney stiffened at that. “Ah, y-yeah, um…”

“I said it before and I will say it again: I forgive you for doing that,” Pongo gently nudged Sydney’s shoulder, an act of reassurance. “That aside, if it truly makes you uncomfortable, I will not ask Fudge about it. You will at least get the chance to meet him on Christmas Eve!”

“You still expect me to be there?” He asked, “I mean, last year was just a fluke.”

“Part of the magic of Christmas is spending time with your loved ones,” Pongo asserted, “And last I checked, you are under that umbrella.” A pause, a shy smile. “It would not be the same without you there.”

There was a sliver of hesitation in Sydney’s gaze, biting the inside of his lip where the scar ran across his jawline. An image came to mind of Pongo running kisses down its path, but he had some amount of restraint, considering this was a public setting. There’d be time to sing those praises after he’d completed his mission.

“I’ll be there,” Sydney eventually promised, and Pongo allowed himself to break his self-inflicted restraints and give him a quick peck on the lips.

“Thank you, Sydney,” Pongo said, “I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”

Then, taking Sydney’s hand in his own, Pongo glanced up towards the administrative district, the high and mighty BLADE Tower radiant in the afternoon sun. “Alright, now come and show me which one is the corepipe!”

“Okay, okay,” Sydney couldn’t help but chuckle as Pongo nearly dragged him across the sidewalk, and he eventually took the lead down to the hangar’s elevator. Pongo smiled wide the whole way back, his mind swimming with a list of things still left to do, gifts he still needed to get, hugs he still needed to give. Gods above, how Christmas filled him with such wondrous spirit! Not that he wasn’t full of love every other day of the year, but ever since he’d heard of Christmas, something about the holiday gave him the excuse to take things up a level. And considering last year’s Christmas had been…well, less than satisfactory, given his whole “missing both of his legs” deal, Pongo was excited to return to the field and make this Christmas one to remember.

Just thinking about how magical everything felt, he allowed himself to daydream, to imagine how perfect the night would turn out to be. What could possibly go wrong?

Fudge would never admit this to anybody out loud, but damn, did he love Christmas. It had always been one of his favorite times of the year, a moment always shared with his dad and the rest of Carson Tech. There was a kind of feeling that didn’t come with any other holiday, the feeling of spending time with those you loved most. All that “Christmas spirit” bullshit that the commercials and songs spouted over the intercoms got on his nerves pretty quickly, but even then, they held some truth to them.

So hearing that Pongo was the famed Santa Claus that had been delivering presents for the past couple years, hearing that he didn’t have any mode of transportation aside from his own Skell? What a brilliant excuse to combine two of his favorite things!!

Working on something this secret, though, meant that Fudge had to make a few sacrifices. RIPS was automatically programmed to notify Fudge of any incoming calls, and of all the calls he got leading up to Christmas Eve, the majority were from three people. The first was Ruadha, who was simply happy to talk to Fudge over the comm device about everything and anything. They did pry about the whole “secret invention” thing, which Fudge fully expected, but it still prompted him to put up some extra security measures for his lab just in case the little gremlin decided to pay a surprise visit.

The second frequent caller was his father, Antonio Carson. Those calls were daily, and the conversations were on the same wavelength as those Fudge had with Ruadha, sprinkled with a few fatherly words of advice. He didn’t ask about the secret invention as much as Fudge thought he would, but he quickly found out the reason why. Turns out, his father also had a secret he was working on, and he explained that it didn’t feel right asking for a secret to be revealed when he was in no position to return the gesture. That didn’t stop Fudge from wondering what it could be, though.

The third most frequent caller was none other than Polaris. However, that had been something of an error on her part. For whatever fucking reason, she called him a grand total of eight times in a ten minute time frame. When Fudge finally ordered RIPS to pick up so he could scream bloody murder at Polaris, her voice was muffled and far away. Fudge rolled his eyes, immediately deciphering what was happening - especially since Polaris wasn’t the only voice he heard on the other line. Nope, there was a second person in the background, though he wasn’t about to guess what the fuck they were doing. All he said before hanging up was “Blackmail material”. Whether or not it was worthy blackmail material, Fudge wasn’t sure. It just felt good to scare her.

The sleigh was easy enough to build, so long as it had Fudge’s undivided attention. Pongo returned with the parts far sooner than he expected, and Pongo even handed him an extra regeneration corner pipe. “I mixed them up,” Pongo had admitted, and to that, Fudge had responded, “I’ll call this an early Christmas present then”. Pongo didn’t stay much longer after that, and so Fudge got absorbed into his work for the next few days.

Christmas Eve came, and by the time the sun had set below the horizon, the final touches were being made to the sleigh. Fudge wiped his brow, gazing lovingly at his newest masterpiece. He couldn’t think of anything else it would need, so he set his tools down and asked RIPS, “Send a text to Pongo and ask him where the rendezvous is for the operation tonight.”

“YES, MASTER CARSON.”

A few minutes passed, a bliss that came with success and pride, before RIPS informed Fudge, “MASTER CALDRAVIX HAS CONFIRMED THAT THE RENDEZVOUS LOCATION IS ON TOP OF BLADE TOWER IN THE ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT.”

“Alright, sounds like a pla -” Fudge stopped. “...Oh. Oh fuck.”

RIPS didn’t even need to ask. How in the ever loving fuck was he supposed to get this sleigh to the top of BLADE Tower without anybody noticing? Fudge groaned, the base of his palms digging into his eyebrows. Looked like he had some more work to do.

As fate would have it, a quick invisibility cloak did the trick. Was it as polished as the rest of the sleigh? Oh absolutely fucking not. Was Fudge a little ashamed of how spotty that last minute detail was? Yep. But hey, it would work for tonight, and he’d have an entire year to refine it further.

With the invisibility cloak on, Fudge used his Amdusias Hades to lift the sleigh and carefully fly it to the top of BLADE Tower. Luckily, the vast majority of NLA’s population had retired for the night, so questions about his Skell’s cupped arms were few and easily dismissed. As he flew closer, Fudge spotted other Skells parked on top of the tower - ah fuck, was he late? Whatever the case was, he landed near the edge, setting the sleigh down as gently as possible before exiting his Skell and greeting everyone outside. He recognized Eros, Pongo’s Skell, which had a comically large sack placed in front of it. Those were the presents, presumably, and thinking about its contents made Fudge’s heart flutter for a moment. Not too far from the Skell’s feet was Pongo, dressed in a rather nice Santa outfit, complete with the hat atop his head. Was that puffball on the hat’s tip heart-shaped? Okay, that was a nice touch. He waved to Fudge as he approached, and that was when Fudge saw the person he’d been talking to.

“L, what the fuck are you wearing?” Fudge asked, nearly choking on his words. The jolly blue xeno was wearing a rather skimpy elf outfit, rather akin to those cursed bunnybods Fudge occasionally witnessed BLADES strutting around in.

“It is our Christmas attire!” L exclaimed cheerfully, unaware of just how he appeared, “We parade in this every year during Christmas’s Evening!”

“Costumes are not necessary, but I think they are rather fun,” Pongo chirped, “When I recruited Danniel, I gave him reindeer antlers. I…well, I am not quite sure what I would give you, Fudge. I think we might need to duplicate some roles.”

“I’m the sleigh guy. Isn’t that enough?” Fudge raised an eyebrow, praying to every god that he wouldn’t have to wear something stupid. Sensing his unease, Pongo gave him a reassuring grin.

“It is more than enough. Though, ah…where exactly is the sleigh?”

Oh, right. Fudge turned back towards his Skell, towards the still invisible sleigh. Pulling out his comm device, he typed in the command for the invisibility device to decloak, and in moments, the sleigh revealed itself to the bystanders atop BLADE Tower. The sides shone a metallic red, glistening in the remnants of the sunset. The seat inside was lined with as plush a fabric as Fudge could find - don’t ask him what material it was, because honestly, that was not Fudge’s area of expertise. A control panel sat in front of the seating, forming a near-perfect semicircle that was reminiscent of the paneling inside a standard Skell. Even the buttons were in a similar arrangement, though none of them were lit up. Pongo would have to turn the bad boy on before the real light show began.

“Oh my gods,” Pongo breathed, “Fudge, you are brilliant.”

“Go ahead and take a closer look if you want,” Fudge told him, “It’s yours, after all.”

That was all Pongo needed to rush forward, squealing like a child, admiring all of the detailwork in half-formed ramblings. Fudge allowed himself a second to revel in the pride, the absolue beauty that he’d managed to build in record time. However, as he glanced to the left, to the right, he realized that there were a few more people here that he hadn’t interacted with. Another darker skinned fellow with reindeer antlers and freckles that rivaled Fudge’s stood awkwardly nearby, for instance. Pongo had mentioned his name over texts - Danny, right? Pongo had the tendency to call people by their full names, an endearing sign of respect that he’d apparently learned early on in his life. Eh, fuck it, Fudge could try to make conversation.

“Danny, yeah?” Fudge started, and the address made Danny make a little noise from the back of his throat.

“Oh, ah, y-yeah! Nice to meet you,” He replied, offering a gloved hand out to shake. As Fudge shook it with his left hand, he could immediately tell that the material under the fabric was different, clearly not the standard mimeosome framework. Fudge resisted every temptation to probe into the details, so he broke off the handshake first and shifted focus.

“How’d you get roped into this shit, then?”

“Oh! A few years ago, Pongo bumped into me while he had his Christmas list out, and I saw it and decided to offer my help,” Danny explained, “He said I could be Rudolph since he was Santa and L was an elf.”

“Does that mean you helped him deliver everywhere in the city?” Fudge asked, genuinely curious as to his role.

“No, I just help him find everything on his list. He does all the deliveries himself - and now he’ll do them with a really cool looking sleigh!” He said, eyeing the sleigh that Pongo was still bouncing around. Seriously, how could anyone have that amount of energy? As he watched the show unfold, Danny continued, “The sleigh looks incredible, by the way. It must’ve taken a long time to build!”

“Eh, three days, give or take,” Fudge shrugged, and he couldn’t really determine why Danny’s eyes grew wide at the answer. “It doesn’t have nearly all of the features I wanted it to have, but it’s got more than enough to function for tonight. Next year I’ll have made it perfect.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Danny agreed, “I look forward to seeing it!”

They both watched as Pongo boarded his Skell, the heavy sack of presents lifting easily in Eros’s arms. Fudge tensed; he hadn’t given Pongo the go-ahead to load the sleigh yet, and he wanted to make sure the weight distribution wasn’t going to fuck up the sleigh’s integrity. But the sack came down on the back half of the sleigh, and though Fudge was bracing for the worst, he heard no signs of the sleigh faltering. Pongo then exited his Skell and continued to geek out over how wonderful the sleigh was, with L piping in with his own compliments every so often.

It was then that Fudge spotted another figure approaching out of the corner of his eye, though they seemed to be ignoring him and Danny. Metallic red arms poked out of a pristine white suit - wait, okay, was there a trend here? Why did everyone have metal arms aside from L? What a weird fucking bias. Whatever the case, the suit alone was enough for Fudge to identify the man as none other than Sydney. He wasn’t wearing any sort of Christmas costume, but that also made him stick out like a sore thumb. That, and the brooding. If there was anything that could get on Fudge’s nerves, it was brooding.

However, he could already hear Pongo’s voice in the back of his mind, an innocent excitement about his friends and loved ones helping him out on one of the most important nights of the year. So Fudge swallowed his pride and took a cautious step forward, enough that he was an equal distance away from both Danny and Sydney. Sydney cast his glance downwards, and Fudge fought the urge to smack the look off of his face. It wasn’t even like the guy was acting high and mighty - it was the fucking height advantage and the fact that Sydney looked so punchable! Hold it together, Fudge, just for the night. He tried to be civil, thinking that maybe he could see past the horrible first impression he was getting.

“So you’re Sydney.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

Yeah, no, Fudge didn’t like this guy at all. Why was Pongo’s taste in men so shitty? Whatever, he could deal with working alongside this douchebag for a night. But that didn’t stop him from squinting, from looking this guy up and down and crossing his arms. Sydney scowled, staring right back at him. Oh, now, this was gonna be fun. He could practically smell the distaste in the air, the fuel being poured onto the fire.

“Are two of my favorite people getting along?” Pongo merrily asked from the side of the sleigh, innocent to the vitriolic stand-off happening in front of him.

Fudge looked away quickly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sydney do the same. They both responded at the same time.

“No fuckin’ problems here.”

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

Pongo positively beamed at that. “Fantastic! Oh, that makes me feel a lot better. I was starting to think that adding onto the team so quickly would be awkward!”

“The Christmas legend states that the more there are, the merrier you’ll be,” L chirped, “And it’s impossible not to be merry on this wondrous night!”

“It’s definitely nice seeing all the Christmas decorations from up here. Shows how everyone’s still festive!” Danny gazed down at the city below, the districts of the lower level shining in all sorts of Christmas lights. Fudge was eventually able to spot his own contribution to the front of the test hangar, though he felt a little disappointed by the fact that they blended in with the rest of the lights from his current viewpoint.

“So what’s the procedure now?” Fudge asked, sneaking a peek down at his comm device once more. “All the necessary last-minute detailing on the sleigh is done, and judging by the scans, it’s holding the sack’s weight just fine. Should be good for takeoff whenever you’re ready, Santa.”

“L’Cirufe, is every present accounted for?” Pongo said, turning to the xenoform.

“All presents counted and accounted!” He confirmed, “Whenever you’re ready to depart, we shall light the way!”

“Alright! Then it is time to test the sleigh,” Pongo turned back to Fudge, “Remind me what the controls are again? You said there were a few important things to remember.”

“Right,” Fudge adjusted the collar of his sweater, clearing his throat. Could he make himself look a little taller, a little more important? He hoped the bravado did the trick. “When you get into the sleigh, you’ll see a huge panel in front of you. I’ve designed it so it’s similar in appearance to your everyday Skell, with Arts buttons and everything. Center button turns the entire thing on, check to make sure all the other buttons light up when you do that. If they all look good, use the levers to take her up gently - too much force and you’ll shoot straight up vertically into the air.”

“Oh, like what Sydney did with his golden Ares once,” Pongo nodded in understanding, though the comment made Sydney mutter something under his breath about that not being his fault.

“I don’t wanna fucking know,” Fudge said curtly, “But yeah. Don’t drive like a bitch and you should be fine. Worst case scenario, think of it like a Skell, and ask yourself what you’d do if you were in a Skell. Danny and I will be on the comm network on it too, in case you’ve got any questions.”

“Wait, I’m gonna be connected to it?” Danny seemed surprised at this revelation, and Fudge did his best not to roll his eyes and scoff.

“I’m making you the navigator, so yeah. Next year I’ll probably install a GPS into the sleigh so Pon can go his own route, but as it stands, I had three days to build an entire fucking sleigh from scratch, so now that’s your job. Rudolph’s supposed to drive the sleigh, y’know, so at least now your role’s gonna be a little more accurate.” He took a moment to adjust his goggles, which were starting to slide down over his face. The wind was really being a bitch about this, huh? “Anyways, I’ll be connected to it too, since I gotta perform system checks and make sure the whole thing’s running smoothly.”

“And what will Sydney be doing?” Pongo asked sweetly.

Fudge looked at Sydney. Sydney looked at Fudge.

“...Emotional support elf,” Fudge shrugged.

“Excuse me -”

“Anyways, if anything goes south, you can reach me and Danny through the intercom in the sleigh,” Fudge talked over Sydney’s protests, “Oh, and don’t like…lean out of the side or some shit. I’m not gonna be held responsible for Santa’s death.”

“Why didn’t you make any fucking guard rails if you were worried about that?!” Sydney raised.

“Alright, bitchbaby, next time you can make the sleigh in three days, how about that?”

“I could do it in two, and I could do it with enough safety features so I wouldn’t have to fucking worry about Santa splatting into the middle of the residential district’s tennis court!!”

“Batter up then, asshole, God fuckin’ knows you’ve got enough credits up your ass to make it happen! Can’t fuckin’ wait to get blinded on Christmas Eve looking for Santa, dashing through the snow on a gold mercedes sleigh!”

“At least mine would look like a star descending from the heavens! What does yours do, crash and burn? Don’t think I don’t know the Carson legacy just because I haven’t been building fire hazards as long as you have.”

“You fucking piece of shit -”

“GUYS.”

Sydney and Fudge had gotten in each others’ faces, teeth bared and trading verbal blows. Fudge could feel the blood beneath his skin boiling, fuel on a fire that wouldn’t stop burning until it knew the sweet taste of victory. But just as he was about to make things physical, Danny placed himself between the two arguing Outfitters, stretching his arms out to create distance between them. Right, Danny was a Mediator. He was trying to mediate. How cute.

“Now is not the night to do this,” Danny said sternly, “You’re allowed to not be friends, but maybe save the arguing for when you’re not in front of Pongo.”

Fudge looked over, and Pongo was by L’s side, having watched the entire argument unfold. Fudge had been so focused on the fire inside his heart that he didn’t realize that he’d taken some of Pongo’s warmth to do so, the air now a frostbitten chill. Pongo was frozen to the spot, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Oh shit, were those tears in the corners of his eyes? Damnit, Fudge really dropped the ball on this one. But still, it was not an easy feat to temper his anger, so his next statement still contained a level of animosity that wasn’t meant for Pongo.

“Get in the fucking sleigh, Santa.”

Pongo didn’t move immediately, though the brief flash in his eyes indicated that he’d heard Fudge loud and clear. However, after taking a moment in the silence, Pongo’s first steps were not towards the sleigh. Instead, he strode over to Fudge, leaned down, and hugged him tight. Fudge gasped, squirming in Pongo’s grip for a moment.

“Thank you for doing this,” Pongo whispered into Fudge’s shoulder, “I am so grateful to have a friend like you in my life.”

“Oh, uh…” Fudge found himself at a loss for words, stumbling upon the bashful, “Don’t mention it. Least I could do.”

Pongo pulled away then, turning and giving Sydney the same hug. Fudge could hear him whisper something too, and whatever it was, it made Sydney’s expression melt. Pongo left Sydney with a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and after giving Danny a hug of his own, he rejoined L by the sleigh. They exchanged a quick hug before Pongo climbed aboard, sliding into his seat in front of the sleigh’s controls. As Fudge had instructed before, Pongo tapped the center button, and the sleigh roared to life, the thrusters in the rear glowing a vibrant red. Before initiating takeoff, he looked to Fudge, and Fudge gave a thumbs-up to indicate that all systems were green.

After that, Fudge could only describe the takeoff as something out of a movie. The sleigh began to ride, slowly, steadily, the flames behind leaving trails of embers and stardust behind it. Though the sleigh wobbled in its ascent, it soon found its balance, and Pongo found his confidence behind the controls. Every system remained operational as the thrusters were given more juice, and the sleigh rocketed off into the night. Fudge even swore that he heard Pongo trying to mimic Santa’s laughter, a hearty “Ho Ho Ho” that echoed across the city. It would’ve brought tears to his eyes if he wasn’t in the company of others, though he promptly noticed that L had begun openly weeping. Danny was the first to ask if he was okay, and to that, L had responded that he was overwhelmed with joy. Thank the fucking gods, honestly.

And so the ragtag group of Santago’s helpers watched as, once again, Santago took to the skies to deliver presents to all of the citizens of NLA. In the silence of their awe, Fudge smiled, and uttered a single phrase.

“Merry Christmas, motherfuckers.”

#xenoblade x #Santago's New Sleigh: Short Story #danniel #fudge #sydney #l'cirufe #twenty FUCKING PAGES OF THIS BULLSHIT #this is far from my best work but that's okay #I had fun writing it and that's what matters #anyways fudge welcome to the fucked up little santago team lmao

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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 days

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Red Lobster was killed by private equity, not Endless Shrimp

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

A decade ago, a hedge fund had an improbable viral comedy hit: a 294-page slide deck explaining why Olive Garden was going out of business, blaming the failure on too many breadsticks and insufficiently salted pasta-water:

https://www.sec.gov/Archives/edgar/data/940944/000092189514002031/ex991dfan14a06297125_091114.pdf

Everyone loved this story. As David Dayen wrote for Salon, it let readers "mock that silly chain restaurant they remember from their childhoods in the suburbs" and laugh at "the silly hedge fund that took the time to write the world’s worst review":

https://www.salon.com/2014/09/17/the_real_olive_garden_scandal_why_greedy_hedge_funders_suddenly_care_so_much_about_breadsticks/

But – as Dayen wrote at the time, the hedge fund that produced that slide deck, Starboard Value, was not motivated by dissatisfaction with bread-sticks. They were "activist investors" (finspeak for "rapacious assholes") with a giant stake in Darden Restaurants, Olive Garden's parent company. They wanted Darden to liquidate all of Olive Garden's real-estate holdings and declare a one-off dividend that would net investors a billion dollars, while literally yanking the floor out from beneath Olive Garden, converting it from owner to tenant, subject to rent-shocks and other nasty surprises.

They wanted to asset-strip the company, in other words ("asset strip" is what they call it in hedge-fund land; the mafia calls it a "bust-out," famous to anyone who watched the twenty-third episode of The Sopranos):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

Starboard didn't have enough money to force the sale, but they had recently engineered the CEO's ouster. The giant slide-deck making fun of Olive Garden's food was just a PR campaign to help it sell the bust-out by creating a narrative that they were being activists* to save this badly managed disaster of a restaurant chain.

*assholes

Starboard was bent on eviscerating Darden like a couple of entrail-maddened dogs in an elk carcass:

https://web.archive.org/web/20051220005944/http://alumni.media.mit.edu/~solan/dogsinelk/

They had forced Darden to sell off another of its holdings, Red Lobster, to a hedge-fund called Golden Gate Capital. Golden Gate flogged all of Red Lobster's real estate holdings for $2.1 billion the same day, then pissed it all away on dividends to its shareholders, including Starboard. The new landlords, a Real Estate Investment Trust, proceeded to charge so much for rent on those buildings Red Lobster just flogged that the company's net earnings immediately dropped by half.

Dayen ends his piece with these prophetic words:

Olive Garden and Red Lobster may not be destinations for hipster Internet journalists, and they have seen revenue declines amid stagnant middle-class wages and increased competition. But they are still profitable businesses. Thousands of Americans work there. Why should they be bled dry by predatory investors in the name of “shareholder value”? What of the value of worker productivity instead of the financial engineers?

Flash forward a decade. Today, Dayen is editor-in-chief of The American Prospect, one of the best sources of news about private equity looting in the world. Writing for the Prospect, Luke Goldstein picks up Dayen's story, ten years on:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-05-22-raiding-red-lobster/

It's not pretty. Ten years of being bled out on rents and flipped from one hedge fund to another has killed Red Lobster. It just shuttered 50 restaurants and declared Chapter 11 bankruptcy. Ten years hasn't changed much; the same kind of snark that was deployed at the news of Olive Garden's imminent demise is now being hurled at Red Lobster.

Instead of dunking on free bread-sticks, Red Lobster's grave-dancers are jeering at "Endless Shrimp," a promotional deal that works exactly how it sounds like it would work. Endless Shrimp cost the chain $11m.

Which raises a question: why did Red Lobster make this money-losing offer? Are they just good-hearted slobs? Can't they do math?

Or, you know, was it another hedge-fund, bust-out scam?

Here's a hint. The supplier who provided Red Lobster with all that shrimp is Thai Union. Thai Union also owns Red Lobster. They bought the chain from Golden Gate Capital, last seen in 2014, holding a flash-sale on all of Red Lobster's buildings, pocketing billions, and cutting Red Lobster's earnings in half.

Red Lobster rose to success – 700 restaurants nationwide at its peak – by combining no-frills dining with powerful buying power, which it used to force discounts from seafood suppliers. In response, the seafood industry consolidated through a wave of mergers, turning into a cozy cartel that could resist the buyer power of Red Lobster and other major customers.

This was facilitated by conservation efforts that limited the total volume of biomass that fishers were allowed to extract, and allocated quotas to existing companies and individual fishermen. The costs of complying with this "catch management" system were high, punishingly so for small independents, bearably so for large conglomerates.

Competition from overseas fisheries drove consolidation further, as countries in the global south were blocked from implementing their own conservation efforts. US fisheries merged further, seeking economies of scale that would let them compete, largely by shafting fishermen and other suppliers. Today's Alaskan crab fishery is dominated by a four-company cartel; in the Pacific Northwest, most fish goes through a single intermediary, Pacific Seafood.

These dominant actors entered into illegal collusive arrangements with one another to rig their markets and further immiserate their suppliers, who filed antitrust suits accusing the companies of operating a monopsony (a market with a powerful buyer, akin to a monopoly, which is a market with a powerful seller):

https://www.classaction.org/news/pacific-seafood-under-fire-for-allegedly-fixing-prices-paid-to-dungeness-crabbers-in-pacific-northwest

Golden Gate bought Red Lobster in the midst of these fish wars, promising to right its ship. As Goldstein points out, that's the same promise they made when they bought Payless shoes, just before they destroyed the company and flogged it off to Alden Capital, the hedge fund that bought and destroyed dozens of America's most beloved newspapers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/16/sociopathic-monsters/#all-the-news-thats-fit-to-print

Under Golden Gate's management, Red Lobster saw its staffing levels slashed, so diners endured longer wait times to be seated and served. Then, in 2020, they sold the company to Thai Union, the company's largest supplier (a transaction Goldstein likens to a Walmart buyout of Procter and Gamble).

Thai Union continued to bleed Red Lobster, imposing more cuts and loading it up with more debts financed by yet another private equity giant, Fortress Investment Group. That brings us to today, with Thai Union having moved a gigantic amount of its own product through a failing, debt-loaded subsidiary, even as it lobbies for deregulation of American fisheries, which would let it and its lobbying partners drain American waters of the last of its depleted fish stocks.

Dayen's 2020 must-read book Monopolized describes the way that monopolies proliferate, using the US health care industry as a case-study:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

After deregulation allowed the pharma sector to consolidate, it acquired pricing power of hospitals, who found themselves gouged to the edge of bankruptcy on drug prices. Hospitals then merged into regional monopolies, which allowed them to resist pharma pricing power – and gouge health insurance companies, who saw the price of routine care explode. So the insurance companies gobbled each other up, too, leaving most of us with two or fewer choices for health insurance – even as insurance prices skyrocketed, and our benefits shrank.

Today, Americans pay more for worse healthcare, which is delivered by health workers who get paid less and work under worse conditions. That's because, lacking a regulator to consolidate patients' interests, and strong unions to consolidate workers' interests, patients and workers are easy pickings for those consolidated links in the health supply-chain.

That's a pretty good model for understanding what's happened to Red Lobster: monopoly power and monopsony power begat more monopolies and monoposonies in the supply chain. Everything that hasn't consolidated is defenseless: diners, restaurant workers, fishermen, and the environment. We're all fucked.

Decent, no-frills family restaurant are good. Great, even. I'm not the world's greatest fan of chain restaurants, but I'm also comfortably middle-class and not struggling to afford to give my family a nice night out at a place with good food, friendly staff and reasonable prices. These places are easy pickings for looters because the people who patronize them have little power in our society – and because those of us with more power are easily tricked into sneering at these places' failures as a kind of comeuppance that's all that's due to tacky joints that serve the working class.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

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