Casper Gets His Wish by R. Cooper

For Daphne
     
     
     
     
     
    Most saw him coming. One by one their heads popped up over the tops of the gingerbread and licorice walls of their cubicles to watch him storm through their midst. The ones unfortunate enough to be in his way froze when his gaze crossed theirs, an uncomfortable mix of fear and amusement on their features for the second before they recovered and stepped to the side or pretended to go back to their work.
     
    Casper nearly snorted. “Work,” in this particular department meant countless elves seated in front of gaming systems, or on the floor playing with bits of brightly painted wood and plastic. Until he’d stepped off the elevator, the sounds of jingly jangly chiming bells and laughter had filled the air, all of it in time to the beeps and clashes from the computer screens as games were tested and new equipment was designed.
     
    Sticky notes and sketches were stuck to the walls, filing cabinets were left open, and the files in them were labeled so haphazardly, Casper could see at least six that were out of place as he walked by. He frowned, and another elf who had gone silent to watch him pass quickly slammed one of their cabinet drawers closed, too late for Casper not to see the sad state of their recently overhauled and reorganized filing system.
     
    He bit back a curse. The mess now surrounding each cubicle would have been described as organized only by an elf who feeling very generous.
     
    Casper was not that elf.
     
    Gift Development had been a scene of pampered and cozy chaos since Casper’s first day of work at the Pole, but ever since they’d gotten their new department head a decade ago, their disorganized antics had gone from a mild irritation to something absolutely infuriating.
     
    If their output hadn’t actually increased in the last ten years and their new creations hadn’t been so stunning, it wouldn’t have been tolerated, not even by the Big Man. But as it was, because Casper’s life sucked and he never got what he wanted, Gift Development and its department head would go on being the amazing, talented, unfailingly worshipped darlings of the Pole for years and years and years, and Casper would spend the rest of his career cleaning up after them and watching them be utterly unaccountable to every other department.
     
    Every other department but one, he reminded himself. But that thought did not bring him the tidings of comfort and joy that it should have.
     
    Casper clenched his hands at his sides but otherwise didn’t react to the gathering of interest around him, or the whispers and giggles that followed him. He knew to them he was ridiculous, that his business would never compare in the eyes of other elves to the work done on the creative floors, but it was his business and he did it well.
     
    He observed the emerald greens of their sloppy t-shirts, the fuzzy warmth of a thousand bejeweled sweaters, the glitter and the knitted scarves, and smoothed a touch over the gray silk of his suit. It was well-made, tailored to fit him, as no-frills as the short black length of his hair, parted evenly and slicked down around the points of his ears. His only concession to where he was and what he did was his carefully chosen fine red tie, the design an elegant crisscross of a hundred tiny candy canes.
     
    He thought he looked good, but of course some elves had no appreciation for quality tailoring or a tasteful pocket square. Their thoughts on waistcoats were not even worth mentioning.
     
    He steamed past areas that were meant to be wide open but which were filled with disassembled controllers and hammers and a million other safety hazards and code violations, and then to the other end of the floor, where the offices were. Offices , he snorted again. Creative elves didn’t know the meaning of an office. All their offices had been designed with walls of melted sugar glass in order to “better share inspiration.” Curtains were there too, if privacy was desired, but