Fic: Wrapping Paper Blues, Giles Gen, PG/FRT
Title: Wrapping Paper Blues
By: mrtwstedwhsprs (Mr. Twisted Whispers)
Rating: PG/FRT
Pairing: Gen, Giles main character
Written For: the Drunken Giles Christmas Ficathon, for zandra_x who wanted: Giles buying something, Giles being confused, and a favorite book.
Warnings: Comedy
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Giles encounters scary sights of an entirely new type.
Notes: I do not own any of the characters in this fic. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and various Corporate Entities. Charcters who do not appear in this fic had an enjoyable night seeing if It's a Wonderful Life syncs up with UmmaGumma. It doesn't.
Special thanks to lostgirlslair for, as usual, doing a wonderful beta job by making my story actually readable.
1:52 AM, Dec 25th,
"Oh hell. . ." Giles set his glass down on one of the larger presents. One of the ones that he knew was a present. In some ways, it could be considered an acceptable casualty. The pile of presents looked like an outer-space disco invaded by overly festive radioactive frogs. It was not a metaphor. It was not hyperbole. It was an unfortunate result of his unfortunate day.
Still, using the very last shred of wrapping paper seemed like a minor victory. No, scratch that. It would have seemed like a minor victory normally, but after the world's scariest wrapping paper lady, it seemed like a major victory. But that was also a result of his day. He had reached out his left hand, cradling his drink in his right, having finished . . . finally the last Christmas Eve task. And his left hand came to rest upon . . . an empty coffee table.
He felt an unfortunate, familiar feeling of dread normally reserved for other, more universally dreaded events. But this, after that day he'd had, created a sinking feeling in his gut.
This was a very bad thing.
8:15 AM, Dec 24th,
The day had begun with the Krakow Symphony Orchestra playing "Jinge Bell Rock." That wasn't how the day should begin . . . That wasn't how any day should begin. His clock radio had an annoying habit of resetting itself if there was the slightest electrical fluctuation, which translated to annoyingly often. It happened to reset itself to the lowest number on the AM dial, and in Sunnydale that belonged to KWUW, a classical station with tastes as unfortunate as their call letters. He was supposed to wake up to a radio meteorologist in an increasing state of mental difficulty.
A few days ago, it had gotten cold. Very cold. Colder than it was supposed to get in Southern California. That day, Giles had been amused at how the locals, spoiled with their repetitive weather, couldn't adjust to the simplest cold snap without a combination of complaint and confusion. The next day, it had gotten even colder, and Giles now found great pleasure in describing the weather to his glumly shivering companions as, "bracing." Then, it got colder than that. Cold enough for Giles to join the complaining hordes. All throughout this time, the local radio weatherman had reacted with increasing amounts of disbelief and panic, knowing quite well that he would get the blame just as if he had manipulated the wind patterns himself.
And now, Christmas Eve, it was supposed to have cleared. Sunnydale natives who were dreaming of a warm Christmas would finally be rewarded by the return of their usual yuletide of unseasonable warmth and sun. One glance out the window showed Giles it was not to be. The one time that he had hoped for the irritating California sun--in a non-combat situation, anyway.
Giles was not normally the "get it all done on Christmas Eve" type, at least not anymore. Being a Watcher made you prepare ahead in more ways than one. You tended to get things done early . . . just in case you were busy in ways you couldn't later explain. Unfortunately, he had been very busy this year, and got a late start. Still, no problem, just a matter of prioritizing. Then the cold snap snapped colder, and he avoided venturing out in weather quite that horrible. The much warmer Christmas Eve would have made certain that he could get it done then.
Wincing at bare feet hit cold hardwood, he drank his tea and puttered around the house until he could procrastinate no longer. He had to face the cold. After bundling up in enough coats to make him feel like the Michellin Man . . . wearing a large number of heavy coats, and finally managing to get to his car and its promise of an eventually warm heater, he admitted to himself that he wasn't exactly looking forward to the frenzied, last minute crowds. Normally, this would have made him reflect on the irony of hurrying to a place you didn't want to go. Today, it just made him think, "It's bloody cold!"
7:56 PM, December 25th
The book would have to wait, but, Giles decided, there was no reason not to be as festive as possible. It was a holiday, after all, and most considered wrapping the gifts part of the fun. Towards that end, he had taken time to change, started a fire in the fireplace, and poured himself a drink. He was not going to let the day he'd had continue to bother him. He set everything around in easy reach. All the presents, all the supplies, his Scotch and his glass, and his book. The book that would be his reward for when he got everything done.
He decided to just relax first. He took a generous sip of his Scotch and leaned his head back. He felt the Scotch burn in his throat, took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and exhaled. It was utter relaxation. The comforts of home. The stresses of the day faded away and all was well with the world. Every muscle in his body seemed to relax at once.
Slowly, Rupert Giles opened his eyes. Just at the edge of his visual field he could see the wrapping paper. Not as any particular shape, but just as a mix of colors. Orange, pale blue, and a green the color of cartoon plutonium. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense at once.
This was going to require more Scotch.
9:22 AM, December 24th
The heater, of course, began warming up just as he pulled into the first parking lot. It had become traditional for him to buy a book for each of certain people, in addition to whatever he thought was fitting for them. What had started as a joke had continued year after year, and he usually tried to match the book to something in which the recipient was at least tangentially interested. And that was when he saw it. The Codex Upon the Examinations of the Psychological Manifestations of the Positive Aspects of Folklore, Alchemy and Demonology in Renaissance Europe by Rideo Risi.
Some books were infamous among occultists for the great power that lay encoded in their words. Some were infamous because of the damage they could do in the hands of the unknowing. The Codex Upon the Examinations, as it was usually called, did not encode great power in its words, and it was only dangerous as a bludgeon. What it was famous for was its extreme hilarity. The Codex Upon the Examinations was a thinly veiled satire of the occult establishment and the absurdities of mundane life in general, couched in improbable mythological modifications and false rituals of absurd complexity. Or maybe it was just a bunch of semi-risqué puns in ancient Sumerian. One way or the other, once he had discovered it through friends, it had got him through quite a few dark nights, and it had to be his favorite book.
Part of its charm was the problem. The fact was that, to the average person on the street, it was utterly impenetrable, and three-quarters of its jokes required quite a lot of experience with the occult to really "get." This made its publication spotty at best, as most of the time it was only printed by those who had no idea of what they had, or by those who had a very good idea how much they could charge for it. The more personal side of the problem was that every copy of it he had had, had undergone an unfortunate accident. The first two he had loaned out, but they were never returned; his initiation into the running joke that no copy ever loaned out had ever been returned. The third had been the victim of a very long story involving a vindictive coffee maker, an open window, a deceptively windy sunny day and an ill-advised attempt at drying. In several years of half-hearted searching he found neither the book, nor evidence that he would be able to get another copy.
Yet, there it was, published under the auspices of a company better known for books such as The Kitchen Witch's Guide to Pyromancy. It sat nestled between 1001 Easy Spells Using Butter, and Accentuating the Activation of Your Existence Through Your Dreams. It was clearly time for a "To: Giles, From: Giles" present.
Less than a half hour later, Giles walked out of the bookstore whistling to himself. He had all the "joke" presents, and even some actual presents, as well as the Codex Upon the Examinations. Now all that was left was the simple task of getting the rest of the presents.
Another aspect of Watcherhood, besides preparedness, was great skill at avoiding being lulled into a false sense of security. Being alert for sudden reverses, startling moments, and sudden pendulum shifts was a matter of survival. However, whether it was a lapse in judgment, a distraction, or simply that one time when a skill failed that they always warn you about, Giles found himself completely unprepared for what confronted him.
In a way, it was his own fault. He'd thought that it would be a great opportunity to find all the rest at once. It might have been optimism brought about by his earlier success. It might have been the desire to get out of the cold once and for all and back to his house, with a nice roaring fire, a nice glass of Scotch, and his favorite book. Certainly something influenced him to enter into unfamiliar territory. To venture to a place which he normally avoided at nearly all costs.
10:13 AM, December 24th
The mall.
And, in fact, when the sliding glass doors finally revealed the nature of that which he was about to face, Giles hesitated with a trepidation he rarely felt. The mall was filled to over four times its normal capacity, with people dashing about in a last minute frenzy, simultaneously swearing that this would be the last year they would try to get it all done at the last minute, and attempting to balance stacks of bags and boxes that made the Leaning Tower of Pisa look less like an architectural wonder. One glance revealed that they'd have little patience with anyone who would delay or hinder them in their mission to spread peace on earth and good will towards men, as quickly as possible so that they can get the hell out of here and go home to have a holly jolly time themselves. There was only one way to describe his reaction to witnessing the situation.
"Oh, bloody hell."
9:45 PM, December 24th
Giles concentrated. He lined up the edges exactly, and then made a small mark, being sure to remember exactly where it was. The precision and steady hands of his watcher training, combined with the obsessive tendencies induced by two and a half glasses of Scotch, combined to guide him well as he bent the edge of the paper over in the other direction, prepared to make another such mark.
"This is ridiculous." Giles said aloud, glancing at the clock, "At this rate, I'll finish sometime in March." Even if he was going to make sure that he didn't run out of paper, this was not the way to do it. He had confidence in himself. Certainly with all the situations he'd gotten himself out of in the past, he could correctly ration wrapping paper. And, if he had some left over, he could always just double wrap some of the presents.
That counted. It was his challenge, and he made the rules. Refreshing his drink and cracking his knuckles, he set about wrapping at a more efficient pace.
3:05 PM, December 24th
He was exactly one-third of the way through his Christmas shopping when he came to a single, startling and unnerving realization. He had no wrapping paper. Fortunately this particular mall was general enough to have a drugstore, and he quickly altered his path. Should be a simple prospect. With their usual little bit of everything, it would have the exact bits he needed. So, he made his way though the plundered "seasonal" isle, through the isles of cards, littered with fallen envelopes, to the back of the store.
Unfortunately, it seemed that nearly everyone else had forgotten wrapping paper in the exact same manner. The racks were nearly empty, and the only wrapping paper to be found stuck out of a brown cardboard box with "50% off" hastily written in alternating red and green letters. Only a dozen rolls of paper left, leaning forlornly against the front-left corner of the box. Five were multi-colored mosaics of squares interspersed with disco balls. Six were a Christmas in space theme, complete with stars, smiling comets, spaceships decked in lights, and green aliens wielding candy canes. The last featured bright green frogs on lily pads, in a cartoonish pond scene. This would not normally be so bad, except that the frogs weren't a rich Christmas green. They weren't even a bright cheerful green. They were a fluorescent, eye-piercing, please-don't-run-over-this-bicyclist green. They looked positively radioactive. Why irradiated frogs were on the average five and half times more popular than disco or Christmas in space was not something his mind could find a logical way of contemplating.
"Excuse me," Giles said, motioning to a stocker busy refilling a shelf with musical pigs in Santa caps, "do you have any other wrapping paper?"
"There's some in the box." the man said, not turning around.
"Besides what's in the box."
The man paused form his porcine provisioning, and looked at the shelves around him. Then he looked into the box, as if "besides in the box" included "inside the very box in question." "No, that's it."
"Not even in the back, o r. . ."
"No, we put it all out this morning. What's wrong with what's in the box?"
"Well . . . Well, it's horrible."
"Oh." The man looked as if, were he not exhausted from the Christmas rush, he might be genuinely hurt.
Giles quickly retraced his verbal steps. "Well, do you know if anywhere else in the mall sells gift wrap?"
"Uh, yeah, there's this whole place just sells it. I mean, wrapping paper." He pointed in the general direction of out the front doors and to the left, "It's kinda right by the pretzel booth."
10:20 PM, December 24th
This was much better. The pencil cast aside, it was liberating to just wrap the presents quickly, almost reflexively. True, he had spilled a little of his drink, but it was only a tiny amount, it didn't affect the wrapping paper or the presents. His sweater caught it all. It was at this point he realized that the one thing he was missing was the To/From tags. "Oh well," he thought to himself, "I'll just remember which presents are which."
4:26 PM, December 24th.
The fabled "all wrapping paper store" turned out to be nowhere near the pretzel booth. In fact, it would have been difficult for it to have been further from the pretzel booth, and still be located in the same mall. He wouldn't have found it at all if he hadn't been muttering to himself about it, when he heard a voice behind him.
"Wrapping paper?"
Giles turned. The voice belonged to a tall, thin woman in an obviously expensive navy blue business suit. A rhinestone pin in the shape of a wreath with the letters TGS emblazoned in the center decorated her right lapel, and she wore a miniature communications headset around her short, sweep-cut hair, which made her look like Cruella deVille in her "young flapper" days. "Yes, someone told me there was a store that sold nothing but wrapping paper. You wouldn't happen to know where it is?"
The woman smiled in a purposefully lopsided manner. "Right this way, sir. I believe we can help you with exactly what you need." She slipped a business card from under the metal of her clipboard and handed it to him. "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Karen Worthington-Fausse, vice-executive in charge of new customer acquisition for Total Gift Solutions. Let me assure you that all your holiday wrapping stress is about to come to an end." She leaned and spoke into the microphone of her headset. "Tammy, we have a new client on the way." Then she turned back to Giles, "Do you know that 7% of all holiday stress is directly related to wrapping gifts? Well, we may not be able to do anything about the other 93%, but at Total Gift Solutions, we can provide for all your gift needs."
Giles noticed that they were approaching the store. Apparently, Karen did too, and increased the speed of her speech, while attempting to walk slightly slower. "Studies have shown that people often lack the skills to determine the exact amount of paper that they need. 30% underestimate the amount of paper that they need, and lose valuable holiday time going back out to get more. A whopping 70% overestimate the amount of wrapping needed, leaving left-over paper, which can be bulky and inconvenient to store, as well as posing a fire hazard when exposed to fire." Finally, they were at the entrance to the store, a wide frosted-glass facade over which, in ultra-modern backlit white letters was the phrase, "Total Gift Solutions." She pushed the door open, "Welcome to TGS."
The store featured several workers in similar suits, white-faux marble floors, gloss-white walls, and white-painted aluminum trees with white chemical flocking and white lights. However, he wasn't startled by this. He was startled by the solution to his problems. Rolls and rolls of wrapping paper crowded the back of the store in a display area; wrapping paper in every possible color and pattern, all pleasing to the eye, and festive at the same time. It seemed that his day was looking up.
A woman in a grey suit pressed a cup of spiced tea into his hands. Suddenly, Karen was again in front of him, a fresh checklist on her clipboard. "Now, Mr. . ."
"Giles, Rupert Giles."
"Mr. Giles. Let's see how TGS can make your holiday better. At Total Gift Solutions, we use a mathematical formula to determine the exact amount of paper needed, and then wrap the presents using . . . and charging for . . . only that amount of paper."
"So, in other words, you measure the presents, and then wrap them?"
"Oh no, it's much more than that. At TSG, we use a second formula to select the perfect designs for your holiday wrapping needs from our selection of over 300 varieties, some designed by people who graduated from the same schools as top people in the interior design world. We take into account the overall color palate of your home, your current decorating scheme, the nature of your presents and the people for whom they are intended, combined with your desired level of whimsy. For example Mr. Giles, what color is your tree?"
"What? Green."
"Just 'green'?"
"Well, mostly."
"I meant the ornaments, Mr. Giles. Sit down, I'll refill your tea, while we discuss our pricing guidelines."
"Actually, I think I've decided. That one with the holly berries, top row, third from the left?"
"Holly berries?" She shook her head, as if Giles had committed a severe social faux pas, "I think we can do better than that. Now," she started pulling at the bags in his hand, "how many presents will we be wrapping for you this evening?"
"Actually, I was going to wrap them myself, at home." Giles pulled the presents back. "I just wanted to get a few rolls of paper, the holly berries . . ."
She cut him off, "I'm sorry, our holiday wrapping selections are available only to full clients."
"You won't sell me just the paper?"
"No, I'm sorry, sir." She seemed to have lost all interest. "Happy Holidays."
"Fine," Giles was determined not to explode too severely in the very quiet, very white store. "Do you know of anywhere else in the mall that sells wrapping paper?"
"Well, if you insist in buying your wrapping paper . . . off the rack . . . I believe they have some at the drugstore, but please understand, there is really no way that a layman can calculate the exact amount of paper needed."
By the time Giles got back to said drugstore, there were exactly three rolls left. One disco, one Christmas in space, one frog. Still, any port in a storm, even if it was filled with glowing frogs, and besides, he'd made a vow to himself. He would use exactly the amount of paper that he bought.
7:40 PM, December 24th
The final present bought, the final turn towards home made, Giles emptied his car, and set about the task of getting everything done. He was most looking forward to settling down with his book and his Scotch. Glancing at the clock, however, he knew that if he didn't want to run out of time, he better get to the task of wrapping immediately. The book would have to wait, he thought as he put the bag with the paper down in front of the tree. An alien with a candy cane peaked over the handle. The Scotch would not.
11:17 PM, December 24th
Skkrrrrriipp. Giles liked the sound of the scissors quickly slicing through the paper. It was always said that doing it that way, rather than opening and closing the scissors, made for a straighter cut. It didn't really matter that his cuts seemed, for some reason, not to be as straight as he had intended. Doing it this way made them curve gracefully, rather than making odd angles. Besides, some gifts, including some of the ones that he still needed to wrap, were of unusual shapes, and so unusually shaped bits of paper might be needed to wrap them without leaving anything unused.
It was then that he noticed an opportunity. He had been purposely avoiding the paper with frogs, putting off having to use them in all their radiant green cheerfulness. Of course, now he had to use it more in order to even everything out and make it easier to keep track of. It was just that bilious green color. He reflected for second that it was unfortunate because the he actually like the blue color used for the pond.
As he was putting his glass down, it hit him; his most brilliant idea of the night. If he cut around the frogs, he could then re-fold the paper so that only the blue parts would show after the presents were wrapped. Besides, he had noticed that for some reason, many of the presents he had wrapped most recently had ended up with gaps in the paper that revealed the gift underneath. He was having to cut small pieces from the rolls in order to cover the gaps. The frogs would be the perfect size to serve as patches. He could even apply the same technique to the disco balls, space ships, and candy-cane offering aliens. Satisfied, he took a long swig of his Scotch.
2:37 AM, December 25th
There had to be a way to find the book. After all, he fully intended to read a bit of it before turning in for the night. The Codex of the Examinations had a specific size and weight he was sure, and he simply had to find it through process of elimination. He began sorting through the presents, first moving any which were definitely, because of shape, not books. It was at this point he noticed that the strategy of using the patches hadn't quite succeeded in bringing some form of decorum to the garish paper. Directly in front of his eyes, an alien and a safety-green frog stood side by side on a half-lily-pad, half-asteroid, underneath a disco ball, against the backdrop of the night sky.
Once all the gifts which were not more or less rectangular and of the approximate size of books were moved, he sorted the rest into the categories of probably too light to be a book, probably too heavy to be a book, and probably a book. Satisfied with his probable winnowing of the herd into books only, he just had to figure out which one was the Codex without disturbing the paper. Holding them up to the blinking lights of the Christmas tree did not help. "No matter," he thought to himself. "Just more sorting". He mulled it over, should he line them up by size, or by weight? There was one which seemed too heavy to be his book, but was just about the right size.
He really needed to rest, anyway. He'd finish his drink, and then approach the problem with fresh eyes. He turned on the TV, to see if the weather was clearing up, and sat down. He'd have this finished in no time. Then he could read a few chapters, and get a well-deserved long winter's nap. "Hmmm," he thought, "by shape or by, no, already did that . . . Oh, the weather, now we'll see if. . ."
He fell asleep before the announcer could finish, "Merry Christmas from Channel Five Weather!"
9:39 AM, December 25th
The knock at the door which woke him sounded as if it had gone on for some time. It had that combination of volume that said, "I'm getting annoyed knocking on this door," and slow tempo which said, "I'm getting tired of knocking on this door." On the TV across from him, some team was losing an American football game by an embarrassing amount, and faintly, from his bedroom, he heard the announcement of the Kuala Lumpur chamber orchestra performing "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree."
Sitting up revealed his uncooperative hangover. He stumbled quickly towards the door, glad that he was already wearing his Holiday garb, and opened it, squinting in the long promised but overly bright sunlight.
"Merry . . ." There was sudden silence and concerned looks on the faces of Willow, Xander, and Buffy, followed by an almost whispered, "Christmas." Which made it obvious to Giles that he looked exactly as he felt.
"Uh, long night?" Xander asked, with a bit of forced casualness as Giles waved them in.
"Is there anything we can do?" Willow sounded concerned.
Giles barely paused before responding, "Yes, there is." He turned towards the tree, and then came back with a number of relatively flat, relatively rectangular presents. "Open these first."
By: mrtwstedwhsprs (Mr. Twisted Whispers)
Rating: PG/FRT
Pairing: Gen, Giles main character
Written For: the Drunken Giles Christmas Ficathon, for zandra_x who wanted: Giles buying something, Giles being confused, and a favorite book.
Warnings: Comedy
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Giles encounters scary sights of an entirely new type.
Notes: I do not own any of the characters in this fic. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and various Corporate Entities. Charcters who do not appear in this fic had an enjoyable night seeing if It's a Wonderful Life syncs up with UmmaGumma. It doesn't.
Special thanks to lostgirlslair for, as usual, doing a wonderful beta job by making my story actually readable.
1:52 AM, Dec 25th,
"Oh hell. . ." Giles set his glass down on one of the larger presents. One of the ones that he knew was a present. In some ways, it could be considered an acceptable casualty. The pile of presents looked like an outer-space disco invaded by overly festive radioactive frogs. It was not a metaphor. It was not hyperbole. It was an unfortunate result of his unfortunate day.
Still, using the very last shred of wrapping paper seemed like a minor victory. No, scratch that. It would have seemed like a minor victory normally, but after the world's scariest wrapping paper lady, it seemed like a major victory. But that was also a result of his day. He had reached out his left hand, cradling his drink in his right, having finished . . . finally the last Christmas Eve task. And his left hand came to rest upon . . . an empty coffee table.
He felt an unfortunate, familiar feeling of dread normally reserved for other, more universally dreaded events. But this, after that day he'd had, created a sinking feeling in his gut.
This was a very bad thing.
8:15 AM, Dec 24th,
The day had begun with the Krakow Symphony Orchestra playing "Jinge Bell Rock." That wasn't how the day should begin . . . That wasn't how any day should begin. His clock radio had an annoying habit of resetting itself if there was the slightest electrical fluctuation, which translated to annoyingly often. It happened to reset itself to the lowest number on the AM dial, and in Sunnydale that belonged to KWUW, a classical station with tastes as unfortunate as their call letters. He was supposed to wake up to a radio meteorologist in an increasing state of mental difficulty.
A few days ago, it had gotten cold. Very cold. Colder than it was supposed to get in Southern California. That day, Giles had been amused at how the locals, spoiled with their repetitive weather, couldn't adjust to the simplest cold snap without a combination of complaint and confusion. The next day, it had gotten even colder, and Giles now found great pleasure in describing the weather to his glumly shivering companions as, "bracing." Then, it got colder than that. Cold enough for Giles to join the complaining hordes. All throughout this time, the local radio weatherman had reacted with increasing amounts of disbelief and panic, knowing quite well that he would get the blame just as if he had manipulated the wind patterns himself.
And now, Christmas Eve, it was supposed to have cleared. Sunnydale natives who were dreaming of a warm Christmas would finally be rewarded by the return of their usual yuletide of unseasonable warmth and sun. One glance out the window showed Giles it was not to be. The one time that he had hoped for the irritating California sun--in a non-combat situation, anyway.
Giles was not normally the "get it all done on Christmas Eve" type, at least not anymore. Being a Watcher made you prepare ahead in more ways than one. You tended to get things done early . . . just in case you were busy in ways you couldn't later explain. Unfortunately, he had been very busy this year, and got a late start. Still, no problem, just a matter of prioritizing. Then the cold snap snapped colder, and he avoided venturing out in weather quite that horrible. The much warmer Christmas Eve would have made certain that he could get it done then.
Wincing at bare feet hit cold hardwood, he drank his tea and puttered around the house until he could procrastinate no longer. He had to face the cold. After bundling up in enough coats to make him feel like the Michellin Man . . . wearing a large number of heavy coats, and finally managing to get to his car and its promise of an eventually warm heater, he admitted to himself that he wasn't exactly looking forward to the frenzied, last minute crowds. Normally, this would have made him reflect on the irony of hurrying to a place you didn't want to go. Today, it just made him think, "It's bloody cold!"
7:56 PM, December 25th
The book would have to wait, but, Giles decided, there was no reason not to be as festive as possible. It was a holiday, after all, and most considered wrapping the gifts part of the fun. Towards that end, he had taken time to change, started a fire in the fireplace, and poured himself a drink. He was not going to let the day he'd had continue to bother him. He set everything around in easy reach. All the presents, all the supplies, his Scotch and his glass, and his book. The book that would be his reward for when he got everything done.
He decided to just relax first. He took a generous sip of his Scotch and leaned his head back. He felt the Scotch burn in his throat, took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and exhaled. It was utter relaxation. The comforts of home. The stresses of the day faded away and all was well with the world. Every muscle in his body seemed to relax at once.
Slowly, Rupert Giles opened his eyes. Just at the edge of his visual field he could see the wrapping paper. Not as any particular shape, but just as a mix of colors. Orange, pale blue, and a green the color of cartoon plutonium. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense at once.
This was going to require more Scotch.
9:22 AM, December 24th
The heater, of course, began warming up just as he pulled into the first parking lot. It had become traditional for him to buy a book for each of certain people, in addition to whatever he thought was fitting for them. What had started as a joke had continued year after year, and he usually tried to match the book to something in which the recipient was at least tangentially interested. And that was when he saw it. The Codex Upon the Examinations of the Psychological Manifestations of the Positive Aspects of Folklore, Alchemy and Demonology in Renaissance Europe by Rideo Risi.
Some books were infamous among occultists for the great power that lay encoded in their words. Some were infamous because of the damage they could do in the hands of the unknowing. The Codex Upon the Examinations, as it was usually called, did not encode great power in its words, and it was only dangerous as a bludgeon. What it was famous for was its extreme hilarity. The Codex Upon the Examinations was a thinly veiled satire of the occult establishment and the absurdities of mundane life in general, couched in improbable mythological modifications and false rituals of absurd complexity. Or maybe it was just a bunch of semi-risqué puns in ancient Sumerian. One way or the other, once he had discovered it through friends, it had got him through quite a few dark nights, and it had to be his favorite book.
Part of its charm was the problem. The fact was that, to the average person on the street, it was utterly impenetrable, and three-quarters of its jokes required quite a lot of experience with the occult to really "get." This made its publication spotty at best, as most of the time it was only printed by those who had no idea of what they had, or by those who had a very good idea how much they could charge for it. The more personal side of the problem was that every copy of it he had had, had undergone an unfortunate accident. The first two he had loaned out, but they were never returned; his initiation into the running joke that no copy ever loaned out had ever been returned. The third had been the victim of a very long story involving a vindictive coffee maker, an open window, a deceptively windy sunny day and an ill-advised attempt at drying. In several years of half-hearted searching he found neither the book, nor evidence that he would be able to get another copy.
Yet, there it was, published under the auspices of a company better known for books such as The Kitchen Witch's Guide to Pyromancy. It sat nestled between 1001 Easy Spells Using Butter, and Accentuating the Activation of Your Existence Through Your Dreams. It was clearly time for a "To: Giles, From: Giles" present.
Less than a half hour later, Giles walked out of the bookstore whistling to himself. He had all the "joke" presents, and even some actual presents, as well as the Codex Upon the Examinations. Now all that was left was the simple task of getting the rest of the presents.
Another aspect of Watcherhood, besides preparedness, was great skill at avoiding being lulled into a false sense of security. Being alert for sudden reverses, startling moments, and sudden pendulum shifts was a matter of survival. However, whether it was a lapse in judgment, a distraction, or simply that one time when a skill failed that they always warn you about, Giles found himself completely unprepared for what confronted him.
In a way, it was his own fault. He'd thought that it would be a great opportunity to find all the rest at once. It might have been optimism brought about by his earlier success. It might have been the desire to get out of the cold once and for all and back to his house, with a nice roaring fire, a nice glass of Scotch, and his favorite book. Certainly something influenced him to enter into unfamiliar territory. To venture to a place which he normally avoided at nearly all costs.
10:13 AM, December 24th
The mall.
And, in fact, when the sliding glass doors finally revealed the nature of that which he was about to face, Giles hesitated with a trepidation he rarely felt. The mall was filled to over four times its normal capacity, with people dashing about in a last minute frenzy, simultaneously swearing that this would be the last year they would try to get it all done at the last minute, and attempting to balance stacks of bags and boxes that made the Leaning Tower of Pisa look less like an architectural wonder. One glance revealed that they'd have little patience with anyone who would delay or hinder them in their mission to spread peace on earth and good will towards men, as quickly as possible so that they can get the hell out of here and go home to have a holly jolly time themselves. There was only one way to describe his reaction to witnessing the situation.
"Oh, bloody hell."
9:45 PM, December 24th
Giles concentrated. He lined up the edges exactly, and then made a small mark, being sure to remember exactly where it was. The precision and steady hands of his watcher training, combined with the obsessive tendencies induced by two and a half glasses of Scotch, combined to guide him well as he bent the edge of the paper over in the other direction, prepared to make another such mark.
"This is ridiculous." Giles said aloud, glancing at the clock, "At this rate, I'll finish sometime in March." Even if he was going to make sure that he didn't run out of paper, this was not the way to do it. He had confidence in himself. Certainly with all the situations he'd gotten himself out of in the past, he could correctly ration wrapping paper. And, if he had some left over, he could always just double wrap some of the presents.
That counted. It was his challenge, and he made the rules. Refreshing his drink and cracking his knuckles, he set about wrapping at a more efficient pace.
3:05 PM, December 24th
He was exactly one-third of the way through his Christmas shopping when he came to a single, startling and unnerving realization. He had no wrapping paper. Fortunately this particular mall was general enough to have a drugstore, and he quickly altered his path. Should be a simple prospect. With their usual little bit of everything, it would have the exact bits he needed. So, he made his way though the plundered "seasonal" isle, through the isles of cards, littered with fallen envelopes, to the back of the store.
Unfortunately, it seemed that nearly everyone else had forgotten wrapping paper in the exact same manner. The racks were nearly empty, and the only wrapping paper to be found stuck out of a brown cardboard box with "50% off" hastily written in alternating red and green letters. Only a dozen rolls of paper left, leaning forlornly against the front-left corner of the box. Five were multi-colored mosaics of squares interspersed with disco balls. Six were a Christmas in space theme, complete with stars, smiling comets, spaceships decked in lights, and green aliens wielding candy canes. The last featured bright green frogs on lily pads, in a cartoonish pond scene. This would not normally be so bad, except that the frogs weren't a rich Christmas green. They weren't even a bright cheerful green. They were a fluorescent, eye-piercing, please-don't-run-over-this-bicyclist green. They looked positively radioactive. Why irradiated frogs were on the average five and half times more popular than disco or Christmas in space was not something his mind could find a logical way of contemplating.
"Excuse me," Giles said, motioning to a stocker busy refilling a shelf with musical pigs in Santa caps, "do you have any other wrapping paper?"
"There's some in the box." the man said, not turning around.
"Besides what's in the box."
The man paused form his porcine provisioning, and looked at the shelves around him. Then he looked into the box, as if "besides in the box" included "inside the very box in question." "No, that's it."
"Not even in the back, o r. . ."
"No, we put it all out this morning. What's wrong with what's in the box?"
"Well . . . Well, it's horrible."
"Oh." The man looked as if, were he not exhausted from the Christmas rush, he might be genuinely hurt.
Giles quickly retraced his verbal steps. "Well, do you know if anywhere else in the mall sells gift wrap?"
"Uh, yeah, there's this whole place just sells it. I mean, wrapping paper." He pointed in the general direction of out the front doors and to the left, "It's kinda right by the pretzel booth."
10:20 PM, December 24th
This was much better. The pencil cast aside, it was liberating to just wrap the presents quickly, almost reflexively. True, he had spilled a little of his drink, but it was only a tiny amount, it didn't affect the wrapping paper or the presents. His sweater caught it all. It was at this point he realized that the one thing he was missing was the To/From tags. "Oh well," he thought to himself, "I'll just remember which presents are which."
4:26 PM, December 24th.
The fabled "all wrapping paper store" turned out to be nowhere near the pretzel booth. In fact, it would have been difficult for it to have been further from the pretzel booth, and still be located in the same mall. He wouldn't have found it at all if he hadn't been muttering to himself about it, when he heard a voice behind him.
"Wrapping paper?"
Giles turned. The voice belonged to a tall, thin woman in an obviously expensive navy blue business suit. A rhinestone pin in the shape of a wreath with the letters TGS emblazoned in the center decorated her right lapel, and she wore a miniature communications headset around her short, sweep-cut hair, which made her look like Cruella deVille in her "young flapper" days. "Yes, someone told me there was a store that sold nothing but wrapping paper. You wouldn't happen to know where it is?"
The woman smiled in a purposefully lopsided manner. "Right this way, sir. I believe we can help you with exactly what you need." She slipped a business card from under the metal of her clipboard and handed it to him. "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Karen Worthington-Fausse, vice-executive in charge of new customer acquisition for Total Gift Solutions. Let me assure you that all your holiday wrapping stress is about to come to an end." She leaned and spoke into the microphone of her headset. "Tammy, we have a new client on the way." Then she turned back to Giles, "Do you know that 7% of all holiday stress is directly related to wrapping gifts? Well, we may not be able to do anything about the other 93%, but at Total Gift Solutions, we can provide for all your gift needs."
Giles noticed that they were approaching the store. Apparently, Karen did too, and increased the speed of her speech, while attempting to walk slightly slower. "Studies have shown that people often lack the skills to determine the exact amount of paper that they need. 30% underestimate the amount of paper that they need, and lose valuable holiday time going back out to get more. A whopping 70% overestimate the amount of wrapping needed, leaving left-over paper, which can be bulky and inconvenient to store, as well as posing a fire hazard when exposed to fire." Finally, they were at the entrance to the store, a wide frosted-glass facade over which, in ultra-modern backlit white letters was the phrase, "Total Gift Solutions." She pushed the door open, "Welcome to TGS."
The store featured several workers in similar suits, white-faux marble floors, gloss-white walls, and white-painted aluminum trees with white chemical flocking and white lights. However, he wasn't startled by this. He was startled by the solution to his problems. Rolls and rolls of wrapping paper crowded the back of the store in a display area; wrapping paper in every possible color and pattern, all pleasing to the eye, and festive at the same time. It seemed that his day was looking up.
A woman in a grey suit pressed a cup of spiced tea into his hands. Suddenly, Karen was again in front of him, a fresh checklist on her clipboard. "Now, Mr. . ."
"Giles, Rupert Giles."
"Mr. Giles. Let's see how TGS can make your holiday better. At Total Gift Solutions, we use a mathematical formula to determine the exact amount of paper needed, and then wrap the presents using . . . and charging for . . . only that amount of paper."
"So, in other words, you measure the presents, and then wrap them?"
"Oh no, it's much more than that. At TSG, we use a second formula to select the perfect designs for your holiday wrapping needs from our selection of over 300 varieties, some designed by people who graduated from the same schools as top people in the interior design world. We take into account the overall color palate of your home, your current decorating scheme, the nature of your presents and the people for whom they are intended, combined with your desired level of whimsy. For example Mr. Giles, what color is your tree?"
"What? Green."
"Just 'green'?"
"Well, mostly."
"I meant the ornaments, Mr. Giles. Sit down, I'll refill your tea, while we discuss our pricing guidelines."
"Actually, I think I've decided. That one with the holly berries, top row, third from the left?"
"Holly berries?" She shook her head, as if Giles had committed a severe social faux pas, "I think we can do better than that. Now," she started pulling at the bags in his hand, "how many presents will we be wrapping for you this evening?"
"Actually, I was going to wrap them myself, at home." Giles pulled the presents back. "I just wanted to get a few rolls of paper, the holly berries . . ."
She cut him off, "I'm sorry, our holiday wrapping selections are available only to full clients."
"You won't sell me just the paper?"
"No, I'm sorry, sir." She seemed to have lost all interest. "Happy Holidays."
"Fine," Giles was determined not to explode too severely in the very quiet, very white store. "Do you know of anywhere else in the mall that sells wrapping paper?"
"Well, if you insist in buying your wrapping paper . . . off the rack . . . I believe they have some at the drugstore, but please understand, there is really no way that a layman can calculate the exact amount of paper needed."
By the time Giles got back to said drugstore, there were exactly three rolls left. One disco, one Christmas in space, one frog. Still, any port in a storm, even if it was filled with glowing frogs, and besides, he'd made a vow to himself. He would use exactly the amount of paper that he bought.
7:40 PM, December 24th
The final present bought, the final turn towards home made, Giles emptied his car, and set about the task of getting everything done. He was most looking forward to settling down with his book and his Scotch. Glancing at the clock, however, he knew that if he didn't want to run out of time, he better get to the task of wrapping immediately. The book would have to wait, he thought as he put the bag with the paper down in front of the tree. An alien with a candy cane peaked over the handle. The Scotch would not.
11:17 PM, December 24th
Skkrrrrriipp. Giles liked the sound of the scissors quickly slicing through the paper. It was always said that doing it that way, rather than opening and closing the scissors, made for a straighter cut. It didn't really matter that his cuts seemed, for some reason, not to be as straight as he had intended. Doing it this way made them curve gracefully, rather than making odd angles. Besides, some gifts, including some of the ones that he still needed to wrap, were of unusual shapes, and so unusually shaped bits of paper might be needed to wrap them without leaving anything unused.
It was then that he noticed an opportunity. He had been purposely avoiding the paper with frogs, putting off having to use them in all their radiant green cheerfulness. Of course, now he had to use it more in order to even everything out and make it easier to keep track of. It was just that bilious green color. He reflected for second that it was unfortunate because the he actually like the blue color used for the pond.
As he was putting his glass down, it hit him; his most brilliant idea of the night. If he cut around the frogs, he could then re-fold the paper so that only the blue parts would show after the presents were wrapped. Besides, he had noticed that for some reason, many of the presents he had wrapped most recently had ended up with gaps in the paper that revealed the gift underneath. He was having to cut small pieces from the rolls in order to cover the gaps. The frogs would be the perfect size to serve as patches. He could even apply the same technique to the disco balls, space ships, and candy-cane offering aliens. Satisfied, he took a long swig of his Scotch.
2:37 AM, December 25th
There had to be a way to find the book. After all, he fully intended to read a bit of it before turning in for the night. The Codex of the Examinations had a specific size and weight he was sure, and he simply had to find it through process of elimination. He began sorting through the presents, first moving any which were definitely, because of shape, not books. It was at this point he noticed that the strategy of using the patches hadn't quite succeeded in bringing some form of decorum to the garish paper. Directly in front of his eyes, an alien and a safety-green frog stood side by side on a half-lily-pad, half-asteroid, underneath a disco ball, against the backdrop of the night sky.
Once all the gifts which were not more or less rectangular and of the approximate size of books were moved, he sorted the rest into the categories of probably too light to be a book, probably too heavy to be a book, and probably a book. Satisfied with his probable winnowing of the herd into books only, he just had to figure out which one was the Codex without disturbing the paper. Holding them up to the blinking lights of the Christmas tree did not help. "No matter," he thought to himself. "Just more sorting". He mulled it over, should he line them up by size, or by weight? There was one which seemed too heavy to be his book, but was just about the right size.
He really needed to rest, anyway. He'd finish his drink, and then approach the problem with fresh eyes. He turned on the TV, to see if the weather was clearing up, and sat down. He'd have this finished in no time. Then he could read a few chapters, and get a well-deserved long winter's nap. "Hmmm," he thought, "by shape or by, no, already did that . . . Oh, the weather, now we'll see if. . ."
He fell asleep before the announcer could finish, "Merry Christmas from Channel Five Weather!"
9:39 AM, December 25th
The knock at the door which woke him sounded as if it had gone on for some time. It had that combination of volume that said, "I'm getting annoyed knocking on this door," and slow tempo which said, "I'm getting tired of knocking on this door." On the TV across from him, some team was losing an American football game by an embarrassing amount, and faintly, from his bedroom, he heard the announcement of the Kuala Lumpur chamber orchestra performing "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree."
Sitting up revealed his uncooperative hangover. He stumbled quickly towards the door, glad that he was already wearing his Holiday garb, and opened it, squinting in the long promised but overly bright sunlight.
"Merry . . ." There was sudden silence and concerned looks on the faces of Willow, Xander, and Buffy, followed by an almost whispered, "Christmas." Which made it obvious to Giles that he looked exactly as he felt.
"Uh, long night?" Xander asked, with a bit of forced casualness as Giles waved them in.
"Is there anything we can do?" Willow sounded concerned.
Giles barely paused before responding, "Yes, there is." He turned towards the tree, and then came back with a number of relatively flat, relatively rectangular presents. "Open these first."