PIP/Krampus/Out with the Old
James . . . no . . . Krampus looked around him at the busy elves. He had created these elves out of naughty children . . . well, not him exactly; but the memory was there. He saw the way the elves cowered before him; some literally trembling in fear. The former Krampus might have liked that, but this would not do. Those you work with should not fear you. Fear was for the naughty children. It was one of his tools, like a clay sculptor's loop, wire, and ribbon tools. Fear, dread, pain, humiliation, disgust, loneliness and sorrow were Krampus's sculpting tools. Still, the elves should not fear him.
He focused for a time on altering his appearance. He felt his body shrink back down to a more human size. The transformation wasn't nearly as painful as his initial metamorphosis into Krampus; but it was not wholly painless either. When he was done, he looked around the room for a mirror. Finding none, he held the soul globe in front of him, and examined his distorted reflection. He had tried to return to his former body shape. He had succeeded in that, but there were issues. He was in his old body; but his skin was not the even tanned peach it had once been. Instead, his skin was jet black. It was not black in the manner of those of African or Australian descent, but a true black like a starless night. His hair was likewise blacker than night rather than it's former nut brown. He recalled then that one of his names was Black Pete. So be it then. This had to be a fair sight less frightening than the massive figure of Krampus.
"Excuse me," he said of a nearby elf. The elf jumped a bit and scurried off. So much for not scaring his coworkers.
"Don't mind them," said a small but self-assured voice from behind him, "They're just scared little babies." Krampus turned and saw a tiny elf standing resolutely looking up at him. She stood with one hand on her hip looking up at him with cool confidence, and looking quite alluring. She seemed to be no more than four years old when she was changed. That likely meant that she was one of the Antichrist conversions, as generally speaking four-year-olds don't merit conversion. All of the very youngest elves were from attempts at bringing about Armageddon. One of Krampus's most important jobs was finding the Antichrist and purifying them into an elf. A bonus was that the sooner he found them, the younger they looked forever as an elf.
"And you aren't afraid of me?" asked Krampus.
"Nah," she said casually, "I've worked for a Krampus before. These lot are all too timid." Krampus wished he had all of the memories of his predecessors, instead of only those that dealt with his job . . . or purhaps he didn't. It still would have been nice to know what this tiny little elf was like before. She turned her head and yelled, "BABIES!" then turned back to Krampus. "I'm Gold. Let me get my crew." She turned away again and yelled, "Frankie! Myrrh! Get your slutty little asses over here!" Two more girls of about the same age and build came running up. "The shy one with the brown hair is Myrrh. And that piece of milk chocolate is Frankincense, but we just call her Frankie. Ain't that right Frankie?"
"Umm . . . yeah," said Frankie.
Krampus took a moment to take them all in.
"You girls are certainly . . ." he said, his eyes caressing their every curve, "yes. Very much."
"You're silly," said Gold coyly. "You didn't really say anything just now."
"As I recall," Krampus said, "I am permitted to take on any assistants that I feel are necessary, as long as they aren't directly assigned by Santa, correct?"
"Yeeees," said Gold.
"How would the three of you like to be Krampus's assistants?" he asked.
"Does that mean we get to wear leather and carry whips?" asked Gold, bouncing with excitement.
"I'm more partial to branding irons," said Frankie as she pantomimed using a branding iron on Gold.
"Oh," said Gold melodramatically, "it hurts so good."
"Umm," said Myrrh nervously, "isn't that a John Mellencamp song?"
"Hurts so good!" sang Gold and Frankie together. "Come on baby make it hurt so good. Sometimes love don't feel like it should. You make it . . . hurt so good!"
"I guess that is a yes then?" said Krampus. "I suppose we'll have to start with this place then."
"What are we doing, boss?" asked Gold. "Torture chamber? Sex dungeon? GLADITORIAL ARENA!!!?"
"Let me think," said Krampus.