Reverend Eli was dressed in his Sunday Funday best, everything freshly ironed, clean and crisp, and was currently pouring some milk into some rather large jugs on the refreshment table.
Fergus was also suited up in his outfit, lightly dusting his cream-filled buns.
Every was perfect.
Yes. The past tense.
For at… present, there was one very hungry and thirsty Santa Claus, or more accurately, a certain Hugo who was disguised as the rotund jolly man, who was ambling his way towards the refreshments table.
In a sense, Hugo was living up to his cursed cosplay's job description - for he himself truly was the gift that kept on giving.
A thirsty Santa. The Reverend's freshly pressed pants.
As a veteran grandmaster reader of this novel, You could guess what happened next…
The Reverend paled as he noted that the story's focus appeared to be paying undue, excess attention to his clothing, in particular, it appeared that the adaptation camera crew were focusing in on the front of his pants an awful lot for some reason, even as he was pouring out lashings of milk into the big jugs on the table?!
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
All of a sudden, the jugs which were filled with nutritious milk began to shake and wobble as the cursed sound of heavy impending footsteps could be heard and felt.
"Author!!!!!!" The Reverend knew what was coming, and desperately tried to avoid his fate, but it was too late.
Hugo had arrived.
___
With a very un-Santa like roar, Hugo seized the two big jugs of milk and lifted them to his face, one on each side of his lips, and began chugging down and drinking from both, guzzling and suckling at the ti- that is, the tips of where the milk was meant to be poured out of the jugs, an act that the jugs were not designed specifically to do.
Torrents of white splurged out, some coming, ahem, going into Santa-Hugo's mouth, but the majority spilling and soaking into his beard and all over his sweaty Santa costume, in sputtering sheets of milky white…
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!" Hugo moaned as the cold milk entered him in swirls, refreshing relieving and invigorating him, slaking his thirst.
But it was too much, too soon. As the milk poured in, Hugo choked, and immediately some of the milk sloshed out of his mouth…
"Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!" Of course, the Reverend just happened to be nearby, and of course, although he raised his hands to defend himself, his efforts were, in a perverse spiritual segue, all in vain, as his pants were painted and stained a satanic white all thanks to Hugo's coughed-out milk…
(Aiyaiyai… Never on earth did I ever expect to read such a cursed sentence…)
Nevertheless, the damage was done.
The Reverend's wet patch… had returned.