High Stakes at the North Pole
It was December 23rd, and the tension in the back room of Santa’s Workshop was thicker than day-old eggnog.
Santa Claus sat at the green felt table, loosening his belt. Across from him sat Alabaster Snow, the Head Elf and the ruthless pit boss of the North Pole.
The game was Blackjack.
The stakes? If Santa won, the elves worked overtime for free. If Alabaster won, Santa had to clean up after the reindeer on Boxing Day.
"Cards are on the table, Big Red," Alabaster chirped, shuffling the deck with terrifying speed. "What’s the move?"
Santa looked at his hand. A King of Hearts and a Six of Spades. A hard 16. The dealer’s up-card was a Queen. It was the "suicide hand."
Santa wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "I’ve navigated a sleigh through a blizzard in 1978 with one headlight. I’m not afraid of a piece of cardboard."
"So?" Alabaster grinned.
"Hit me."
The room went silent. Mrs. Claus gasped from the buffet table.
Alabaster snapped a card onto the felt.
It was a Five of Diamonds.
"Twenty-one!" Santa roared, slamming his fist on the table so hard a plate of cookies rattled. "Read 'em and weep, you tiny hustler! That’s 21!"
Alabaster didn't flinch. He slowly flipped his hole card. It was an Ace.
"Blackjack," the elf deadpanned. "Natural 21 beats a summoned 21. House rules, Nick."
Santa slumped in his chair, defeated. "Ho... ho... oh no."
Alabaster slid the pile of chocolate coins toward his side of the table. "Don't worry, Boss. I hear Blitzen had a lot of carrots yesterday. You might want to bring a shovel."
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