Robbie Rotten swore to anyone who asked him that he didn't like Christmas and he never had. Half of that claim was true. He despised the holiday and the entire season. The lights made once-peaceful nights bright, grating, and gaudy. The cold weather was hell on the extremities - it was like the blood wouldn't flow to the ends of his long limbs - he'd spend whole half-hours standing at his bathroom sink, holding his hands under warm water, waiting for the feeling to return. The damn snow - he hadn't waterproofed his lair well enough, any melted snow inevitably ran through imperceptible crevices, dropping and pooling in only the most inconvenient places. He'd slipped on puddles at home four times already and it was only the 14th. He was sick to death of seeing and hearing those kids doing - well, the same thing they did year-round, he supposed, just with a different theme - winter sports, sledding and sliding and snowballs. He'd been lucky enough not to catch himself in the middle of any snowball fights yet.

Yet.

He hadn't planned on going out, but he'd run out of wood glue and clamps and nails of a particular length and those tiny paintbrushes, you know, the ones that are practically a single hair. He always discovered material shortages at inopportune moments. Granted, he only checked his supplies when he was in a particular mood that was strongest around Christmastime. It was like... well, frustration, mostly. A little fear, maybe some sadness - but what of it? It was only a passing feeling.

And he was out of those extra-long rubber bands, too; he'd have to get more. If he saw any odd metal bits, he'd buy those, as well. Early Christmas present for himself.

He got on the stout green-gray bus to the nearest big city, Happensville. It was a pretty fitting name, considering that it had just about everything going on. Including a craft store that Robbie frequented in wintertime. He didn't mind leaving Lazytown for something as simple as a day trip, though he didn't think he could last a night away from the place. No, he thought, more than six hours would be tough. Even staying at the beach too long made his anxiety spike. He didn't know what that was all about - or so he told himself.

The bus had no passengers except him, and the portly bus driver luckily wasn't a talker. There was Christmas music playing over the bus speakers, but Robbie didn't mind. The music was practically the only thing he could stand about the holiday. That and the holiday sales. God, he hoped the craft store wasn't too crowded.

He'd be on the lookout for gifts for those brats, too. Just because he hated Christmas didn't mean he had to make everyone else's worse. In fact, if his Scroogish behavior really, truly hurt anyone's holiday, he'd never forgive himself. He wouldn't go to the annual holiday party, though. He'd drop off the gifts early, compliment the tree and the menorah, and retreat. He'd prepared a short speech to give to whoever answered the door: "I won't be able to stay, I'm feeling quite ill. Here are the presents. I like the tree - oh, and the menorah, of course. No, I really have to go. 'Bye." So what if it was a bit awkward, recited rather than spoken? He couldn't stay. It was just too... too much.

What was he going to get for Sportacus? Sports equipment? Fruit? Some damn winter clothes? Not the last one, no, that was too personal. And getting Sportacus fruit would be just like how everyone always got Robbie socks. A cop-out. He couldn't do that. And the man had plenty of sports-equipment, tailor-made. Tailor... For a moment, Robbie briefly entertained the idea of making Sportacus a sweater. It'd be even more personal than just buying him something, so it certainly wasn't a real-life possibility. But it'd be an easy gift, Robbie liked making clothes... he could do a blue one - a Hanukkah-themed one, but in the ugly-Christmas-sweater style. He pictured how dorky Sportacus would look in it. He'd probably never take it off; he did, after all, wear the same outfit all the time.

If he made an ugly sweater, he could always pass it off as a plan to humiliate the elf. Nobody would give it a second thought, really, would they? And if Sportacus cared enough to wear it - which he would, the compassionate bastard - he'd have some kind of winter outfit and Robbie wouldn't have to look at his bare arms and think of how cold it must be. Not that it was an act of caring - Robbie just didn't like such a bold reminder of the freezing temperature. That's all.

He pushed the sweater idea to the back of his mind as the bus pulled into the Happensville stop. He'd think about it, but that was all. He was shopping for himself right now, not that damned blue jumping bean.