Esmoli inspected an object, turning it around in his hands. A cardboard box of some kind, for a purpose he didn't quite understand yet. Written on it, in that colour layer even their brightest fokineers couldn't replicate, were numbers, from one to twenty-four. 

Trash tells tales, trash from other realms especially so. So when in a timespan of one or two months they kept finding cardboard boxes, some unopened ones filled with chocolate, and other plastic packaging, all featuring the white god Santa Claus, Esmoli knew that there was some kind of tradition at hand. A sacrifice, perhaps? Offer all chocolate to the white god, to devour itself?

This particular cardboard box read Santa's Advent Calendar and featured a house covered in snow. Inside, people sat in front of a fireplace, and drank something brown. 

An idea sprang forth in his mind; he slapped his head, hoping to get rid of it. But the resemblance was too uncanny. The chocolate, flesh of the white god, and the brown drink, steaming with air. Perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps the brown flesh was not an offering to the white god, but a breverage. 

He took out a couple of the chocolate, and held them over fire. The drops he collected in a bowl, typically used for blood sacrifices but now devoid of liquid, until the whole chocolate has melted. While it is still a liquid, he extended his proboscis, a small trunk, smaller than that of a mosquito, and carefully sucked it up. 

He was found unconscious, not even waking months later. Identifying the liquid as liquid chocolate, and him as a fool for drinking the body of the white god, his people-equal avoided him, and so didn't hear a faint jolly laugh.

Ho Ho Ho