Dexter Tinker Arc 1
The Tinker's Trouble
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Sleigh Ride Squeaky Bells Decorator Menu Mixup Hall of Records Panic
Chapter 3: Dexter the Decorator
Candy Cane Lane -
The air in Santa’s Village shimmered with frosty anticipation. It was late November, the time when the Workshop kicked into high gear, the reindeer rehearsed their final flight formations, and the trees along Candy Cane Lane were wrapped in garlands that glistened with real sugar crystals. Every windowpane had its own frosted swirl, and toy bins sparkled with polished brass numbers. Christmas wasn’t just a holiday here—it was a lifestyle.
Which is why Dexter Tinker, for once, wasn’t in the Workshop.
"You're being reassigned," Nico had told him that morning with a weary but kind smile. “Temporarily, Dexter. Just until we get the reindeer harness alignment stabilized. No explosions in the sleigh yard this week, please.”
Dexter had opened his mouth to object—he had improved the bell clapper design, even if the harmonic resonances had shattered a few nearby lanterns—but Nico raised a gloved hand.
“The Decorating Committee needs an extra set of hands. Consider it... a chance to apply your creativity in a more festive direction.”
Dexter had nodded solemnly, but inside he was thrilled. Decorating? Now that he could do. He’d show them that Tinker ingenuity wasn’t just for gears and sprockets. It was also for glitter, garland, and grandeur.
Dexter arrived at the Decorating Pavilion with a toolbox full of inspiration. He wasn’t going to just hang lights. No, no. He was going to revolutionize holiday décor.
“Good morning!” chirped Tilly Frothwhip, the head decorator, as she sorted holly sprigs into size-ranked baskets. “Dexter, welcome! We’re working on the lamppost wreaths today. Simple greenery and ribbon. You can start over there by the square.”
Dexter saluted. “Absolutely, Ms. Frothwhip. I’ll handle it.”
He did not handle it.
Instead of gently looping evergreen around the first lamppost, Dexter unveiled his first invention of the day: the Wreath-Wrangler 9000, a motorized pole with grappling arms and a built-in ribbon spinner. One push of a button, and the entire post would be decorated in five seconds flat.
“Stand back!” Dexter announced to the handful of decorating elves nearby.
The Wreath-Wrangler groaned to life. A wreath slapped onto the lamppost, then the ribbon mechanism went haywire, flinging shiny red streamers into a nearby caramel apple stand. The pole was now tangled with ribbon, a peppermint garland, and—for some reason—an inflatable goose from the holiday barnyard display.
Dexter frowned. “Needs fine-tuning.”
By midmorning, he’d deployed three other inventions:
- The Ornament Launcher 3000—which promptly pelted the entire east side of the square with exploding glitter bulbs.
- The Icicle Drop Drone—which froze solid in midair and fell into a tray of marshmallow fudge, where it buzzed menacingly until unplugged.
- And the Tinsel Turbine—a sort of leaf blower for shimmering foil that had turned Mrs. Crumbelle’s bakery into a disco ball.
Tilly Frothwhip was too polite to say anything directly. Instead, she handed him a broom and suggested he "help with cleanup over by the Gumdrop Garden."
Dexter sighed and shuffled off, broom in hand.
That’s when Penny Tootle found him.
“Wow,” she said, surveying the square from a safe distance. “I could see the tinsel vortex from the candy mill.”
Dexter didn’t turn. “I was trying to help. Make it efficient.”
“You sure made something,” she said gently.
They stood in silence for a beat.
“I thought decorating would be easy,” Dexter muttered.
“It is easy,” Penny replied, “when you’re not trying to automate every snowflake.”
Dexter looked up. “But that’s what I do.”
“Then maybe what you do needs a little finesse,” she said. “C’mon. There’s still time to help set up the Fir Tree.”
Every year, the Great Fir Tree in the center of Santa’s Village was the crown jewel of Christmas décor. It stood nearly 60 feet tall, with hand-carved wooden ornaments, gilded bells, and hundreds of glowing baubles. Dozens of elves worked in coordinated teams to decorate it from base to star.
Dexter gazed up at the tree, hands itching to build something, but he swallowed the urge. “What can I do?”
Penny handed him a paintbrush. “Start here. Base ornaments. Red on the stripes, green on the swirlies.”
He nodded and knelt beside a basket of unfinished decorations. For the next hour, he painted. Slowly. Carefully. No motors. No boosters. Just hand, brush, and paint.
He watched Penny work alongside him—steady, focused, humming a little tune as she detailed tiny gold snowflakes onto a pale blue background.
Other elves moved about the square, righting toppled ribbons, refolding garlands, and laughing quietly at Dexter’s earlier misadventures.
He felt a blush creep up his neck.
That afternoon, things got worse.
While Dexter was helping hang painted ornaments, he noticed something odd near the Gift Staging field. A shimmering green glow flickered behind a snowbank. Curiosity getting the better of him, he crept closer.
One of his earlier test gadgets—the Garland Spinner Deluxe—was still active, tucked behind a bench and vibrating madly. A canister of peppermint oil (meant for scent diffusion) had ruptured and leaked into the snow, melting a slick patch right near the sleigh path.
And just then, a full-size sleigh came gliding down that very path, pulled by three training reindeer.
“LOOK OUT!” Dexter screamed, dashing into the path and waving his arms.
The driver yanked the reins, and the sleigh skidded sideways, barely missing a crate of fairy dust and coming to rest against a decorative nutcracker.
It wasn’t a crash—but it wasn’t far from one.
Minutes later, Nico Kringle appeared, coat flapping in the breeze and expression unreadable.
“I thought I told you,” he said, surveying the melted peppermint snow, “no explosions.”
Dexter hung his head. “It wasn’t an explosion. It was a...leak. A peppermint leak.”
Nico turned to the sleigh driver, confirmed no injuries, and sighed. “Dexter, you have more enthusiasm than a dozen elves. But sometimes, you need less whoosh and more whoa.”
Dexter nodded. “I’ll fix it. I’ll help clean everything.”
“Good,” Nico said. “Start with the nutcracker.”
By evening, the square glowed properly.
The lampposts had wreaths—hand-hung. The tinsel had been gently restrewn, and the Great Fir Tree shimmered with color and care. At the top, the star had been placed by Penny herself, who nodded with satisfaction at the work below.
Dexter sat cross-legged near the cocoa booth, sipping a mug and trying not to think about sleighs or ribbons or robotic wreath arms.
Penny sat beside him.
“Not bad for a day’s work,” she said.
“I messed everything up.”
“You also painted twenty-five ornaments, tied six bows, shoveled four sleigh paths, and helped Crumbelle unstick a tinsel squirrel from her chimney.”
Dexter looked sideways. “That last one wasn’t my fault.”
Penny grinned. “I know. But you helped anyway.”
They sat quietly, watching the elves gather for the lighting ceremony.
As the sky darkened and the first snowflakes began to fall, the Great Fir Tree lit up with a chorus of warm, golden light. Gasps and cheers echoed through the village.
Dexter’s chest swelled, just a little.
Nico walked past and clapped him on the shoulder. “Not bad, Tinker. And this time, nothing caught fire.”
“Progress!” Dexter said brightly.
Penny handed him a new paintbrush.
“For tomorrow,” she said. “The snowflake mural on the bakery wall needs touch-ups.”
Dexter smiled. “I’ll do it by hand.”
“Please do.”
The glow of the Great Fir Tree lingered into the evening, and while most elves had gone home to rest up for the next day’s decorating push, Dexter lingered in the square. He still felt the sting of earlier mishaps, even if things had mostly been righted by day’s end.
He wanted to make it right—not just patched up, but right.
“I just need one small success,” he muttered, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the cookie planter by the bakery.
That’s when an idea struck him. A brilliant idea.
Tomorrow morning’s Decoration Test Parade was the big kickoff to showcase the new display themes before everything was finalized. Usually a quiet walk through the square with a few floats and ornament-bedecked carts, it wasn’t flashy—but it could be.
What if it rained glitter as they marched?
The Snowglimmer Sprinkler was cobbled together in two hours from leftover peppermint diffusers, a decommissioned snowmaker, and a small tank of finely powdered glitter. It was a marvel—at least to Dexter’s way of thinking.
He wheeled it out at dawn, still slightly sticky with caramel from the bakery’s back shed where he’d assembled it. Perched on a float that featured a pair of elf-sized nutcrackers, the machine looked festive and innocent enough.
Penny hadn’t arrived yet. Neither had Nico. Tilly Frothwhip was busy coordinating ornament buckets at the square’s entrance.
The test parade began.
Drums pattered. A band of young elves in jingle hats marched with candy-cane batons. The sleigh cart rolled forward, its reindeer-shaped front carved by Nico himself. Spectators lined the path—mainly early risers and cocoa sippers.
Dexter hit the switch.
The Snowglimmer Sprinkler roared.
For three glorious seconds, it worked perfectly. Sparkling golden dust cascaded into the air, catching the morning sun and earning delighted gasps from the crowd.
Then the airflow reversed.
The cloud of glitter spiraled, then surged downward like a storm. It swept across the square in a wall of shimmer, coating floats, elves, banners, and peppermint lampposts in sticky, electrified sparkle. Static energy crackled. One small elf near the cocoa booth yelped, “I’m a disco ball!”—and he wasn’t wrong.
Carts slid sideways on the suddenly slick glitterfall. The nutcracker float tilted dangerously, and a banner caught on a lamppost, tearing with a pop and flapping to the ground.
The parade dissolved into chaos.
Dexter stood in the wreckage, arms outstretched, glitter stuck to every part of his face. He blinked, and tinsel fell from his eyelashes.
“Why?” he whispered to no one.
“I was just about to ask you that,” came a deep voice behind him.
Dexter turned. It was Bernard.
The half-elf stood with his arms folded, not angry, just... thoughtful. His brown curls were flecked with glitter, and his scarf was wrapped three times around his neck in the style of someone who’d been through a few too many surprise snow flurries.
Dexter braced for a lecture.
But instead, Bernard gestured to a nearby bench. “Sit a minute?”
Dexter nodded, too embarrassed to speak.
“I used to feel the same way, you know,” Bernard said as they sat. “Like I needed to prove something every single day. That I had to earn my place by doing something... big.”
Dexter glanced sideways. “Did you build disaster machines too?”
Bernard chuckled. “Not quite. But I tried too hard. Tried to lead before I listened. Fixed problems no one asked me to fix. Thought if I wasn’t extraordinary, I didn’t belong.”
“Exactly!” Dexter said, turning toward him. “That’s how I feel all the time. Like if I’m not amazing, I’ll just be the weird elf who broke the hot cocoa warmer.”
Bernard looked him in the eyes. “You don’t have to be amazing all the time. Just kind. Just present. Sometimes, the smallest effort, done with care, makes the biggest difference.”
Dexter absorbed that in silence. His shoulders lowered slightly. “So... less gadgets?”
Bernard smiled. “Maybe just smaller gadgets. Or ones with an ‘off’ button.”
They both laughed.
Bernard stood. “C’mon. Let’s clean up the worst of this before Tilly sees it.”
But Dexter didn’t stop after that.
After lunch, when the square was mostly emptied again, he stayed behind.
He didn’t have a machine this time. No snowblowers or parade-enhancers. Just a broom, a mop, and a quiet determination to do something right.
He swept every corner of the square. Collected broken garlands. Dusted off the sleigh runners. Repainted a float wheel by hand. Carefully untangled two dozen candy-cane banners, then rehung them straight—each one even.
As dusk approached, he found himself alone under the Fir Tree. The last light of the sun struck the golden star atop the branches, casting long shadows.
Dexter pulled a small wooden plank from his satchel. He’d sanded it last night, intending to make a nameplate for a decoration gadget that never got built. Now, he painted on it carefully, each letter steady and slow.
Decorated with Heart.
He set the sign beside the base of the tree.
The next morning, the square gleamed.
The tinsel was crisp. The banners were neat. The paint shone fresh and smooth. And at the center of it all stood Dexter, asleep on a bench, his hands still dusted with paint and glitter.
Tilly Frothwhip arrived early, cocoa in hand. She surveyed the square and blinked in surprise.
“Who...?”
Then she saw the sign.
She picked it up gently and read the words aloud.
“Decorated with Heart.”
A smile spread across her face.
Later that day, Penny found Dexter again—this time awake and brushing snow from a lamppost.
“Nice job last night,” she said. “The square looks... well, magical.”
“I wanted to fix things,” Dexter said. “Really fix them. Not just... bury them under glitter.”
“You did.”
He looked down. “Do you think I could still help tomorrow? Maybe with the mural?”
Penny handed him a paintbrush. “Already saved you a spot.”
He took it, holding it like a delicate tool rather than a lever of chaos.
“No gadgets,” he promised.
“No glitter cannons either,” she added.
“Agreed.”
As they turned to walk toward the mural wall near the bakery, Nico passed them with a nod.
And for once, Dexter didn’t feel like he had to prove anything.
He just wanted to help.