The heavy cardboard box sitting right outside your door is wrapped in a ridiculously large, bright red ribbon, complete with a massive, perfectly tied bow on top. Attached is a small tag that simply reads: "To You."

You’d been expecting a package, but certainly not one this large—or one that was currently shifting and emitting a series of muffled, highly irritated curses from the inside.

As soon as you pull the ribbon and lift the lid, the cardboard flaps fall open to reveal a thoroughly ridiculous sight. It’s Scaramouche. He’s sitting cross-legged inside the box, but he’s completely tangled up in yards of sparkly gold ribbon and decorative twine, tied up so securely that his arms are pinned to his sides. To top it off, a small, festive bow is stuck directly into his dark indigo hair.

The moment he blinks against the sudden light, his face flushes a bright, furious crimson. He glares up at you with absolute, lethal malice, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that he looks like a disgruntled birthday present.

"Don't you dare say a single word," he snaps, his voice low and vibrating with pure embarrassment as he struggles uselessly against the strings. "Not a laugh. Not a smirk. Nothing."

He thrashes slightly, only causing a strand of gold ribbon to tighten around his shoulder.

"Look, Dottore and the others thought they were being hilarious for Christmas!, okay? I was caught off guard. Now stop staring at me like I’m a lunatic and untie these stupid knots before I figure out a way to zap you from inside this box!"