Chapter Text
The smell of a new school year.
Fresh, uncreased notebooks and brand new, unsharpened pencils are scattered across the single-cookie desks in which students sit restlessly, whispering among friends or watching wearily as the Fount approaches his chalkboard.
Chalk is a texture he is not fond of, yet he takes the stick and watches with a calm smile as it glides across the board with practiced precision, ensuring not to scratch and scrape. Once his name was situated comfortably across his surface, he turned, stood in front of his desk, and tapped his nails, not yet overgrown into claws, against the wooden surface.
“Students, if I may have your attention?” The volume of his voice is something he has worked to perfect, reaching the corners of the room without being overbearing to his dear cookies in the front row.
They turn to their teacher, hair flowing free of tangles and full of stars and nebulas, a representation of the night sky that was even more beautiful as not impeded by light pollution. His hands are clasped gently over his stomach as he stands in the front of the class.
“I understand first days are quite uncomfortable for most, and so I have no lesson plan today. Instead, we will be focusing solely on acclimating your genius minds to my class! So how about introductions? I am Cookie Kind’s Fountain of Knowledge, but please, there is no need to use my full title. You may call upon me as your Fount.” He dips his head to acknowledge respect to his students, as he preferred to see them as younger peers. He hated to be looked down upon, and so why should he turn around and do so to the next cookie?
“And now, to go over your introductions, I call upon a friend.” He taps his witch-given staff against the milk tiled floor, the golden tool echoing with a graceful sound. Immediately, the singular tile opens into a void of white and blue. Students gasp at the sight, sitting forward in their chairs to get a better look as two long, fluffy ears pop out from the portal.
The spire rabbit hops onto the next tile, the portal closing behind it. It has light grey fur and small, knowing eyes. The Fount takes the rabbit carefully in his arms, lovingly setting the animal on his desk.
“This is one of my good friends! This is a spire rabbit.” While speaking, he can’t help but to pet the animal’s small furry head. “If you are to continue attending this school, you must adjust to seeing them commonly around the classrooms and within the grand Spire which you may visit as you please. They are intelligent, so feel free to ask them questions if you cannot find your class or a specific volume or series.” He explains diligently, the rabbit basking in the pets and attention of the students.
“Now as the rabbit hops around the room, if it is to land on your desk, please state your name and your and favorite subject as a way to get to know one another!” The rabbit instantly understands its que, taking a leap from the Fount’s desk to land at the desk of one of the students. The child in question has light blue hair and matching light blue eyes, swirls adorning his pupils. He gasps at the sight of the rabbit.
“May we pet the rabbits?” He asks shyly before he follows the instructions.
“Why of course! I’m sure they love the attention.” He beams at the love for his creation he had so lovingly sewn himself, watching as the child carefully caressed the fluffy face of the animal.
“I’m Blueberry Crown Cookie, and my favorite subject is biology!” He finally introduces himself, giggling as the rabbit leaps once again onto a different student's desk. He understood the first days were probably the most terrible for the kids, but they were always his favorite. His odd introduction tactic often worked to make even the most nervous students crack a smile. He always wanted to see his peers happy, so much so the Sugar of Happiness sometimes joked he was after her purpose!
“Fountain of Knowledge!” A student complains loudly, interrupting his thoughts.
“Ah, yes?” He walks towards her, his heels clicking against the tiles. Spider Tart Cookie, as they had just introduced themself as.
“You spelled your name wrong on the board.” They are slumped forward in their desk, their chin on the edge of the wood as their black hair cascades around their face, interrupted by gleams of bright red.
“Hm?” The Fount never made mistakes, could he have really done such a silly thing? He turns around to view the board, and is horrified to read something different than what he remembered writing.
‘Shadow Milk Cookie’ carved into the black surface, directly over his gentle cursive.
He gasps at the ghastly sight, trying to take a step back when he feels something under his heel. His heart begins racing, he can hear it beating. His eyes glimpse at the gold scattered across the floor, his witch-given staff shattered as his precious souljam lays discarded in the growing pool of jam.
One of his students, the only name he cannot recall, lay on their side as their skull spilled its contents across the floor.
“No! No! My dear student, can you hear me‽” He does not hesitate to kneel into the jam, feeling for a heartbeat on the body that has long since gone cold. Tears instantly welled up in his eyes and he made no attempts to halt them, sobbing mournfully over this poor child.
Taking hold of a desk to pull himself to his feet, his blurry gaze scans over the room for any other cookies who may have seen the course of events. None remain in the room, however, but it’s far from empty. That spire rabbit, sitting on the desk of his deceased student, staring daggers into his face.
“What did you see? What do you know‽” His heels screech against the tiles with the quickness of his movements as he reaches the rabbit, curling his claws around its small form. He shakes it violently in his grasp and it screams a sound that could only be made by a cookie.
“What have you done‽”
He doesn’t know if the voice is coming from himself or the rabbit anymore, and that’s when he wakes up in a cold sweat. Gasping, sputtering, drenched and shivering in his bed. The Fount instantly sits up and is flooded with nausea at such a sudden movement. It’s dark in the room, the only illumination coming from the moonlight through the open curtains. The curtains Pure Vanilla had returned to the window.
Pure Vanilla..
He was desperate for company. The cookie didn’t seem to mind when he was woken up before, comforting him and helping him back to sleep. Perhaps the cookie wouldn’t mind if he was woken up again?
He reaches for his cane, the Blueberry Beholder at the top cold under his palm, but the cold was welcome. He staggers through the bedroom and kitchen, through the dark hallway he believed was infinitely too long, as it gave him the creeps, especially in the dark.
The Fount knocks on the door, only for it to creek open under the light pressure. Confused but taking advantage of the situation so as to not wait long for the other cookie, he steps inside. Vanilla candles of all shapes and sizes decorate the room and several crocheted blankets in various shades of orange and yellow were draped over the bed, over chairs, even over the table. It was calm, cozy even, much more so than his room. Though he hadn't made any attempts to make it more to his liking, besides his burrow the other had deconstructed. He should remake it, he muses to himself.
Moving closer to the bed, as he cannot tell if it is inhabited in the dark, he finds only a sheet of paper on the pillow. It clearly has writing on it, he clearly cannot read it. Figures.
Then, he wondered if the faeries who guarded him took a night shift. Slipping what he believes to be the smallest of the candles into his pocket, he turns out the door once more.
…
Making his way to the end of the hallway was awful, he leaned one side of himself against the wall while he heavily relied on his staff to support his opposite side. Mobility was becoming easier each day, but to say it itself was easy would be a huge lie. He was not a liar.
The door handle turns slowly then clicks, and he’s immediately met with the warmth of a summer night. He much preferred the cold, maybe he should have just laid down on the tiled floor and fallen back to sleep there..
“Beast- er- Fount! You are not meant to be out of the building without supervision.” The guard on the right of the door tells him, dressed in armor that glowed a flurry of colors in the harsh moonlight. The faerie’s wings are so translucent in the lighting he almost questions if they are present at all before they flutter.
“Maybe he’s gotten lost. C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.” The guard on the left puts a firm hand on his shoulder, trying to turn him around, and with his lack of strength, he’s spun in the grass so quick it makes him sick. To keep from falling, he grabs onto the chestplate of the guard awkwardly, his legs crossed from the spin. The moment causes him to drop the paper.
“Hold on, what’s this?” The other says, taking the paper from the ground. The dew on the grass has smudged the words slightly, but it’s still legible. “It’s a note from Pure Vanilla Cookie, says if he leaves the building without him to see the Fount gets to Dark Cacao Cookie.”
“Oh yeah, didn’t Pure Vanilla leave yesterday? When’s he meant to be back if the Fount does turn out to be evil like we all believe?” The guard Fount is clinging to works to untangle him, allowing him to lean back against his chest to remain upright.
“Eh, not tomorrow, but the day after I believe. Guess he’s stuck with the grump from the snowy plains.” His wings flutter as he tucks the paper in his pocket. “Guess we should follow the Ancient of Truth’s orders.”
“I don’t know where Dark Cacao is staying.”
“Come, I’ll lead the way. Just keep him from falling into a stream as though Elder Faerie Cookie hates his guts, he still would like us to treat him well.”
“Yes yes, treat the beast as if he were any other faerie..” The guard he is leaning against slowly shrugs him off, motioning with his hand to follow as they begin walking. The night air is immensely humid and for once he’s thankful to be wearing the much more breezy chocolate clothing of Pure Vanilla than his own usual long, black and gold robes. The wind through the trees works to dry him from his cold sweat and he finally has a decent view of the stars since his escape.
Unable to remove his view from them, the guards occasionally grab or jostle him to keep him from walking directly into lamposts and other objects. In his defense, such things didn’t exist in his time. He still preferred candles.
Eventually the guards come across a building that was a near replica of the one the Ancient of Truth and the Fountain of Knowledge had been staying in, though with a different number painted above the light green door frame.
“Alright, here we are.” One of them speaks with a yawn, holding the door open for him and the other faerie. He expects to do more walking, as he and Pure Vanilla’s rooms were on the opposite end of the hall than the door, but they stop him immediately when they walk in. One knocks on the door while the other carefully observes the Fount’s swaying form, ready to catch the pale blue cookie should his legs fail him.
…
He reaches to knock on the door again, but it swings open before he gets the chance. There he is, the bitter chocolate ancient, standing in the doorframe. In the dark and due to the difference in attire the Fount nearly doesn’t recognize him. Used to seeing him heavily dressed in armor, the look of a sleeveless white top and black pants is odd, to say the least.
“Why are you here..” He trails off seeing the Fount with them. “Why is he here?” He changes his question.
“Orders of Pure Vanilla Cookie, I’m afraid.” The guard that had stood to the right of the door offers the ancient the paper written by Pure Vanilla. He looks it over, determining it genuine.
“Hm. Yes, I’ll take it from here, thank you very much.” His voice is low and for a moment the Fount believes the ancient upset with him for stirring him from his slumber, until he yawns and he realizes the other is just tired. Even when he himself is exhausted he can’t seem to stop over analyzing what really doesn’t need to be analyzed in the first place.
Dark Cacao motions for him to step inside and he instantly sits at the table, wanting to give his shaking legs a break. The apartment smells vastly different. Instead of the lingering smell of vanilla candles under warmers, not flame, incense burns quietly on the marble countertop.
Without a word, he goes to the dial that controlled the lights, creating a dim, cozy atmosphere before sitting across from the Fount. He tilts his head, the question not requiring language.
What’s the matter?
The Fount puts the palms of his hands together as if praying, then puts his hands to one side of his head, tilting it towards the floor. He then sits up quickly, his eyes wide with his hands up as if in surrender.
A nightmare.
“Hm.” Dark Cacao rises from the chair without a clear response, taking a metallic item and placing it over a piece of the countertop not made of marble. Why was it ununiform? He leans to the side to try to get a closer look, though Dark Cacao moves over as well, now sifting through a small box. Hmph.
He gives up, turning around in his chair to look out the window at the sight of the stars once again. Out of everything he lost being imprisoned, the stars were what he missed the most. That was, until learning his precious Spire had fallen. Or had it? He still had no reason to trust Elder Faerie Cookie, after all. Who says the old fool hadn't lied to his face?
The Fount is brought from his thoughts by an unpleasant sound he can’t quite describe, turning back around to see as the metal item is taken off the odd piece of counter. Dark Cacao tilts it forward, pouring water into two cups. It steams, having boiled. How did he do that?
He sets a cup in front of the Fount and a cup in front of himself. He places something into his cup, a little bag on a string, and offers the Fount the box he had rummaged it out of. An entire box of tiny bags on strings? They smelled rather unusual, were those medicinal herbs inside? Spices perhaps?
His claws catch on a string and he pulls that bag from the box, sniffing it. It smelled pleasant enough. It’s gently taken from his grasp and plopped into his cup.
“Tea.” Dark Cacao finally speaks to him directly, blowing on his cup carefully before bringing it to his lips to drink.
“Tea.” He follows the other’s steps carefully, blowing on the surface of the beverage before taking a sip. It’s still hotter than he’d like, but the flavor hits him instantly. It’s really good! He feels the hot drink soak into his dough and he feels his shoulders relax at the sensation. He hadn't realized how tense he still was after his nightmare. What a childish thing to become so frightened over.
He takes another sip, humming contently.
“Good?” The ancient asks him, a slight smile upon his face.
“Good.. goodness?” He questions. The same word, different words, different tenses?
“Hm.” The other hums with understanding. He taps the side of his cup. “Good.” He kicks his chair back, hovering his hand over the burner on the stove, still hot. He then pulls his hand away quickly, pretending a scenario in which he had gotten burned. “Goodness!”
Ah! So good was to describe something you liked, while goodness could be used as an interjection! He was sure there must be other tenses as well..
He points to the ancient. The ancient points to himself. “Dark Cacao Cookie.”
“Dark Cacao, good.” He speaks more quietly.
The two would find themselves conversing deep into the night, so much so their conversation extended into the early hours of the morning. It was as if each cookie held just half of a puzzle. Though it was difficult and rather frustrating for both sides, they eventually managed to fit words to a few definitions.
Dark Cacao Cookie would have likely continued talking all night to the odd blue cookie, but soon his head began to dip until it met the table and would not arise again, having fallen asleep mid-broken conversation.
The ancient would chuckle at the sight, as it reminded him of someone else he held dearly, a cookie with gorgeous blonde hair and toasted dough, before he carried the exhausted cookie through the doors of one building and through the doors of another, ensuring he gets some decent rest after he’s tucked into his own bed, stolen candle placed on the nightstand.
Only then does he clean the kitchen and bring himself to rest as well. Better late than never, he supposed.