Chapter Text
Paint and cardboard are the two, most prominent aromas in the room. My puppets are lined up neatly on the carpeted floors, every character made with focus. I twist in a half-circle, attempting to pop my back in a stretch, and when nothing but the sting of a wound forgotten making itself clear happens, I grumble, irritated.
The room is an absolute mess, more so than usual, but it’s definitely worth it.
“Well, at least we have our props,” I hum, tapping against my sleeve with disinterest. “Or some of them,” I add as an afterthought, pausing. I still need to figure out some way to move throughout the Kingdom discreetly, without being recognized. And shapeshifting is off of the table for now, so doing it the old-fashioned way with hand-made disguises would be my best bet here.
But to do that, I need access to sewing materials. Which is at the markets. Which needs a disguise. Which needs sewing materials. Which also costs money and I can’t do any thievery at the moment in my current…situation. So that leaves either staying here for nothing, or testing out a bit of improv.
Standing up with a stretch, I hover into the air, careful to dodge any sharp pieces of glass, approaching the door with a visibly irritated, forced, and practiced grin. The doorknob twists open with a click, swinging open slowly to reveal the empty halls.
The traipse to the gardens is relatively uninteresting. This wasn’t necessarily a prior knowledge to my other half’s location, rather an informed guess.
“Now…I could use the door, but where’s the fun in that?” I think aloud to myself with a hum, approaching the window and swinging it open with stealth and ease, before hopping out silently.
The cold breath of the air prickles my dough with a shudder in which I ignore, diving behind the bushes with a barely audible rustle for a stealthy approach. Leaves tangle in my long, deep blue and black hair, which I swat at half-heartedly. The clouded sky is darkening, like before a rainfall, yet not enough to imply the rising of the moon draws itself near.
Bluebirds chirp to each other quietly in the branches, little blue bundles of feathers that almost match my hair hopping with whimsy, despite the quite ominous setting. The sound of voices emanates from a corner, and curiously, I squeeze myself underneath some large bushes, crawling forward with grumbles of irritation.
The leaves scrape against my face, and I could’ve sworn I accidentally inhaled one and swallowed it whole, because apparently that’s possible now. The scent of petrichor rises up from the soil, tangling with the usual traces of vanilla found nearly everywhere in this kingdom.
This better be good tea Pure Vanilla’s yapping about.
The voices only grow louder, despite the obvious lowered whispers they’re in, and seem to be located at one of the benches surrounded by vanilla orchids and roses, along with the occasional lily or moonflower. An ominous pale blue light is cast on the flora ruffling in the breeze, seemingly one of the yappers’ own.
The other’s voice is distinctively Pure Vanilla’s, one I’ve grown used to hearing after all this time.
“...seems to be working so far…” Pure Vanilla mutters, some of the words lost to silence from my hearing. I strain my neck to try to see around the leaves, and figure out who the other Cookie is, to no avail.
“The dreams are most likely some of the anomalies we’ve established,” the other voice adds. Another, undistinguishable one, that belongs to White Lily. The edges of my smile curl into a frown.
This sounds all too familiar, when not a week ago Pure Vanilla was communicating to White Lily through some sort of hologram messaging spell, of some sort. The dim blue lighting pulses faintly, radiating a portentous effect throughout the clearing.
“I’ve been doing extensive research on the subject, to ensure it works properly, and it should be done fully in a few moons time. Until then, you will need to just continue doing what you’ve been doing,” White Lily’s voice murmurs.
“Alright. Bye, um…White Lily,” Pure Vanilla waves at the blue light, and I watch through the thick foliage as the hologram returns to nothing, the illusion having fully dissipated with a whoosh.
With a grumble, I crawl out from the bushes, flicking off a few stray leaves caught in my hair. Startled, Pure Vanilla jumps, turning to face me with a surprised expression. “What was that?” I demand, standing up taller, hovering a few inches off the ground.
“Oh! Shadow Milk, I didn’t see you there,” Pure Vanilla blinks, white eyelashes fluttering at the motion, tucking a mysterious object under his sleeve, which I note for future reference. “I was just contacting…White Lily, she’s looking through the books to figure out how to fix whatever’s happening with your magic,” my other half answers after a moment, tugging absentmindedly at his sleeve.
I give him a suspicious sideways glance. “Mhm, sure, sure,” I respond dubiously, combing through my hair with my hand, pulling out any leaves and branches with a string of annoyed, illegible grumbles. I ignore the slight ache the motion brings, pretending to swat an insect away to hide my wince. “Fool me once? Crumbling to see you try! Oh wait. You did, didn’t you? Any little bit of trust I ever had in you, if any at all, has already been broken, you don’t need to stomp on the shards. ‘Sides, that’ll hurt you too, hm?” I tilt my head, hovering back into the air. “Oh well. Two fool kings in a row, they are on a roll!” My voice is sing-songy, a melody that blocks out the background noise of the potential darkness of the situation I find myself and Nilly in.
“Shadow Milk, I’m not lying to you. As the Master of Deceit, you would be able to sense such lies, if it were,” Pure Vanilla blinks at me, tone soft, as if attempting to calm down a stressed Cookie that may or may not crumble him if given the opportunity or the wrong words.
Annoyed, I squint at him, measuring the amount of, if any, genuinity, in his words. Surprisingly enough, it’s the truth, though it feels like…not all of it. With my skill and intellect on lies, this seems more to be some form of wordplay.
A puzzle, with some of the pieces missing, askew in its ability to remain together, yet holding on to the fragility of what remains, to continue masking the full image without destroying it in full.
Unsure whether to comment on this, I note this for future me, and slip on a different, more cheerful demeanor. “Well!” I exclaim, clapping my hands together with a forced grin. “I didn’t come here to waste my time, though it’s a bit late for that, in fact I came here to waste yours. I have a proposition. You help me blend in with non-Soul Jam bearers, and I will…” I suck in a breath. “Spend…quality. Time. With you,” I grumble, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
A nightmarish horror I force upon myself, to spend any more time with this gnat, but it’s the only thing I could come up with to make myself convincing. Especially after all the time I’ve already wasted around the insufferable fool. Knowing about how sappy he always is, this will sell the act with the least amount of suspicion.
On cue, Pure Vanilla’s eyes light up, sparkling with delight. “Really? You want to spend time with me? Why, of course!” In his surprise, he begins to speak again. “Does this mean-”
“Don’t.” I cut him off before he can finish, eyes narrowing. “Read into this,” I glower, rolling my eyes with a scoff at his obvious ignorance to that comment. He mutters a few things to himself, and I catch the word ‘friend’ zip past. My grin sours, and I tense, floating a few inches away.
“Ugh, let’s just-” I facepalm for a moment. Why do I torture myself like this? “How about you help me with a disguise, since my magic obviously isn’t working?” Pure Vanilla nods, barely concealing his happiness, visibly attempting to smooth over his expression and maintain a calm gaze.
Probably excited that he thinks he’s making progress, or redeeming me, or something involving rainbows, sparkles, ponies, cupcakes, the power of friendship, and other sappy stuff like that.
Which is obviously not what’s happening here. To be honest, Pure Vanilla’s reaction involving no suspicion was certainly odd, even though I already figured. Personally, I would’ve thought he’d be more like, ‘well, Shadow Milk, you did literally throw my friends off a tower, you’ve been avoiding me, why do you want to spend time with me all of a sudden?’
Not my problem. For now, at least.
“I’d be happy to help you, though, if I may ask, what is it for?” Pure Vanilla inquires, tilting his head to the side slightly in curiosity, a habit I recognize and share. Unfortunately. Having things in common with my other half is unavoidable, but inevitable.
“I’ll have you know, since I’m the world’s greatest playwright, poet, director, actor, clown, and jester, the Beast of Deceit, with all those titles, Cookies will probably make a bit of a fuss, and I’m not in the mood for crowd work lately,” I announce, flourishing my hand to my forehead dramatically to demonstrate my distress. It’s a half-truth, but my other half pays it no mind. With a vague gesture to seemingly nowhere, I add, “And fabric would be preferable, since I wouldn’t be caught crumbled in your fashion sense.”
It’s mostly true, but it’s partially because the style in this kingdom reminds me a bit too much of something I’d much rather leave behind.
“Alright, alright, I’ll see what I can do,” Pure Vanilla hums, gaze flitting to the side briefly as a little moth flutters by. “Would you like to come with me, or-”
“That won’t be necessary,” I wave off the invitation, ready for the conversation to be over.
To be honest, if I had my powers, I would’ve stuck with the old travel-in-the-shadows trick, since it’s way more subtle, stealthy, and practical. Alas, that doesn’t work as of late without issue, so it’s best to stick to the new script for now.
“Well, I’ll let you know what I find once I get the time,” Pure Vanilla’s eyes meet mine, relaxed, and a hint of something, almost like fondness, shines in the gentle yellow and soft blue.
“Ah, you have a little…” Pure Vanilla lifts a hand slowly, bringing it to the side of my face as I tense, before pulling it away, and revealing a small, fuzzy moth cupped in his hands. Flustered, I can feel the lingering of his touch on my dough, like a phantom.
“Hello, friend,” he whispers to the creature, and its antennae twitches in response, wings fluttering slightly from its perch on his hand. “You must be a…”
“Strawberry Cake moth,” I answer automatically, a habit I’ve unfortunately developed. Pure Vanilla blinks at me, in slight surprise. The little critter squeaks, red-spotted pale brown wings extending as it flies towards me, while I veil my slight panic.
As the moth gets closer to my face, I quickly duck out of instinct, stumbling midair and promptly falling in Pure Vanilla’s arms. Flustered and embarrassed, I tense, not sure whether to fight, flight, or freeze. “Are you alright, Bluebird?” My other half hums, and I quickly squirm out of his arms, blue dough deepening a few shades.
“Do I look like a bird to you?” I scoff, turning around to hide my blush.
I’m so genuinely flabbergasted right now. Half the time I can’t tell if this Cookie is flirting with me, or if that’s literally just how he talks. Whichever one it is, it’s conflicting with the fact he attempted friendzoning me at the Spire, so most likely not is my conclusion.
Unfortunately, I’m not used to, as the younger Cookies say, being ‘rizzed’, or some sort, so I’m not as good as hiding my reactions to statements of affection. Displays of affection in general are something I am wholly unused to. Honestly (ironic, I know), I doubt anything I’m feeling is a result of feelings towards Pure Vanilla, rather just a natural reaction to affection.
Pure Vanilla starts on the path, steps quiet as usual, careful to leave any critters unbothered, glances trailing across the wide array and variety of plants, such as the jellyragora, vanilla orchids, moonflowers, the list goes on. “Well, I’m going to go see what I can do!” Pure Vanilla calls over his shoulder as he leaves, footsteps fading as he gets further and further away.
Dumbfounded, still puzzling together every interaction we’ve had since I got here, I ponder my feelings and emotions, yet another thing I don’t do, but others would probably advise me to invest in.
Of course my other half has to be one of the most polite Cookies in all of Earthbread, he probably speaks this way to everyone because it’s compassionate, and bringing everyone together, the power of friendship, yada yada other stuff.
Alright, that’s enough thinking about emotions for the day.
Come to think of it, I didn’t have anything in mind for after this. A poor decision on my part, so now I feel obliged to find something entertaining to fill the sudden emptiness in space. The only things I can do currently without drawing too much attention towards myself would either involve poking around the garden, or investigating the lush meadows and forests that reside nearby the palace.
It’s times like these where I’m wishing my Spire wasn’t rubble. It’s much more entertaining.
“Oh, Shadow Milk, would you look at your sorry state. First the Fount of Knowledge, the Master of Deceit, and now you’ve been stripped of your powers and have to stay in this nowhere continent, with a bunch of nobodies, one in particular that is the reason you’re in this mess,” I grumble to myself.
Maybe this is all some sick joke to the Witches.
It’s nice to know that They never cared about me until I was at my lowest, somehow got me lower, went silent again, and now They’re potentially another reason why I find myself falling towards a bottomless pit of the epiphany of my endless failures.
My internal monologue is really on a roll with the existentialism lately, a round of applause.
Heading back to the false comfort of the room I find myself in would most likely be a good next step, in case any more crafting supplies magically appear that I can use to distract myself from the true gravity of the situation, or to scheme whilst in the midst of it.
Whichever way to pull my focus off the feelings and onto the script. I’ve been noticing myself and others not following it, moving into more of improv. And where the first rule of improv being ‘yes, and’ is ignored, is possibly how it goes so far off-script, that I have to come up with a backup plot point in case this one doesn’t get me far enough.
The trek back to the room is quiet and unsettled, still hesitant about how honest Nilly really is being, especially with all the ominous contacting with White Lily, and that half-a-Cookie would rather see me sealed back in the tree than helping me regain my powers. And to be frank, I don’t want her help anyways.
Once I finally approach the room, Pure Vanilla’s already there, holding a box of sewing supplies and fabric. “Ah, there you are! I found fabrics I think you would like, I didn’t know if you preferred hand-sewing, sewing machines, or a mix, so I brought materials for both if you need,” Pure Vanilla offers, opening the door, and setting the box on the paint-stained carpet, gaze flickering through the state of the room before meeting mine.
E
I don’t know what I did to deserve all these strangely kind gestures, considering our past circumstances, I would’ve expected some awkward attempts to talk to me, then leaving me alone, but apparently he has different plans.
Bitterly, I wonder if his compassion stems from his Soul Jam’s guidance. The Light of Truth never spoke to me, only the Light of Deceit, of whom hasn’t spoken with me since my magic was drained by the half-baked fool that also stole my Soul Jam. To have a voice that gives warm encouragement instead of cold jabs to your mental health is something I couldn’t imagine. It would explain his sappiness, although I wonder if the fake smile he wears was always his, or a gift from his Soul Jam. Whichever way, I know that I shouldn’t deserve this behavior from him. At this rate, from anyone, really.
Half the time, I hardly know if he’s real or not, after he quoted exactly what my Soul Jam told me all those years ago, the final straw that broke me free from the prison it is to be the Fount.
I enter the room, flicking my focus off of Pure Vanilla and onto the supplies, shooing him away with my hand in a vague waving gesture, inspecting the fabrics. Pure Vanilla’s expression softens slightly. “I’ll be in the library if you need anything,” he hums, closing the door behind him as he leaves.
Instantly, I make myself comfortable on the floor, investigating the contents in the box with piqued interest. I ignore the sewing machine, picking up the hand-sewing materials instead, spinning the needle in my hand precariously for no real reason. Luckily, none of the fabrics my other half brought me were in shades of yellow. Most of them are in shades of blue, a few seafoam, and others midnight blue.
In theory, my planned disguise should help me get far enough through my plans that my chances of success have grown from slim to something with potential. My dear audience, I’m afraid that’s classified for now, but soon everything will be crystal clear, if my schemes come to fruition, in order to fix up the mess I find myself stumbling through with bated breath.
The first act is complete, and act two will now unfold…