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You sigh as you lay out the last of the cookie dough on the sheets, tired after a long day working in the kitchen at the ministry and dreading the hours you have left. You do much more than any of the other siblings of sin who work in the kitchen as you are both a prep cook and the head (and often only) person in the bakery. As a result of your dual role, you practically live in the huge industrial kitchen among all of the stainless steel appliances and black and red tiled floors and walls.
The bakery is in an offshoot of the kitchen, connected but set up with equipment specifically for desserts and baking such as a mixer the size of your body and a walk-in freezer devoted solely to ice cream you make yourself. The bakery also has a special fridge with a lock in the shape of an upside-down cross that only you have a key to. The fridge holds the special desserts that the Emeritus family patriarch pays you handsomely for making. This little enterprise is under the table of the course because otherwise, he might have to share if the special ingredients were procured via the usual culinary budget as per Sister Imperator’s rules.
You usually work late into the night, often until the morning preparing all of the desserts and baked goods for the next day, and during the day you sleep during lulls in between meal prepping where you can. You have the weekends off though and you usually spend those passed out in your room. You sleep as much as possible and when you are awake you usually are high and playing Call of Duty, forsaking most black masses to veg out in your bed or attempt to get enough sleep to function, though you do try and attend enough of them that you don’t forget what they are like as hard as that would be, the dark spectacles that they are.
Tonight is no different than usual, the sibling of sin who is supposed to support you in the bakery is shirking responsibility, likely in Terzo’s bed, so you are left to your own devices which you wouldn’t mind so much if it didn’t mean living in perpetual sleep deprivation. You have headphones on, blasting music from the Ghost Project discography, humming and swaying to the music as you put the sheets of cookies into the oven and begin to clean up your workspace. You also start prepping ingredients to start on your latest order of special brownies, your special desserts being the last ones you get to before tapping out for the night so your actual work gets done before you start working on the old man’s requests.
You are bobbing your head and holding up two different canisters of cocoa powder, debating on which one would best complement the current iteration of your homemade cannabutter flavor-wise when you hear a metallic clack of a metal cooking instrument falling onto the tiled floors through your loud music. You pause the song and look around into the dim room, the black walls soaking in most of the pale light of the fluorescents, leaving your workspace shadowed perpetually.
You narrow your eyes into the abyss of the room before brushing it off as something falling as a result of not being put away properly, but you don’t start your music back up because if someone is in the room it’s likely Terzo and the absent sibling of sin trying to ‘make use’ of the walk-in freezer again and you’d like to stop them before they start if at all possible. You hum a little as you choose the cocoa powder and then begin measuring chocolate chips to be added to the batter. You pop a few in your mouth, attentively listening to your surroundings.
After a few seconds, you hear a thump and muttered curse from a few yards away, right next to where the fridge of special desserts stands by the walk-in ice cream freezer. You smirk, gotcha Terzo. You whip around, turning on your flashlight at the same time with a whoop but instead of catching Terzo prowling for a fuck spot your light shines on the white and gold robes of a very startled-looking Papa Nihil. He shrieks in surprise before grabbing his chest with one hand and doubling over with a grunt.
You just about shit yourself from fear, praying to Satan that you didn’t just kill Papa Nihil by surprising the geriatric man. You rip your headphones off of your head and jog over to the old man, spewing out apologies as you go. When you reach him he is breathing heavily looking down at the ground so you cringe from guilt and pat his back reassuringly.
“Praise Baphomet Papa, I didn’t know it was you! I thought it was Terzo with one of his fuck buddies sneaking in here again! I’m so sorry Papa!” you say, your words slurring together in your panic.
He holds up his palm as if to say wait a second so you go silent, internally begging Papa Nihil to have mercy on you. You know he isn’t really one to take much shit from anyone given the respect his age and position commands, especially from a mere sibling of sin despite your unusual friendship with him, so you stand still and wait for the square hammer to fall.
After a quiet minute, he looks up at you with a guilty face and wide eyes. He straightens to his full height and for some reason, the old man looks rather chastised.
“Forgive me for the intrusion child, I found myself rather…peckish in the night I thought I might stop by for a quick bite to eat,” he says, looking rather shiftily.
You hum and as you go to respond you stop, remembering that Papa Nihil has his own mother in law house on the ministry lands meaning that not only does he have his own fully stocked kitchen but he also left his house in the middle of the night to traverse the labyrinthine halls of the main ministry building just to come and get ‘a bite to eat’ in the bakery of all places.
You quickly surmise the situation and your eyebrow raises in amusement. He must have come all this way specifically for the special treats that lie inside the locked fridge at your side, fully knowing that part of your agreement is that he pays per treat which are delivered by you to his home in secret, so he must have run out and thought he could pop in and take a couple of desserts without you noticing, probably not banking on your insane work hours or the fridge having a lock.
You cock your head at him as he looks anywhere but you. You have never seen the man look frazzled, maybe a little spacey as he is quite the pothead or perhaps chastised when around Sister Imperator, but never guilty or nervous like he does now.
“Got the munchies, huh Papa?” you ask, trying to keep the smile out of your voice and off your face, failing spectacularly.
He finally meets your eyes and looks shocked to see your amusement, before he relaxes and smiles back at you, his face paint making him look like an adorably old skeleton. He nods, fiddling with the wide sleeves of his papal robes.
“Yes, child. I seem to have run out of my last order, all absolutely ungodly as per usual, but I found myself wanting more, and I simply didn’t want to wake you, and being the benevolent Papa I am I decided to procure the… goods so to speak, on my own, only to avoid bothering you and not at all because Sister Imperator cut my allowance,” he says, rambling on, obviously trying to convince you of his innocence.
You snort at the allowance comment, not surprised at all Sister Imperator is tight with her wallet, the old man is on a leash and you find it endearing that the man who usually commands such respect is so fucking whipped. You nod, deciding to just go along with his bullshit since you have such a soft spot for Papa Nihil.
“Is that so? Well, you’re lucky I’m here or else you wouldn’t have been eating much of anything without the key,” you say as you walk over to the fridge and unlock it.
Papa Nihil walks to your side and peers in with bright eyes, you can practically see the drool collecting at the sides of his painted mouth.
“Anything you want in particular? Right now I have infused cinnamon rolls, chocolate and butterscotch cookies, no-bake cookies, and chocolate muffins. I was about to make a batch of brownies too but that won't be done for an hour or so,” you say, gesturing to the shelves as you list off the options, and then pointing behind you to where the brownie ingredients lay abandoned.
Papa Nihil looks at the different desserts with a wide smile and you can’t help but giggle at his awestruck face. After a moment he looks over his shoulder at the unmade brownies and then back at what is already made in the fridge. He hums before glancing over at you, looking rather like a begging puppy.
“Well how about this child, if I help you make the brownies we can just sweep this whole misunderstanding under the dark altar linens, don’t you think?” he asks, looking childlike with hope.
You look over at him amused and snort.
“Sure Papa, an eye for an eye or I guess help making brownies for a couple in return, that’s not a bad idea, but do you know what would make baking even better?” you ask, eyeing the desserts on the fridge shelves and remembering the joint you have in the pocket of your black apron.
The old man looks over at you with a curious look on his face.
“No?” he says.
“Do you promise not to tell the clergy on me?” you ask, smiling at him deviously.
He narrows his eyes at you but sticks out his ancient pinky which you hook onto yours,
“Yes…” he says, sounding unsure.
You giggle as you grab the joint out of your pocket and hold it up in front of his nose, also grabbing a plate of infused cinnamon rolls from the fridge.
“Baking baked! How about having a smoke and some snacks while we work?” you ask.
The old man smiles, his eyes bright even in the dim lighting of the bakery.
“This is why you’re my favorite of the siblings of sin, you know how to have a good time!” he says.
You wink and hand him the joint before closing and locking the fridge. You walk over to the microwave and pop the plate of cinnamon rolls in it. Papa Nihil follows you like an imprinted duckling holding the joint out in front of him like a candle. You light a match after finding a box of them in the random shit drawer and light the joint, allowing him to take the first drag which he does with expertise. As you wait for the cinnamon rolls to be done the two of you talk idly about what the ministry has been up to recently and he regales you on the Emeritus family tea.
The microwave beeps and you take the plate out, walking over to the counter by where you have the brownie ingredients laid out. You put the plate down and scrounge up two forks, giving one to Papa Nihil who stands at your side as the two of you dig in, chatting and passing the joint as you eat. You always enjoy hanging out with the old geezer, he is like the grandparent you never had, the oddest friend you have given the age difference, but really there’s no one else you would rather get high with than him.
After you have your fill and the joint has been reduced to a roach you walk over and wash your hands to get started on the brownies. As you scrub your hands and then move to stand above the ingredients, the joint seems to be hitting Papa Nihil because the conversation has turned from complaining about his sons and his bad back to a monologue about the good old days of the ministry and how wild his life was in the 60s. You listen with true interest as he speaks, finding the way the history of the ministry is intertwined with his sordid past fascinating. You start making the brownies as you listen.
“I was a handsome young man, that’s essential to remember child. Nobody could resist me once I got on stage and taking them up on their constant offering and begging was hardly my fault! My looks and charm were a curse from God, the unholy master would never be so cruel,” the old man says with a sigh, waving the roach around like a wand.
You roll your eyes affectionately as you mix the ingredients.
“Oh yeah, Papa? What made them all want to lay themselves at your feet? How handsome could you possibly have been? Like…no offense,” you say.
Papa Nihil looks over at you with an unamused look before stuffing another bit of cinnamon roll in his mouth with a grunt. He chews and swallows, glaring at you all the while.
“I wasn't going to be offended until you said no offense! But I’ll have you know I was quite the looker, I was lean like a rockstar, could dance and sing like Elvis, I just oozed sex appeal thank you . I looked downright edible in my facepaint and on top of it all I had a shaggy bowl cut, very 70s which was forward-thinking at the time. Quite fashionable,” he says with a prideful air and a voice dripping with nostalgia.
You look over at him with palpable disbelief.
“You’re telling me you were a supposed satanic sex symbol but you had a fucking bowl cut? I don’t know about all that Papa…” you say, trying not to laugh as the old man indignantly slams his fork down on the counter by the now completely clean plate at your words.
“It was a shaggy bowl cut! Hair cut at my shoulders with bangs, it was stylish! Young people these days don’t know about the bowl cut,” he pauses and looks over at you emphasizing the word as you taught him it, “ rizz .”
You snicker at how he is trying to convince you, and you decide to tease him a bit more.
“So your hair stopped at your shoulders, and you had bangs?” you ask.
He narrows his eyes at you, probably aware of the fact you’re playing with him. He takes a last puff from the roach before slowly extending his arm to you. You grab the roach from him and slide the bowl of batter to him to mix. You take the last two puffs before putting it out and tossing it, you are properly blazed now.
“Yeah?” he responds.
“So you had the Dora cut then, I don’t see the appeal,” you say.
He looks at you utterly confused.
“The Dora cut? What is that? Who is this Dora you speak of and what is she cutting? Is she another sibling of sin? Oh good Lucifer don’t tell me she’s one of Terzo’s flings!” he says mixing the batter sloppily, undoubtedly blazed, matching your high.
You look at him utterly flabbergasted at his train of thought before cackling, doubling over with laughter that echoes ominously in the cavernous room. Papa Nihil grunts looking at you with an unamused look that you can barely see through your teary eyes.
“No Dora is not one of Terzo’s flings, she’s… a famous bilingual explorer, an independent woman if I ever saw one, a feminist icon even, here I’ll look her up for you. The Dora cut just means your haircut looks like hers,” you say, grabbing your phone and typing her name into the search box.
“Ah, so this Dora woman is an explorer? That only bolsters my argument that my haircut was appealing, only a truly cool person could pull it off and a feminist explorer like this Dora of yours must be a peer of mine, equal in footing on the scales of cool,” he says, gesturing with one hand not and so sneakily eating brownie batter with the other.
You make a noise of agreement, nodding your head.
“Most definitely, I would say you are peers for sure, you guys have a similar vibe,” you say before showing him the picture of Dora you pulled up on your phone which depicts the small cartoon child with her helmet-like bob standing next to Boots the monkey.
In your high state, you can't help but imagine a cursed drawing of Papa Nihil as Dora and Sister Imperator as Boots, and it makes you howl with laughter, your amusement only being fueled further by Papa Nihil’s loud displeasure at the comparison to the “stubby looking panasonic television character”. He berates you only half joking, smacking you lightly on the back with a cleaning rag as you practically choke on your own laughter.
When you finally recover Papa Nihil is visibly pouting with a circle of brownie batter around his lips, messing up his face paint. He reminds you ever so slightly of the meme about the grandpa who accidentally ate paint and you laugh so hard at the image you fall to your knees.
“Unholy master child, surely this joke of yours isn’t that funny! Hurry up and compose yourself. I want brownies, I’m getting hungry again,” he says tossing the cleaning rag at you where it lands perfectly on the top of your head.
You look up at him with the rag on your head and he looks at you with wide eyes at how perfectly it lays upon your head before the both of you burst out laughing. He makes some sort of garbled joke that now your cut is even worse than yours which takes you out for no apparent reason.
When the laughter eventually dies out you stand back up, take the rag off your head, and stick your tongue out at the old man, your inebriation making you forget your differing power. Papa Nihil doesn’t seem to notice and just sticks his own tongue out at you making you snicker. You take the cookies out of the oven when the timer beeps. You grab some brownie tins and pour the mixture in and the two of you put the tins in the oven and set a timer.
While the two of you wait for the brownies to cook you drag a chair from the adjacent cafeteria into the bakery to sit on. When you set it by the counter Papa Nihil asks you to help him up and you don’t question what ‘up’ means so when he offers his arm to you, you take it. He steps onto the chair using your arm like a banister and the chair seat like a stepstool onto the counter where he sits down, fussing with his elaborate robes. You nod at him for no particular reason when he gets situated and then sit down on the chair with a deep sigh, yawning a bit after.
You and Papa Nihil talk about an abundance of random things as you wait and soon enough in the warmth of the bakery and brain fog of being totally blazed Papa Nihil ends up laying down on the counter like its a bed, using two bags of flour like a pillow and back support while you end up sitting on the cold tiled floor and eat from a jar of pickles with your bare hands. The two of you snicker and make nonsensical jokes, spilling ministry tea and talking shit about the siblings of sin or ghouls that irk you.
When the timer beeps for the brownies you squeal, splashing some pickle juice onto your apron. You look down with a pout but then stand up to get the brownies out of the oven. When you set them on the counter so they can cool you turn to Papa Nihil to tell him they are done but you see he’s passed out on the counter, snoring with the brownie batter still crusted to his face around his lips. You stumble a bit as you walk over to him, your head feeling hazy as this is the most high you’ve been in a while.
You poke him a few times before drumming on his forehead and tweaking his nose, but nothing wakes him up so you shrug and decide to leave him there. You quietly put all of your baking supplies away and put the brownies in the fridge, making sure to lock it. Before you leave the bakery you turn off the lights behind you so your favorite Papa can have his much-needed beauty rest, an empty jar of pickles at his feet a dick drawn in black rice flower on his chest.