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From the very beginning of his existence, Reala had been one half of a team— made specifically to work in tandem with NiGHTS, right down to their equal abilities and opposing strategies, his brute force contrasted with their whimsical mystique. It was their best act, perfected over hundreds of nights and thousands of Ideya stolen, a scheme that had kept the dream world firmly under their collective grasp for centuries. They could communicate without a word, plans decided and acted upon with merely a glance or a turn of the head. In any Nightopia, Reala could all but work as one with his twin.
But, as he had more recently found, he couldn’t stand to be anywhere inside a kitchen with NiGHTS.
It wasn’t that NiGHTS couldn’t cook, moreso that cooking provided far too many opportunities for them to be mischievous, all of which they took full advantage of: they would switch out Reala’s sugar for salt (not realizing they still had to eat the final product), steal bites of his ingredients (“Just testing them,” they called it), add generous amounts of food coloring to recipes that absolutely did not call for its inclusion (and Reala, try as he might, couldn’t bring himself to eat the cookies NiGHTS had made him once, saturated with so many dyes that he could not even begin to describe what color they were). He almost found it impressive just how disruptive they were in the kitchen— admittedly, all Nightmarens had been created with some level of mischief-making in mind, but he figured NiGHTS could at least hold off on it for their own twin. Apparently not, though, or maybe they just didn’t want to… yes, that sounded more like it. Still, cooking and baking had become a bit of a hobby for both of them— despite their penchant for trouble, NiGHTS could be convinced to be helpful, and the notion of getting food at the end of the process was usually enough incentive for Reala to bear any shenanigans.
Today’s cooking adventure was meant to change all that, though, as NiGHTS, relying so heavily on ‘borrowing’ food from other Nightopias, had mentioned wanting to learn to cook for themself more. It just so happened that Reala had cooked before, as well as anyone could in Nightmare— Jackle had taught him everything he knew: how to finely chop up what little vegetation could be found outside of their lairs, how Reala could use his blue-flame lamps to cook meat skewered on sticks. Even if the new house’s kitchen was a bit more modern than what he had learned with, Reala was sure that making scrambled eggs couldn’t be too big of a challenge. He’d already gathered up an armful of Nightopian eggs, anyways, and as he nudged open the front door with his side and entered the kitchen, found NiGHTS readying the rest of the items they’d need, humming to themself as they poked around in the cabinets— that was the first two steps down already.
He set the eggs down, steadying them on the kitchen table. “Have you got everything ready?”
“Almost,” NiGHTS told him, revealing the… superfluous amount of ingredients they’d set out. “We just need to let the stove heat up, would you mind getting it, Rere?”
Reala hesitated— the stove, more than any other of the house’s modern furnishings, still mystified him, too technical for his tastes, but he certainly wasn’t about to let NiGHTS know that, especially when he was supposed to be teaching them. They watched, incredibly smug, as he carefully figured the various knobs, giving a little laugh when he flinched a bit, having finally turned the wretched thing on, flames jumping out from beneath the closest burner.
“I thought you’d cooked over open flames before?”
Reala huffed. “Just get the eggs ready, would you?”
They switched places, with NiGHTS bringing a mixing bowl over to the eggs while Reala readied the pan. He turned his attention back to his twin once he could confirm the stove wouldn’t explode, watching them crack the eggs— he recalled how NiGHTS, in the years leading up to their leaving, had once thrown an Ideya full-force at Nightmare’s stony ground in an act of rebellion, leaving it with an awful, noticeable crack that the two of them had desperately tried to explain away to their master. Reala could confidently say that the eggs were currently being handled with more force than that Ideya had been.
“Be careful, NiGHTS, you’re getting pieces of the shells in there.”
“Leave me alone, Reala, I’m taking them out… it’s not like we can’t eat eggshells, anyway.”
“We can, but I don’t want to.”
NiGHTS poured the lavender-colored yolks into the pan, along with a generous helping of salt and pepper, switching places again to have their turn tending the pan, and continued their humming— jovial-sounding, upbeat to the point they were moving their head and feet along with it. Probably some Waking World song that had happened to get stuck in Claris’ mind overnight. Reala, finally mastering the use of a knife, sliced up some bread to go along with their breakfast, slathering them with jam.
NiGHTS broke their tune, shoving the eggs around in the pan. “This is more fun than stealing Ideya, right, Ree?”
“It’s less strenuous, at least. Do you want blackberry or elderberry on your bread?”
“Hmm… maybe some of both.” Reala ignored them, not about to get a whole separate knife out for the other jam. They would just have to accept blackberry instead. Behind him, a click indicated the stove turning off, and Reala sighed in relief— they had both made it unscathed. He put the bread on plates and handed them off to NiGHTS for the eggs.
Having filled his plate, Reala took a bite and nodded. They were almost perfect, cooked just enough with a nice texture. “They’re good. Maybe a little too much salt.”
“They just need one more thing, I think,” NiGHTS said, slyly plucking up an ingredient they’d carefully concealed behind the rest— food dye, of course, and of the bright red variety. Reala could only watch in disapproval and considerable disgust as he watched NiGHTS absolutely drown their near-perfect eggs in a flood of red. They dug into their plate, nodding with newfound satisfaction— their teeth would probably be stained for weeks now.
At least mine are still good, Reala thought as he took another bite of his eggs. A jagged shard of eggshell poked into the roof of his mouth. …At least mine are alright enough.