Chapter Text
Kouign-Amann Cookie would never really know what it was that had brought the three of them to Parfaedia that day. What use the paladins or Scovillians would have for the Parfaedians spells and potions she wouldn't have been able to say, yet either way she'd find herself grouped with the younger students, one of many professors walking them through the city. Her feet trailed the bricked roads slowly as her eyes gazed upon the tall homes that loomed on either side of them. The low, warm light the crowded city gave felt quite different from the Créme Republic's near constant bright glow. Even so, there was no denying the amazement on her face when she was being met with cookies in flight, spells casted here and there and sure, she'd seen cookies do great feats (she was on her way to becoming a paladin herself!), but she could see clearly then what set Parfaedians apart from the others.
Her attention was stolen however by the cries of the Scovillian students not far behind them. Their own interest in the magic that filled the city was heard in every awe-filled woah, their amazement given loud and proud, not caring who they bothered. “She's flying!” She heard one yell, a series of shouts and questions following soon after. There was no helping the huff that escaped her as she tore her gaze from the students of fiery passion, her focus going once more to the teacher before her.
Stopped before a tall building, her gaze went up and up, catching onto the beauty of the architecture before being pulled back in by the voice of her teacher. “Students,” the professor started, turning to regard the young cookies that had been trailing behind her, “this here is the Parfaedia Institute. As I'm sure you're all aware, where the young wizards of the city train in magics and potions. Much like you all train to one day be the best paladins you can be…” As the professor drones on, Kouign-Amann finds her gaze wandering once more to the entrance where a much older cookie exits. Dressed in extravagant, vibrant blue robes she emits importance, walking slowly as she descends the steps of the school's entrance.
“Ah, the Paladin Academy…” She stands before them, nodding her acknowledgement before moving on. “Welcome to the Parfaedia Institute.” Her eyes scan the crowd and while it can be seen that she doesn't find what she's looking for, her smile remains. “No preceptor? Shame… Well, even so, we'll ensure your visit is an informative one. Students?”
When she turns there's a series of events that occur, one wave of her wand and the area surrounding them lights with bright blue flames on tall torches, cookies fly from the school's rooftop, magic seems to flood the air around them as Parfaedia students seem to appear out of thin air to greet their guests. Kouign-Amann catches herself gaping, quickly shutting her mouth as she regains her composure and stands with her fellow paladins in training. Parfaedia's magnificence was one thing, but the light of the Divines that graced the cookies of the Créme Republic would always be her number one source of awe.
“Did you SEE that?!” A Scovillian student cries from behind. So enraptured was she in the Parfaedia Institute's theatrics that she had nearly forgotten they weren't alone in this little field trip of theirs.
“Scovillia,” the Parfaedian principal says, turning back with the same grin present on her face. “How kind of you to join us.”
There's a riff that follows her words, the sound of a guitar played loud from the back as the Scovillian headmaster steps forward. “If you're finished with the dramatics,” he says, making his way to the front as his assistant and many students follow behind, “I understand we were promised a grand lunch with our visit!” The Scovillians all erupt in cheers with his words, and despite the way Kouign-Amann Cookie's nose wrinkles with dissatisfaction at the lack of respect delivered by the Scovillians, she can't help the intrigue that draws her forward. With the Scovillians now before her, she glimpses the sea of fiery red, a trademark to a spice cookies appearance.
Their shouting doesn't last long as the Parfaedian principal raises a hand to silence them. A much younger cookie finds his way to her side, his pointed hat obscuring his expression as curtains of muted purple frosting assisted in hiding him away. He hands his principal a small stack of papers before turning to regard the crowd himself. His face holds its own grin, one that seems to brighten at the principals, “Thank you, Prune Juice,” and Kouign-Amann could swear his eyes find hers before he steps back and allows his principal to be the center of attention once more. “You are indeed correct in your recall, Headmaster,” she says. “While it may not be the season of competition, let us make our founders proud as our schools stand as more than rivals. It is with open arms that the Parfaedia Institute brings you and your students to join us in festivities and preparations… and of course, lunch.”
The Scovillians give an enthusiastic cheer once more, this time accompanied by the Paladin Academy's polite applause. Kouign-Amann looked to the purple frosted cookie stood a little ways behind the principal once more, noting the pride in his stance. With another wave of her arms, Parfaedian students of all ages began to make their ways to the other schools, greeting the professors that had previously been guiding their students as they took the lead in showing their guests around.
The cookie that had garnered her attention began to make his way over, his steps purposeful and his smile softened into a welcoming grin. “Good afternoon,” he greeted, expression never wavering. He faces the professor as a look of mild concern takes hold of his face. “And are you alright, ma'am?”
With the eyes of her students on her, Kouign-Amann takes notice of the slight paleness of her teacher's dough. “I'm fine,” she replies, seemingly startled by the approach of such a young cookie as their guide. “I don't do too well with travel.”
Concern fades as his smile returns. Reaching into his robes, he pulls out a small bottle containing some sort of purple liquid. “I have just the remedy for that.” He offers it to her, grin widening even as she hesitantly accepts it. “Don't worry, my professors say I'm quite the skilled potioneer.”
Unwilling to potentially hurt a child's feelings (much less one she doesn't teach), she uncorks the bottle, taking a small sip before closing it up once more. When she realizes that nothing bad has occured from consuming a concoction made by a child she regards him with a smile of her own. “I see your professors are right in saying so. Thank you…” She trails off to see him with his hand extended, palm open in expectancy. The Paladin Academy students watch with wide eyes, uncertain where the situation would go. Groups around them were being led inside by their respective Parfaedian guide, yet their own stood watching the confusion on their professor's face.
“My apologies,” says a familiar voice from before. “He is very skilled in potions but I'm afraid he doesn't offer his services for free.” The principal approaches the group as she gives her explanation for her students behavior. Even with her there however, he doesn't falter in his goal. “And how much does she owe you, Prune Juice Cookie?”
“Being our esteemed guest…” Despite his close eyed grin, there's an expression of thought that shines through. “I'll leave it at… 100 coins?”
Suddenly, it seems the Paladin Academy professor goes pale for a reason beyond the nausea of traveling. She doesn't have to worry long though, as the Parfaedian principal quickly fishes a small pouch of coins from her robes to hand to the young cookie. “Hopefully that shall cover her debt then. Now,” she faces the group as a whole, “please follow Prune Juice Cookie to the yard for lunch. I do hope he hasn't kept you waiting too long.” Her words are no more than a teasing lilt as she regards her student with a sly smile before making her own way inside.
He sighs, though doesn't seem hurt as he pockets his earnings and waves for the group of young paladins in training to follow him. While she wouldn't dream of stepping away from her crowd, Kouign-Amann could feel an itch just beneath the surface to make conversation. Two peers on either side of her make hushed conversation regarding the other schools and their guide, and while they make the occasional attempt to include her in their gossip, she can only give them short replies or hums of acknowledgement in the midst of her distraction.
Before she can muster the courage to speak to their guide, her group finds themselves outside once again, having passed halls of classrooms and students, going through another wide entrance that brought them to a large yard. Tables were set up with a variety of jellies, some groups already having sat down to begin eating. While they had all come separately, it was here they began to mingle, Parfaedian guides sat with their groups as more young wizards came to sit with them. Even the Paladin Academy students had joined the two other schools at the tables. There still seemed to be a separation by age it seemed, as Prune Juice Cookie led their group to a table at the far end where a small group of younger Scovillian students already sat with a couple of Parfaedians off to the side. There was a hesitance from her peers as they all silently questioned the matter of seating, but Kouign-Amann, ever the leader, was the first to take a seat. To her side was a Scovillian, radiating warmth as he turned from conversing with his friends to offer her a wide smile. She returned his smile with a soft grin of her own, giving a wave before watching as her peers began to take their own seats. Her attention was caught as the seat before her moved and she watched as their guide sat himself in front of her. With his presence at the table, the Scovillian students' eyes looked to him as well.
It would seem the stranger beside her held no qualms at the thought of conversation as he asked, “Do you know how to do that too?”
“Excuse me?” Prune Juice cracks an eye open at the question, glancing up to see where the stranger was pointing. When he catches sight of the source of his awe (really, cookies in flight were quite the sight to see), he glances back down. For a moment he seems uncomfortable, though with his smile never wavering, it was rather hard to truly tell. “Not yet, but someday.”
“Prune Juice isn't good at magic like he is at potions,” one of his peers interrupts through a mouthful of jellies. “No offense,” they add and while his feelings had been difficult to discern before, there was no denying that the huff he gives in response is one of annoyance.
"Many wizards don't fly. Besides, we don't really learn magic until we’re older.” He pulls a bottle from his robes and Kouign-Amann momentarily wonders if he has an endless supply in there. “But in the meantime I have decided to master the art of potion-making. Impressive, no?”
While his friends seem to lose interest at not getting a free magic show, the cookie beside her keeps his attention on Prune Juice, eyes still sparkling with wonder as he eyes the bottle. “What does that one do?”
Prune Juice Cookie's smile morphs into a sly grin as he sits up straighter, placing the bottle on the table. “This, dear cookie, is the prototype of a potion I like to call the ‘it's not alive’ potion.” He's not oblivious to the way his audience's face falls as he's sure to quickly add, “Fear not, it doesn't do any real harm… I intend for it to only assist in making its user appear ill.” While her own lip curls at the deception of it all, she can see the awe ever present on her table mates face. With his food forgotten, he reaches out to seemingly touch the potion, only for Prune Juice to snatch it away and tuck it back into the safety of his robes. “Ah, ah, ah,” he chastises, “for eyes only.”
“Aw,” his face falls for just a moment before taking on a smile again. “I don't know what you'd use a potion like that for, but that's cool.”
Prune Juice preens at the compliment, humming his thanks as he takes the lull of interest to focus on his food. Kouign-Amann finds herself tempted to speak through the silence, yet she's beaten to it.
“Yeah, well, silly potions have nothing on you, Capsaicin,” one of the Scovillian's friends pipes up. Despite the compliment, he seems to shrink in embarrassment, his smile taking on an uncomfortable edge.
“Aw, c'mon…”
“Even on the first day he single-handedly took down one of the big kids!”
“That– that was an accident…”
“He only needs to take one step and the ground can erupt into flames! Lava can fall from the sky–”
“That's not true,” he interupts, “I can't make lava fall from the sky.”
“Towers of flame rise from the ground–”
“That's not–”
“Can your silly potions wring destruction through the lands?! I think not.”
"Okay, well, that's not–” Kouign-Amann could swear she caught an eye roll coming from the sweet cookie at the Scovillian student's comment. From the corner of her eye she could see the sorry expression on Capsaicin Cookie's face. Even if she weren't looking she'd have been able to just feel the embarrassment radiating off of him. “It's really not that impressive… more troublesome,” he offers, smile gone as he turns his attention to the jellies on his plate, stabbing them with more force than necessary.
“I'm sure with time you'll get better,” she says, catching the group off guard as she finally speaks. She watches as he fixes her with a wide-eyed stare before his face breaks out into a grin again.
"Yeah… thanks.” Her own smile brightens as she returns her focus to her own plate. She ignores the praises of her peers (“Oh Kouign-Amann, always so kind. You always know just what to say!”) as the conversation shifts into the sound of the clatter of silverware against plates.
They're only part way through their meal when Prune Juice excuses himself from the table, sorting out his mess before heading back into the building. While a conversation between them had been non-existent (though heavily considered on her end), Kouign-Amann couldn't help but wonder where it was he was off to, what could have occurred had she mustered up the courage to ask him about his potions herself. It felt almost unbecoming of a paladin, to be so fearful of small talk. The thought made her shudder.
No, she decided, I will not be afraid. If I see him again, I shall not falter. With her resolve set, she finally managed to fall into steady conversation with her own peers, occasionally making a comment to Capsaicin cookie beside her. He may have been much too enthusiastic like his peers, but there was a warmth to him that she couldn't help but find so alluring, and it wasn't just the temperature of his body (did Scovillians really run that hot all the time?). He was easy to talk to and exceptionally kind. Really, she found herself almost jealous with the way he could so easily give kindness, his patience seeming like an unending fountain. Though perhaps her own lack of interactions with Scovillians had her assuming they were nothing but loud and troublesome. The paladins of the Créme Republic strived to represent themselves as the best they could be, but the air of superiority that lay beneath the surface of that was almost… suffocating, at times.
Here, with a potential friend outside of that picture perfect mold, Kouign-Amann felt she could let go, be a kid for a moment much like the Scovillian students. While the expectations she held for herself still stood in the background, in the moment sat talking with Capsaicin, she felt she didn't need to be a perfect example of a paladin in training.
“Do you get a sword?” He asked, eyes darting around in search of a sword she certainly didn't have.
"Not until I'm older,” she laughs. “Though, I have gotten to hold a few. Sometimes the alumnis will come by and hang out.”
“I wish I could hold a sword…”
“Then I guess I'll have to let you hold mine. When I receive it, that is.” And while the promise seems so simple to her, it seems to mean the world to him as his grin somehow gets brighter (dare she say, bright enough to rival the light of the Divines) and he claps her on the shoulder. It's a heavy pat that certainly makes her understand just why his friend had sung his praises earlier– Capsaicin even at his age (which she assumed was around hers) was quite a large cookie, the horns protruding from his head and his fiery hair all aiding to the seemingly fierce and intimidating look. Though, one glance at his smile and it'd be clear that he really was harmless. She considered herself much the opposite, supposedly a helpless maiden dressed in pink and frills (truly, such a sad assumption to exist… more warriors should dawn frills, in her opinion), and while the pressure of his pat had been quite strong, she was certain her own strength could rival his. Had she not regarded him almost immediately as a friend, he'd make a worthy opponent indeed.
Soon their lunch comes to an end and she finds herself almost unwilling to bid her new friend goodbye, uncertain when or if she'd see him again. While she held a deep appreciation for her peers, talking to Capsaicin had been a breath of fresh air that she hadn't known she'd needed. It felt good to speak to someone as a friend rather than as their idol… Even so, she bids him farewell and moves on with her group back into the school. She thinks about the promise she had made to herself before. She would not regard the prospect of conversation and new friends with fear. For the short while she'd have in Parfaedia, she'd do her best to balance expectations with what she wanted, and what she wanted was to become true friends with Capsaicin and to have the guts to speak to the elusive Prune Juice Cookie. As she walks with her group, her mind wanders to the smell of plums and the warmth of a fire.