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While Zorah had wanted to do something to thank its new friends, especially Kirby, for everything, and to apologize for what it had been made to do, it took a while to figure out exactly what to do. Their world was still so alien to it that there was so much to learn, including continuing to practice speaking with its hands.
Frankly it was lucky it had claws to work with, when so many of the residents of Dreamland simply had little nubs. At least they could understand it, even if they could not reply in kind. That was alright; Noir’s hearing was just fine.
It spent days learning from Kirby and his friends, both in order to live among them more comfortably and to try and figure out exactly what these organic beings would appreciate as thanks.
The answer was both simple and more complicated than it would have liked.
One thing Kirby loved was eating. Everyone else seemed to as well, but Kirby in particular usually could be seen with at least one snack. And the most popular food for just about everyone seemed to be sweets.
This was straightforward enough; all Noir had to do was acquire something impressive and thoughtful enough that it would make both a good meal and a good gift. The issue was that Noir couldn’t eat. It had no idea what went into food, where one got the materials to make it, or anything about how the process worked. It subsisted on sunlight and soul energy, and its friends had had to explain what food even was when it had first arrived.
Beneath the wrappings that covered the lower part of its face, Noir did possess a mouth. It had a beak, serrated with a hook at the end; it was permanently slightly open, showing a blue glow from deep inside, and it did not possess a hinged jaw. The mouth was just for show, it seemed, moreso something to give it a face than anything useful. Just another shape that had been unconsciously copied from King Dedede but changed to fit Noir’s appearance. It couldn’t use it to eat or emote in any way.
So it preferred to keep its face covered. After all, the jaggedness of its beak simply made it look more intimidating, and that was the last thing it wanted at this point.
Even if it DID succeed at making something despite the very concept of eating being so new to it, it couldn’t even taste it to make sure it had come out right. So it had a bit of a dilemma. It wanted whatever it made to be a surprise for everyone, but it immediately had to admit defeat in that regard. There was no way it could figure out how to bake without assistance.
So now it was a tossup; should it ask King Dedede, or Meta Knight? Who would be more helpful? Eventually, it decided on Dedede; he seemed to like food almost as much as Kirby, so he might know how to go about making something delicious.
No matter what, though, Noir was determined to make the resulting dessert on its own. It would be a gift, and it did not want to offload the difficult work onto someone else. That would be cheating, and would only make it feel more guilty instead of better.
After all. Accidentally or not, it had almost destroyed the entire planet. It had almost killed Kirby. It had killed countless machines and harmed many others. It had a lot to make up for. It had helped in the final battle in a major way, but that didn’t feel as personal as making someone a cake.
And, well…. A cake couldn’t exactly make up for the horrors, but Noir knew that it would be appreciated all the same.
To save time, Zorah manifested itself right in front of the steps of Castle Dedede, scaring the waddle dee guards at the door. It waved, feeling a bit sheepish, and once they’d recovered they waved back, clearly with no hard feelings. They let it in without hesitation, which it appreciated. The king must not be terribly busy today, which was all the better for Noir.
The inside of the castle was cheerful and full of light, large windows brightening the stone corridors. It was also fairly empty today; sometimes it was bustling, but at the moment, the hallways were largely clear. Perhaps, if there wasn’t much going on, everyone was enjoying the good weather. Noir’s footsteps echoed down the long hallway as it headed to King Dedede’s throne room, where it hoped he currently was located. It glanced out the windows as it went, spying Meta Knight practicing combat flight in his training grounds, while Bandana Dee seemed to be taking a break and watching him. It looked rather fun; maybe eventually Noir would be bold enough to ask if it could join in.
Not today, though. It had calmer pastimes to learn, or so it hoped. Perhaps baking would be chaos and it just didn’t know it yet.
It didn’t even need to reach the end of the hallway before it heard King Dedede’s voice approaching. Two figures turned a corner up ahead, and Noir saw the king talking to a waddle dee with a notepad. They were furiously scribbling something down, nodding every so often.
Dedede broke off mid-sentence when he saw Noir, causing the waddle dee to look up and wave.
“Hey! What brings ya here today? No trouble, right? Today’s been a peaceful day and we don’t need anything causing problems.”
“The king was about to have lunch,” clarified the waddle dee.
“I sure was, but if it needs my help I can wait,” said King Dedede. “Even if I would prefer trouble to wait ‘til after.”
<No trouble I assure you,> Noir said, needing to wave its ungloved hands a little to get their attention. <Just a question. We can talk on our way to where you are headed. The question actually concerns food, so the timing isn’t bad.>
“Oh! Of course, buddy, just follow us! Archivist was just writing down my order to take to the chef. I’m thinking a big sandwich. You want anything?”
<I cannot eat, so no thank you.>
“Whoops. I forgot.” King Dedede shook his head. “Don’t know how ya live like that, honestly. Eating is one of the best parts of life!”
<Everyone here sure does seem to enjoy a meal,> Noir agreed. <Which is why I wanted to ask you for help.>
Dedede puffed up a bit. “You came to the right place! I know food, that’s for sure. And this sounds like a problem best solved while eating a big sandwich.”
Archivist had written down what the king had requested, Noir noticed, and gave a little bow before dashing off with the slip of paper. <Where are they going?> Noir asked, tilting its head slightly as both it and Dedede turned to continue down the hall.
“To let Chef Kawasaki know what I want to eat,” replied King Dedede. “That way, I won’t have to wait for my food. When you’re king, you can get pretty busy!”
<I thought you said you weren’t very busy today?>
“Nothing gets past you, does it?” King Dedede led the way, shaking his head though he did not stop smiling. “It’s the computer brains.”
<I do have a rather good memory,> replied Noir, moving more quickly so it remained in Dedede’s field of view. It chuckled, a revving, sort of growling sound from deep within its chest.
“To answer your question, nah I’m not busy today. It’s just a habit. Archivist Dee and I have a routine, it works well. If it ain’t broke, why fix it?”
<Is that a common saying around here?>
“What, it isn’t where you’re from?”
<Space is not known for providing many sayings. Quite the opposite, in fact.>
“Ya got me there,” said King Dedede as they both arrived at a set of double doors that the king did not hesitate to open. “Hey Chef, I’ve brought Noir along, but don’t worry, it doesn’t eat. It wanted to ask a food-related question, apparently.”
“Your majesty,” Chef Kawasaki said with a wave that contrasted with the formal greeting. “Alright. Lemme just finish up this sandwich, then I’d be happy to help.”
There was a table in the kitchen, a fairly simple thing that Noir was sure was far less grand than whatever was in the more public-facing parts of the castle, but Dedede happily took a seat in one of the chairs as he waited for his meal, and gestured to Noir to take an adjacent chair.
“Alright what even is your question, first off?”
<I wanted to bake Kirby a cake,> it began. <As an apology for everything that happened while I was Gigantes. Ideally, I would like to apologize to everyone, but I do not think one cake is enough for that, and I have to start somewhere. I did… Some terrible things, King Dedede, and….>
A soft, gloved hand covered its after a moment, and it only then noticed its metal fingers were trembling, clicking together faintly. “We all know ya didn’t have any choice, buddy,” King Dedede said, looking sympathetic. “You were either being controlled from inside that piece-a-crap tank, or you were trying to stop the end of the world! Nothing to be sorry for!”
<... I still wish to do this. If you do not think I need to atone for anything, then perhaps as thanks, for saving my life and so readily accepting me into the community.>
“That’s the spirit!” chortled Dedede. At that moment, a triple-decker sandwich was set in front of him and he practically began to drool. “A masterpiece, Chef! Ya do a great job!”
“Thank you, King Dedede,” replied Chef Kawasaki, a content look on his face. “Now, what is it that you want, Noir?”
<I wish to learn how to make cake.>
“Oh geez,” said the chef near-instantaneously. He scratched his neck with a sheepish expression. “I, uh, haven’t learned how to do the hand-talking thing yet, sorry.”
“I can translate,” interjected Dedede, right after swallowing a bit of his lunch. “It wants to bake Kirby a cake, and learn how to make cakes in general.”
“Ah cakes are pretty easy,” the chef said. “Lemme write down the instructions on some paper and then I’ll get you the ingredients!”
“Will ya want help? Chef Kawasaki will help if ya ask!” The chef nodded along to Dedede’s words, waiting patiently for a translated answer.
<Since it is meant to be a gift, I would prefer to try to do this on my own, but thank you.>
King Dedede gave a nod and looked up. “It says no thanks,” he clarified.
“Alright. Give me a bit and I’ll set everything up, you can make it here.”
And that was how Noir found itself alone in front of a long, wooden table covered in bowls, containers of ingredients, and little… Scoop-looking things with numbers on them. Pieces of paper with detailed instructions sat on the surface right in front of it, and it looked at the first step, hoping it would explain the importance of the scoops.
“Set the oven to 350 degrees,” said the first step, and already Noir was lost. It at least knew what the oven was, and while looking at the various modes for cooking things, it seriously contemplated what the consequences would be of just using its exhaust flames to bake the damn thing.
Wait. Bake. King Dedede had said to bake a cake. Noir pushed the button with that word printed neatly on it, then the screen prompted it to type in a number. It did so, setting the oven to 350 degrees and drooping in relief when the oven beeped and began to heat up.
Living machine, one, nonliving machine, zero.
Step two had it put some strange paper into the bottom of a pan that the chef had so helpfully drawn for it, and then step three involved measuring out certain ingredients into a bowl. It supposed the scoops were for measuring, which seemed obvious in hindsight. The numbers and abbreviations corresponded to the recipe, and soon Noir was carefully scooping out portions of ingredients from their thankfully-labeled containers into the big bowl. Its metal claws were actually quite good at manipulating the measuring tools, and though some of the flour ended up on its hands, it didn’t actually have much trouble with the powdered ingredients.
The instructions said to stir them together, so it stuck a finger into the mix and did its best. The chocolate powder at least was a different color, so it just stopped when everything looked uniformly beige.
Now onto the liquid ingredients. Those were… Solidly more difficult for Noir to measure into a separate bowl. It underestimated just how hard it would be to pour with one hand and hold a measuring cup steady with the other. It managed, but there was definitely more of each liquid present than there should have been.
The last thing to add to the wet bowl was two eggs. What was it supposed to do with two ovals? It consulted the instructions again, and found another crude drawing, this time of the eggs being cracked open. The resulting shapes reminded Noir of the headwear of choice of a rather competitive starman that it ran into often during the city trials. Literally ran into, as he seemed to enjoy snatching speed patches right from out under its grasp.
Noir narrowed its eye at the page before turning to the task at hand. Get goop out of the inside of the eggs, and, as the chef had helpfully written, “don’t let the shell bits get in the bowl!”
Holding up an egg, it tapped it gently with its finger. When that resulted in nothing but a clicking noise, it tried to poke a little harder. It was rewarded with its finger punching through the shell, and when it withdrew the digit, there was a string of slime that clung to it.
If it could’ve scowled, it would’ve. That felt kind of gross. But it had to get the egg open, so it continued to puncture little holes in the fragile white shell, ringing them around the top until it came off like a little hat. Noir dumped the contents into the bowl, and then resigned itself to repeating the process.
Soon, though, it had a bowl of various goops and liquids, and it didn’t want to continue. Well, it did, but it knew it would have to touch that muck in order to stir it, and it didn’t want to do that specifically. It knew it was stalling when it read the recipe sheets again, twice, in order to see if it could deflect to another step while it tried to come to terms with touching the cake batter.
Instead it received more bad news. It would have to stir the dry ingredients into the wet ones, which would require more touching.
My finger joints are never going to be clean again, it thought mournfully as it finally reached inside the bowl to blend things. I’m going to have to take them apart one at a time. Noir shuddered at the sensation of the eggs on its hands and tried to get through it as quickly as possible. And then when it combined the two bowls, it found it needed a whole hand instead of just a finger.
Noir was no stranger to despair, real despair, and yet it could swear it felt a flicker of the emotion in its chest all the same as its entire hand was dunked into the goopy, chocolatey mess. If the cake is supposed to be penance then perhaps it is good that I am putting so much emotional effort into making it, Noir couldn’t help but think. Maybe they will be able to tell that this was very hard for me, and that will make it mean more.
As soon as it felt the texture resemble something uniform and not weird and lumpy, it yanked its hand back, covered in cake batter. Woefully, it twitched its claws, and strings of the stuff dripped between them. Luckily, there was a sink in this kitchen, and Noir was thankfully familiar with washing its hands. It took a while; the goop did not want to stop clinging to the metal, especially not the grooves of the joints. But Noir had already resolved to disassemble its hands to take care of the situation later, so it gave up on that endeavor.
Okay. It was more or less clean, time for the next step.
Pouring the batter into the pan with the paper wasn’t hard. There were two such pans, and what Noir had made easily filled them both. Then it was just a matter of popping the pans into the already hot oven, which Noir did bare-handed, and setting the timer. That, at least, was more straightforward than preheating had been. There was a button labeled ‘timer,’ and when clicked it prompted Noir to type in the amount of minutes the cake would be baked for. Thirty minutes, the paper said.
Next to the paper was also a container of chocolate frosting. “Don’t tell Meta Knight,” noted the paper. “He likes to keep snacks here for when he has business with the king. This is his, but it’s easier than making frosting from scratch!”
Noir let out another one of its growling chuckles at that. Just like everyone else, Meta Knight did seem to enjoy sweet foods, though when asked he’d probably deny it. Just like how Noir would deny being the one to steal the frosting for its own purposes. Though, technically, Chef Kawasaki had done the actual stealing; Noir wouldn’t have known frosting from machine paint.
Now it just had to wait and do its best to ignore the fact that its hands still felt unpleasant. Looking down, it also noticed that there was a splatter of chocolate on the edge of its coat, frustratingly not on a spot that was continually dissipating. Well, that was annoying; how would it even go about cleaning that?
It paused, then stepped out from behind the table and instantly dissolved into a whorl of shadow and soul, no longer solid, darkening the room along with it. It traveled a short distance, then rebuilt its solid body, looking hopefully down at the stain.
Still there.
It huffed. Wasn’t that just perfect… Luckily, a wetted corner of the towel it had dried its hands on did a much better job, even if it wasn’t perfect. It felt slightly ridiculous that water was more effective than soul magic, but what did Noir know about food stains, at the end of the day?
While it waited for the timer to go off, Noir moved the now-empty bowls and dirty scoops into the sink. It wished it knew how to get everything clean again, but it was at a loss. At least it could tidy up its work space, like it did with the table in its own home. And then, when that was done, it sat in front of the oven, tapping its claws together rhythmically as it waited.
The oven eventually dinged, and Noir removed the pans and set them down. Was cake supposed to be… Kind of goopy? Did the instructions mention that? Noir squinted at the pages, then looked back at the less-than-solid mess in the pan. Luckily, the instructions said to simply bake it for longer if it needed it, and Noir was pretty damn sure it needed it.
It set the timer for fifteen minutes this time. Back to waiting.
Despite living a much more fast-paced life than it once had, Noir had not lost its sense of patience. It fidgeted with its own hands, true, but that was more linked to its preferences for movement; it never willed time to pass faster. Life on the scale of the denizens of Popstar was nothing to it, with the hundreds of thousands of years it had lived through.
The next time it got the pans out of the oven, the cake was a little darker around the edges, but didn’t jiggle alarmingly when moved, so it considered the undertaking a success. “Remove from the pans and let cool,” read the instructions next. It could do that.
The reason for the paper in the pans became apparent when it was able to use it to just… Lift the cakes right out and set them on the counter. It knew it would have to remove the paper, but that could wait until the cakes cooled… Come to think of it, how cool did they have to be? How long would that take?
Again, it simply waited, poking at the cakes every so often until it began to feel a temperature difference. That was good enough, right?
“Frost one cake, then stack the other on top and frost that one too.”
Luckily, this was the step that, despite the strange terminology, Noir got the gist of on its own. It had seen plenty of cakes in Dreamland, even though it had only been around for a short while, and it knew that ‘frosting’ meant ‘adding in a thin layer on the outside.’ Because that’s what cakes looked like.
The chef had left it a flat metal tool for it to use, and Noir set to work trying to add an even layer of frosting to its slightly lopsided cakes. Easier said than done, of course, because the stuff kept kind of dripping off not long after it was applied. That led to a sort of droopy thicker layer towards the bottom of the cake and a too-thin, seethrough layer at the top. With a grumbling noise, Noir kept trying to prop up the frosting on the sides of the cake, and eventually, it started to work.
Why? Noir did not know and had no one to ask, so it just thanked its luck and went on trying to make it look uniform and nice. The second cake was much, much easier, and soon it had a two-layer cake with a decent frosting layer.
Yes, it was a bit lumpy in places, and it looked a little plain, but it was a cake, and that was what mattered! Well, that and the taste, but Noir was trying very hard not to think of that. Surely it would taste fine.
The cakes it had seen had some nice decoration around the edges, but all it could really do was add some globs around the edge of the top, which looked a little ridiculous, but did their job to break up the monotony of the cake. It had none of those tiny red… Ball things to add to the globs, but no matter.
There was only one thing left to do; writing. It knew that plenty of cakes said things with words on the top, drawn in a different color, but it didn’t have any other colors. So it made do.
With a single claw, it carved words into the icing. SORRY I ALMOST BLEW UP POPSTAR, it said, because Noir was unable to fit anything else. It already had to cram the name of the planet into the remaining space after it misjudged the rest of the words.
Was it perfect? Absolutely not. Was it edible? Stars, it hoped so. Was it the best it could do? Yes. Yes it was. Noir had made it with its own two hands. It had made FOOD, something it had only recently heard of.
And it felt proud.
You see, Galactic Nova? it thought, looking down at the cake. I’m good for more than just destruction. I can create things too.
Now it would go find the chef, to figure out how exactly to transport a cake.
Luckily, that didn’t take long. “I was gonna come check on you soon,” said Chef Kawasaki, following the machine back to the kitchen. “Did it go okay?”
Noir nodded, unable to communicate with the chef otherwise.
“Great! I really did try to get the recipe down in a way a beginner could understand. I think I forgot to give you a spoon to stir the batter but I’m sure you found something!”
A spoon? There was a dedicated tool to stir the goop it had so reluctantly stuck its entire hand into? And Chef Kawasaki had forgotten to tell it?
Noir couldn’t be mad; it could, however, feel more despair. To everyone else, that would have been obvious, it supposed, but not to a machine. It simply would not mention the hand-stirring to anyone else, because now it was embarrassed.
“Now we can get it into a box so you can take it to Kirby.”
A box was a sensible way to transport it. Thank goodness, really, that it was so easy. Unlike the spoon situation. Together, they managed to get it into a nice pink box, but before the chef closed the lid, Noir tapped him on the shoulder.
“Oh! Yeah?”
How to communicate… It paused for a moment, holding up one finger, indicating to give it a moment. Looking around, it noticed that one of the unused scoops was red. Grabbing it, it tapped it, holding it up, and then drew a circle with its finger in midair. Finally, it pointed at each of the frosting globs on the cake.
It wanted those little round decorations, it just had no idea what they were.
“You want… To scoop frosting balls onto the cake?” the chef asked, looking curious and a little confused.
It shook its head, wondering how else it could explain. Picking up another scoop, it held it so that the handle was facing Chef Kawasaki. It was blue, and it tapped the material again and shook its head. Then it did the same with the red scoop, but nodded and gave a thumbs up.
“Oh! Red, round… Hmmmm…”
Noir pointed to the cake again.
“Cherries! Oh you want cherries to decorate it with, like the other cakes we’ve had here in Dreamland!”
Noir nodded vigorously, eye sparkling a bit brighter. It had done it, and now it knew what they were called. Cherries. Okay. It would have to learn the sign for that word.
The chef fetched a small jar and held it out to Noir, who opened it and picked out six cherries to place on top of the cake. Then it had to wash its fingers one last time, before it closed the lid and went on its way, being bid good luck by the chef on the way out.
“So buddy, how’d the cake come out?”
It was a good thing King Dedede had approached from the front, because if Noir had been startled and dropped its cake it would’ve been distraught. It had put its gloves back on, so it just gave a thumbs up, eye upturned into what it hoped was a happy expression.
“Oh good! Ya bringing it to Kirby now? Wonder if he’ll share a slice…” Without any hesitation, the king fell into step behind Noir, and together they meandered down the path to the home of the pink puffball himself.
When they arrived, Noir looked at King Dedede, then down at the cake box in its hands. Luckily, the king was perceptive.
“I got it,” he said, and knocked.
It did not take very long at all for Kirby to open the door, first appearing curious and then beaming up at the two of them. “Hi!”
“Hey, kid,” said King Dedede, and Noir just tilted its head to the side and squinted happily.
“Did you come so we can have fun?” Kirby asked, bouncing in place. “You wanna race?”
“Not today,” said the king. “Though I need to take you down for kicking my tail two days ago. But that’s not what this is about! Noir has a present for you, I’m just tagging along to see if I can mooch any.”
“Ooooh,” said Kirby as Noir held out the box. “What is it?” It only took him a moment to pop the lid off, and his eyes sparkled as he beheld the freshly baked chocolate cake. Then a look of confusion came over Kirby and he squinted at the words on the cake.
King Dedede turned the box ninety degrees.
“Oh!” said Kirby in recognition. “Thank you! I know you didn’t mean to, you’re nice. You’re my friend.”
Noir felt warm inside, and not just in its usual way. Something about the interaction simply made it feel nice. After a moment, it removed its gloves. <Thank you,> it said. <I wanted to make up for what happened, even if everyone seems to think I don’t need to. I figured this would be a good place to start.>
“Everyone can have a piece!” insisted Kirby, and Noir saw King Dedede pump his fist out of the corner of its eye. “It’s big. I could eat it all, but I wanna share.”
He dashed off, then, presumably to round up his friends. King Dedede chuckled and went into Kirby’s house, coming back out with a little table that he carried effortlessly, some silver shiny things, plates, and a knife on top. By the time Kirby returned, tailed by Bandanna, Meta Knight, Magolor, Taranza, Susie, and a whole host of people Noir had not personally met, the king had gotten the cake out of the box and onto the table. Privately, the machine hoped that there would be enough for everyone, because that was a lot more people than it had expected. It even saw that starman it had been thinking about earlier in the crowd.
Meta Knight cut the cake evenly, after plucking the knife expertly from the grasp of Kirby without so much as blinking. Once it had been divvied up onto plates and everyone had some, seated on the grass comfortably, it was the moment of truth.
From the bottom of its engine heart, Noir hoped the result was not disgusting. With all these people, if it had made a bad cake it would never want to show its already-covered face in public again. And it was not exactly an easily-embarrassed individual.
Kirby, luckily, took the first bite. He perked up almost immediately. “It’s good!” he said happily before almost-literally inhaling the rest of his slice.
Oh thank the stars, thought Noir, sagging with relief, nearly flopping onto its back.
“Yeah! You did a great job, Noir!” cheered King Dedede, raising his plate. “For a first try, it’s really good! Slightly crispy on the edges but that’s not bad at all.”
“Indeed,” said Meta Knight, lifting his mask in a way that still covered his face to eat another bite. “It’s good. Though… I must ask, why does it taste faintly of motor oil?”
Noir looked down at its hands and the dried chocolate stuck in its joints, and decided not to reply.