Chapter Text
Gummy rolled out the pastry dough with a heavy wooden pin. Thump. Roll. Thump. Roll.
< THIS DOUGH IS UNYIELDING, GUMMY. IT REQUIRES AGGRESSION. IT REQUIRES FORCE. >
"No, no," Gummy chirped, dusting flour off her apron. "Dough requires patience. If you’re mean to it, it won't rise. You have to be nice to the yeast, or they’ll get sad!"
< YEAST ARE SINGLE-CELLED ORGANISMS. >
A pair of white, jagged eyes manifested on the back of Gummy's hand, peering curiously at the flour.
< THEY DO NOT HAVE EMOTIONS. THEY ONLY HAVE METABOLIC FUNCTIONS. WE SHOULD STRETCH THE DOUGH WITH OUR TENDRILS. WE COULD DO FORTY AT ONCE. >
"We are doing it the traditional way," Gummy insisted, grabbing a piping bag. "Hand-crafted with love! That’s the Gummy way!"
The kitchen door swung open, and Ceobe, the perpetually hungry Perro, wandered in. Her nose was twitching so fast it was a blur, and her eyes were locked onto the cooling rack.
"Gummy!" Ceobe barked happily, her tail wagging like a high-speed metronome. "Something smells... really good. Is it bread? Is it honey-cakes? Is it... is it for Kay?"
< THE HUNGRY ONE HAS ARRIVED. >
A thin black tendril snaked out from behind Gummy’s neck.
< SHE SMELLS LIKE DUST AND EXCITEMENT. WE LIKE HER. SHE HAS THE SPIRIT OF A PREDATOR BUT THE BRAIN OF A SQUEAKY TOY. >
"Hello, Kay!" Gummy laughed, holding up a finger. "They’re almost ready, but they need their filling! You have to wait five more minutes."
Ceobe’s ears drooped. "Five minutes is a long time. It’s like... a thousand seconds."
< WE CANNOT STAND TO SEE THE PREDATOR-PUPPY SUFFER, GUMMY. >
Before Gummy could protest, a thick, jet-black tendril emerged from her waist, snaking under the table like a shy cobra. It grabbed a spare cream puff from the "reject" pile and dipped it into a bowl of vanilla custard with lightning speed.
Then, the tendril tapped Ceobe on the shoulder.
When Ceobe turned, the black "hand" was holding out the custard-filled treat, mimicking a little waiter.
< FOR THE BRAVE HUNTER. A TRIBUTE. >
Ceobe’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Whoa! Gummy, your tail is black and sticky! And it’s giving me snacks!"
"It’s not a tail, Kay!" Gummy gasped, trying to shove the rest of the symbiote back under her apron. "It’s... it’s an automatic serving-arm! A new kitchen gadget from Closure!"
Ceobe didn't care about logistics. She snatched the cream puff and inhaled it in a single bite. "Mmph! So good! Mr. Sticky-Arm is the best! Can it do another one?"
< WE LIKE THIS INTERACTION. SHE DOES NOT JUDGE. SHE ONLY CONSUMES. WE ARE KIN. >
Venom got carried away. Suddenly, four more black tendrils erupted from Gummy’s back, each grabbing a piping bag. They began filling the cream puffs with surgical precision and terrifying speed, moving in a synchronized dance that looked like a very efficient, very oily octopus was running a bakery.
"Venom! Stop! You’re going to get flour everywhere!" Gummy hissed, even as she watched her productivity triple.
< WE ARE OPTIMIZING, GUMMY! >
The tendrils began drum-rolling on the counter in excitement.
< LOOK AT THE PERRO! SHE IS DOING A HAPPY DANCE! >
Ceobe was, indeed, hopping from foot to foot as the black tendrils began "tossing" the finished puffs into the air, where she caught them in her mouth like a professional circus performer.
"Wheee! More! More Mr. Sticky-Gummy!"
The door opened again. Matterhorn walked in, stopped, and stared at the sight of Gummy being used as a biological scaffolding for a dozen black limbs that were currently juggling pastries. "Gummy. Why is there a... dark entity... decorating the desserts?"
Gummy froze, a black tendril currently halfway through drizzling chocolate over a puff. "Um... it’s a... specialized Ursus culinary Arts?"
< TELL THE BIG BULL MAN WE SAVED THE VANILLA CUSTARD FROM A LACK OF COCOA. WE ARE A HERO. >
Matterhorn sighed, walked over to a pot, and started stirring. "As long as it washes its... hands... before touching the oven. And keep it away from my spices. The last time a 'sentient Arts' entered my kitchen, it tried to season the soup with gunpowder."
< WE WOULD NEVER. >
A long, black tongue flickered out of Gummy’s palm to lick a stray grain of sea salt.
< GUNPOWDER IS TOO GRITTY. WE PREFER SEA SALT. >
Gummy beamed, her heart full. "See, Venom? Even Matterhorn thinks you’re helpful!"
< WE ARE NOT HELPFUL. WE ARE MIGHTY. BUT... THE PERRO GAVE US A THUMBS UP. WE SHALL CONTINUE THE PASTRY-WAR. >