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Ka-chunk.
The Crème Republic airship landed with a small holler from the pilot, but it did little to shake Clotted Cream Cookie from his racing thoughts.
“Seat me alone,” he had insisted pre-departure, though even so, the request felt like it came from a disconnected, hollow mouth. The other Paladins and knights that survived (other than Financier Cookie, who insisted on at least accompanying him from a few feet away) took a separate airship, leaving him alone with his sharp mind. He had much preferred thinking in solitude anyway, but now his inescapable pondering had halted.
As he rose, Clotted Cream Cookie’s fingers tugged at the gloves he had put on to conceal the scars of the shackles he once bore. His beloved high-collared coat just barely covered the sides of his neck, cloaking the scarring there and providing him with a semblance of security from the Republic’s gaze. Additionally, he had a few bruises on his cheeks and horribly tousled hair, which could have been less his concern but would certainly be his father’s.
Ugh. His father.
He knew the Convocation of Elders would already have quite the earful to give him. But, his worries abandoned the Convocation and the Cookies of the Crème Republic, turning onto Custard Cookie instead. There was no way around his ill-tempered adoptive father. Although Clotted Cream Cookie could potentially get out with a simple argument and a smack if he chose his words wisely, knowing the stern Elder, the repercussions would be far more intense.
Repercussions… for what, exactly? For his actions? It wasn’t his fault; he was just… being diplomatic. Diplomatic, just as he had always been taught. And for what? For the line between himself and something somehow worse to blur till it reached a point of unrecognizable destruction? He had apologized to White Lily Cookie, after all. It was the only option then to control the Beasts, the right thing to do.
The right thing.
The magichanical doors of the airship opened, pulling Clotted Cream Cookie back into focus as he faced the two knights who would presumably be escorting him to Custard Manor. He attempted to keep his head high, his posture straight, just as any good Consul should, ignoring the breeze that grazed his neck. Financier Cookie muttered a few words to the pair of knights before she walked off to go and greet Madeleine Cookie and her other soldier friends.
He walked the sickeningly familiar route to his home, the architecture that would usually ground him instead setting him apart. The Upper City of the Republic always had such a relaxing energy about it; a soft wind blowing through the seashelled spires and gorgeous clouds. There had always been Cookies bustling around the town square, fountains gleaming, and neighbors commingling. But today, it was solemn. Citizens mourned fallen knights and Paladins whose last memory was more than likely something bittersweet; the few that had Cookies returning to them greeting them with a pensive expression.
Thinking of Paladins continuously brought his mind back to Financier Cookie, and he did not want to follow that train right now.
It wasn’t a long distance to Custard Manor, where his father was undoubtedly waiting for him. As Clotted Cream Cookie approached, memories of his childhood flooded back: the sprawling gardens and the laughter that used to fill the air, the brief days of enjoyment before “use your manners” and “read all your books” and… well, politics. Life when his mother was still around.
The grand entrance came into view, flanked by two stoic knights, their expressions unchanged as he stepped past them and pushed open the heavy doors. Inside, the cool, still atmosphere surrounded him, carrying the familiar scent of waxy, polished wood. As the doors thudded shut behind him, he paused to observe the stillness of the vast hall. He was so sure his father would be waiting for him, but there didn't appear to be-
“Well, well,” Clotted Cream Cookie jumped, whipping around to face Custard Cookie, who stood in a doorway a few doors down. “Home at last, it seems?”
Ah, Light.
Clotted Cream Cookie dipped his head formally, mumbling a swift ‘Sir.’ In a poor attempt to conceal as much of his neck as possible, he slouched, the older Cookie already in front of him.
“You look… utterly revolting,” Custard Cookie snarled, snatching Clotted Cream Cookie’s face in one hand and yanking him closer for inspection. “And what in the Witches are these disgusting markings on your neck? What happened to you in that kingdom?!”
His tone should have been concerned. Fatherly.
It was anything but.
And at this point in his fucked-up life, Clotted Cream Cookie was too tired to care anymore.
“It’s a long story,” he pulled back from Custard Cookie’s grip. Several lines had already been crossed, and he’d only gotten out a measly five words since his arrival.
“I'd better not see this attitude when you explain to the Convocation tomorrow why nearly all of the knights who accompanied you to Beast-Yeast have crumbled,” the Elder threatened, his posture straightening even more.
“Tomorrow?” Clotted Cream Cookie was visibly taken aback, though his tone remained calm, diplomatic, and questioning, as per usual in similar dubious situations.
“Yes, tomorrow,” Custard Cookie mocked. “Did you lose your hearing out there, too, boy?”
Clotted Cream Cookie’s voice remained steady, posture still slightly slouched. “No, I did not.”
“Then don’t go asking stupid questions.”
He did not.
“You,” Custard Cookie continued, slowly circling Clotted Cream Cookie with his arms tucked behind him, “look like you've been dragged through the streets. Is this what passes for a Consul now? Your hair is a disaster. Your clothes are ruined. You can't even seem to present yourself with basic dignity, not even to your own father.”
You’re not my true father, he wanted to snap. But he bit his tongue and waited it out, just as he always did.
“And what of this horrendous posture you’ve taken on?” Custard Cookie kicked at the back of his leg, and Clotted Cream Cookie stood tall once more. The Elder seemed to take a closer look at the scarred bands that circled his throat, marks that looked like they'd been burned into his skin. It had been a while since Clotted Cream Cookie had looked into a mirror, and all he could do was pray to the Divines that the markings had at least faded somewhat.
“You still haven’t explained to me what these barbaric wounds are, boy. It's shameful. They make you look like a common criminal, not a representative of this Republic.”
It wasn’t my fault.
I’m free now.
They’ll fade.
As if Custard Cookie would listen to a word out of Clotted Cream Cookie’s mouth.
“Scars from The Challenge,” he explained simply, trying to avoid Custard Cookie’s souring expression.
“Ah, yes. The Challenge. Don’t tell me you… actively fought in that? You just let the knights do the… the grit, yes?”
“Why would I put the knights’ lives on the line like that?” he asked, before regretting the impulsive words instantly
“Because they’re disposable!” Custard Cookie growled, nearly grabbing Clotted Cream Cookie’s collar out of pure disbelief and anger.
Disposable.
“Did you actually get your dough dirty in there?” The Elder’s voice dropped to a threatening whisper. “Is that what those… those signs of your failure are from?!”
It was almost funny, how much of a hypocrite Custard Cookie could be. Speaking with concern for the number of fallen knights, then calling them simply disposable. Telling Clotted Cream Cookie he wouldn’t be punished, then doing just that.
It was hard to say that Clotted Cream Cookie was any better.
“I am capable of defending myself,” The Consul replied coolly. He repressed the shiver that ran through his body at how disconnected he felt, a detachment similar to that of when he was out of his own head, and another controlled his every word. “And unlike you, at least I have some semblance of-”
Custard Cookie shut that composure down with a single strike across his face.
The single sound echoed down the hallways, but in it all, Clotted Cream Cookie had a beat to breathe. To think.
He had dealt with worse, after all.
Custard Cookie interrupted Clotted Cream Cookie’s moment, clutching the Cookie by the collar.
“You have no right to talk back to me.” He tightened his hold, pressing Clotted Cream Cookie against the wall beside the grand entrance to the Manor. “I shaped you into something wonderful, and this is how you repay me? By going off on your own accord, allowing your knights to crumble, and returning home with nothing more to show for it than ugly scars and a fraction of our military?!”
“The Challenge-”
“The Challenge was nothing more than the Queen’s pitiful attempt at salvaging a Witch-forsaken kingdom! You can’t just go over there with open arms and your idiotic smile you call ‘diplomatic,’ thinking there are other ways of going about these things. What’s the one thing you’ve learned?!” Custard Cookie challenged, shouting right in Clotted Cream Cookie’s face.
Clotted Cream Cookie said nothing.
“Cookies. Are all. The same!” Custard Cookie roared, slamming Clotted Cream Cookie against the wall he was against. “Perhaps if you had treated the Faerie Queen like you do any other diplomat, the Republic would have gotten a little land out of this, hm?”
The Faerie Queen… White Lily Cookie. It was true, he had treated White Lily Cookie like anything but any other diplomat, courting her in an attempt to bring her to his side before… well, utterly falling in love with her. He knew that in all his wrongdoings, whether they were truly his or not, White Lily Cookie could never see him in the way he sees her. And he knew he would never be over her.
“Stop staring into space and listen to me,” Custard Cookie grabbed Clotted Cream Cookie’s face once more, snapping him out of his love-sick thoughts. “You are as useless as those crumbled Paladins…”
That was the final straw for Clotted Cream Cookie.
He was filled with an insurmountable amount of rage as he shoved his father away, shaking. ‘Crumbled Paladins’? It brought back far-too-bitter thoughts of Financier Cookie; when she was impaled, when he swore she might have truly crumbled. The only thing he could do to release his pent-up anger was to… shout.
“They were brave, they were loyal, and you call them useless?!” He lashed out. Custard Cookie did not like that.
“What on Earthbread has gotten into you-” Custard Cookie lunged for Clotted Cream Cookie again, but the Consul simply side-stepped, nearly shaking from frustration.
“You keep your hands off of me!” Clotted Cream Cookie hissed, fury snapping his spine straight more violently than any kick ever had.
Custard Cookie scoffed. “You think screaming will absolve-”
“I- I was POSESSED.”
The words tore out of him, loud enough to rattle the hall. His hands balled into fists, his dough feeling like it might crack. “You don’t understand…! She spoke with my mouth. She moved my body. I watched her make choices while I was trapped in my own dough! You think I enjoyed the suffering?!”
He stepped forward, Custard Cookie in a shell-shocked silence.
“And while that- that wretched, soggy, half-baked Cookie was using me,” Clotted Cream Cookie continued, voice rising, feral, “my knights were dying. My Paladins were crumbled. And Financier-” His voice broke, then sharpened into a snarl, “-Financier Cookie left my side for the Faeries! My own Paladin!”
“And whose fault is that?” Custard Cookie sneered, coming back to his senses. “You know well that sentimentality is weakness, boy.”
That was it.
Clotted Cream Cookie lunged forward, shoving his “father” in the chest hard enough to stagger him a step back.
“SHUT. UP.”
The words certainly served their purpose to the Elder.
“I didn’t finish the mission!” he roared. “I didn’t stop the Beasts. I didn’t secure an alliance. I didn’t come back with land, or power, or anything you could parade in front of the Convocation!” His breathing was wild now, nearly on the brink of a breakdown. “I came back with nothing. Nothing but scars you call shameful and losses you call disposable!”
Custard Cookie’s eyes darkened with anger, his voice turning cold as he stepped closer to Clotted Cream Cookie. “You dare put your hands on me-”
“You MADE ME LIKE THIS!” Clotted Cream Cookie screamed, shoving him again. Now, Custard Cookie was the one against the wall. “You taught me to smile while those around me suffered. You taught me obedience, you taught me that cruelty was ‘necessity’! You told me never to question, never to hesitate, never to feel-”
He slammed his fist into the wall beside Custard Cookie’s head.
“And the ONE time I actually did what you preach,” he snarled, “the one time I didn’t hide behind soldiers, the one time I put myself in the line of fire…”
His voice broke into something almost hysterical.
“...I still wasn’t enough for you.”
Custard Cookie grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close as his words failed him. “You- you insolent- unworthy little- you-”
Clotted Cream Cookie didn’t flinch. He leaned in instead, a weak, mocking smile on his face.
“Hit me,” he rasped out, eyes flicking over his father’s enraged face. “Go on. Isn’t that what you do when something disappoints you? Act like a child?”
Custard Cookie froze.
“I lost my knights. I nearly lost Financier Cookie. Witches, I lost control of my own body,” Clotted Cream Cookie spat. “And you stand there, trying to tell me I’m… unworthy? Of what, your name?”
“Well, you can keep it.”
Custard Cookie’s grip tightened.
“Your name. Your Republic. Your stupid politics, and titles, and whatever views you want me to have.” He laughed bitterly. “Because if being your ‘son’ means continuing to be whatever you are, then I’d rather be a failure than have to look at your face one. More. Time.”
The hall fell silent.
Custard Cookie’s body trembled; whether with rage or restraint, Clotted Cream Cookie didn’t care.
He felt as unfazed and detached as he did when he was taken over. Custard Cookie slammed Clotted Cream Cookie’s side against the wall, the Elder at a loss for any good retort. Clotted Cream Cookie could feel his dough cracking under his uniform, sending a sharp jolt of pain across his whole body.
“I… you… I- I don't want to hear your excuses.” Custard Cookie’s voice was flat and rehearsed. “You're weak, and weakness is all you'll ever be.”
“I'm sure,” Clotted Cream Cookie drawled out of pure spite, the other Cookie shoving him against the banister and knocking the wind out of him, tears falling from his eyes silently.
“You- you disgust me. Defective. Spineless. Unworthy of the Custard name.” Custard Cookie pushed Clotted Cream Cookie to the ground this time, and he took it. “This is what I get for trying to shape you into something. A sniveling, weak-minded disappointment.”
Clotted Cream Cookie just let the tears out as his father shunned without conviction before watching the Elder storm off down the hallway.
Any thoughts of tomorrow left him. After all,
Only pathetic failures stress over Convocation meetings.
Only pathetic failures cry on the floor.
Revolting.