Work Text:
Boosfer stared at the baking tray with a mixed expression of disappointment and fustration. The ‘cookies’ - the burnt ghost of what they should’ve been - stared right back at him like they were judging his amateurism.
He had intended to cook something; something that would satisfy his hunger and improve the skills he lacked when it came to cooking, but his sweet tooth took over and he baked instead. And cookies were simple, the go-to if you wanted something basic but tasty, guaranteed of successful results if he just followed a few talentless instructions.
...Turns out that a ’few talentless instructions’ actually included the talent of not being idiotic and Boosfer had failed, because what he was looking at was literal charcoal. Maybe next time he wants to genuinely make something at least partially edible, he should invite Kier and Dev. They would keep him on track to make something savory instead of...that.
His kitchen is also a complete mess: there’s flour on the table, on himself, and the flour bag itself is somewhere on the floor, ripped open and unsaveable; eggshells are scattered everywhere like a crime scene, and there's a raw egg somehow on the ceiling...Everything just kept getting more and more chaotic and disastrous as he progressed. It’s such a shame really, it was built (totally by himself, every block placed with his own hands) only a few days ago, perfectly polished and clean and shaped to his liking. He’ll clean the mess later; and by that, he means paying someone to do it for him.
The ’cookies’ are inedible, unless Boosfer wants to break his teeth biting into one to prove they're unplatable, and they’re going to go in the trash where they–
“What in the Void are those,”
Nevermind.
Boosfer doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is with that goofyass voice changer, but he does anyway. Wemmbu’s already looking at him, gaze fixed and unmoving like him and Boosfer are going to have the longest staring contest ever. His invisibility is scarily low, but Wemmbu doesn’t bother using another potion, if he even has one. Not around Boosfer.
“Cookies, duh. Why, want one?” He grins, picking one up for Wemmbu to see like they weren’t the first thing he saw when entering.
The demon sighs irritably; his invisibility wears off then. “Absolutely not. They look like you’ve mined a coal vein and made cookies with it.”
Technically, he wasn’t wrong. If Boosfer willingly took a bite out of any of them he possibly wouldn’t be seeing the next day. He had failed all of his goals the moment he thought about making cookies. Maybe he should’ve just stuck to golden apples and golden carrots or something...
“Do you have invis pots?” Wemmbu asks, enchanted netherite sword in one hand and his trident in the other.
“Yeah?”
As silence stretches for longer than Wemmbu wants it to, his face conflicts between two emotions: confusion, and agitation, desperation seeping in from the small cracks of it.
“So, like, you gonna give them to me before I mace you or what?” Wemmbu steps closer like he’s preparing to do exactly that. It’s so easy to rile him up with how impatient he is, but Boosfer is slightly curious as to why he’s asking him when he knows the alien is a mercenary.
“I never said I was going to give them to you, dude! I’m not a brewing stand.”
To erase the acrid smell of wrecked desserts, he opened a window. He should’ve done that ages ago - now the smell will linger for longer.
“Bro–” Wemmbu facepalms, then tries a different approach. “I’ll pay you. Capital City is somehow out of not only invis pots but the materials for them, and I mean like every potion shop there. I’ll–”
“Blah blah blah, is that all you do??” Boosfer heckles, primarily with the goal to goad. “I don’t want payment, I want you to try my spectacular cookies and tell me they’re awesome with a straight face.”
Wemmbu’s mouth opens, then closes, like he’s still processing the absurdity of Boosfer’s words. “...No.”
“Hmm?”
“No, I’m not doing that. I’m not going to torture my tastebuds with those.” Wemmbu points at the tray of futile cookies.
“Man they can’t be that bad, can they? You can wash it down with the potions you’ll get, unless...”
“They’re BURNT.”
He omits Wemmbu’s intervention easily, continuing as if he had never spoken in the first place: “Unless you don’t want the potions at all and want to go home empty-handed instead? If you even have a home I mean...”
“I have netherite trims–”
“I dunno, you still look homeless to me,” he looks Wemmbu up and down, noticing a few cuts and bruises that aren’t concealed by his armor. He’s likely been in a fight recently, no doubt. “Actually, you look more like a peasant.”
“I’m here for invisibility potions, not your opinion on how I look.” The fiend says, tail swishing in aggravation.
“Then try my cookies.”
“How about instead of paying you or trying the monstrosities in that tray that you call cookies, I just kill you and loot your base until I find what I came here for?!” Wemmbu snaps.
He’s truly a simpleton if he believes he can get things from Boosfer without going through some sort of suffering. The invisibility potions he apparently owned could be in his ender chest for all Wemmbu knew, and if he killed him right now - which is, hopefully, still something he doesn’t have the guts to do yet - he not only would go home with an inventory of no invis pots but also his time wasted and patience dwindled.
“Tsk, tsk,” Boosfer tuts disapprovingly, “we’re back to the threats again? Seriously, dude? Do you ever learn? Also, it’s the cookies or nothing.”
Wemmbu stares at the tray for a long moment before gritting his teeth and snatching a cookie. He took the smallest bite he could muster, one that would probably be considered a nibble more than a bite, and set the cookie down, seizing one of many golden apples he had in his inventory afterward and tearing into it. He’s overreacting; he doesn’t need the metallic taste of a golden apple to cover up a little bit of bitter.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” he mumbles, mouth full. “You should throw all of them in the trash. Make a new batch and don’t put them in the oven for so long. Make them look like you actually tried.”
Boosfer isn’t offended at all, even if Wemmbu sounded like he wanted him to be. “That’d be a waste of food, my friend.”
“Everything is a waste if it’s made by you. Also, I’m not your friend.”
“Friends give eachother advice–”
“That ‘advice’ you say I gave you wasn’t advice, it was the basic knowledge you lack.” The mace wielder retorts, glaring at Boosfer indignantly. “Give me the pots, Boosfer.”
“Woww, okay you meanie, I’ll get your payment if you’re really that impatient.” Boosfer laughs, exiting the room, leaving Wemmbu alone.
When he comes back, the kitchen is less of a mess; most of the eggshells have magically disappeared, and the rent-in-twain bag of flour is gone too. Whilst the flour is still there (and so is the egg, but in all likelihood it’ll be there for a while), there’s a singular footprint in it that is clearly made by Wemmbu. Boosfer wonders if he had bothered out of some negligible kindness deep down in his heart or because he couldn’t abide his environment looking like a calamity. He doesn’t question it, assuming it’s the latter, because Wemmbu has never been kind, nor does he have a heart. At least, not around him. Maybe that was a good thing.
“Here you gooo,” he drawls, placing a - what Wemmbu hopes is filled with invis pots - shulker box on the counter.
The other opens it immediately. The potions aren’t splash, but they still last eight minutes, so they’ll do.
What really bothers him is the amount.
“Boosfer,” he begins scornfully, “why are there only five pots.”
“You give the bare minimum, you receive the bare minimum.” Boosfer replies casually.
Wemmbu breaks the shulker, storing it into his inventory. This was such a waste of time, risking going to the End with two minutes of invisibility left would have been much more productive than this. He knows what he hopes isn’t always what he gets, but this is ridiculous.
“Can I have my shul–”
“No.”
“Oh well, you’re baking with me next week though, riiight?”
Wemmbu throws a cookie in his face.
“Eat that and choke on it.” Is the last thing he says before drinking one of the invisibility potions from the shulker and booking it.
“I’M GUESSING THAT’S A YES!” Boosfer yells after him, a final attempt to try fuel Wemmbu’s rage, but by then he’s long gone and out of earshot.