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The Host entered the kitchen without much thought, his mumbled narrations betraying his one-track-mind for nice mug of a tea before he went to curl up somewhere with an audiobook. Idly, as he often did, he picked at the drying blood just beneath his bandages, only his memorization of the manor’s layout really guiding him. A mumbled sentence later, one of the cupboards was swinging open of its own accord, and a deep blue mug patterned with constellations – one of the biggest ones the egos had – was flying into his hand like it was possessed.
So when there was a sudden thunk! and a prompt spluttering of rapid swears, the Host, of course, jumped a mile and let out short scream himself, the mug falling to shatter on the floor.
The swearing quickly dissolved into laughter, and the Host got his answer as to who was also in the kitchen before he could open his mouth to find out for himself. “Sorry, Host! I didn’t hear you come in. Cabinet being open was a surprise, didn’t mean to scare you.”
The Host’s face lit up a deep red, with both embarrassment and mild irritation, and with another softly mumbled phrase, the mug was once again whole and resting on the kitchen island. “…Ah. The Host apologizes as well – he didn’t know Bim Trimmer was here, either. He was…rather focused.”
Another chuckle. “Apparently! So are you looking for your tea or something?” At the Host’s nod, Bim hummed. “…Is there any way you can like – magic the water to be hot? You can’t see it, but the kitchen is kind of a mess right now, stove’s occupied.”
The Host’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head quizzically…but just a half second of thought dwelling on Bim’s particular diet made him forcibly shut the mental door that would have that knowledge spilling into his head. “The Host will make do. Tea bag and sugar, please.”
The Host wandered over to fill his mug at the sink while Bim rummaged around in the cupboards. He chewed on his lip, curiosity admittedly just about damn gutting him from the inside out. He shut off the faucet, fingers drumming on the countertop. “…If the Host may ask, what is Bim working on?”
“I’m working on a new recipe! Fingers crossed it turns out alright.”
The Host arched an eyebrow, taking the tea bag when Bim nudged his arm. “Bim had best be careful. Darkiplier will maim him if he gets blood on the carpet. The Host would know.”
Bim laughed again, genuine and surprised. “No no no no no, nothing like that! I wouldn’t do that here, are you crazy? No, I’m baking! They’re just cookies! See, I asked Wilford a while ago if any of you guys dabbled in baking, and while apparently CJ is pretty good at cakes and Wilford can do a thing or two, no one really just – makes anything? And since you guys are finally coming out of your little shells –”
The Host snorted. “Bim has practically taken a sledgehammer to the egos’ walls. The Host is surprised Google hasn’t killed him yet.”
“He’s tried! Oh man has he tried! Anyway, I figured it might be nice to just fuck around in the kitchen and have some treats around, for shits and giggles. And I was bored and this gives me something to do that isn’t goading the Jims into chaos.”
The Host shuddered, sipping at his now perfectly brewed, perfectly warm mug of tea. “At least there’s that.”
Suddenly, a harsh ringing cut through the air, and the Host jumped again, just barely keeping from sloshing his tea around and making a mess of the front of his shirt. Bim jumped, too, judging by the meaty thump against the island counter and another round of muttered swearing. “Ow! That’s the timer, first round of cookies should be done! If you stick around for a bit, I’ll let you try one once they cool down. You’ll be my lab rat.”
The Host scoffed, but stuck around, humming into his mug as the oven opened and he was blasted with the warm, sweet scent of cinnamon and baking cookies. Bim was humming some pop song as he worked, setting the tray of cookies on the stovetop after the calamitous noise of him shoving whatever had been occupying the space to the side. “Well, they look good, and they smell great! Give it five minutes or so, and –”
The Host cut Bim off by promptly snatching a cookie off the still-hot tray, smirking smugly. He could practically hear the indignation in Bim’s voice. “Wh – hey! Isn’t that hot, how are you not burning the shit out of your hand right now?”
“The Host is simply superior.” The Host stuck his tongue out at Bim – he didn’t need to know that he’d Spoken the cookie to a cooler temperature – and took a bite. He paused, chewing slowly.
“…Uh, Host? What’s that look for, are they good, are they ass, what’s up?”
The Host swallowed, still frozen. Bim was fast, but he was full of muscle, generally built for strength, not speed or stamina. In a chase, the Host was sure he could outrun him. All he needed to do was get up the stairs and into Dr. Iplier’s office, and his beloved doctor would almost certainly help ward Bim away if the Host shared his bounty…
“Hello, Earth to Host! What the Hell, man?!”
The Host sprang into action, snatching as many of the cookies as he could before Bim could react and sprinting as fast as he could for the exit. He laughed as he heard Bim splutter before giving chase. “What the fuck, Host?!”
“The cookies are delicious!” The Host shoved the rest of his first one into his mouth, nearly choking as he shouted. “Bim Trimmer should definitely make them again!”
“Host you fucking asshole, those are for the whole house! Get back here!”
“Not anymore!”
“Host!”