Bitter Batter, Baker Madder

A man with strawberry blond hair and violet eyes walked into the bakery. She watched as he glanced over the displays with such a pointed look she was surprised when he asked for a recommendation. He’d given the impression he was looking for something specific—maybe they didn’t have it?

“Well,” she said looking over their inventory. It was a bit odd to say which of her creations were most popular. Especially with everyone having such varied tastes. What if he was one of the rare ones who didn’t prefer chocolate? Or didn’t like things too sweet?

She walked over to one of the displays with the easy-to-eat desserts. The ones that didn’t require utensils to eat. (Though she supposed one could forgo table manners and eat slices of cake by hand.)

“If you’re wanting a quick fix for your sweet tooth you can’t go wrong with cookies. If you want something a little more fancy I’d recommend the cheesecakes.” Goodness she sounded so generic. But how could she tailor a recommendation without knowing anything about his tastes?

“Though if you’re in the mood for something a little different lemon tarts are a good way to go as well.”

She looked back at the man to try and read his expression though she hadn’t been doing a good job of it so far. “Do any of those sound like something you’d like?”

Cookies. The typical homebound favorite, and something he couldn’t fault her for recommending. He wasn’t having an easy time figuring out what he was actually looking for, as it seemed that no matter where he looked, it wasn’t what he had in mind. How was he supposed to understand tenderness when it came to baking anyway? It seemed as though Maya and Yolanda had set him up for failure, but-- perhaps he was just griping over spilled milk again.

His eyes flicked back and forth, and back and forth. Like a clock docked on a cafe wall. He was biding his time and it was starting to feel like if he didn’t make a choice soon, all the sugar in the world would spoil over. But the closest thing to something he liked was... the lemon tarts? But was he here for something he liked? Or maybe-- 

“Do you have a personal favorite? Either to bake or to eat, you know?” That was it. He should figure out how things are done by tasting her favorites. (And it would hurt for him to pop a few RP on some lemon tarts or something later too...) It wouldn’t be like he was playing Russian Roulette if he stopped spinning the wheel.

“I guess I’ve been sent on a wild goose chase. By a few...” Friends? “...acquaintances. So I just wanted to try something with uh... how would you even say this...” Ugh, this was really awkward. He wanted to forfeit any shred of dignity he had left.

“Something that would make someone at the other end of the table...” A few words caught on his throat, as he tried to figure out how to make this any less cheesy. But there was nothing stopping this train now that it was going. Cheese was all that was left for the both of them.

To be honest he didn’t expect to be in this much of a mess. Really he decided to swing by the area to check if there was somewhat edible food in the trash cans. Normally people would be disgusted, but this was his normal. Looking for shelter and food. He didn’t have a home, nor did he have a stable job. Sure he may have looked pitiful, but he was doing his best. Besides it wasn’t all too bad. 

It wasn’t very difficult. For one he didn’t have to worry about paying bills, but that came at the cost of actually looking for a place to stay. Not that he minded, since he could roam practically everywhere. Practically. There were restricted areas of course and he wasn’t going to even attempt to stay in those areas. Considering they were guarded and they were probably restricted for a good reason.

However while he was looking through the trash for anything that could have been any use there was a raccoon. As long as he was careful there wouldn’t be any issues. Wrong. The raccoon also wanted things from the trash, and the result was him trying to fend the raccoon off with a trashcan lid while trying to scavenge for things as well.

A voice yelling at him made him realize the racket he was making, but he couldn’t exactly stop it. Unless he wanted to have some scratches and bites from a raccoon. “Sorry!” He called out while he began to back away slowly.

Perturbed. He was kindly, sweetly, wholeheartedly perturbed by the sight of a guy trying to fend off a raccoon in front of his house. If anything, Chase would have probably stopped to think that the guy could have probably had a little more finesse with his shield work. Kidding. What did he care? It was almost cartoonish, the way this complete stranger was up and about so early in the morning getting torn to shreds by a raccoon.

Clicking his tongue, he could have left this all behind him and tightly shut the door to this unwanted intrusion. But there was something about the desperation of battle that made him freeze for a second’s notice. Sorry, sorry, sorry. That’s all strangers were these days. Sorry. He guess this occasion warrented a sorry though, for all the needles that metaphorically pricked down his back. Or should he say raccoon nails?

“Uh--” Did the guy need help? What was the line Chase was going to draw? “Are you kidding me?” Hissing under his breath, he was something akin to a steam pressure pot. Out came the steam and wisps of translucent smoke. And what was left was this rather empty feeling, like an ache. An itch. As poor as his personality fizzed to death, there was some human courtesy to him. A shame, really. He really was a pot. Empty after all the steam blows over.

“Hey-- Hey!” Turning his spout towards the raccoon, he stepped out of the house with a bored look to him. “Get away from that guy, you little--” Making shooing motions towards the raccoon, he slowly, slowly lowered himself to grab onto a stick. Spilling his intentions with his half-hearted body language, he guessed it looked like some half-ass trying to make a fool of himself.

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🔄  for a random number instead.

{ Off Hiatus

Earned: 1060 RP

With a good ol’ summer wrap up, our Fireside Festival has come to a close! The great out doors are just the right place to… fight a bunch of bees, seduce a bear, be jumped by a man in a dog suit– wait. That doesn’t sound ANYTHING like a camping trip? 

In any case, Mimi and Levi should probably think twice before hosting another one of these odd events. But hey, at least the Adventurer’s Guild got what they wanted right? With the Zephyr Blade in tow, the two went for a cup of tea and were on their way. 

What’s so special about a branch anyway?

All chatrooms will come to a close today! If anyone wants to continue a thread (and wants it as part of the document) feel free to send in a Google Doc and we’ll edit the document accordingly. Otherwise~

     Even though it’s dark, Sebastian can tell this place is probably one of the more colorful towns he’ll end up visiting on his trips. He’s seen plenty, even in the short amount of time he’s been heading out into the world to… who knows? Experience life? Have a quarter-life crisis?

     Maybe both. The place is colorful, alright? That’s all.

     And Sebastian is tired. There’s a certain thrill to riding his bike late at night, but once you get tired, you should get off as soon as possible, unless you want to fall right over on the bridge you’re crossing, or whatever. Sebastian, however thrill-seeking, doesn’t want to end up doing something stupid like that. If he’s going to endanger himself on his bike, it’ll be because he’s actively doing something reckless, not putting himself through sleep deprivation.

     However sleep-deprived, he’s not quick to find himself somewhere to sleep. No, his mind works too fast for that, especially after riding through the night. He’s not even sure what time it is, just that it’s dark and he’s alright with entering the first place he sees.

     Right. Food. Food? No, he’ll order something to drink. He settles himself up on a stool (because tables are just rude to the poor people who have to wait them at this time of night) and rests his arms on the bar. “Is it possible I could get somethin’ like a Shirley Temple?”

     Every place has some sort of version of that, right? He doesn’t feel like anything… heavy, tonight.

@bitterbatter

Another one. Hell if he knew why strangers came and went as they pleased. Where did this one come from? The city? He counted folks that weren’t from these parts like he counted sheep. And boy, were the nights sleepless. He knew people recommended a story before bedtime, but it was the talkative, storytelling types that were often in over their heads. Chase took a quick gander at the guy, sizing him up in one glance before flicking his gaze off someplace else. Well, at least he didn’t look too troublesome.

... ... ... Didn’t look like a virgin bargoer either. What the hell? He figured the mop bangs and dark circled mess called for something a little less... err... Animal crackers. In his soup. Chase gave the guy an acknowledging nod for good measure, opening his mouth just to shut it. Well he guessed the dark circles weren’t the only things loopty-looping.  

“...Sure. Virgin. On the rocks, right?” Really tried to make that sound a little less judgmental. Truly. How does one do that with a dead, fish-eyed look on his face? “Did you want some--”

Monkeys and rabbits-- “-- thing else with that?”

Damn. He knew intrusive thoughts were a thing but it was the first time the Goddess forsakened him in the form of a bad 1930s jingle. All these weird pauses probably had the guy on the other end of the counter rolling. Just don’t make eye contact. Grenadine. Check. Ice. Check. Ginger ale... out since the last Shirley Temple. Which was a while back. Righhhhht. He popped open a new bottle, gleaming in a sleek green shell of glass.

The bottle cap popped off like a dream. And rolled off like a nightmare. He could have sworn he saw it going in slow motion, like a terrible movie flick, clicking to a stop near the guy’s arm. Yeaaah.... just like a movie.

Elli walked around the small bakery, putting things in order and wiping down the counters. There had been a rush earlier in the day and she finally had some time to straighten up the place. She didn’t mind working so much. In fact she was glad for the business. But a lull never hurt anyone, especially when it gave her time for a small break. However brief it may be.

Elli was in the middle of organizing the display cases when she heard the all-too-familiar chime of the bell, signalling a customer had entered.

“I’ll be right with you,” Elli said over her shoulder. After putting the last doughnut in place Elli closed the case and stood up. Brushing off her apron, she turned to the customer with a bright smile.

“How may I help you today?“

Rumor had it that the bakery around these parts had a taste of tenderness to it-- the kind Yolanda and Maya never failed to remind him he needed more of. What was tenderness to a person, anyway? He was painfully aware that he was probably just overthinking once again-- Sigh. Contructive criticism should always be appreciated in the culinary world. Frankly, he’d take it like a spoon full of cinnamon down his throat, if that meant he’d strike gold.

But tenderness? He griped to himself, kind of half-listening to that sing-song voice that greeted him as soon as his feet met the welcome mat. You couldn’t just learn that, could you? His eyes flitted sharply, taking a full panoramic view of what he had to tackle next. Goddess. A moment of silence for his Goddess-be-cursed soul. The pastries and breads were all lined up with decadent buttercream pearling and hand-detailing for every bread fold. Well. They always did say an epiphany felt like the purging of one’s demons, but he never thought he’d be caught feeling--? What would the word be? Awe-struck? As though he had been struck on the head, with an egg spoon.

His expression could have shown an inch of how he felt though. Nah. Wouldn’t want it getting to anyone’s heads. With a half-lidded look in his eyes, Chase realized the next daunting task. Small talk. Glancing at the way she struck a winning smile, he knew he had to get past this friendly business talk with a death grip on his social spoons. “Right- hello.”