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@theartofmadeline
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@pinchofdeceit
semi selective and mutuals only blog for shadow milk cookie of cookie run: kingdom. oc, duplicate, multimuse and crossover friendly. 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯. ( they / them. 31. ) established december 2025. minors please do not interact. carrd. spotify. rpcdni.
why are they all trying to make me into a saint? ( oh god! oh god! ) i want to do things. stop turning me into a saint.
The Ultimate Cookie goes still.
Even that one eye, struggling with all its might, manages to calm for a moment. It slips between a couple of miscellaneous eyes near the edge of the cluster, slowly returning to its rightful position up front. It freezes as the Ultimate Cookie speaks again, regaining its composure, and returns to blinking that same rhythmic pattern at Maestro. Help me help me help me I can't fight it alone don't let us get devoured--
"Then... I get to live! The same way you other cookies do." They stare at Maestro dead-on, their eyes empty. "It doesn't matter how, or what, but I don't have the luxury of waiting. Without life powder..." It'll crumble... no. Crumbling implies it has dough to crumble.
It'll fade. Remembered by nobody. Loved by nobody. Like it never existed to begin with.
A small, bitter laugh escapes from its mouth. "It's funny, Maestro. You talk and talk all about how I don't know what I want, or how I haven't figured out who I'm meant to be... but do you? Does she? Or are you, maybe, speaking from experience?"
It stares at him, without hatred... or much of anything. "Only difference is I haven't been baked yet."
"What's your excuse, o ex-Fount of Knowledge?"
Why should you get help understanding yourself? Why is it the one that has to suffer in the dark, abandoned?
It's not fair. Not fair at all.
there it is. the character motivation revealed in all its glory.
❝ weeeell, i won't speak for sylph... ❞ the beast trails off. he spares the eye a glance — yes, he knows. he sees it. he's TRYING to help, just hang in there for a little while longer. ❝ as for yours truly, don't let the dough and handsome mug fool ya — i wasn't exactly designed to be a cookie. someone else had a dream for cookiekind, and they created me to make it a reality. ❞ sounds familiar? oh yes. if maestro has to be uncomfortably aware of the parallels, then they all get to enjoy them. ❝ but that isn't living. that's just existing with extra obligations — and after a while, it stops feeling like it's worth the price of admission. ❞
he crosses his arms, gaze briefly flicking to the side. he's uncomfortable with this topic, and it shows in his body language. ( defensive, despite his best efforts to remain outwardly calm. ) ❝ i didn't know what parts were me and what i wanted — and what parts were forced on me by someone else. ❞ he glances at his hand. the scarred one, of course. the sight of it used to infuriate him — an imperfection marring his dough without his permission. but maestro supposes it's grown on him. it adds character.
❝ … but then, ❞ he continues aloud, ❝ some half-baked fool came along who was stupid enough not to give up on me... and eventually... i was stupid enough to let him help. ❞
he hasn't figured out the trick to doing this on command yet. all he can do is close his eyes and hope for the best. fortunately, the soul jam responds to his plea; it glows with a light that's almost painful to look at, enveloping the beast like a glowing cocoon and blurring the lines of his silhouette. it fades after a moment, leaving behind a cookie both familiar yet changed. he's still recognizably maestro — but his attire is a departure from the norm. a long cloak, a halo riddled with blinking eyes, haircing ( actual haircing ) spilling over one shoulder in loose curls that remind him a bit of the academy days. the beast opens his eyes — one blue, one gold. he exhales a sigh of relief, before immediately plastering on a confident grin. yep. definitely knew that was going to work the whole time. he wasn't worried about it being an awkward flop AT ALL.
although, now that his life is not actively in danger, it is a little concerning how every inch of his dough is suddenly screaming in mildish agony. hmm.
❝ long story long, i think i'm figuring it out now. ❞ he looks up at the ultimate cookie, arching a brow. ❝ the question is, when are you going to let someone help you sort out your mess, hmm? ... eating your hostages doesn't count. ❞
carefully, gently, pure vanilla puts his hands on shadow milk's cheeks, cupping them with all the gentleness of someone who's trying to remain firm.
"my love, my heart. take a lot longer than a minute," he chides. "you need several of those, perhaps even hours." he keeps shadow milk in place, trying to maintain whatever eye contact the two need. as tempting as it would be to let them both move on and focus on the next task, pure vanilla can't. he, at the very least, needs a break and time to think. he needs more than whatever minute shadow milk wants to spare.
"we have been through enough," pure vanilla continues. "we have been running on nothing but fumes for days, and weeks. at some point, it's okay to let ourselves sit back and finally enjoy the moment for what it is. if you need to break down, rage, cry, anything to let it out, then do so."
tears form in his own eyes, though the easy expression never leaves. it's a strange contrast, where pure vanilla is letting all HIS own stress out, while still trying to reassure his other half. "we both nearly lost our lives several times over, bluebird. please, for once, sit back and enjoy the moment with me. let us celebrate the fact that we don't have anything to worry about right now."
there's plenty to worry about. there's always something out there, it's like the world wants to continuously crash down on them until all of earthbread and its multiverses are crumbled and gone. wouldn't the witches be happy then?
but no, pure vanilla is not passing up the chance to let himself feel everything for once. he's not letting shadow milk pass that up to.
"bluebird, i need you. i want to be with you. i want you to lay your head in my lap so i can hold you, we can sit in silence and enjoy the moment. we're both alive, we're safe, and we're with each other. shouldn't that matter to you as well?"
he lowers his hands from shadow milk's cheeks. "stay with me, for a time. let it be just the two of us. here, we can cry and rage and grieve and mourn, and then we'll focus. but right now, i'm with you. i always have, and i always will be."
❝ i... i don't... ❞ again, his throat goes uncomfortably tight — almost as if it wants to choke back the words before he can voice them aloud. it's frustrating. he wants to argue. they need to get out of here. there's no telling how long they've been drifting through the other realm — the timeline is unprotected. the wards he put up to alert him whenever there's an intruder haven't been refreshed since he left. what, are pure vanilla's pals going to valiantly band together to scare away another one of those hivemind versions of him? unlikely. it can only be maestro. everything needs to be under his control. ( everything ALWAYS needs to be under his control — but these days especially. )
again, the beast tries to squirm away. pure vanilla holds him fast — cradling his face like he's physically trying to keep his head from spiraling. is there even a point to protesting? no matter what he says, his other half will surely respond with some well-intentioned argument that makes an infuriating amount of sense. ❝ you're too stubborn. ❞ maestro mutters. ❝ it's annoying. have i ever mentioned that? ❞ no less than once a day, he presumes.
... he's tired.
maybe it's from the crying, maybe it's from current events, maybe it's the culmination of just a little bit of everything adding up and up and up until it buries him alive like so many grains of sand. maestro doesn't know and he doesn't have the energy to care. he feels raw, stripped of any obligation to perform ( at least in front of him ) and there's a part of him that's sorely tempted to crawl into a bed somewhere and see if maybe he can finally figure out what's so appealing about that sleep thing he's been missing. ❝ ... ❞ maestro looks away from pure vanilla's face, averting all of his eyes. ❝ what if i don't know how to stop? ❞ the beast's voice is quiet. almost a little too quiet — like he doesn't want sunshine to hear him. ❝ what if i've spent thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years looking for the next scheme or problem or, ❞ his tone goes brittle, ❝ ... way to get their attention, and if i'm not doing SOMETHING, i don't... know how to just... you know. ❞ exist.
witches, it makes him sound like an idiot when he tries to put it into words — but it's the truth. ( how's that for a change? ) if his mind is too quiet, it starts to eat itself alive. he's not a cookie. he's still figuring out how to live like one.
by the time pure vanilla finally lets go of him, maestro has lost any desire to pull away. instead, he leans close, practically draping his body over his other half. a puppet, willing to be maneuvered however he sees fit. ❝ ... fine. ❞ the beast mutters, even as the eyes dotting his tentacles slow-blink at him fondly. ❝ we take a brief intermission. emphasis on brief. ❞ the pout is clear in his voice. ❝ only because i know you'll cling to me like moss on a tree trunk if i don't. andmaybebecauseihavefeelingsforyou. ❞
i am not immune to the siren song of cheese and crackers
"Futility is the practice I preach," she said with a small shrug of her shoulders. All this effort to prevent a horrid fate does not change her beliefs. Life is meaningless, nothingness is better than existence, and that all is futile. Her work here does not change that. Should she fail, let her sink further into the depths of apathy as she suffers. Should she succeed, let her resume her work towards a world of endless white.
She noticed briefly, the feeling of being watched abating for just a moment. Odd. Normally, she always felt eyes upon her in the spire, perhaps she's been here long enough to grow use to the feeling.
"You believe they'll flee?" Mystic Flour hummed in thought, "I suppose it's a possibility. Vermin is an apt term, though I'd argue such a title would apply to most of cookie kind, not exclusively that cookie's followers."
"Either way, our wager is made. I assume you already know what favour you shall ask for if you win?"
❝ whoops! you got me, there. ❞ vermin. yes — he supposes that is an apt description for cookiekind. small, insignificant, greedy little things that only know how to take and take and take. the symbolism practically writes itself. ❝ anywho, no take backsies! our predictions are LOCKED IN — and to the victor goes the spoils! ❞
ah, but what ARE the spoils in this context? that's a good question. shadow milk was considering keeping it a secret to the very end, buuut since mystic flour asked so nicely, he supposes he doesn't mind spoiling the twist. ❝ weeell, now that i think about it, the minions and i could use a vacation home. how's about... ownership of the ivory pagoda? ❞ he pauses a moment, in the hopes that she might start to believe he's actually being serious. then, exhales an exaggerated sigh. ❝ on second thought, the spiders might have a thing or two to say about that. ❞ knowing his luck, they would try to eat candy apple. ❝ why not your soul jam, instead? ❞ a light frown. ❝ hmm. too predictable. bragging rights? already getting those anyway. let me think, let me think! ❞
shadow milk grabs his tea, cooling it to the optimal temperature for drinking with but a thought. he takes a sip, humming thoughtfully. ❝ heeere's an idea. ❞ a smile suddenly spreads across his face as he peers over his cup.
❝ if i win, you have to tell me a joke. but, but, but it can't just be ANY old joke — oh, no! ❞ shadow milk's smile turns mischievous. ❝ it has to make me laugh. can you han-dle that or should i stick with plan a? ❞
@vaniliight &&. said... Sorry Maestro, Mininilla has decided it wants to play on the piano! It steps on the keys and frowns in confusion. Why isn’t it making noise????
he's a bit cagey about letting cookies touch his piano. he's a bit cagey about letting cookies touch his things in general — oh, he knows how well they tend to treat things that aren't their own. ( not at all, by the by. ) fortunately, he's not exactly sure if this little crumb of a creature actually counts as a cookie. looks more like a vanilla-shaped single cell organism, if you ask him.
❝ ... ❞ maestro takes a moment to observe the display, a slight quirk to his lips — confused, but begrudgingly amused by its antics. ❝ a budding musician, are we? ❞ the beast quips, floating over to settle atop the bench. ❝ why don't ya try pressing this key, ❞ he demonstrates, producing a clean, clear sound, ❝ ... aaand this key, right beside it. ❞ one-two. one-two. seems simple enough, doesn't it? well, it would be if mininilla was heavy enough to actually make some noise. fortunately, if it follows his instructions, it will find that the keys conveniently work now! almost as if someone has taken the liberty of giving it a little, possibly magical, helping hand.
❝ think you can handle it? it's a very important job. ❞ very important! he can't trust just anyone with it! ❝ not to worry, little crumb. while you do that, i'll back you up. ❞
backing it up in this context involves accompanying it with a melody of his own.
"Don't know if I will win or lose but, I am Joestar I can promise it will at least be a show." He exclaimed looking up shadow milk he was used to acting like this. He didn't know why he was telling him then but, just felt like needed to for some reason.
He narrowed his eyes at the comment about his hat. "If burned alive the hats probably gonna go with me and I don't think I should say yes to that because you might try to make me lose just to get my hat." He huffed out with deep sigh as rubbed the back of his head.
"Anyways, I felt urge to tell you. I don't know why but, there ya go."
❝ i can save the hat. ❞ shadow milk reassures him. well, technically he supposes he could also save jovanni from his hypothetical ( but also potentially not so hypothetical ) fate if he truly felt so inclined — but where would the fun in THAT be? no one likes the deus ex machina trope! ❝ do you really think i would sabotage you on PURPOSE? after all that we've BEEN THROUGH — just for a piece of fashionable headwear? gasp! ❞
rhetorical question. he would do that. oh, but rest assured, it's nothing personal!
❝ how's about i make this a bit more interesting — for both of us, hmm? ❞ the beast flashes a smile. ( the kind that really doesn't bode well if you actually know him. ) ❝ just a little freebie. one use only. ❞ the old chekhov's gun! a much more palatable trope, if he does say so himself. ❝ it would be a SHAME if the show ended when it was just starting to get good... ❞
Boo. Boo. What a miserable performance.
"I don't think you're correct in the slightest." The Ultimate Cookie tilts its own head, mirroring Maestro's movement. "I just don't think anything you said is worth justifying with a response." It hums a little tune, one that will be very familiar to Maestro immediately. It floats up to meet Maestro on equal footing, as if daring him to try something.
"My plan," it says evenly, "Is to become whole. To sap this body of Life Powder and resistance, until it becomes fully mine. And then, I can regain my missing ingredient." Bravery. "I could bore you with the details, but... a motive rant is just so cliché, no? Truly a hallmark of a lazily written villain. Besides, I'm sure my reasoning is understandable enough for your claustrophobic little brain to comprehend."
It wanted to live. To be. To truly become a cookie. So what if he hit the nail on the head? So what if it is scared and lonely?
"She was using me, you know. For the same thing Khaos was planning. The same thing Hacked PC succeeded, then fumbled." It blinks. That lone blue eye continues struggling, struggling. "Multiversal destruction. Splitting the timeline. The bugs." The Ultimate Cookie folds its hands together.
"Do you really think she was any better, just because she did favors for you? Because she brought you your Beasts back? Because you used her?"
It tucks her bangs aside, revealing the ever-so-slightly inflamed scars on Sylphrena's face.
❝ not worth justifying with a response! ooh, the crutch of a cookie with nothing to say in its defense. ❞ seriously, if it's going to throw a callback to THAT familiar little tune out there, the least it could do is deliver its rebuttal in song! ( just goes to show, you can hijack a thespian's dough, but not her talent. )
it is a bit irritating that it thinks it has the privilege of floating at his level. maestro feels sorely tempted to levitate juuust a teensy bit higher out of spite. he refrains, however — it's pointless when he's dealing with a cookie who has as casual a relationship with gravity as he does. instead, the beast stares at the stolen face of his doppelganger. he can't quite repress the painful twinge inside his chest at the scars. his fault. 'his' handiwork. dwelling on that now doesn't help anyone — he knows it wants to get a rise out of him. ( seriously, trying to copy from their playbook? ) on the other hand, that little ball of abandonment issues and dough seems to think its above letting the master of deceit inside its head. that's cute. being aware of his tricks has never saved anyone before.
❝ she was using you. ❞ maestro echoes. ❝ ... and i was using her, luna was using me, you are using fanilana... and once upon a time, the good little cookies of earthbread used the fount of knowledge aaall up until there was nothing left but us. ❞ shadow milk. the beast. the master of deceit. he rests a hand on his chest for emphasis. ❝ anyone else sensing a theme here? point is, i'd rather take my chances with sylph than any of those other bozos. ❞
she still got his beasts back. that has to count for something.
❝ as for you... ❞ maestro trails off. understandable enough, it says. disgusting. he's getting that disgusting feeling again — although, maybe that isn't entirely a bad thing. ❝ ... i don't think you actually know what you want. ❞ disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. ❝ sure, sure, ya got the broad strokes down. steal the body, collect your missing piece — and then what? do you reaaally have some master plan, or are you just going along with whatever you think will get you those things the fastest and improvising the details? ❞ he's been there. he's done that. he gets it, and he hates that he does — but hey, if it gets sylph behind the wheel again, nothing is off the table.
❝ why are you making this harder on yourself? ❞ the beast deliberately softens his voice, just a bit. ❝ wouldn't it feel better having a body that was always meant to be you? or are you still figuring out what that means? ❞
shadow milk whines a lot whenever he's made to feel empathy for someone else, like he's being pulled into it kicking and screaming against his will — but that isn't actually the case. shadow milk has a lot of empathy. ( much, much more than he would ever admit to. ) the difference being, the type of empathy shadow milk usually experiences is specifically cognitive empathy. he is very good at figuring out exactly what you are feeling and weaponizing that to evoke a specific reaction. it's one of the reasons why he's such a dangerous manipulator; it doesn't take much before he's inside your head.
emotional empathy is what people usually think of when they try to define empathy. experiencing someone's emotions as if they were your own. seeing the self in the other. sharing someone's pain / enthusiasm / anger, etc. THAT'S the kind of empathy shadow milk hates. he doesn't want to feel bad for you. most of the time, he doesn't even want to acknowledge you as a person. unfortunately for him, though rare, there are still moments where he does experience this type of empathy as well — and he loathes every minute of it.
sure, sure. tea is fine.
... but have you tried PAINT WATER?
" Yes, exactly that "
Not even a hint of hesitation on agreeing. There is only a brief pause, considering? Thinking it over?
" We can't go staring at gray paint though. Pencil gray on the other hand "
❝ pencil gray — dark and moody, but with an air of sophistication that makes all the other shades of gray seethe with theoretical envy! oh yes! i LIKE the way you think, i do! ❞ glad to see they're on the same page! or wall, as the case may be.
❝ i'll make the popcorn. ❞
@delightfuldeceit &&. replied... Can one bird join in? They'll stare at a wall if thats an option <- one very tired birb
❝ ooh, wanna go watch PAINT dry? ❞ spoken with genuine excitement.
staring off into space. he hasn't blinked in six minutes.
Three short. Three long. Three short. Repeat. Three short. Three long. Three short. Repeat. Three short. Three long. Three short. Repeat. Three short. Three long. Three short. Repeat. Three short. Three long. Three Three short. Three long. Three sh--
That's enough of that.
The blue eye pauses, straining against sudden pressure to its lids. It struggles, holds firm, doing everything it can to stay open. The Ultimate Cookie, for its part, tilts its head. Sylphrena's face goes emotionless as Maestro hits it with their best shot, save for the slightest twitch of dilated pupils.
"I know what you're doing, Maestro," it says, "You're doing the same thing you do every time you come across one of my vessels. Poke at it. At me. At my weaknesses. Angry cookies make mistakes, don't they? Ones you can exploit to your heart's content. If only you were as clever as you thought you were."
"Do you really think I'm so easy to enrage? I'm in the brain of the only cookie who's managed to properly ragebait you back. The one cookie who's managed to no-sell similar attempts. I know your tricks... and I know what upsets you. Stop me if this sounds familiar."
The Ultimate Cookie inhales deeply...
And lets out a very familiar series of whimpers.
one of his hands starts to raise on reflex — to silence it. maybe through magic, maybe through violence. ( maybe the old fashioned way — slapping his palm over its mouth and hope it doesn't lick him. ) maestro's opposite hand shoots out before he has the chance, fingers curling tight around his wrist. he can feel his own pulse through his fingertips, quicker than he'd ever admit. now, now, now. can't do that, the beast reminds himself. he tightens his grip even more, as if to discourage the thought. sylph is still in there.
that doesn't stop him from feeling sick to his stomach. ooh, if only it did. but he supposes there is one silver lining to this whole unwelcome performance. a reminder — in a sense. he was helpless last time. but fate, in all of its sick and tasteless humor, has granted him a second attempt.
❝ ... nah. ❞ maestro says aloud, trying his best to sound unbothered. ❝ i've had character development. ❞ no. not really — certainly not in THAT department. ( his hand is going numb from squeezing it. ) but it doesn't need to know that. ❝ how-ev-er, i cannot help but notice you have deliberately avoided addressing any of my talking points. almost like you know that i'm right or something! whatwhosaidthat. ❞ must have been his close, personal friend the wind. ❝ c'mon, little director. you're rooted in the noggin of earthbread's greatest mastermind. surely SOME of those smarts must've rubbed off on ya! so, enlighten me! what. is. the plan? ❞ he tilts his head — further, further, further still with each subsequent word. the beast doesn't blink; merely fixes it with a wide, expectant smile that would seem encouraging in a different context.
❝ unleeess, you don't actually have one? unless you're scared and lonely and throwing a big old tantrum because of it. ❞ he folds his arms behind his back. ❝ ... if ya already know my tricks, what do you have to risk by chatting? ❞
#𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 ━━ come with me, take the journey. independent and selective multimuse blog for various fandoms. ( genshin impact. cookie run: kingdom. stardew valley &&. more. ) minors dni. please see the rules and muse list before interacting. written by spencer. ft. 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄 from 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍: 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌. promo credit @ pinchofdeceit
The eye doesn't say anything. It can't. All it can do is blink. Three short, three long, three short, repeat. Three short, three long, three short, repeat. Three short, three long, three short-- Come on, Mae-Mae, you have to understand this kinda code, you've gotta be able to pick up on the message she's sending!
The Ultimate Cookie, meanwhile, watches. Those pupils of its grow wider, rounder, bathing all Sylphrena's eyes bar one in shades of black and white. It smiles, a predator watching its prey tear itself apart in trying to escape a futile ending at its jaws. It never doubted that Maestro would be able to guess its game. He was her, she was him, et cetera... though, if he thinks that the Ultimate Cookie is just poking at parallels from nothing. Well.
They didn't emerge from a vacuum, did they?
"Oh, I know what it means." That smile doesn't falter, even as Maestro pulls out what he thinks is his trump card. Foolish. "It means... that I've won. That she's trapped, thinking she's doomed to be cast aside, cast aside..."
It giggles. Are those words familiar? They're the ones that birthed Khaos.
"And that you've come too late. That you're stuck with me, until her precious Lani--" THE EYE STRUGGLES MORE. BLINKS HARDER, IN THAT SAME PATTERN. STOP IT. STOP IT. STOP IT. MINE. "Finds me a body."
"And even then... who's to say there'll be any of her left? Any of them?"
It's taking too long. It can't wait. It'll die without Life Powder. Without bravery.
It wants to live.
Just as they do.
those words are familiar. ooh, are they EVER familiar — it's only now that he has the context to understand they never came from his own mouth. it's unsettling. not the mantra in isolation ( that errs more on the side of infuriating ) but the knowledge of how deep the ultimate cookie's influence spread throughout his own consciousness without his knowing. khaos' consciousness? ... same difference.
❝ ... ❞ the beast grits his teeth, trying to think. c'mon, c'mon. stay calm. don't dwell on the horrifying bits. there has to be something he can do here. he refuses to just let the ACTUAL parasite do whatever it pleases — giving up might as well not be a part of maestro's vernacular for all that he's prone to doing it. ( ooh, he wishes he could just pluck that stupid dough out of sylphrena's noggin like a carrot! ) it's only by pure chance that the beast happens to notice one of its many, many, many eyes isn't like all the others. the blue one. the familiar one. maestro doesn't want to look at it — and if he actually felt like being honest for a change, he might even say he was avoiding it altogether. but despite his best efforts, he still finds himself drawn to it — and the strange-yet-deliberate way that it blinks by proxy.
three short. three long. three short. the beast recognizes it for what it is immediately. a sign. a signal — s-o-s, huh? that can't possibly be a coincidence.
... which means she's still in there. conscious and fighting and oh, as much as maestro would love to prioritize his own dough, he owes sylphrena a few too many favors to leave her hanging when there's something he can do. there IS something he can do, here — right?
❝ ... are you sure about that? ❞ maestro grins. maybe. maybe there is. ❝ because it sounds to me like you've made a pre-tty rookie mistake. shall we review the plan? ❞ no need to answer! he thinks that they shall. ❝ you hijack the body, force fanilana to make you a new one — my, my, oh my i do so wonder what will happen if you drain sylphrena-and-co dry! hint, hint. it starts with LIGHT and ends with BEAMS. f-y-i, when you have a hostage situation, you do not. CRUMBLE. the hostages. ❞ he shakes his head, clicking his tongue in exaggerated disappointment. ❝ you know, i can see why you don't get the wheel often. you're sloppy! your work is amateurish! your impatience will cost you everything! checks out, i suppose — you're, what? four months old? HAH. ❞
maestro makes it a point to levitate a comfortable distance above the ultimate cookie's head. everything personal; it isn't sylph, so it doesn't deserve to be on eye level with him. ❝ i came back, ❞ maestro repeats, ❝ because i like sylphrena — aaas much as she grinds on my very last nerve. can YOU say the same about YOOOUR ginger-brat? ❞ he cradles his face between his hands, tilting his head. ❝ hmm. last i heard, he was run-run-running to get away from a-you. OH, i wonder, was it something you saaaid? ❞
his expression sours. even the eyes dotting his tentacles narrow with something that feels insultingly close to pity. ❝ you're a self-fulfilling prophecy. ❞ he tells it. ❝ cold and alone... burning every last bridge for warmth because you're too much of a coward to cross them. ❞
come on. take the bait.
@truthandeceit &&. said... A six pack of rootbeers left outside of Maestro's room; teleported there so Luna didn't step foot in the timeline. There's a note on them that says: "Take em or don't, they're just fermenting where I am."
it's a good thing he isn't one of those boring, talentless cookies who actually have to WALK from place to place — otherwise, he might have tripped. ( whew, imagine that? talk about embarrassing! ) maestro blinks down at the root beers blearily. he even pretends to scrub at the eyes on his face — nope, still there. huh. whatever motive he had to leave his room has vanished from his mind like a puff of smoke. this is MUCH more interesting.
a flick of the wrist sees the note floating up to his face. maestro squints. guess luna was being serious about getting rootbeer if khaos didn't crumble him into a million sad little pieces. unless, but of course, this is all a cleverly laid trap and the drinks have been poisoned. things are still a teensy bit awkward between them, after all — and considering the last time they met face to face involved a great deal of attempted murder, he wouldn't be too terribly surprised if his doppelganger was scheming against him. it's what maestro would do, and they ARE technically the same cookie.
❝ ... ❞ a new intrusive thought suddenly bubbles to the surface. assuming the root beer were poisoned, would it even work? ( oh, witches know his anatomy is anything but normal. ) bit of a reckless thing to test out on a whim, but the alternative would be to waste perfectly good drinks out of pure paranoia — and that WOULD be such a shame, wouldn't it? ❝ alright. ❞ the beast muses to himself. ❝ i'll bite. ❞ or sip, as the case may be.
he levitates all of the root beer into his room and promptly shuts the door. experimenting; do not disturb!
