Message for cookie Dream!! I need to order a batch of cookies for someone by the name of Daz!! Please do not put you signature on the box, he might freak out if he knows who the baker is. Or have Niki or Michael (or Michael) make it!!
Dream blinks once, twice, and then shrugs. “Sure, okay.”
He learned a long time ago to stop asking questions. Actually, the time when he might have questioned this sort of thing feels fuzzy and indistinct, like a dream (hah) he’s trying to remember after he’s been up for a while.
In another life, he might have been upset by that loss of curiosity. But here, in this life…he can’t really miss it much.
Not when his life is willingly spent in a kitchen, with his friends (and fellow cookie-bakers), Michael, Michael, and Niki. He wanders, sometimes, drawn by the Snowchester Mansion giving a tug to greet new arrivals and offer them cookies.
…Cookies that somehow, along the way, became the currency in this place. Some people went a little…odd here, but frankly, Dream still doesn’t understand why they want to leave.
Outside is misery, pain, and loneliness. Inside is safety, comfort, and people who are there for you. Are some of them there to literally film you and everyone you know, or see how likely you are to be swindled out of your cookies? Sure, of course. Nothing is perfect. But those things are far better than the alternative–that being isolated, miserable, and afraid.
…He’s also found a way to make amends with everyone he hurt–and who hurt him–in here. The Mansion was…a little strange, and the people who stopped by every so often were odder, but–
The thought makes him pause. Ah, that’s where he knows that name from. The Sanctuary people are nice, though he suspects they could quickly become not nice if they wanted to be.
Lee is a sweet kid. He’s only stopped by in person a few times, but those were memorable occasions. It’s nice to hear the curious chatter of a kid, even if Dream was significantly less thrilled about the very unsubtle way that he and everyone else were watched to make sure nothing happened.
Then again, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be a dad or brother. Maybe that’s just how families are.
He hums softly to himself as he busies himself with making cookies. While he’s not positive exactly what Daz’s favorite cookies are, he thinks he remembers it being mentioned once. Dark chocolate and orange shortbread, he’s pretty sure.
Actually, he’s not sure if the guy had come over in person, or if he’s just been talked about by others. It’s not out of the realm of possibility; he’s heard quite a bit about several of the people from the other reality over the years.
Dream and the other Cookie Bearers have remained very happy about the influx of ingredients they otherwise wouldn’t have access to, as well as the high quality cookware and redstone contraptions.
Doing more of what he already had been doing (and what made him happy) in exchange for those is, as far Dream is concerned, more than worth it.
The familiar rhythm of measuring, mixing, and portioning the dough makes him smile a little. It’s a soothing ritual, one he wouldn’t give up for anything.
He makes cookies, and those cookies make people happy. Making people happy makes him happy.
As they bake, it occurs to him that he has no idea how the cookies are going to get to Daz.
He frowns slightly and withdraws his sturdy com to send a message out.
CookieDream: I got an order for Daz? It's pretty much done, but I'm not sure how to send them over.
DrViolet: shouldn't you be asking whoever ordered them?
CookieDream: it was just a voice
DrViolet: ah. I see.
DrViolet: I'll send someone to get them, then.
That taken care of, Dream starts pulling the ingredients to make the next batch of cookies.
There are only so many hours in a day, after all, and he does need to sleep eventually.
