Pun anon-You know, me and Bell got to meet a celebrity potato. "Yeah, he was a you-tuber" *badumtss* "Of course, he was cool for a famous guy" Oh, totally, he was really down to earth *badumtss*
*Edgar rushes from the nursery to give you and Bell a hug. He’s overjoyed to see Bell again, and it always makes him smile to see Bell so happy enjoying the pun life. Edgar has been practicing his pun game for just such a visit though, and after laughing at you and Bell’s puns, he tries out one of his own:
* “I guess he kept his eyes on the prize,” he jokes, and a cheer rises up the home team of Cornies near the anti-venom fridge. They’re excited to see you and Bell too, and of course, they have jokes...
“a sweet potato? of course i yam!”
“i wanted to make a potato pun, but it was only half-baked.”
I'm essential a potato after today. One with an extremely short fuse considering how annoying it's been. I'm ready to blast of at someone at any moments. Like some kind of Supdtnik
Well my love of potatoes, puns, and Abelas have been mashed (hur hur) together in this crack shot.
Inspired in equal part by my headcanon that Abelas just really loves potatoes and the true story of how Frederick II of Prussia rebranded the lowly potato as a royal vegetable as a simple way to feed his nation. (When the peasants resisted growing this dirty, bland tuber, the king planted a royal field with potato plants and set his guards to protect them - but also instructed them to pretend not to notice in case local peasants tried to steal from the garden. Before long, peasants started stealing these “royal potatoes” and growing them in secret. Boom. Success.)
Anyway, Abelas got the guarding duty but missed the memo about ignoring the intruders....
Rating: G
Word count: 943
Read on AO3
_____
Abelas looked out over the field of potatoes. The green leaves were full and lush in the early evening light, and the potatoes themselves would be ready to harvest any day. He inhaled deeply and stretched his neck before settling back into his position by the outer sanctum wall. Perhaps guarding the potatoes was not as noble an activity as guarding the Well of Sorrows, but he mashed down his pride - it was not his place to question the will of Mythal. Regardless, they’d successfully protected her new sacred potato garden all summer from the masses of peasants. If he was honest, the masses hadn’t seemed particularly interested in raiding the garden, but perhaps they were simply waiting for the right time.
A motion across the garden caught his eye. An intruder? His hand fell to the hilt of his sword and he stepped forward - ah, no, it was only Avalon. Abelas narrowed his eyes. Avalon leaving his post before it was time for guard rotation. Which they did far too frequently in his opinion and all the distraction only left ample opportunities for the masses to infiltrate the garden - even without his compatriots abandoning their sacred duties.
“Where are you going?” Abelas demanded as the other Sentinel approached along the narrow path between the plant rows.
Avalon glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s - you know.” He jerked his head in the direction of the fencing - an entirely inadequate affair, and Abelas would have told Mythal as much if she had asked him - but she had not, and now they were left defending a garden with only one solid perimeter wall and three sides of very flimsy fencing.
“I do not know. You should be at your post.” Abelas pierced him with a look so sharp it could have sliced a spud.
There was another motion at the corner of the field and this time there was no mistaking the shape of a small peasant slipping through the too-widely spaced rails on the inadequate fence. “And that is why,” Abelas muttered as he drew his sword and moved silently and swiftly down the dirt pathway.
He leveled the tip of his sword at the neck of the member of the peasant masses who was currently on her knees, rooting around in the dirt. “So, the sanctum is despoiled at last.”
She glanced up at him through a mass of curly hair then stuck the tip of her trowel in the ground and leaned back on her heels. “Not much of a sanctum, is it?” She wiped her hands on her apron and cocked her head insolently. “Just some dirty plants.”
“Dirty plants! These are Mythal’s divine potatoes. You kneel in the garden of a god and you dare insult her produce!”
She shrugged and Abelas grudgingly admitted she was pretty in an everyday, dependable kind of way - like a potato. Though it was her eyes that truly caught his attention, even though she had only two of them, unlike a potato.
“Abelas, please,” Avalon hissed next to him, and pushed his sword arm down. “Perhaps we should go check on the cistern. Or the north gate, I believe I heard a noise over there. Probably it is worth investigating.” His tone was low and surprisingly condescending for someone who had failed in his duty.
Abelas cut him off. “Stop being mealy-mouthed. The peasant is here. And she’s trying to take the tubers.”
“That is…” Avalon’s eyes cut back and forth between Abelas and the woman. “Come over here.”
As the negligent Sentinel drew him away, the woman began to dig again. Abelas bent down and swiftly disarmed her, brandishing the trowel at her as a warning.
Avalon explained in a low tone that the entire purpose of the garden was to encourage the peasant masses to steal them and grow them so they would have a more reliable food source. Abelas thought the tacked on “Did you not get the memo?” was entirely unnecessary. He had gotten the memo. He had simply assumed it was a half-baked joke from the other Sentinels.
They hashed out the details of Mythal’s plan a moment longer and then Abelas’s anger boiled over. “It is not for them! It is not for any of them!”
“It is,” insisted Avalon under his breath.
Abelas sighed and shook his head as the starch went out of him. He turned back to the peasant woman. “Very well. Take the potatoes if you must, but know you this - I will be watching you. I may not have as many eyes as a potato but both of them will be trained on you.”
She stood up and planted a hand on her hip. “Then I suppose both of your eyes will see me again tomorrow.”
“Good,” Abelas said. “I mean, good that you are leaving now. I do not much care if I see you tomorrow.”
“I thought you’d be watching for me?”
Abelas took it back, she was far more troublesome than a potato. More like a carrot, the most fickle of all root vegetables.
He handed her trowel back to her and she accepted it with a mocking curtsey before swaying back to the edge of the field. The light was fading, but Abelas thought she might have winked at him as she swung her leg over the fence rail.
As Avalon pulled him away, Abelas pretended not to notice when she immediately slipped back through the fence and began to dig at another plant. The potatoes were plentiful after all, and a strange interest had taken root in his heart that had nothing to do with the sacred spuds.
