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Shadow Milk Cookie, to his detriment, noticed things.
He was a playwright, an artist – of course he had a good eye for detail, of course he caught all the little minute things. There were always vulnerabilities happily awaiting his clever exploitation. In those cases, he coveted his abilities of observation. He had never imagined a time when it would become a burden, and a humiliating one at that.
When he had agreed to stay at Vanilla Castle - stay as in he had loudly barged in under the poor guise of seeking out methods to eventually bring Pure Vanilla Cookie to his knees, and Pure Vanilla Cookie, the poor sod, had just accepted it – it had been for the purpose of locating those aforementioned vulnerabilities. That bumbling sovereign was an open book. Even studying him from afar was enough for Shadow Milk Cookie to understand much of how particulars were governed here. A constitutional monarchy, where Pure Vanilla Cookie gave more power than he had? Wasn’t that like him. He hardly treated himself as a king.
He hardly treated himself as a normal cookie, either. The most routine he had was in the mornings, when he awoke to feed the birds that gathered around his window sill. Then he would tie his hair into a low bun – didn't the fool know what a comb was? - dress himself, and leave the palace for hours to talk to the council-men, or oversee some building’s construction, or attend to the wounded. He would return at sunset with just enough energy to change into his nightgown. On special occasions (twice a week) he’d take a bath.
But most nights, he fell asleep without a glance in the mirror. Shadow Milk watched as Pure Vanilla began keeping his hopeless hair in the ghastly Forever Bun; as he returned to the castle increasingly exhausted without so much as a shower. Did no one ever tell him he stunk? That there were day old twigs in his hair, and he ought to book a salon appointment? They clearly still thought of him as their king, even though he lived with about an eighth of the decadence his royal title provided him.
It wasn’t that they didn’t care – they simply couldn’t tell he was at his rope’s end. An extraordinary lack of perception. Perhaps it was Shadow Milk's fault for expecting too much of the average, dull-witted cookie, but when he got a glimpse of Pure Vanilla, the fatigue was apparent. His eyebags were carved in so deeply that the grooves in his face could carry water. His dough’s color was not its usual brown-sugar tan. His gait reminded Shadow Milk of a newborn duckling, holding a dangerous sway that made him look constantly on the verge of collapse.
He was a painful sight on all counts. Worse off, the man hardly ate. Not once had Shadow Milk Cookie seen him sit down for a proper meal. It seemed that Pure Vanilla got by on the jelly berry offerings of the town children, and the occasional dish from bakers who insisted he try their latest recipes, free of charge. Unable to refuse, he would taste a few bites of warm jelly pie, affirm its deliciousness, and that would be a meal for the day.
It was pathetic. It was pointless misery without any extravagance (and it also meant that there was less time focused on him ). It was a slow and boring way to crumble, and Pure Vanilla Cookie was not allowed to crumble by any other means but Shadow Milk’s. More importantly, he refused to let his soul jam hang precariously on a body that held all the balance of a pendulum. That was precious cargo he was carrying, after all.
So, as usual, it would be up to him. How he dreaded responsibility.
“Up!” he demanded, splashing a bucketful of water on Pure Vanilla’s unsuspecting, slumbering form. Pure Vanilla sputtered like a dead faucet, wiping soda water off his cheeks as he rose from the soggy sheets.
“Shadow Milk-” he coughed, “Shadow Milk Cookie? What on Earthbread are you-?”
“This is an intervention,” Shadow Milk announced. “Has anyone ever told you that you reek?”
Pure Vanilla reached for his staff, angling it towards the bed's edge. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Uh, means that you reek! ” he snapped. “Get in bathtub and don’t come out ‘till you smell squeaky clean, you hear me? Squeaky. Clean! Now get up!”
“But...” Pure Vanilla trailed off, still somewhat disoriented, “I have to feed the birds-”
“I guess the birds will just have to starve for half an hour, huh?” he said solemnly, clasping his hands together in a mocking gesture. “How will they ever survive without your charity? Woe unto them! Now, into the tub you go.”
Pure Vanilla Cookie was ushered into the bathing chamber, a room built of marble-white chocolate and filled with warm steam. Each bath boiled invitingly, suds floating at the cool tile rim. “Hop to it!” ordered Shadow Milk. “Breakfast in an hour, and don’t be late, or I’ll feed your half to the cake hounds.”
The door slammed behind him. Pure Vanilla mumbled, “...Breakfast?”
He’d outdone himself. A rare occasion, since most of his work was perfection, but an occasion worth celebrating nonetheless.
He lowered the last dish onto the table, floating in the air like a wayward autumn leaf as he surveyed the meal he’d managed to put together on short notice. The palace kitchen was, as he suspected, poorly stocked. The paintings on the walls, dating back to an era before the Dark Flour War, suggested that the palace had once occupied hundreds of domestic workers: carpenters and architects and cooks and maids, all happily working to ensure the castle was kept in perfect condition.
The kitchens had gathered dust in their absence, and Shadow Milk Cookie had had to make do. If it were up to Pure Vanilla Cookie, he’d have made something simple and light – jelly preserves on toast. Perhaps a mug of warm cream and honey in addition. But that kind of breakfast was intended for cookies who were in a rush, and Shadow Milk wasn’t letting Pure Vanilla escape his clutches today.
He didn’t measure things – only people who were afraid of mistakes measured things, and they were a miserable sort, taking the unpredictable fun out of cooking! He preferred to guess. He watched butter brown in a pan as he boiled sugar in another. Jellies stained the curtain he’d wrapped around himself as a makeshift apron, and his fingers were sticky with all the different kinds of batter he’d taste-tested. Metal whisks scraped wooden bowls, bubbling liquids spilled over the quivering lips of clay pots, and occasionally something would burn over or catch fire and he would douse it with a grin. What was cooking if not another form of chaos?
He’d assembled it all in the dining room, eying the pattern of dishes laid out over the table. Presentation was of the utmost importance.
“Shadow Milk Cookie?” came a familiar voice. “Are you in here?”
It was an unnecessary question, since their soul jams made it clear when the other was near, even if they weren’t in the same room. Trite questions made out of politeness were a courtesy Shadow Milk did not care for, and he whirled around to tell Pure Vanilla as such, but immediately found himself unable to say anything relatively scathing. Or really anything at all.
Pure Vanilla descended the stairs with elegant ease. His robes were free of blemish, silken fabric billowing over the steps as he approached. Still-wet hair was tied into a loose braid that hung over his shoulder; attempts had been made to brush it, but at least it was clean. As usual, his eyes were closed and there was a serene, buttery smile spread across his cheeks. A radiant glow surrounded him, annoyingly bright but assuredly his.
“It smells exquisite in here,” he gushed, angling his staff towards the table. “Oh my...”
Shadow Milk Cookie cleared his throat, attempting to retain his composure. In a voice that sounded too smug, he asked, “Whaddya think?”
“It’s...there’s so much,” he managed, gazing out at the plates. He beamed an appreciative grin. “I didn’t know you were such a talented baker.”
“There’s nothing I can’t do,” Shadow Milk said, twirling the ladle in his hand like a baton. “And there’s a lot you don’t know. Now hurry up and take a seat, or the cake’ll get cold.”
He sat down across from him and clapped his hands. A witty enchantment made the knives rise and begin cutting at the cake with all the grace of Candy Apple Cookie – which was to say, none. Some slices were thin as the crescent moon, and others encompassed half the cake. Plates of castella and bundt circled Pure Vanilla like planets around a star, along with toasted rye and preserves, little tarts shaped like eyes, milk flan, and teetering stacks of donuts dusted with sugar. The main course was croquembouche, a tower of cream puffs held together with gooey caramel. He’d strategically placed it at the head of the table so he could admire his work from afar (and, though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, so that it wouldn’t block his view of Pure Vanilla’s face.)
The cookie in question made sounds of delight, his hands pressed to his cheeks as he savored different slices of food. Shadow Milk Cookie felt pride swell within him. He didn’t need confirmation that he was a good baker, but he would accept the praise with relish. “Gee, you act like you haven’t had a jam tart before.”
“I don’t bake much,” Pure Vanilla Cookie admitted. “When I was younger, we ate very simple meals. I belonged to a village of nomads who followed the cream sheep, and we lived off the land. When I set off to complete the Trials, I lived in very much the same way.”
“Yes, yes, I already know all that,” Shadow Milk said through a mouthful of mooncake, waving his fork around. “I don't know if you’ve noticed, scatterbrained as you are...you’re kinda not a nomad anymore! And you do a lot more than sit around with sheep all day. But you’re still powering through the day on a couple of berries. How funny is that?”
Pure Vanilla Cookie had the gall to blush. “An old habit,” he said, just as a donut from one of the floating tiers of plates fell onto his dish. “It’s faster than cooking a meal. Before, when I was with my companions, they would often remind me to eat. And afterwards, when I began rebuilding this kingdom, Black Raisin Cookie would share meals with me.”
He paused, setting his fork down. “My friends have their own kingdoms to care for, and Black Raisin Cookie has business in the Golden City. I...I suppose I’m not as motivated to eat when I’m on my own.”
Shadow Milk Cookie recalled how the dining room had been when he’d entered – an empty, serpentine table covered in thin layers of dust. Eating there would be dismal for certain.
“But I would not hoist my problems onto you!” Pure Vanilla Cookie amended, his smile returning in full flourish. “You’ve already done so much.”
Shadow Milk Cookie cocked his head, tittering. “I didn’t do it for you , silly. You’re still holding my soul jam, remember? And only because I’m being gracious. Besides, I couldn’t go another day seeing you ruin perfectly fine hair.”
He stroked a lock of hair tucked behind his ear. “Was it truly that bad?”
“Ha! If you’d gone out to feed the birds today, they would’ve made a nest in your hair, with all the sticks you were dragging around.”
“Ah, yes...I did pluck a few out earlier.” He bit into a corner of toast, still blushing. “I thought to feed them afterwards, but they weren’t at the window. I hope they’ve found something to eat, at least.”
Shadow Milk Cookie rolled his eyes, thinking about how much those incessant birds had pecked at his hands when he’d generously offered them a palmful of grain. “I’m sure they’re swell,” he hedged. “How’s that Bundt?”
“Just divine,” Pure Vanilla affirmed. Oh, yeah, keep the compliments coming. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Oh, I can think of a couple ways you can thank me.”
A wry smile. “None of which involve my soul jam?”
"...You’re no fun.”
Pure Vanilla Cookie chuckled. “I suppose we can’t all be as fun as you.”
“The first Truth you’ve ever spoken,” Shadow Milk agreed. Eager to change the subject, he murmured aloud, “Where’d that floating teapot go...”
He flew up from his seat to retrieve it, feet nearly brushing against the rim of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s ridiculous hat. “Shadow Milk?”
He plopped back into his seat. “Hmm?”
“I was wondering...you are a Beast, are you not?”
He snorted. “Did you hit your head in the bathtub?”
“Listen!” Pure Vanilla Cookie implored. “I assumed that, as Beasts, you would not require nourishment in the same way mortal cookies would.”
“That’s a given. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“I do. But if that’s the case, why would you need to learn the skill of cooking?”
Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a moment, then he snapped his fingers. “I see. I see, I see! It was obvious all along.”
Pure Vanilla gave him an odd look. “You see?”
“First!” He shouted, pointing an accusatory finger across the table, “why would I need to learn cooking? I carry all of Earthbread’s knowledge in the palm of my hand, more than you can fit in that itty-bitty head of yours! Haven’t you ever met someone who was a natural at something? I’m a natural at everything! I possess all the innate skills one would ever need.”
“But-”
“As for your question,” Shadow Milk Cookie continued, “That’s the difference between you and I – one of them, anyway. You think it’s a skill for survival,” his lips split into a grin, “I think it’s a skill for fun. The essence of cooking is chaos, after all! You can’t make a cake without breaking a few eggs.”
“A skill for fun,” Pure Vanilla Cookie murmured. “Cooking was a communal task during my questing days. We enjoyed working together to make our meals, and it strengthened our bonds...it was the same with Black Raisin Cookie. We made many mistakes, and not all the things we tried were entirely...edible, but it was as you said.” He smiled warmly. “Fun.”
Shadow Milk Cookie huffed, stuffing a forkful of jellies into his mouth. Did he have to refer to them with such a fond expression on his face? Still, it was difficult to feign anger when Pure Vanilla Cookie was gingerly lifting his staff over a layer of floating plates so that he could see Shadow Milk as they conversed.
“I’m never wrong,” he declared, pushing his envy aside. “But you won’t have to reminisce about ye old days as long as I’m here. Clearly, I can’t keep you out of my sight. One of these days you’ll hand over my soul jam to the next willing participant.”
That wry smile again. “Is that so?”
“If you don’t get a real meal in you, you’ll start using my soul jam as a skipping stone,” he continued blithely, tapping his chin with his fork. “You’ve whittled down my options! Look what it’s come to!”
“My apologies,” the latter remarked, hiding a mirthful smile.
“Transgressions like these simply cannot go unpunished,” Shadow Milk said with a tsk. “You’ll have to dine with me so I can keep any eye on you. Better yet, you’ll be confined to the kitchen. I can’t do all the work around here.”
“You would teach me?” Pure Vanilla asked hopefully.
“And be the lucky witness to your culinary failings? Absolutely.”
Pure Vanilla wasn’t put off – quite used to Shadow Milk’s roundabout manner of speaking – and smiled again. “When do we start? Lunch?”
“Eager, aren’t you?” He sighed. “What would you do without me? I suppose we can start with lunch. But there’s practically nothing but cobwebs in that kitchen of yours since I used all your jellies for breakfast.”
Pure Vanilla clasped his hands together. “We can go to the market together!”
Shadow Milk stared at him. "The market?" He knew there were no servants to speak of, except for that old Gardener Cookie who hardly stepped foot inside, but did he really expect Shadow Milk to agree to a glorified shopping trip? He had better things to do than to walk side-by-side with Pure Vanilla Cookie, and brush hands with Pure Vanilla Cookie as they inspected the same produce, and...
On the contrary, this glorified shopping trip had developed some appeal. “Ugh,” he groaned. “If you insist.”
Pure Vanilla Cookie rose from his seat, a cheerful pep in his step as he walked around the table. “Excellent! I’m going to get a few supplies and be right back. We ought to set off when it isn’t so busy.”
“Don’t keep me waiting!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He made to climb the stairs, then paused and walked towards Shadow Milk. He’d been balancing a spoon on his finger, and it clattered to the table as Pure Vanilla Cookie approached.
He cracked one eye open. “Hm?”
“Thank you again,” the other said softly. “It was a wonderful meal.”
Shadow Milk grit his teeth as though that would will the blush away. Before he could say something that would inevitably shatter the moment, Pure Vanilla lowered his head, the hair from his loose braid unfurling like a flower bursting with petals. A soft, clean scent enveloped him. A hand cradled Shadow Milk’s jaw, pivoting it to the left to brush a clumsy kiss against his cheek.
“My compliments to the chef,” Pure Vanilla Cookie murmured.
As soon as he exited the room, the enchantment allowing the plates to float vanished, and they all crashed to the ground in a symphony of shattering glass. Shadow Milk sat in his chair in a similar state, as though he too had fallen from a distant height and had no idea how to reassemble himself.