Chapter Text
“And should we-?”
Affogato turns away from the scrawny disciple, waving a hand dismissively. The bracelets on them clink.
“Yes, yes. Prepare the feast. You know we always do so for visitors.”
They squeak and run off. He sighs.
Visitors aren’t uncommon. They come, spew some words about politics and alliances and deals, and leave after a day or four. It’s all the same, until the rare moments where they actually have points. Then Affogato is actually forced to do something. Again, rare.
The feasts are no more difficult. They have enough rations for a long time coming- and that is one thing he’s sure he’s managing better than Dark Cacao, among the long list. He’d limited everyone, yet Affogato lets his followers gouge to their hearts’ satisfactions. Another round of applause, please. Resume the speech about how much greater and livelier the kingdom has become ever since Dark Cacao’s assassina- expulsion.
He peers down from the citadel wall he’s on. Below him, his disciples are already scattering to arrange a table for the visitors- quite a bit too much effort just for two of the measely things, but he’s never been one to decline a good meal. And the visitors need it, most of the time. It’s quite amusing to him, watching outsiders try and fail to traverse the snow and hills leading to the citadels. Makes them all the more grateful to him, which makes them all the more keen to bend to his favor.
He shifts. It is soon his time to come down.
The headpiece holding his Soul Jam rustles as he abruptly turns towards the stairs. He lifts his robes as he walks down, and arrives at the head of a long carpet flanked by tables being quickly crowded with food. A majority for himself and the disciples, but the visitors didn’t need to know that. They bow, quickly, as he walks by. He doesn’t spare them a glance, all those eyes beneath the veils with his symbol on it.
Affogato reaches the exit through the maze of hallways, eventually.
“Your Majesty? They’ve arrived.”
He gives a brief nod to the messenger.
Down the next hallway, he can hear one of the guards escorting a pair and chit-chatting about the citadel’s great boons, and Affogato’s own major improvements since he took over the place. He makes a mental note to slide them an extra few coins before rounding the corner.
The guard pauses. “Your Majesty- ! Ah, greetings.” He bows, and Affogato makes his show of a soft smile and “Oh, no need for that. Up.”
His eyes flick to the new ones.
They’re a sharp contrast to the blackened citadel walls and the dark dough of it’s cookies. Vanillians, he instantly observes, or at least related to. On the left, the shorter one’s eyes meet his at the same time. They are green. And he finds he cannot find a hint of surprise or unexpectedness at his appearance in them, only a calm smile, as if he’s merely a servant passing through.
Affogato immediately mentally puts the short green-eyed one in the danger list.
On the right is the taller one. Her espression does change at his arrival, but they narrow. She goes more tense, not unlike the soldiers or Watchers. Some form of soldier, then. He spares a glance at where her sword is placed- tilted towards the shorter, not enough to be obvious, but enough for Affogato to read it. A bodyguard for them, it seemed.
The shorter speaks first. “You must be Affogato Cookie, I assume? It is an honor.” He gives a bow, and the bodyguard too. Affogato observes them for a moment before mimicking them, but making a point to go lower. For the sake of spite.
“Right you are. We are equally honored to have you, as well.” He keeps a smile as he comes upright once more. “Follow me. What is good hosting without feasts?”
He turns, but can still feel their matching eyes on him. Through the mirrors and silver on the walls, he takes glances back at them- directly looking back gives the image of mistrust. It was one of the particular reasons he’d added the decorations in the first place. There’s a guard with them, but they hardly ever say anything, easy to tune out. The other man’s expression is as irritatingly indifferent as before, but Affogato can see his eyes flicker somewhere- somewhere upward.
His headpiece, once merely stitched with his purple diamond patterning and flanked by cloth, now boasts the gleaming Soul Jam in place of the diamond (it is annoyingly heavy, but Affogato will not admit that). The dual hanging cloths are still there, but held by miniature recreations of the twin dragons’ tails in place of the dull sticks. The shining gem in the center is a though he’s quite proud of- and if it coincidentally fit right into the iconic pattern he’s had for years, those suspicions are either too minute or were shut down quickly.
Everyone new notices it, because of course they do. And this cookie would not be the first to propose something regarding it- propositions he shuts down immediately, of course. He can’t make that assumption based on a single glance, though.
The one next to him is still as tense as before, scrutinizing him. He’d almost be offended by the lack of trust, but perhaps it is her duty. Her sword drags on the floor and echoes on the walls as well as their footsteps. Affogato breaks the silence.
“And what are your names, if I may ask?” The chatter of the dining hall grows closer.
“Clotted Cream Cookie.” The green-eyed answers without missing a beat. He- Clotted Cream- has been waiting for this, seemingly. “And this is Ser Financier, an accompanying guard, as you may have noticed.”
Affogato’s face is still, as usual, but he feels a bit of unease creep in- had Clotted Cream really noticed that tiny glance to her sword’s position? He moves his rank a little higher in the danger list.
“And where do you hail from?”
“The Crème Republic- the city-state by the sea, you may have heard.” It does ring a bell, and that annoys him, because that means he’s actually important, and that means a higher likelihood of him actually having a point, and that means Affogato actually having to do something. “The land of cream and oysters. I am their representative- their Consul.” Fuck. Really important, then.
The speech is rehearsed, Affogato can say that much. Clearly rehearsed, like a copy-paste whenever somebody cares to ask. Not unexpected, judging by how he’s a representative for a decently big city-state, but still noted. “I see! I am simply delighted to have such an important personality in our Kingdom.” It’s funny watching cookies trying to decipher whether his exaggerated tone is genuine or sarcastic. He thinks he sees a flash of a scowl on Financier’s face in one of the mirrors.
He pushes through the doors they abruptly come to, and the dining room presents itself to the group. He watches the two observe the place, finally seeing a change in Clotted Cream’s eyes. His smile is dimming- not in the unsatisfied way, but in the way Affogato can see his mask is slipping off as he takes in the palace’s wonder. An excellent sign. Even the grumpy bodyguard seems momentarily stunned.
They are immediately rushed to the seats at the front, flanking Affogato’s own minimized throne at the back of the table. He cannot help but smirk as he follows them. Financier just looks surprised, while Clotted Cream looks overwhelmed at the options of food. “Oh- ! Thank you.”
“Please, please, do not restrain yourself.” Affogato sits himself down in his own seat. Clotted Cream’s hands twitch, and for a moment he wonders if he isn’t going to eat anything after all, before he notices the scones near the center of the table and beams once more. He notes his preference as Clotted Cream reaches over to take one.
Affogato, after filling his own plate, takes the valuable moments where Clotted Cream's focus is on his food to observe him. He and his acquaintance are not dressed for the mountains- who wears white clothing up here? Practically begging for their dough to be chilled, and it wasn't even made out of cotton or any material he recognized. They were trying too hard to stay in uniform, or just stupid, but that seemed unlikely based on Clotted Cream's keen eye.
Speaking of him, he can’t help but notice something curious at the end of his coat- it branched into two ribbons, that curved upwards, with a sharp, golden metal point at the tip. Far too odd and important-looking to be a stylistic choice. He would ask about it later, he decides, if time permitted.
They really do look like Vanillians. Affogato distinctly remembers the Republic being geographically close to the Vanilla Kingdom- perhaps descendants? It was the most probable option. He might be staring too much, but he’s sure Clotted Cream is doing the same. And call it an outlandish thought, but he is conventionally attractive, at least by his standards.
“Quite delectable options of food your kingdom offers.” The cookie in question states. Affogato would’ve liked to interject that he’d literally only eaten, like, ten scones, and some of the jellies, but that would’ve revealed that he’d been watching him- and again, that breeds mistrust. But- he’s sure Clotted Cream has already noticed by now.
He tests the waters. “Ah, indeed! It is one of our greatest prides. I’m glad you’ve dedicated yourself to such a wide variety of our offers!”
That gets the cusp of a reaction. A twitch, though he can’t decipher if it’s amusement or annoyance yet. “Hah- well, I can’t say I’m exactly a heavy eater, but your generosity is appreciated!”
He thinks Financier has eaten a bit more. She pushes her empty plate aside, opting to listen in on their conversation. Rude.
“If you’re finished, I could show you to your rooms?”
“Oh!” He seems surprised. “Actually, I was just about to state my proposition here-“
“Nonsense. It’s dark out, and nobody wants to discuss politics with a sleepy, worn-out mind.” Affogato stands. “I trust your business is not too urgent?” The guest bedrooms have gone unused far too long. It would feel nice having somebody fill in the space. He also finds Clotted Cream far too interesting to simply let him state his purpose and leave.
“I… suppose it is not.” The other stands up as well.
“Then I ask you to follow me once more.”
The trio- and one of Affogato’s guards, but then again, they’re practically invisible- make way through the hallways again. Clotted Cream walks alongside him this time, for no particular reason. Maybe Affogato just wants a better view of him.
“Tell me about the Republic, if you do not mind.”
He glances at Affogato. “Well- there are many things to say, indeed. The last Vanillian survivors from the Dark Flour War fled on an airship, and dropped to a land by the sea. They offered their technology and culture to them, and together they built the Republic.” Rehearsed, rehearsed, rehearsed. It proves Affogato’s theory, though! He gives himself a pat on the back. “We have our Convocation, that forms the main government, and the Paladins that protect our glorious city with the blessings of the Light, like Ser Financier Cookie.”
He hasn’t heard the so-called Paladin speak much at all, he notices. “Interesting. How exactly do Paladins serve, Ser Financier?”
They both look surprised at the sudden address, Financier more so. She clears her throat either way. “… Our purpose is to protect and to serve, and the Light guides our path in doing so. We defend the Republic and it’s people by the blessings of the Divine.” Out of all the cookies on Earthbread, he certainly wasn’t expecting the Republic to be pious, but there’s a first time for everything.
“And Clotted Cream, what do you do as Consul?” He doesn’t like how talking with him feels like a game of chess compared to Financier- having to carefully think about every word he says. He hasn’t played like that in a long time. And why is he now? Clotted Cream hasn’t even done anything remotely threatening. Is it just Affogato’s guts? Or…
The Soul Jam- it thrums with the ever-consistent energy it has been thrumming with for the months since he’d claimed it. But there’s something… odd, this time around. It’s thrumming is faster, almost like the beating of a heart in an adrenaline rush. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was definitely the cause of his unease. The Soul Jam is reacting, something he’s never seen it do. It knows something he doesn’t. And that is bad.
“As I’ve said,” he begins, “I represent the Republic- and carry out the decisions of the Convocation.”
“A mask, then?”
Clotted Cream almost stops momentarily. He’s gotten him there.
“…Not exactly. Of some sorts, yes, but I do not only carry out other Cookie’s demands. I contribute my own, of course- a lot, I may add.” He’s still smiling, because of course he is, but there’s something behind his eyes now. Affogato decides to let it go- for the moment, of course. He will be keeping this in mind, because a mask who is not aware they are one is a puppet, and if anything, he knows much about puppetry. Back to chess.
“Are your disciples your masks?” Clotted Cream interjects, unexpectedly. Affogato blinks.
“Elaborate?”
“Forgive me if I come off disrespectful- do they contribute to the kingdom’s decisions and well-being, or are they simply there to elevate your status?”
He’s copying his moves. And it is frustrating. Clotted Cream knows what he’s doing, he’s sure of it. He looks at Affogato with that knowing light in his eye.
He grits his teeth. Keep smiling. “Ah, no need to worry. I find the question reasonable.” They both know he doesn’t. “While they do elevate my image, they also contribute during council, and act as servants around the palace- as you may have noticed them, preparing the feast for you.”
“They sure did consume a large portion of the feast meant for us.”
I NEED to get him out of here as soon as possible, Affogato decides.
“We’re here,” he says with a straight face, standing in front of a relatively welcoming door. He opens it.
Financier steps inside before Clotted Cream, scanning the room. He resists rolling his eyes at the mistrust. He’s quite positive his guard isn’t much of a threat, definitely not to an equal scale as Clotted Cream. She may be a considerable force in battle, and she may be as intelligent, but her eyes don’t have that dangerous spark of observation in them. Affogato would recognize that- because it’s his. It’s his, and Clotted Cream can’t just come in here with the same look and send his Soul Jam into a frenzy and act like he’s just here for a proposition. He can’t.
It’s a decent room, all things considered. There are two grand beds on each corner of the wall to the left of the doorway, and a long table with drawers and a mirror in between them. On the right wall’s end there are two walk-in closets, and a corner sofa right next to the doorway. A chess table sits within reach of the sofas. In the center is another long table. Finally, at the end wall, right in the middle lies a glass doorway that leads to a pretty spacious balcony, with a couple pots of the few plants that grow in this altitude and weather.
“Oh!” Clotted Cream observes the room, and steps in at Financier’s nod. For all his boldness, he truly trusts the word of this Paladin. “This is… comfortable. I thank you.”
He isn’t completely comfortable. He can see the very slight shivers finally coming to light- it’s a wonder it took so long, dressed that horridly for this weather.
He doesn’t exactly know why he does it, but Affogato says “Wait a second,” and skims towards the closet. He prays his memory hasn’t failed him as he opens one. Obviously it hasn’t, because Affogato is superior to all; a few pieces of complementary clothing lay there, much more comfortable in this weather than whatever Clotted Cream and Financier have been bearing.
He takes two of them out and strides back towards Clotted Cream. “This will be… much more suitable for this weather. I can’t help but note your inexperience.”
Financier takes both of them first, inspecting them, before handing one to Clotted Cream with a huff. He takes it, a look of mild surprise on his face.
“… Thank you!” He says, smiling at Affogato- but this one is genuine, not his default expression, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. Considering the circumstances, he thinks revolted, but then why had Affogato given him the clothing if he’d be revolted at gratitude? His mind works in mysterious ways. “… I was cold, if I am to be honest.”
“You’re welcome, of course. We wish our guests the utmost comfort, after all.” He bows once more. “Make yourselves at home. Get some rest. We shall discuss in the morning.”
Affogato strides back, and closes the door behind him.
What on Earthbread was that?
Affogato blinks. His Soul Jam isn’t thrumming normally still, but it is slowing down- along with it goes the erratic feeling of urgency.
What on Earth had- ?
He groans quietly. He’s not caffeinated enough for this.
Affogato leaves.
-
It’s too bright in the hallway. He blinks as the morning light assaults him. He should consider removing that window right outside his room, facing right towards the east where the sun shines. He’ll take care of that later. The servant by his side starts walking towards the dining hall.
Inconsiderate. Shouldn’t it be them following me?
They’re lucky he’s too sleepy to banish anyone yet. Fine, maybe Affogato had gotten a bit too caffeinated last night. But he’s literally a coffee cookie (as much as he loathes to admit it), did people expect him to take a sip and leave it at that?
A couple of his disciples join him on his way. “Oh, Your Majesty, have you heard of the situation in the village near-” “Your Majesty, yesterday, in the ridges-“ “My liege, did you know of the Vanilla Kingdom’s-“ Your Majesty, will you kiss me on the mouth and let me be your personal chair?
He’s heard it all before, of course- most of it, at least, and the others he’s half-convinced they’ve made up- but he gossips with them either way. Because everybody else sees him as an image, and his disciples believe they have the privilege to see the artist. And if the artist joins them in their minute discussions, if the artist is someone they relate to- then they see the artist as less of a blank ruling figure and more as a person, that they can then sympathize with, and sympathy makes them more loyal, more trusting, more vulnerable.
But the artist is nothing but a painting as well, and the actual creator behind everything is nowhere but locked inside. Sometimes even he can’t find him. And that’s fine, because where he is doesn’t matter, all that matters is how good the paintings turn out. That is all that matters.
And so he paints. “Your hairstyle is certainly alluring today. I’ve never seen you in it before.” He isn’t sure he’s seen that disciple ever, actually, but by the way they keep adjusting it and touching their hair he can guess they aren’t too familiar with it.
They pause halfway through a sentence and choke. “A- are- are- forgive me, Your Majesty- are you addressing me?”
“Do you think I am?” He knows that makes zero sense, and he leaves it at that.
Affogato moves forward slightly faster, leaving the bewildered group behind as he enters the dining room. The scent sucks the fatigue out of him. The servant leads him to his seat, and his plate is in front of him faster than he can blink. As usual, his followers surround him, but the two seats flanking him are reserved for their guests.
“What do you think of the new visitors, Your Majesty?” A familiar question whenever they have people over. They want to know how to act around them. Like the queen, whatever he says prompts his hive to either collectively and passive-aggressively mess up the newcomers’ requests, or glare at them behind their veils, or make snide comments- or make sure they get the best bedding, the best food, the cleanest towels.
He doesn’t know what he wants his hive to do this time.
He certainly doesn’t want to be nice to them- to Clotted Cream. But did he want to aggravate him? Did Affogato dislike him? He doesn’t think his feelings are similar to that- it is unease, yes, and he wants him gone, but a small part of him does admire the other. It isn’t every day he meets someone who’s mere presence changes the functioning of his Soul Jam, after all. So not hate, but not love either.
He takes a long sip from his cup of coffee before wiping his mouth and answering. “Clotted Cream Cookie is… certainly an interesting character,” Affogato starts. “I do not have reason to believe he has bad intentions, though it wouldn’t help to be wary. He’s hard to read.”
He takes another sip. “Financier Cookie is his guard. I do not think she poses much of a threat on her own.”
The hive nods, and a few of them start whispering to each other. He isn’t quite interested in what they’re saying. He goes back to his food.
“Thank you for leading us- we weren’t quite sure where to go,” he hears a minute later.
Speak of the devil and he shall come.
Clotted Cream and Financier sweep in, and the whispering is dispelled in an instant. Both of them are wearing the robes Affogato had given them last night, which pleases him, if nothing else. Clotted Cream is still wearing his coat with the weird metal ribbon things, though- so it’s clearly an important asset, not just an odd feature. Affogato stands up and bows at them for the third time. He can’t wait until he has to stop doing that. “Welcome! Did you have a good night’s rest?”
They take their seats. “It was wonderful, thank you.” Clotted Cream starts. “Your robes certainly protected us from the chill we came unprepared for.”
Two plates are placed. “You’re most welcome.” He internally reaches for his Soul Jam- it’s pattern has changed, but not exactly erratic as before. It’s simply… changed. Like a pale red changing into pale blue rather than changing violent red as before- the beat is off, the rhythm is different, but it is not slower or faster than before. Not unpleasant, though. The change puts him off, but it isn’t unpleasant. Let him be damned if he knows how this fucking rock works.
Clotted Cream doesn’t reach for anything. He raises an eyebrow at him.
“I- don’t really eat breakfast.” He explains. Someone needs to fix this cookie’s relationship with food, Affogato concludes.
The meal concludes quickly. Some of his disciples have the gut to approach Clotted Cream. He answers their questions with relative enthusiasm- Affogato gets the impression he actually enjoys it (Clotted Cream fiddles with his robes while he speaks without a script, he notes). At the end of all of them, one question becomes clear; Why on Earthbread are you here?
He watches the dishes be taken away- his, and then Clotted Cream’s, and then Financier’s- who hadn’t eaten much either, but it was at least something compared to her counterpart’s. The Consul stands afterwards. “Are we going into a separate room for this, or-?”
“No, the dining hall is where everything happens.” He waves a hand. “Now go on.” Affogato has been waiting for this, and anticipation itches at his dough.
“Alright. Thank you.” Clotted Cream smiles. He hadn’t noticed until now, but Financier Cookie had come to his side.
“I will not try to stall. War is close.” A promising start. “Dark Enchantress Cookie grows stronger by the day, and they will come for all the kingdoms- this one included.”
Affogato prays nobody notices his subtle gulp. Thank the Witches all their eyes were on Clotted Cream. So, about that, Republic boy…
“Of course, the Crème Republic has right to be concerned about this. As descendants of the Vanillians, it is our nature to fear for our land. And everyone is scared for theirs, deep down, especially with her looming threat.”
Affogato is suddenly worried where he’s going with this. If this proposal goes the wrong way, if he reacts the wrong way and brings suspicion onto himself- he’d known his fragile ‘agreement’ with her forces was- well, fragile. It was ready to crumble any day. He’s only prolonging it, isn’t he? No, no, it’s not time for worrying. He has to focus on driving suspicion off himself. He diverts his attention to appearing neutral.
“The Republic has already had the privilege to have a council with the two newly recovered Ancient Heroes on the situation. Both of them had eventually agreed on a favor for the Republic, a small favor that would help us innovate and create a world-changing invention that would carry us miles forward in our fight for peace.” Affogato resists the urge to roll his eyes. Witches, representatives are always so dramatic. Everyone gets that your nation is great! Spit it out!
“Unfortunately, the abilities of the two Ancients alone were just enough to complete our studies; not enough to carry them out. So I come to the third wielder of the Soul Jams, asking for the same favor I’ve asked from the others.” Finally. They’re getting close.
“A request- while it may seem far-fetched at first, it is only to seal our defenses against Dark Enchantress Cookie. Both of ours. Because in return, we’ll share our inventions with you. We’ll both have one formidable defense against our shared enemy-“ Who is ‘our’? he thinks, and internally giggles at his own joke- “and if not completely invulnerable, we’ll be significantly more likely to stand tall if she strikes once more. Both of us.”
He can’t agree, that’s obvious. If her not-so-subtle reminders weren’t enough, he’s afraid she’ll downright rip his limbs off one by one if he agrees to build a shared defense against her. Not to mention he has no clue how big this favor is- it must be major, if Clotted Cream is procrastinating spitting it out this much. But if he declines- what would the people think? Affogato declined- he must value his riches over his people! He declined- he must be too untrusting of other nations to think about his kingdom’s safety! He declined- he must be working with Dark Enchantress Cookie! (All of which were correct in different ways, but that didn’t matter). He’ll at least wait until Clotted Cream finishes his terms before overthinking.
“And while I understand you may be hesitant about the offer at first- I truly assure you that it is for the greater good and safety of all of Earthbread. The other Ancients have agreed to it, and they are now happy with their decision. I hope you trust me to make you happy with it, too.” Oh, he won’t be.
“I ask you to allow us to be lent your Soul Jam, for a fraction of it’s power to be harnessed.”