Work Text:
Observation is a wonderful thing.
It comes naturally to every living being, a basic trait critical to survival. Though when one is past the point of only surviving, observation can become quite the pastime.
Shadow Milk Cookie languished in his time in the shadows of cracks and corners that embraced his form, taking in the everyday lives of cookies that would otherwise scorn his physical presence. There was always much to learn about the life of the modern cookie. Shadow Milk never wanted to miss the opportunity to glean new information that could be used for his tricks of deceit.
Being observed was a feeling that the beast did not languish in.
Watched, admired, revered, feared? Shadow Milk Cookie’s presence demands it alone! Who wouldn’t want to gaze upon the epitome of the perfect performer?
It was the inherent analysis that comes with observation that Shadow Milk does not want directed his way. That part can be left to him and him alone, thank you very much.
There is a cookie that has recently become an exception to that rule, however. A cookie Shadow Milk just so happens to be observing at this very moment.
Pure Vanilla cookie writes swiftly at his desk in his castle’s chambers. Candles of varying states of use line the desk where their light is needed most. The deep, warm yellow glow the candles cast on the wall creates a most beautiful shadow behind his seat. A shadow that is begging to be a new hiding spot to curl up in. Shadow Milk resists the temptation and remains in his position on Pure Vanilla’s plush bed.
A light smile adorns the former king’s face, one of genuine happiness brought from the excitement of communicating with old friends and allies. It’s a mood that Shadow Milk wants to capitalize on. A smile that he wants all to himself.
Asking to be seen is a task Shadow Milk has not yet mastered.
Show, not tell, is a concept he is more amenable to.
The click of the velvet gold collar he places around his neck is slight, but Shadow Milk glances at Pure Vanilla to see if there is a reaction to the sound nonetheless.
The only response is the quiet scribbling of a quill.
Shadow Milk scoots towards the end of the bed and hangs his legs over the mattress. He leans back on one hand and brings the other towards the bone-shaped tag on his collar, giving it two sharp flicks, metallic clinks echoing against the walls.
Pure Vanilla’s head raises from his letters. Silence drags as he finishes writing his final words, puts the quill back in its inkwell, and turns in his chair to face Shadow Milk. The smile he coveted shines his way.
“Hello, puppy.”