Chapter Text
“The feeble, trembling peasants look up at us like we’re meant to be infallible gods in marble! But to er is human, so I just can’t understand it! Why do you hold us above your children, think of us with criticism, and always—“
Cries for chaos, order, and suffocation seemed to swell in waves all around the sweaty, half-dead figure as he drew in a shaky, desperate puff from the spine of a cigarette, only to then extinguish it in the newest of his half-empty vodka glasses. His stomach was churning from pacing the floor, his eyes wide and unfocused, and throat sore as his ventings to the bartender rippled through the whole room. It was not a hyperbole to say that he was rapidly slipping between tears, memories, and dreams as he became blind to the world from pure pressure and labor. How could a man so sharp and quick-witted be so oblivious to a horde of anxious, confused, and annoyed glances sprouting all around him?
“Ah, he’s hallucinating again! Consul Clotted Cream Cookie, what will traumatize you today?” A bartender shouted irritatedly and loudly at him in an attempt to bring him back to reality, which worked. It came with the consequence of making a duo of malicious, desperate ears turn away from the shadows back towards the poor puppet of the government. The excess spending of the Republic on Soul Jam and during that skirmish with Dark Enchantress known as the War of Last Scarlet had weighed down heavily on him, yes, but why exactly was it such a big deal? Surely the Republic’s suffering budget, the dissolution of several welfare programs, and increasing poverty wasn’t much of a big deal? Oh, surely the Consul really didn’t enjoy his job? Well, who could lie about that? Of course he did! But he was also just incredibly tired of being the scapegoat for just about anything and everything, and it didn’t help that the Convocation treated him like a gilded experiment.
Although he liked to tell himself that he was a free-willed, powerful, and exceptional man who was far, far more than a slave of the state, the Consul secretly knew that was almost an impossible lie. For there was a single set of phrases that he had been instructed to remember no matter what. And he most secretly had, tacking on the phrase “live and die by this”:
”Since your words are the most powerful weapon that you will ever have in your life, make sure to use them wisely. Yes, you must make yourself useful no matter what it takes, ingratiate yourself with the powerful, and do helpful things whenever you must, no matter how clandestine they are. But most importantly? You must always know that you will be easy to replace, brace yourself for failure, and keep yourself consistently improving; never get too confident in your abilities in the slightest!”
Yes, Clotted was willing to deal with this, incredibly competent, and so, so much more, but even elephant-sized cages will eventually run out of space. So Fishing Cat Cookie—a cute, petite fisherman and artisan from the Lower City who was sweet, charming, and mysterious easily weaseled his way into the equation through willpower and opportunity—came waltzing in oh, so gracefully before him. Could he potentially provide a lovely escape from all this garbled mess? He hoped so, but a small, peculiar slur in his sultry “Hello, sir. May I please help you today?~” made him start to feel rather uneasy. Was that a sadistic curve blooming in that man’s self-satisfied smirk as well? Now, Clotted was so, so sick of this; he had to get out of here! His guard was about as good as dead, he thought, even though she had also come there with him. And he could be grabbed, harassed, and made to shatter, right?
So he would cough, and then suddenly glanced towards the door. He yelled out in frustration and stared blankly at the strange man, and he turned to—well, wait! He was well-respected, beloved, and a lovely hero to the Republic. Surely he was still well-respected and bore that novelty even when he was unkempt, down, and rather ill?
“Excuse me, dear sir. May I help you? You look a bit lost.” A kind, gentle voice would suddenly whisper from directly behind the Consul’s shoulder, making him let out a startled yelp followed by a sharp, painful hiccup as he turned around. Fishing Cat was there somehow, but now he seemed a lot more approachable and less intimidating than before. “I have just the right remedy for hangovers, you know. And upon request, I can give you just about anything you need!”
“For hangovers? That's... what?" Clotted echoed, utterly confused and dumbfounded as the gray man striped in black drew even more towards him, an empty flask in his tail and wearing a brown coat and handbag. “That’s rather kind of you, and I do appreciate the offer. However, I’m not even drunk!” he continued, only stopping as his stomach let out a low growl, he whimpered against his will, and his legs began to wobble as his vision blurred. Tears pricked at his eyes as he gasped, “I understand, yes. But how do I know I can even t-trust you? You don’t seem very—”
“Reputable? Well-known? I understand, because people say that all the time. And it’s quite alright to make a mistake, no matter who you are.” the stranger reassured him jovially after letting out a dainty, gentle sigh. He even gave the blushing blonde a reassuring, massaging pat on the shoulder as he reached around in his pocket for something, eventually pulling out a pair of striking, pristine, and glorious degrees that were so well-kempt and impressive that it was impossible to tell that they were entirely fabricated. “I am Fishing Cat Cookie, a proud member of the Finest Artisans Club! No other guild cares so openly and eagerly about the Republic’s welfare as them! I also hold a bachelor’s in potion theory and therapy, so my wares are capable of curing everything from hiccups to a severe case of tuberculosis!”
“This is true; I can confirm it myself!” a gray-haired, rag-enveloped, and scrawny figure loudly declared from beside him, making Fishing Cat laugh and shake his head slightly. “I know I am a nobody, but I swear to tell only the truth to you! I am Silver Opal Cookie, his apprentice, and I am alive only because his potions saved me when I once had a severe case of pneumonia!”
“Oh, really? That’s your truth?” Clotted gasped out softly, unable to stifle a series of giggles that broke out from him. He opened his mouth to speak, mouthing, “That’s a—, well, that’s a—”, only to be constantly interrupted by persistent, uncontrollable squeaks that made him blush a far brighter red and cover his mouth. Beginning to panic, he suddenly shouted at the duo “It’s nice to meet you two, yes! And m-may I know a bit more… about your wares?” in the midst of his struggles. Unaware that anyone else was even listening to him at all.
And unaware that he’d effectively gotten Financier’s attention focused right back onto him. She saw the scheming in the eyes of the predators around him, the guilt, smiles, and glee on their faces, and could almost smell the con men in the air. And she wouldn’t stand for any of it! And so she called out to the Consul and ran directly towards him, attempting to avert the disaster that likely loomed over the Consul if he accepted the deal from the alluring, but mysterious and deadly, stranger that was glistening before his very eyes. It didn’t even make a difference that the supposed merchant had begun to speak first.
“Well, we have quite a lot of them! But the most popular one is—” Fishing Cat had just begun cheerfully, only to cut himself off with a sigh as the bodyguard rapidly snatched away his oblivious clientele. Damn it, everything was going wrong in every single place for him today! Did Fate itself want Fishing Cat to be brutally murdered by his Master? Oh, and for Silver Opal to get stoned to total, complete, and utter annihilation as well?
"Consul, what are you trying to do?" Financier warned him sternly, only to get no response. "Consul?" She echoed, hissing now as she began to pull Clotted away by the shoulder, panic and fury warring with each other in her voice as she realized he was still very deeply locked in that strange trance. "I'm sorry about that, sir. But I’m afraid that the Consul wishes to politely decline that offer.”
"Ser Financier Cookie! Don't take words out of..." Clotted began, his whole body jerking as he contained a fit of magical rage. But he took a deep breath and sighed out with a smile, "Please, I don't even know where you've been for the past several hours! So I don’t believe it’s too much to ask that I may… manage myself?”
"Normally I would; I trust you, sir. But you're—" Financier began, only to get unceremoniously knocked over as her delusional, obtuse, and increasingly arrogant, crass client slammed all of his body weight into her. “What is the meaning of all this, Consul?”
"Well, may you please keep your distance? I'm not a helpless child, and I really just want to be free for once in my life!" Clotted Cream only replied, breaking free from her grasp through sheer brute force and staggering unsteadily away to Fishing Cat Cookie’s feet. “My bodyguard seem a bore, and she’s really quite the… apprehensive lady, but please don’t judge her.” He gulped suddenly, clearly swallowing another hiccup as he made a fate-altering, damning request to the fraud of a merchant for a particular type of potion that he just so happened to conveniently have on hand! His chest was burning, his eyes and head throbbing, and impressed he could maintain consciousness as the pressure of perfecton seemed to claw at his chest. In a hoarse voice, he even begged, “Please, I can’t take this much longer. Do you have any potions to control the pain?”
“Of course, sir! Please, say no more.” Fishing Cat continued enthusiastically, producing a silver liquid from a bag he’d been carrying that had a select few potions, as that was one of the many measures he’d taken to “prove” his falsified credentials. He would’ve explained what that little masterpiece of his, Silkersky, did precisely… when he saw Financier approach them at rapid speed, and saw he had no time. Since Clotted Cream had several golden coins in his hand, Fishing Cat just seized the generous sum, handed him the silver fluid, and fled at full pelt. Silver Opal called “Thank you so very much, you dear sir! Have a brilliant day!” as Financier approached Clotted, although Opal tripped her as she got far too close for comfort.
“Drink it! I’m afraid those have an incredibly short lifespan, sir!” Silver Opal called out desperately, making Clotted nod as Financier hissed and reached forward with her sword, shaking heavily. But sure enough, the console would do exactly as asked! Oh, yes, he took off the cork lid, smiled brightly, and downed the whole thing in a single gulp. But while Clotted Cream Cookie’s pain would be eased, and he would feel much better, however, was a very, very dark secret hidden in the mysterious brew: it was also a poisonous, potentially deadly one as well. He would experience intense nausea, nervousness, vertigo, and possibly hallucinations and vomiting. If they got especially lucky (as Sapphire framed it), he might even get dysentery or have his organs begin to shut down! Yay! What a perfect pawn could come waltzing into their hands.
But Financier was getting ground on them now and very, very fast. If looks could kill, the look of the rage, horror, and utter disgust on her face would’ve been enough to brutally slaughter a million men. And even the sometimes dull, desperate Fishing Cat Cookie knew that he was doomed to die if he was caught, just as Silver Opal had swiftly gotten out of the way of the blade. Despite all of this, however, Fishing Cat would whisper something under his breath for them to keep in mind as they walked out of the bar, their hearts pounding and minds beginning to buzz.
"Silver Opal? We might have to let him go for now, but you know what we have to do, right? Unless we want Great Azalea Cookie to be on our trail and have grounds to torture us, we’ve got to get him later today. Shall we go back to our retreat?”
And so, Silver Opal agreed, leaving with Fishing Cat back into the streets. They skittered their way down alleyways, disturbed a few stray cats encountered along their path and made next to no noise as they cut swiftly for the woods and half-deserted paths. It wasn’t until they got home in a ragged, dusty old shed they called the Maggot House, that they took off their costumes and let their true identities show. Silver Opal was really Silverbell Cookie, a one beloved and gracious Knight of the Silverbell House of the Faerie Kingdom who had protected the Silver Tree, but whose curiosity had unintentionally lulled him into deceit. And Fishing Cat was truly Black Sapphire, the malicious, peculiar rumormonger, who had begun the sport in the name of love and entertainment… but who was now trapped in it by monotonous immortality, and kept within it by a master who would kill him and everybody left he cared about if he dared take too much action or did too little. And this was their secret hiding spot. Like a twisted sanctuary in the middle of hell.
Although Black Sapphire Cookie and Silverbell Cookie both praised their planning shack in the Republic, oddly named Abblers, in public, in private they were unsure what to think of the "maggot house". It was full of an enormous amount of dust and debris, it smelled like tons of pig feces, and countless insects often tried to nest in their wings. But what did it matter when it meant keeping up grandiose, exceptional characteristics that aligned perfectly with their personas? The gray Fishing Cat Cookie, who was striped with black and bore a medium-sized tail, had great talent at catching things with his cyan fishing pole, as the nearby Chickadee Lake greatly assisted him. He even made for a decent merchant with a dapper, pristine brown coat!
And Silver Opal Cookie? Why, Silver Opal was easy to keep! Some torn gray shirt and teal shirt rags, unkempt, multi-toned gray hair, and collapsing black boots meant he perfectly played the part of the orphan! They had almost forgot their roles: they weren't D&D characters, shape shifters, or monsters now, were they? They had different personalities, characteristics, loves and hates, and so on! It could've been perfect... or so they thought. But the Hells didn't let them have freedom, for anyone’s sake. It doesn’t matter that someone will want freedom no matter how greatly they are fed and well-clothed if they are a slave, because to put it frankly? Well, frankly, that was the card that Fate had dealt them, and they felt that there was incredibly little they could do to change that. Even though they had to ignore the pain and tension in the air as they navigated a debate about how to get their latest victim.
"I just don't quite get precisely what you're up to, Black Sapphire Cookie! Well, perhaps I do..." Silverbell drawled out a bit drunkenly from behind his incense pipe, sickened and feeling a bit ill. "We cannot speak of our plans to anyone, and I'm perfectly fine with manipulating people like we've always done. Why have we been so stalled, I wonder? Because it's gotten so bad that Shadow Milk wants to send Candy Apple Cookie—"
"Candy Apple Cookie can't step on a dying caterpillar without getting an intense stab of guilt, my Silvie. I'm sure we'll both be perfectly fine." Sapphire remarked calmly, "And yet, right now you're acting exactly as an amateur comic once branded a delusional prophet to me: 'Wh're is thy mind, thee lief fooleth of bodement?' And trust me, that's a very hard challenge to rise to!"
"Oh, I'm unfortunately sure I may be. But I'm not quite a thespian, so I'm not sure exactly how I'd know." Silverbell said calmly, letting out a sigh of relief as his shoulders relaxed. But as a thump suddenly sounded from behind them, he tensed up again, almost screaming. "Huh? What was that?” Then, he would relax again as nothing came of that quite yet. “But we can, and always will, recover from almost anything! So, where are we again?”
“Hm.” Black Sapphire hummed as he approached the centerpiece behind the mantle, where a map of the City of Elders itself, as well as the Crème Republic as a whole, lay hidden in a long-unlit fireplace, and slowly pulled it out from the hidden place. “ I know that you’re very forgetful, my Silvie! And it’s a shame really, but you’re a bit stuck in your ways to change that now. So, the gift is that shadow milk is saying our broadcasts are getting repetitive. Boring, plain, dry and predictable! He calls it every negative thing under the sun, I’m afraid. But we have no new material for our scripts and he gave us just a day to fix that!” His voice rose and cracked tremendously as he put excessive emphasis and panic on the final syllables. Now, he was making himself screech like a rabid bat attempting to escape a predator.
“I don’t want to frighten you, but the ratings are plummeting, and so is our remaining time. Clotted Cream is poisoned now, and he must be barely able to walk! Also, I hope getting information from him will be plentiful and entertaining now. Because do you think random things you hear on the street will be good enough? No, you need a higher volume than that! That’s why we have to do this!”
“I suspect it’s true, then, when it comes to what our master said he will do to us if we don’t bring it back in time?” Silverbell continued on quietly, making the radio host let out an exasperated sigh and shake him up a bit as he continued to talk.
“Oh, we all know he loves to make fools out of everyone, even if the discord makes you too dizzy to think!” Sapphire only continued, a dark, bitter laugh escaping him now. As long as we have fun and profit on the table, it’s great. But it’s already been six days, and it’ll be seven in no time! If a single week passes where we don’t have anything, we will be beaten! And starved. And become our own subjects for him. So will Candy Apple. Wait! So what were we doing again?”
“Where are we on the map in relation to our target, Sapphire? I just want to make sure we don’t run into any… problems like we did earlier today. And you know that it takes a while to hide my bell!”
“You’re just obsessed with it, but you can continue to decide if you want to live or not. Ha, it looks like we’re just a few miles deep into the woods.” the tired host began softly, tracing a line between the road they took the path into the area that they called the Bounty Crescent. That was where some Elders was known to live, as well as study in their spare time, and it just so happened that Clotted Cream was constantly bombarded by paparazzi. The twisted, hidden road entitled Pomegranate Hollow Avenue had been revealed online, and so Silverbell would mark it on the map.
“Either way, there’s some places we can never quite avoid, and I’m ready to assist! Shall we go flying there now?” Silverbell asked him interestingly, tilting his head slightly as a small, skittish smile came across his face.
“Of course I am!” Black Sapphire said after around a minute straight of incessant laughing. And so they went off, swift and silent like ghosts, to their desired place.