[Hm. He is getting a bad feeling about how things have been going with Eternal Sugar Cookie and Pavlova Cookie. He has been aware of the nature of her corruption, but something...something is bugging him.]
[He won't know until he pries further, but later, when Pavlova isn't so upset.]
[He pockets away "We had guests" for now. He turns his head slightly in White Lily's direction. The beholder hones in on her thoughtfully before it looks back to Pavlova.]
Hey, not a bad idea! I should have thought of it myself. C'mon Little Cherub, let's go check out the sun room. I've got a whale of a tale for you.
[He will hold out an arm to tentatively put it at Pavlova's back. A small nudge in the direction they should go. He semi-tosses a look back in Lily's sort-of direction that reads "I'll explain later" before turning.]
[Without context, he looks to the woman, confused. He's still not sure how she slots into all of this or why she's around his father, but so much is already happening that he's just not been able to respond to her as he normally would.
When his mind catches up to the implication of animal he seems a little intrigued. He likes animals. His ability to see into their hearts helped him understand them better after all. That is quickly tucked away as she insists he takes one of the drinks.
... it's almost automatic, how he reaches for the tea. Not because of any preference, but because at the back of his mind he's aware it was more effort to prepare than the water. He doesn't comment on his choice, opting to walk this once since he'd spill it otherwise. Some manners were simply baked into him after so long.]
Okay. Thank you miss, uh..?
[... The term of endearment from his father makes him smile a tad more genuinely despite himself, even as he's ushered away towards the sunroom. It's an odd feeling, how the wider space and natural lighting make him simultaneously relaxed and yet more vigilant. His eyes peer out the first window he sees as though he expects Eternal Sugar to already be visible on the horison. He's not sure if the woman is following, but... he reaches ever so subtly, to hold onto his father's sleeve.]
This isn't one of your normal stories is it Lord Bl- mm. Shadow Milk Cookie?
[Another slip... to his credit the change felt sudden to him. He's still adjusting to it. He's still scared too, but coming down from the blind panic since he knows his father will explain things... and perhaps vouch for him if Eternal Sugar does get mad.]
White Lily Cookie. You focus on the two of you, right now.
( she smiles again, standing and gathering what's left behind as they go. she will not follow, but will linger in the front room in case shadow milk calls for her for anything- as she said, this is for privacy.
within the sun room, plants of all kinds are potted, hanging from rafters, or draped from the ceiling. the large couch is indeed occupied by the butterfly-cat- were marble awake and standing, she would be three feet tall from the shoulder down, and that's not counting her wings. still, she also radiates a playful gentleness, even in her sleep. thankfully, there's a couple of moon chairs and a small table between them as well. )
[That almost-slip makes him wince, just slightly, but perhaps he did a good job hiding that as re adjusts the grip on his staff. Perhaps it's just the weakness in his body giving him trouble. These are all things that can explain why almost hearing his old name was like a brick to his chest.]
No, it isn't, but it's filled with plenty of drama and intrigue, don't worry.
[Ah, how long has it been, since Pavlova clung to him like that...?]
[He doesn't comment further to White Lily, but she knows probably he doesn't need to, he knows how to call for her. Where to find her. She will see, as they walk into the next room, the way he tries to hide his troubled expression.]
[Once in the sun room, however, he takes them to the chairs and Shadow Milk sits down with east, laying his staff across his lap.]
[White Lily... oh. Well this is incredibly awkward. He supposes this is a lot more of a "keeping Shadow Milk in line" arrangement than anything. Or it started that way, maybe. He'll ask later. Clearly this is more involved than he anticipated.]
Okay. Lovely to meet you miss White Lily Cookie!
[It's a sweet, practiced smile he gives, but he's glad when they've gotten their privacy.
As far as the story goes, well, he never doubted that. His father had always been good at telling stories. Even boring ones were more entertaining when he was the one narrating it. Voracious reader that he is, Pavlova used to be sad that none of his books could match his dad's skill with words... as time stretched between visits, he had to get used to it, but he never forgot. Part of him looked forward to it, and he wondered if he could get away with snuggling against him like he did when he was small...
Those three words made him stiffen though. That request was a familiar one and for all the wrong reasons. His grip on the mug of tea tightened as his gaze darted around the room. He didn't see any scissors, but he guessed this being Shadow Milk he could probably just conjure them. It doesn't ease his fear.
Come dear, it's for your own good.
The words ring hauntingly in his ears and he looks down. It could be worse, he reminds himself. He remembers the statues in the garden, placid and peaceful now, but beneath that stone was...
... he steps forward, turns away and kneels down, stretching one wing out and back so that it laid neatly in Shadow Milk's reach just above the staff, where it could get a nice, horrifying view of the cut ends of his primary feathers. They aren't all cut the same length, instead the outer feathers are cut shorter than the inner ones, giving it a cute, rounded look to anyone not familiar with the natural shape of his wings. He'd never be able to fly properly like that, but it'd have been much harder to tell on his tiny, delicate meringue wings.
He's holding very still despite the clear fear he'd shown.]
[He touch is surprisingly gentle as he looks, though. Curiously looking through his feathers to examine the clipped bits.]
[An anger and revulsion rises in him that he quickly slams shut with another mask.]
Hm! How terrible, it appears you were injured before coming here! You should be more careful, Little Cherub. Ah, luckily you’ll have time to heal here, and your wings will be good as new.
[The feeling of someone rifling through his feathers is a strange one. Eternal Sugar Cookie was never particularly rough when she clipped his wings, but knowing what she was doing made it all the worse. She didn't have to be rough because he knew the price of defying her was worse than what she was already doing.]
Injured..?
[Shadow Milk was giving him an out, but why? Surely he could tell the cuts were too clean, too purposeful to have been done on accident. Maybe it just wasn't something he wanted to get into.
The darker part of his mind supplied that perhaps, he figured if Eternal Sugar felt it necessary to clip them, then he must have deserved it. There are times he wonders if that's not the case.]
Um, right! I'll be careful. It takes me a while for them to grow back though.
[... even so, he's not convinced Eternal Sugar won't get to him before his feathers molt. They've been assuring him and all, but her presence in his life has been so pervasive it's hard to believe she's just gone.
He pulls his wings back with a little flap to get the feathers to lay back flat how they were before the inspection. He's just glad they weren't getting any shorter.]
Hey, uh. What should I call you actually? Master told me you were "Lord Shadow Milk Cookie" now, but...
[She never actually told him not to call him dad, he just... assumed he'd get in trouble for it since he'd stopped calling Eternal Sugar mom after the corruption. He figured this was a similar situation. But Shadow Milk still hadn't gotten mad about his slips.]
[He will address it at some point. Maybe. But he does not want to make Pavlova admit to what his mother has been doing, not right now when he is still so frightened. He will leave it here, let him heal his wings instead.]
[His question takes the air out of his lungs though because its the first time he’s been asked that by someone who’s known him from before. Pavlova wouldn’t know. How much of his fall had he been told about? How much of a stranger is he, sitting here, when Pavlova still remembers-.]
[He takes a deep breath. When he speaks his tone is softer, no longer that theatrical lilt he’s known for.]
The Fount of Knowledge is a crumbled cookie, and his name with it.
[I am a cruel monster wearing the face of your father.]
Shadow Milk is my name, but we are very, very far from Earthbread and the people here know nothing of witches and beasts.
[His expression because tight, conflicted, pained almost.]
I won’t make you call me something that hurts you to say.
[A crumbled cookie, he says, and yet... Pavlova really doesn't buy that. Not when he's so gentle, and calls him his little cherub just like he used to. Yes Shadow Milk looks different to what he remembers his father looking like, namely the hair and the dullness to his eyes, but... it's not so much that he can't tell. Can't see that he's much like his mother in that they're still... in there somewhere, but something had just... dragged them so far down they lost themselves in it.
Pavlova wasn't told much of anything about the other four and how they fell. Once he was old enough to comprehend what was going on, his mother was already limiting his outside contact. His entire world had been limited to the Garden for as long as he could remember. All he knew was that they fell, and what their new titles were. He could hardly comprehend Mystic Flour's apathy thing, let alone the atrocities he's sure came along with each one.
Master of Deceit...
Well, he's been lying to survive for a long time now, he can't say that he isn't sympathetic.]
... Funny, 'cause I don't see any crumbs.
[It's not a straightforward answer, but Pavlova quietly shifted from his spot on the floor to get back on his feet. He pauses for a moment. There's always a touch of anxiety that he feels when peering into the heart of someone he knows could hurt him for it, but he wants to understand how many bridges his father burned. The Fount of Knowledge- his father- was someone who was loved and highly regarded across the land. A deeply kind person, a playful soul and someone who looked for understanding even in little things. Even if he could never tell what his father felt about him it always showed in how he acted. His father had a very loving heart. So had his mother. It's part of why he took so much pride in spreading love and joy, it felt like he was holding that mantle, even after theirs had collapsed under the weight...
And so he looked. He gazed quietly at his father, and at all the frayed and strained threads around his cracked and bleeding heart.
For all the pain it seems he's caused, it looked like he hurt himself just as much. Nothing really seemed gone to him. Changed, but not gone. Pavlova let out a breath and decided to take a risk. He shuffled forward, careful not to tip his staff out of his lap as he took his dad's hand's and pressed their foreheads together.]
... You can call yourself a shadow if you want, but you never stopped being my dad.
[Shadow Milk is desperate to lie to himself, because its the only thing he knows how to do. Once he was learning to accept what was in front of him, with the kind and gentle hands of someone enshrined in gold, but that person was torn violently away from him, and now all he has are his lies.]
[But they are thin lies at best. Hairline cracks that are numerous and plenty the closer one looks. He is a crumbling mask beset in crumbling masks with the person underneath uncertain and scared.]
[If Pavlova rejected him, it would be for the best, he tells himself, knowing that it would tear him to pieces, that his bleeding and cracked heart would break further into nothing.]
[But he doesn't. Pavlova looks right into him and sees past all of that, to see his heart for what it is, and while the thought makes something horrified and wild want to rise up in him, he stills his hands and his nerves. Let's him approach, allows the contact, and while he cannot see out of those eyes anymore, and they are just slightly out of focus, his expression is still that of someone deeply afraid.]
[But then his shoulders drop, and he lets out a shaky breath. Tightens his hold on Pavlova's hands.]
Suit yourself.
[It's small, whispered, but brimming with gratitude.]
[Pavlova hears the words, feels the hands in his squeeze, and he relaxes a bit. Because behind those two words he can hear the "thank you". He's not going to die today, though the jury's still out as far as his mother goes. He manages a little smile. Things aren't perfect, not by a long shot. He still doesn't even know where he is, let alone what's going on... But his father is here- he still seems to care about him- and that's enough for Pavlova to feel safe for the moment.]
I missed you a lot y'know. Things were so boring around the Garden without you there!
[An exaggeration, but not a lie. He'd had to figure out ways to entertain himself the whole time he was stuck in the garden, and it manifested in him getting way too dependent on his power for amusement. Not that he'd admit to that, he's trying to make light of that whole ordeal. One day he'd want to know more about what happened outside during that time, but... for now he could deal with not knowing. He pulls back and smiles.]
Ohhh, I'm not surprised! How a garden made for happiness can even fathom doing so without me there to make everyone laugh is beyond me! I imagine everyone just sleeps all the time, feh. Where are the jokes! The silly gaffs! Boring.
[There, look, no more sad faces on his dad. He's back to being a funny guy. He spreads his palms and pop! Goes some confetti all over both of them.]
The story of why we're here! You should settle in, it's going to be something of a roller coaster, Little Cherub.
[And it won't be a super fun story really. He laments how he has to tell Pavlova he's gone from one prison to another, but he needs to know the basics or else he'll get hurt. He scoots his chair back a little, ponders a moment, then moves the table, too. There are only shadows being cast down from up above from the sun itself, but he can work with that. Soon shadows crawl out from under their chairs and begin taking the forms of people. He will tell this story with shadow puppets on the floor.]
Once upon a time, there was a happy little village, full of humans-
[And the shadows show lots of little people going about their days.]
The village was founded by a man named Aldric, who came to settle their town in a fae forest. It become a trading outpost and the people there enjoyed a peaceful life, until one day.
[ He's always loved his father's magic. The confetti from nowhere quickly has light coming back to his eyes despite the terror from earlier and the emotionally charged moment they just had. Unfortunately he cottons onto the fact this story isn't going to be a fun one pretty quickly.
The boy shifts and settles down as told, cross-legged on the floor like when he was younger. Some things really never change.
The shadows come to life, a visual aid to his dad's voice as he spoke. Humans, he said-- like that word meant something to him. Looking from the shadows to his hands, he wonders if that was the word for what they were now. He won't interrupt the story as it's being told, but the gears are turning. Blueberry Milk Cookie didn't raise an idiot.
... Nothing that has the transition "until one day" ends well. He looks up to his father and nods emphatically to show he was still paying attention, and then went back to watching the shadows. ]
[Yes, good. You're a smart boy and he knew this, and so he continues. The shadows show a covered wagon and several people with haughty little smiles. "Aldric" and the other towns people look more distressed.]
A caravan came into town, a band of Adventuring Merchants they called themselves, but really they were treasure hunters dripping in greed. They had heard somewhere in the forest lay a crypt filled with gold and treasure beyond anything they knew, and so ignoring the towns warnings, they set off to find it.
[The shadow puppets reform the stage, showing instead now, a temple and the caravan pulling up to it.]
They found the crypt, but it was not at all what they expected it to be. Things that they brushed off as superstition were in fact very well. The Truth was that something ancient and violent had been sealed there. Something that had been simmering with hatred for eons and eons.
Aaaaand they let it out!
[It shows the caravan people walking into the temple, but then vine like tendrils suddenly burst from within. None of the people come back out.]
From then on, this entity, these demon, creature, fallen God, whatever it may be called, seeped itself into the forest, became one with it, and wrought furious retribution on the town.
[The shadow puppets begin to show the chaos. Flames, vines, monsters, and all the distressed towns people.]
At the every end, a few of the remaining people got together and scrounged up aaaaall the magic they could so they could try one last thing, to escape the wrath of the creature.
They cast a spell, sending the souls of the townspeople into the ether, past the afterlife proper, to be reborn.
[ The word greed brings to mind the description he was given of one of the ancients. He's pretty sure one of them was described as being particularly greedy, but that she tended to also share her wealth. Abundance, opposite of Destruction, as he remembered. He doesn't envy her going against uncle Burning Spice.
Either way the story is haunting to say the least. Given this was allegedly the story of why they were here, he was making some connections that he almost wished he didn't make. He's turning it over in his head, wings curling to wrap around his shoulders as though the delicate things would protect him at all.
He wants to ask why. He wants to ask... why take it out on innocent people who had no hand in sealing him. But he looks up at his father- his father who had committed atrocities out of loneliness and pain, and he realizes that it just didn't matter. They sat by and let him rot there just like the fairies let the Beast Cookies rot inside the Silver Tree. Guilt through inaction, maybe.
Understanding made it no less scary to grapple with. That's not even touching the implication of his soul not being his own. He stares quietly at the shadows, the carnage they depict.
"Don't worry my dear, you'll be safe in here." Pavlova feels the phantom touch of his mother's hand on his cheek as she hid him away. The screams rang in his ears. The panic of the Garden's other cookies. He'd wanted to help evacuate them, but...
To this day he's not sure if that was his mother's final act of love for him or if she simply refused to let go of him or anyone else. He may never know.
He rubbed quietly at his eyes, willing away the dampness. He's already cried too much. He's supposed to be cheerful. Pavlova lets out a breath and looks to his father once more, checking if there were more or if he could speak now. ]
[Pavlova is a smart boy, and he can tell already there's a lot he's already strung together, even with him telling this in such a dramatic way. Once he pauses there, letting Pavlova take in everything for a moment, he waits watching his expression.]
[And he wordlessly lets him sort out his own tears. He won't tell him not to cry, because what they are dealing with is quite scary, but he won't stop him from self soothing either.]
...And so the curtain rises on the Grove as we know it now. Those souls once cast out into the cosmos, having been reborn and lived their lives, perhaps multiple lives, get called back in. Snatched by the Forest entity that decided it wasn't done breaking its toys.
[The shadows show, for a moment, the figure of a tall man standing before ...a much more recognizable Shadow Milk, with his long, writhing hair. The taller man raises a spear, but before anything is shown the shadows wash over, fading it to black.]
We're stuck here, Little Cherub, sealed on all sides into this little town like a bubble. Like the Garden. I'm afraid you've traded one prison for another, and this one is all the more dangerous.
[ The news that they're trapped isn't a surprise, but it does get a humorless little huff of a laugh out of the boy. Because of course. Of course even in a situation like this he couldn't be free. It might be bigger, it might be smaller. It being a new cage didn't make it less of one and he confirmation only made the tears well up again. ]
I-I guess if I was gonna be crumbled either way the how doesn't really matter.
[ Maybe it was a little better that it wouldn't be his own mother doing it, though. He often wondered if her lingering attachment hadn't gotten him out of more severe punishments before. He wouldn't have that luxury here.
It takes him a moment to process the rest after the horror of that reveal. Shaking hands find the forgotten mug of tea that's gone cold, and he sips it quietly, attempting not to spill. He's not thirsty really, but taking something in, focusing on the taste is how he's trying to stave off throwing up.
He cries so quietly, grasps so tightly for control when he's scared. It's no wonder why that is, but it's hard not to notice when he takes something so undeniably horrifying and won't allow himself more than a couple tears over it. ]
S... so we were originally from here..?
[ That's somehow the hardest part to consider. The idea that he had ever been free even fleetingly. That he hadn't always been Pavlova Cookie. Had he still been Shadow Milk's son..? He hopes so. ]
[It's said with such a sharpness. Unyielding and absolute. If the Forest so much as lays a hand on Pavlova he will find every one of his leyline anchors and set them aflame once more.]
[But he gives Pavlova time to let that settle, to cry his quiet tears while he thinks over their situation, Tries to find his own sense of calm because the more he thinks about it, the more he's angry about- everything. About Pavlova getting dragged here to be the Forest's plaything, about what might be happening in the Garden of Delights, what Eternal Sugar has been doing to his wings-]
[His hair, short as it is, puffs up a little. The eyes are visibly closed and have been closed all this time.]
Mm. It sounds absurd, trust me, I thought so too, but I've confirmed much of it as Truth between ...myself and the holder of the Soul Jam of Truth. I've found records, belongings, and other things that belonged to my previous self. If we look around, I'm sure we'll find the same for you.
[He wonders, though, how Pavlova fits in. He will have to go through Seamus' writings again, to find out if any names stand out.]
[ His dad is so sure of that, but he just... can't be. Not yet when so much is unknown. Not when, from his father's own story, he'd fought this demon once and lost. It is a little bit comforting though. It makes him feel loved. He hasn't felt that in a while. ]
How many of the Ancients are here?
[ It feels weird calling them that when he's from an older time period, but he's not stupid enough to call them "heroes". The question is quiet and scared. He hadn't shown it with White Lily Cookie, but he was scared they'd want to hurt him. It's a very quick way to piss off at least two of the Beasts. There's a reason he kept his status quiet from Hollyberry.
... He doesn't speak at first, doesn't comment on the idea of finding his original self's things. Part of him is curious, and he knew at some point he'd want to know what his father finds about him, but... right now the idea turns his stomach. His mind fills with questions about how differently that version of him lived. Could it even be called him? What if they were completely different?
What if he'd had what Pavlova wanted? He doesn't think he can face that. ]
Okay.
[ ... he packs those ugly feelings up in a box to deal with later when he hasn't just arrived and had all this thrown at him.
His attention is quietly caught by his father's hair literally raising. He remembered when he was younger how it would billow about according to his mood, sparkling like the night sky.
He's not sure how to describe it now, and those were... eyes? In his hair? That had to be part of the corruption thing, but the first thing that came to mind was that he wouldn't be able to braid his hair if there were eyes in it.
... probably a sign that he's been through a lot, if ever there were one.
Only ...only one, now. The other two- [He won't say dead, he refuses to say Pure Vanilla is dead, he's just. Trapped. Taken. Somewhere they can't reach, maybe beyond the door in Seamus' basement, but not dead-]
The other two are missing. Dark Cacao cookie, who has Misty's other half, and [His voice falters a little, but he moves past it quickly.] Pure Vanilla Cookie, the holder of Truth.
[He does not say "the holder of the other half of his jam" which Pavlova may pick up on. He may also pick up on the sheer wave of grief that welled up in his heart the moment he spoke of him. Don't worry about it.]
[He moves onto the subject of his past self easily, though being called "Dad" does something to him that he hadn't expected. A warmth and ...fear? That feeling of still wearing the mask of someone Pavlova loved remains with him, and it will take time for him to work through it.]
Seamus Maverick was his name. He was a school professor, accomplished in maaaany subjects, but was the most renowned for magic! So, not a shocking twist or anything, I'm afraid.
[ Oh he can certainly tell. Heartache rolls off of his father in waves, and he almost feels bad for asking... but at the same time he knew if he didn't ask he'd never be able to settle down.
Funny how in any other situation he'd be ecstatic over the doomed lovers trope. Maybe he'll look into it later. For now he's somewhat grateful he only has to deal with one. Maybe he can help find them later. Much later. He feels like he could sleep for a week, though he's also kind of scared to fall asleep. Would all of this melt away and be lost forever? Maybe this was a stress nightmare. ]
Seamus Maver... S.M.?
[ That's certainly a coincidence. Though him being a teacher and focused on magic definitely tracks. His dad did love to teach. Or, he thought he did, at least. He's still not sure what caused him to fall. ]
I guess maybe I might have been one of your students? I don't really know how this works but...
[ ... He can't see a world where he didn't at least like being around his father. ]
[As they move past the subject of Pure Vanilla as quickly as possible, he does allow himself to grin, to resume a mask of levity. All this serious talk is starting to wear on him, and he doesn't like Pavlova being troubled, either. He's a jester, so none of that.]
It is rather on the nose, huh? This world finds our cookie names strange! Weird, if you ask me.
[He did love to teach. He still does, but he finds he only cares for it these days when its on his terms. When it is no longer a shackle.]
Possible! I'll have to go through the journals and writings dear Seamus left behind to see if a name stands out as yours.
[Ah, a pause. He does have questions. How is he? How's his mother. What's happening in the Garden right now. What did he remember last? Where was he all this time, that he did not age. Wh-]
Are you hungry? Tired? This sun room is pretty cozy, you know. Good place for a nap.
[ At the mention of a nap his gaze trails to the giant butterfly kitty still taking up residency on the couch. Maybe he'd have considered it were he not beaten to the punch, but as it was, he's not sure if there was anywhere other than the floor to take a nap now... and while that wasn't really a problem for him, he had a feeling his dad might object.
He reached up to rub quietly at his eyes, but he doesn't confirm or deny the question yet, he merely stares quietly at Marble. ]
... If I go to sleep will I wake up back there?
[ His return question is so soft, so incredibly weary that it really shouldn't have been audible. Like the words themselves were liable to whither and crumble. He glances back to his dad and seems to remember himself, though, straightening in his chair. ]
What kind of stuff do we even eat here? We look strange now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sticksandbonesmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sticksandbones2025-05-02 09:30 am
no subject
[He won't know until he pries further, but later, when Pavlova isn't so upset.]
[He pockets away "We had guests" for now. He turns his head slightly in White Lily's direction. The beholder hones in on her thoughtfully before it looks back to Pavlova.]
Hey, not a bad idea! I should have thought of it myself. C'mon Little Cherub, let's go check out the sun room. I've got a whale of a tale for you.
[He will hold out an arm to tentatively put it at Pavlova's back. A small nudge in the direction they should go. He semi-tosses a look back in Lily's sort-of direction that reads "I'll explain later" before turning.]
no subject
[Without context, he looks to the woman, confused. He's still not sure how she slots into all of this or why she's around his father, but so much is already happening that he's just not been able to respond to her as he normally would.
When his mind catches up to the implication of animal he seems a little intrigued. He likes animals. His ability to see into their hearts helped him understand them better after all. That is quickly tucked away as she insists he takes one of the drinks.
... it's almost automatic, how he reaches for the tea. Not because of any preference, but because at the back of his mind he's aware it was more effort to prepare than the water. He doesn't comment on his choice, opting to walk this once since he'd spill it otherwise. Some manners were simply baked into him after so long.]
Okay. Thank you miss, uh..?
[... The term of endearment from his father makes him smile a tad more genuinely despite himself, even as he's ushered away towards the sunroom. It's an odd feeling, how the wider space and natural lighting make him simultaneously relaxed and yet more vigilant. His eyes peer out the first window he sees as though he expects Eternal Sugar to already be visible on the horison. He's not sure if the woman is following, but... he reaches ever so subtly, to hold onto his father's sleeve.]
This isn't one of your normal stories is it Lord Bl- mm. Shadow Milk Cookie?
[Another slip... to his credit the change felt sudden to him. He's still adjusting to it. He's still scared too, but coming down from the blind panic since he knows his father will explain things... and perhaps vouch for him if Eternal Sugar does get mad.]
no subject
( she smiles again, standing and gathering what's left behind as they go. she will not follow, but will linger in the front room in case shadow milk calls for her for anything- as she said, this is for privacy.
within the sun room, plants of all kinds are potted, hanging from rafters, or draped from the ceiling. the large couch is indeed occupied by the butterfly-cat- were marble awake and standing, she would be three feet tall from the shoulder down, and that's not counting her wings. still, she also radiates a playful gentleness, even in her sleep. thankfully, there's a couple of moon chairs and a small table between them as well. )
no subject
No, it isn't, but it's filled with plenty of drama and intrigue, don't worry.
[Ah, how long has it been, since Pavlova clung to him like that...?]
[He doesn't comment further to White Lily, but she knows probably he doesn't need to, he knows how to call for her. Where to find her. She will see, as they walk into the next room, the way he tries to hide his troubled expression.]
[Once in the sun room, however, he takes them to the chairs and Shadow Milk sits down with east, laying his staff across his lap.]
Little Cherub, let me see your wings.
cw: mild ptsd; implied former psychological abuse
Okay. Lovely to meet you miss White Lily Cookie!
[It's a sweet, practiced smile he gives, but he's glad when they've gotten their privacy.
As far as the story goes, well, he never doubted that. His father had always been good at telling stories. Even boring ones were more entertaining when he was the one narrating it. Voracious reader that he is, Pavlova used to be sad that none of his books could match his dad's skill with words... as time stretched between visits, he had to get used to it, but he never forgot. Part of him looked forward to it, and he wondered if he could get away with snuggling against him like he did when he was small...
Those three words made him stiffen though. That request was a familiar one and for all the wrong reasons. His grip on the mug of tea tightened as his gaze darted around the room. He didn't see any scissors, but he guessed this being Shadow Milk he could probably just conjure them. It doesn't ease his fear.
Come dear, it's for your own good.
The words ring hauntingly in his ears and he looks down. It could be worse, he reminds himself. He remembers the statues in the garden, placid and peaceful now, but beneath that stone was...
... he steps forward, turns away and kneels down, stretching one wing out and back so that it laid neatly in Shadow Milk's reach just above the staff, where it could get a nice, horrifying view of the cut ends of his primary feathers. They aren't all cut the same length, instead the outer feathers are cut shorter than the inner ones, giving it a cute, rounded look to anyone not familiar with the natural shape of his wings. He'd never be able to fly properly like that, but it'd have been much harder to tell on his tiny, delicate meringue wings.
He's holding very still despite the clear fear he'd shown.]
1/2
no subject
[An anger and revulsion rises in him that he quickly slams shut with another mask.]
Hm! How terrible, it appears you were injured before coming here! You should be more careful, Little Cherub. Ah, luckily you’ll have time to heal here, and your wings will be good as new.
no subject
Injured..?
[Shadow Milk was giving him an out, but why? Surely he could tell the cuts were too clean, too purposeful to have been done on accident. Maybe it just wasn't something he wanted to get into.
The darker part of his mind supplied that perhaps, he figured if Eternal Sugar felt it necessary to clip them, then he must have deserved it. There are times he wonders if that's not the case.]
Um, right! I'll be careful. It takes me a while for them to grow back though.
[... even so, he's not convinced Eternal Sugar won't get to him before his feathers molt. They've been assuring him and all, but her presence in his life has been so pervasive it's hard to believe she's just gone.
He pulls his wings back with a little flap to get the feathers to lay back flat how they were before the inspection. He's just glad they weren't getting any shorter.]
Hey, uh. What should I call you actually? Master told me you were "Lord Shadow Milk Cookie" now, but...
[She never actually told him not to call him dad, he just... assumed he'd get in trouble for it since he'd stopped calling Eternal Sugar mom after the corruption. He figured this was a similar situation. But Shadow Milk still hadn't gotten mad about his slips.]
no subject
[His question takes the air out of his lungs though because its the first time he’s been asked that by someone who’s known him from before. Pavlova wouldn’t know. How much of his fall had he been told about? How much of a stranger is he, sitting here, when Pavlova still remembers-.]
[He takes a deep breath. When he speaks his tone is softer, no longer that theatrical lilt he’s known for.]
The Fount of Knowledge is a crumbled cookie, and his name with it.
[I am a cruel monster wearing the face of your father.]
Shadow Milk is my name, but we are very, very far from Earthbread and the people here know nothing of witches and beasts.
[His expression because tight, conflicted, pained almost.]
I won’t make you call me something that hurts you to say.
no subject
Pavlova wasn't told much of anything about the other four and how they fell. Once he was old enough to comprehend what was going on, his mother was already limiting his outside contact. His entire world had been limited to the Garden for as long as he could remember. All he knew was that they fell, and what their new titles were. He could hardly comprehend Mystic Flour's apathy thing, let alone the atrocities he's sure came along with each one.
Master of Deceit...
Well, he's been lying to survive for a long time now, he can't say that he isn't sympathetic.]
... Funny, 'cause I don't see any crumbs.
[It's not a straightforward answer, but Pavlova quietly shifted from his spot on the floor to get back on his feet. He pauses for a moment. There's always a touch of anxiety that he feels when peering into the heart of someone he knows could hurt him for it, but he wants to understand how many bridges his father burned. The Fount of Knowledge- his father- was someone who was loved and highly regarded across the land. A deeply kind person, a playful soul and someone who looked for understanding even in little things. Even if he could never tell what his father felt about him it always showed in how he acted. His father had a very loving heart. So had his mother. It's part of why he took so much pride in spreading love and joy, it felt like he was holding that mantle, even after theirs had collapsed under the weight...
And so he looked. He gazed quietly at his father, and at all the frayed and strained threads around his cracked and bleeding heart.
For all the pain it seems he's caused, it looked like he hurt himself just as much. Nothing really seemed gone to him. Changed, but not gone. Pavlova let out a breath and decided to take a risk. He shuffled forward, careful not to tip his staff out of his lap as he took his dad's hand's and pressed their foreheads together.]
... You can call yourself a shadow if you want, but you never stopped being my dad.
no subject
[But they are thin lies at best. Hairline cracks that are numerous and plenty the closer one looks. He is a crumbling mask beset in crumbling masks with the person underneath uncertain and scared.]
[If Pavlova rejected him, it would be for the best, he tells himself, knowing that it would tear him to pieces, that his bleeding and cracked heart would break further into nothing.]
[But he doesn't. Pavlova looks right into him and sees past all of that, to see his heart for what it is, and while the thought makes something horrified and wild want to rise up in him, he stills his hands and his nerves. Let's him approach, allows the contact, and while he cannot see out of those eyes anymore, and they are just slightly out of focus, his expression is still that of someone deeply afraid.]
[But then his shoulders drop, and he lets out a shaky breath. Tightens his hold on Pavlova's hands.]
Suit yourself.
[It's small, whispered, but brimming with gratitude.]
no subject
I missed you a lot y'know. Things were so boring around the Garden without you there!
[An exaggeration, but not a lie. He'd had to figure out ways to entertain himself the whole time he was stuck in the garden, and it manifested in him getting way too dependent on his power for amusement. Not that he'd admit to that, he's trying to make light of that whole ordeal. One day he'd want to know more about what happened outside during that time, but... for now he could deal with not knowing. He pulls back and smiles.]
So what's the story you wanted to tell me?
no subject
[There, look, no more sad faces on his dad. He's back to being a funny guy. He spreads his palms and pop! Goes some confetti all over both of them.]
The story of why we're here! You should settle in, it's going to be something of a roller coaster, Little Cherub.
[And it won't be a super fun story really. He laments how he has to tell Pavlova he's gone from one prison to another, but he needs to know the basics or else he'll get hurt. He scoots his chair back a little, ponders a moment, then moves the table, too. There are only shadows being cast down from up above from the sun itself, but he can work with that. Soon shadows crawl out from under their chairs and begin taking the forms of people. He will tell this story with shadow puppets on the floor.]
Once upon a time, there was a happy little village, full of humans-
[And the shadows show lots of little people going about their days.]
The village was founded by a man named Aldric, who came to settle their town in a fae forest. It become a trading outpost and the people there enjoyed a peaceful life, until one day.
no subject
The boy shifts and settles down as told, cross-legged on the floor like when he was younger. Some things really never change.
The shadows come to life, a visual aid to his dad's voice as he spoke. Humans, he said-- like that word meant something to him. Looking from the shadows to his hands, he wonders if that was the word for what they were now. He won't interrupt the story as it's being told, but the gears are turning. Blueberry Milk Cookie didn't raise an idiot.
... Nothing that has the transition "until one day" ends well. He looks up to his father and nods emphatically to show he was still paying attention, and then went back to watching the shadows. ]
no subject
A caravan came into town, a band of Adventuring Merchants they called themselves, but really they were treasure hunters dripping in greed. They had heard somewhere in the forest lay a crypt filled with gold and treasure beyond anything they knew, and so ignoring the towns warnings, they set off to find it.
[The shadow puppets reform the stage, showing instead now, a temple and the caravan pulling up to it.]
They found the crypt, but it was not at all what they expected it to be. Things that they brushed off as superstition were in fact very well. The Truth was that something ancient and violent had been sealed there. Something that had been simmering with hatred for eons and eons.
Aaaaand they let it out!
[It shows the caravan people walking into the temple, but then vine like tendrils suddenly burst from within. None of the people come back out.]
From then on, this entity, these demon, creature, fallen God, whatever it may be called, seeped itself into the forest, became one with it, and wrought furious retribution on the town.
[The shadow puppets begin to show the chaos. Flames, vines, monsters, and all the distressed towns people.]
At the every end, a few of the remaining people got together and scrounged up aaaaall the magic they could so they could try one last thing, to escape the wrath of the creature.
They cast a spell, sending the souls of the townspeople into the ether, past the afterlife proper, to be reborn.
no subject
Either way the story is haunting to say the least. Given this was allegedly the story of why they were here, he was making some connections that he almost wished he didn't make. He's turning it over in his head, wings curling to wrap around his shoulders as though the delicate things would protect him at all.
He wants to ask why. He wants to ask... why take it out on innocent people who had no hand in sealing him. But he looks up at his father- his father who had committed atrocities out of loneliness and pain, and he realizes that it just didn't matter. They sat by and let him rot there just like the fairies let the Beast Cookies rot inside the Silver Tree. Guilt through inaction, maybe.
Understanding made it no less scary to grapple with. That's not even touching the implication of his soul not being his own. He stares quietly at the shadows, the carnage they depict.
"Don't worry my dear, you'll be safe in here." Pavlova feels the phantom touch of his mother's hand on his cheek as she hid him away. The screams rang in his ears. The panic of the Garden's other cookies. He'd wanted to help evacuate them, but...
To this day he's not sure if that was his mother's final act of love for him or if she simply refused to let go of him or anyone else. He may never know.
He rubbed quietly at his eyes, willing away the dampness. He's already cried too much. He's supposed to be cheerful. Pavlova lets out a breath and looks to his father once more, checking if there were more or if he could speak now. ]
no subject
[And he wordlessly lets him sort out his own tears. He won't tell him not to cry, because what they are dealing with is quite scary, but he won't stop him from self soothing either.]
...And so the curtain rises on the Grove as we know it now. Those souls once cast out into the cosmos, having been reborn and lived their lives, perhaps multiple lives, get called back in. Snatched by the Forest entity that decided it wasn't done breaking its toys.
[The shadows show, for a moment, the figure of a tall man standing before ...a much more recognizable Shadow Milk, with his long, writhing hair. The taller man raises a spear, but before anything is shown the shadows wash over, fading it to black.]
We're stuck here, Little Cherub, sealed on all sides into this little town like a bubble. Like the Garden. I'm afraid you've traded one prison for another, and this one is all the more dangerous.
cw: underage nihilism; slight emeto
I-I guess if I was gonna be crumbled either way the how doesn't really matter.
[ Maybe it was a little better that it wouldn't be his own mother doing it, though. He often wondered if her lingering attachment hadn't gotten him out of more severe punishments before. He wouldn't have that luxury here.
It takes him a moment to process the rest after the horror of that reveal. Shaking hands find the forgotten mug of tea that's gone cold, and he sips it quietly, attempting not to spill. He's not thirsty really, but taking something in, focusing on the taste is how he's trying to stave off throwing up.
He cries so quietly, grasps so tightly for control when he's scared. It's no wonder why that is, but it's hard not to notice when he takes something so undeniably horrifying and won't allow himself more than a couple tears over it. ]
S... so we were originally from here..?
[ That's somehow the hardest part to consider. The idea that he had ever been free even fleetingly. That he hadn't always been Pavlova Cookie. Had he still been Shadow Milk's son..? He hopes so. ]
no subject
[It's said with such a sharpness. Unyielding and absolute. If the Forest so much as lays a hand on Pavlova he will find every one of his leyline anchors and set them aflame once more.]
[But he gives Pavlova time to let that settle, to cry his quiet tears while he thinks over their situation, Tries to find his own sense of calm because the more he thinks about it, the more he's angry about- everything. About Pavlova getting dragged here to be the Forest's plaything, about what might be happening in the Garden of Delights, what Eternal Sugar has been doing to his wings-]
[His hair, short as it is, puffs up a little. The eyes are visibly closed and have been closed all this time.]
Mm. It sounds absurd, trust me, I thought so too, but I've confirmed much of it as Truth between ...myself and the holder of the Soul Jam of Truth. I've found records, belongings, and other things that belonged to my previous self. If we look around, I'm sure we'll find the same for you.
[He wonders, though, how Pavlova fits in. He will have to go through Seamus' writings again, to find out if any names stand out.]
no subject
How many of the Ancients are here?
[ It feels weird calling them that when he's from an older time period, but he's not stupid enough to call them "heroes". The question is quiet and scared. He hadn't shown it with White Lily Cookie, but he was scared they'd want to hurt him. It's a very quick way to piss off at least two of the Beasts. There's a reason he kept his status quiet from Hollyberry.
... He doesn't speak at first, doesn't comment on the idea of finding his original self's things. Part of him is curious, and he knew at some point he'd want to know what his father finds about him, but... right now the idea turns his stomach. His mind fills with questions about how differently that version of him lived. Could it even be called him? What if they were completely different?
What if he'd had what Pavlova wanted? He doesn't think he can face that. ]
Okay.
[ ... he packs those ugly feelings up in a box to deal with later when he hasn't just arrived and had all this thrown at him.
His attention is quietly caught by his father's hair literally raising. He remembered when he was younger how it would billow about according to his mood, sparkling like the night sky.
He's not sure how to describe it now, and those were... eyes? In his hair? That had to be part of the corruption thing, but the first thing that came to mind was that he wouldn't be able to braid his hair if there were eyes in it.
... probably a sign that he's been through a lot, if ever there were one.
He's so tired. ]
... Was yours like you, dad?
no subject
Only ...only one, now. The other two- [He won't say dead, he refuses to say Pure Vanilla is dead, he's just. Trapped. Taken. Somewhere they can't reach, maybe beyond the door in Seamus' basement, but not dead-]
The other two are missing. Dark Cacao cookie, who has Misty's other half, and [His voice falters a little, but he moves past it quickly.] Pure Vanilla Cookie, the holder of Truth.
[He does not say "the holder of the other half of his jam" which Pavlova may pick up on. He may also pick up on the sheer wave of grief that welled up in his heart the moment he spoke of him. Don't worry about it.]
[He moves onto the subject of his past self easily, though being called "Dad" does something to him that he hadn't expected. A warmth and ...fear? That feeling of still wearing the mask of someone Pavlova loved remains with him, and it will take time for him to work through it.]
Seamus Maverick was his name. He was a school professor, accomplished in maaaany subjects, but was the most renowned for magic! So, not a shocking twist or anything, I'm afraid.
no subject
[ Oh he can certainly tell. Heartache rolls off of his father in waves, and he almost feels bad for asking... but at the same time he knew if he didn't ask he'd never be able to settle down.
Funny how in any other situation he'd be ecstatic over the doomed lovers trope. Maybe he'll look into it later. For now he's somewhat grateful he only has to deal with one. Maybe he can help find them later. Much later. He feels like he could sleep for a week, though he's also kind of scared to fall asleep. Would all of this melt away and be lost forever? Maybe this was a stress nightmare. ]
Seamus Maver... S.M.?
[ That's certainly a coincidence. Though him being a teacher and focused on magic definitely tracks. His dad did love to teach. Or, he thought he did, at least. He's still not sure what caused him to fall. ]
I guess maybe I might have been one of your students? I don't really know how this works but...
[ ... He can't see a world where he didn't at least like being around his father. ]
Oh, right um. Did you have questions for me?
[ Yes, he noticed. ]
no subject
It is rather on the nose, huh? This world finds our cookie names strange! Weird, if you ask me.
[He did love to teach. He still does, but he finds he only cares for it these days when its on his terms. When it is no longer a shackle.]
Possible! I'll have to go through the journals and writings dear Seamus left behind to see if a name stands out as yours.
[Ah, a pause. He does have questions. How is he? How's his mother. What's happening in the Garden right now. What did he remember last? Where was he all this time, that he did not age. Wh-]
Are you hungry? Tired? This sun room is pretty cozy, you know. Good place for a nap.
no subject
He reached up to rub quietly at his eyes, but he doesn't confirm or deny the question yet, he merely stares quietly at Marble. ]
... If I go to sleep will I wake up back there?
[ His return question is so soft, so incredibly weary that it really shouldn't have been audible. Like the words themselves were liable to whither and crumble. He glances back to his dad and seems to remember himself, though, straightening in his chair. ]
What kind of stuff do we even eat here? We look strange now.