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The macarons all looked very pretty, very appealing--aside from all of the little bites taken out of them--and very much like traps. Well, Rainmaker had just survived an encounter with the Jabberwock (somehow, barely), so eating tasty pastry would be nothing. She glanced at them all before choosing one that was a soft, pastel blue. She inspected it thoroughly, looking for a side that looked relatively unblemished, before taking a bite.

Soft did not begin to describe the way it felt in her mouth. It was light and airy, like biting into a cloud, with just enough sweetness to be present, but not overwhelming. It was the kind of confection that didn't demand anything in its flavoring--simple instead of complex for complexity's sake--and allowed her to just stand there and enjoy it.

Rainmaker closed her eyes, the better to enjoy it, and let the memory be evoked: it had been a tough week, that first one at Amityville, full of schedules to learn and people to meet and assignments to catch up on, and she had already worked herself into a state of stress. Finally, it was the shriekend, and she could just relax--as much as she ever did. It would be a great opportunity for her to catch up on the reading she had missed by coming in mid-semester.

At least, that's what she had intended to do. She had diligently read for a few hours, perched on her bed, but found herself growing increasingly distracted by the view outside of her windows. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it was there and she was not. She could be, though, in the blink of an eye, soaring just as carelessly as the wisps of clouds. It was an urge that whispered to her in the back of her mind, able to be ignored until it turned into a shout that demanded action.

With a sigh, she finally put her books aside. She opened a window, then thought better of it and unlatched the device that would let her slide them all open at once. She pulled off her pin and the transformation started before it hit the ground, her body growing and distorting, her wingspan multiplying exponentially, until a giant bird stood where a small, frail student once had. She moved to the edge of the room, where it now met the open air, and launched herself into it. It didn't take long for her to ascend, and soon she was drifting with the clouds. All of her worries and perceived problems seemed so small and insignificant up there.

Rainmaker opened her eyes and smiled as she swallowed the bite. She put the macaron back on the plate, towards the top, where it might catch someone else's eye and they, too, could share in her serenity.

Why was everything about eating in this game? He wasn't hungry, but everywhere he went the key was eating. Eat this, eat that, eat all the things.

He decided to just give in, to eat the damn thing and be done with it. What was the worst that could happen. He would shrink again? He just went over, tore off a chunk, and took a bite. To taste...air. Specifically it tasted like the light aroma of the incense that Astridr had once used.

For a moment the game seemed to melt away. He was on the isle again, triumphantly returning home after a huge reaping. It was his first reaping after he and Astridr had truly come together, truly knew each other. And there she was, waiting for him. And yet as proud as he was of what his party had done, what he had done, the thought of doing it for her, that his actions reflected on his priestess. What he did he did for her, and she knew it. She could hold her head high among her fellow priestesses.

As the memory faded away the slight sense of pride remained, and the lingering taste. BigMac gasped, bracing himself against the macaroon, and then staggered away.



-----------------------

Ra.One had finally pieced together that dream and game eating meant no calories. So why not go for all the food? She leaned forward and took a bite out of the macaroon, surprised when warm spices filled her mouth, most noticeably curry.

Suddenly she was home, a child again. Standing next to her mother and watching her prepare dinner, delighting in the moments when her mother let her pour something in or stir. Her father walked by, patting her on the head before going over to pay his respects to the gods. She couldn't fully make out the words but her mother spoke, her voice a soothing balm until she opened her eyes and moved away from the treat. Pale tracks marked her face until she wiped them away.

[ 7: Rage ]

Twelve massive macaroons all mussed by someone(s) not him. Twelve nondescript confectioneries, waiting for him to make his mark, mouth-wise. RavenousDelirium didn't bother glancing around to make sure no one saw him - he was invisible! - but he did peruse the whole of the tray before deciding on the one he would maul with his mouth.

Against his tongue, red and hot. Not the heat of certain spices but the heat of burning emotion. It was sharp on his tongue too...sharp and hot and as he managed to swallow the macaroon bite, it seemed to drop into his gut with the weight of the sun; warm but uncomfortably so and it made him feel vaguely unwell.

Nothing at all like he was expecting!

The after-taste was more of the same, as though he just couldn't get past it, past the rage that it brought to mouth, to mind. RavenousDelirium staggered to his knees, not caring what he looked like because none could see him. He put his hands to his face and then closed his eyes, letting the taste and feeling and memory take over.

Sweet and spiced, hot and harsh; mouth to mouth, front to front. Bruising and violent, claws raked furrows and a snarl was sucked from one to the other; everything shared, amplified and experienced twice. Touches that burned with heat and hatred and more.

When the taste finally left his tongue he realized there was another flavor, ,a new one: blood. He'd bitten his lip. Hard.

Jack damn it.

He was uncertain as to whether or not he had ever seen a baked good of that size before. Or, rather, that many baked goods of that size all in one place. He marveled at it for an undetermined amount of time before stepping forward to close in on one that seemed a little bit more tempting than the others. It was a warm golden color and it seemed to have been cooked to perfection.

He reached out, hesitantly at first, before giving in to the temptation, breaking off a piece of the macaroon to stuff into his mouth. He chewed on it as he tried to figure out why the taste was so familiar; why it seemed to mean so much to him.

"Alright, Land, I think we've done it."

He was fixated on the sound of the voice that seemed to accompany the memory brought on by the taste of the sweetest cake he'd ever tried... The batter, the icing, everything made from scratch and, to top it all off, they'd made it together.

"I dunno about this, Harleigh.I've never made a cake before... Are you sure that's what it's supposed to look like?"

He had been so nervous but she had seemed so certain that they were on the right track; that everything would be perfect. Hell, she'd even let him pick out the color for the icing.

It was two layers by the time they had finished; two layers and more than a little bit lopsided, but it was theirs. Half of it was his and he had never been more proud of something that had come out of a kitchen that he'd had anything to do with before.

It was the best cake he had ever tasted before and he was going to enjoy it to the very last bite...


As he stepped away from the mound of macaroons he dropped what was left of the piece he'd pulled to the ground, an almost profound sense of loss replacing the pride that had caused his chest to swell. How long had it been since he'd seen Harleigh? Would he ever be able to make a cake like that again? A kitchen, an apartment, a normal life... He'd given that all up.

"Welcome to Wonderland..." He murmured softly, collecting his 'prize' from the loot chest before walking away.

The pile of macaroons that lay before her caused a bit of trepidation for Wykid. Trepidation because those cupcakes she ate previously had turned her pink. And she was still....pink.

What would these one's do? Give her polka dots? Stripes? Would she turn into one of those pocket watches with legs? She sure as hell hoped not.

Her lips pulled into a tight line as she broke off a teenie tiny piece. Just a bite. What could it hurt?

Holding her breath she ate the piece. It was ok at first, but as she continued to chew the flavor was all wrong. What one would expect to be sweet was sour and rotten. Dry and putrid. She doubled over and heaved, falling to her knees. Disgusting.

It was in that moment that a brief flash of memory came to her. There was an old Famine woman, blind and frail. For some reason she hated kids. Anytime she could sneak up on you she'd pinch your skin. Or if you came around her tent she would throw rotten food at you.

Wykid could never understand why this old woman hated children so much. It seemed to her that they had never done anything to this old lady and all the negativity came from her.

When she had asked her mother why the old lady was that way she explained that a long time ago the old woman's young son, her only son, was killed on accident while playing with the other children on the island. Ever since his death she had harbored a deep seeded hatred and disgust for the children of the island. She blamed all of them, even those not born at the time for what happened. For taking her only child away from her.

The next day, Wykid had gotten up the nerve to go up to the front of the old woman's tent and there she left a note tied to a small budding flower plant in a decorative plot. The note was an apology for what had happened to her son. For some reason she just felt like no body had apologized and wanted to do it herself. She never knew if the note actually got to the old woman, rumors had it she passed away not long after she had left the note.

[RAGE]

fouof wasn't a fan of sweets and desserts and this whole place was built from them. But it was inevitable that she'd come to this place if only for the chance to increase her level. She'd seen what an upgraded Mad Hatter looked like and, well, she wanted it. Swallowing her dislike of sweets, along with a bite of the first maracon she broke a piece off of, the blonde settled on getting this over with.

And fast.

Because it was strange, so strange that she couldn't taste anything. There was something in her mouth and she was chewing on it but it felt like ice and tasted of nothing. No, not nothing exactly. It tasted familiar.

And she did not like it.

She could feel herself grow hard and grow cold. Her jaw clenched as a chill roiled inside her limbs. Her hands clenched into tight fists as she felt herself imploding. She remembered feeling this angry before, back home, back with her fellow agents. Shadowed faces and mocking laughter and any attempt at retaliation was met with worse treatment.

So she had to swallow it all, had to learn to take it all and wait for the right moment to burst. Was this the right time? It felt like the right time.

The lump of gnashed macaron was finally swallowed and settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. No, no it wasn't the right time. She pulled her hat off her head, dug into its recesses, and pulled out a time-bomb. She hid it amongst the stacks and walked away, awaiting for the eventual, but undetermined explosion.

[ BETRAYAL ]

Finding the table of macarons, SANDSHARK grimaced at the fact that he'd be dealing with even more sweets. Sugar was so unnecessary, but oh so abundant. It masked every other flavor too, and his palette was far too simple to taste complexities. Give him charred meat and cactus juice any day.

He tried to find a part of the macaron not nibbled on by a past player, and eventually found a bit of filling tinted a non-informing and dull tan. Resigning to the necessity of what he was about to do, he slurped it down with a grimace. It tasted like crowberries macerated in a pound of sugar for hours on end. He gagged, nearly vomitting this time.

He was reminded in that moment of when he'd first come back from the Human World, being told he'd have to relocate to Halloween because of what the Hunters had done. And to put the figurative crowberry on the sundae, he found out the clans had merged. Rather than keeping their pride intact, they decided to mingle with the scum of the other clans. How could they?

Scratching at his tongue, SANDSHARK left the scene incredibly quickly, still glowering at the memories. The loot didn't help much.

My character’s level: 31
Character’s HP: 40
Character’s Job Class: Gryphon
Current party: n / a
Current Guild: Penumbra
Location: Tulgey Woods
Small IC description of character: A tall and bony man with a gold trimmed coat and long auburn hair covering his eyepatch. Tends to have a sneer on his face and looks down his nose at people.
Character journal: Here!