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(9: Betrayal)

WhiteWind made a face of disgust. They were all nibbled on. Nibbling was fine for certain things, say various kinds of meats. Didn't sugary things melt when wet? Sticky treats weren't very appealing. But still, there were so many bites out of the huge things, she felt tempted to try. Nothing like peer pressure, even if there was no one around.

The one she selected was a sort of pale green color, and seemed to be the least, uh, decimated.

Stealing a furtive glance around her- just in case- she swiped a single handful and shoved it in her mouth before she could change her mind.

It took her only a few chews to start gagging, because for such a puffy looking thing, it sure felt like she was trying to eat knives- her gums felt raw, poked and prodded into inflammation. The taste, which had until that point had been bland and unremarkable, was suddenly bitter, like iron and so very cloying it felt like it had crawled up from her taste buds to her nostrils. The sting of it made her eyes water.

After that, the stabbing sensation in her chest after that was almost anticlimactic, if no less painful. She had trusted them, the depended on them.

They had left her behind. She continued chewing resolutely, because really, what else was there to do? She was alone, no one was coming to her aid.

It wasn't worth making contact with others, the only one you could depend on was yourself. At that moment she felt very far away from everyone, not just those in the game. She was on one side of an un-spanable chasm. They were on the other. That was all there was to it.

After a final swallow, she made a surreptitious wipe of her tongue on a clean bit of her cloak. "Bleh," she announced, her face curiously blank. She felt burnt out and hollow. Nothing mattered. Massaging her jaw, she exited, stage right.

And got about two steps before tripping over a treasure chest. At least she didn't fall face first into another macaroon.

Wandering through the teacup woods brought the young ghoul to yet another set of tables loaded with desserts. She didn't think much of their state, half eaten and nibbled on or discarded and spit out. It was just the fact there was just more food here, a quest for eating. Why did everything have to be about eating something? It always did weird things too, even Lights had confirmed it.

But, it was a challenge and OuO wanted to participate and play, so she reached out and grabbed the first one she saw - half a yellow one - and took a small bite. She chewed carefully, experiencing the taste which she couldn't really nail down right away. It wasn't terrible but had the potential to be amazing, sweet and powerful and strong. Daring enough, she took another bite. And then a memory flashed in her mind.

They were usually small victories, small leaps in life but never discounted for the small impacts. Like when she had completed her first class on the island of Conquest, or gotten back home in one piece to her family (who consoled her over the ordeal), had gotten the courage in another life to be true to herself or even simply held a hand she was so afraid to even if it was only because of the effects of a pin.

But there were larger ones, that filled her with so much happiness. Like the pride she felt beaming off her parents when she finally got her letter of acceptance to Amity, the first of her little makeshift family to do so or even the town. They with their ideas and hope for her future and her with her excitement to see the friends she had made from the trip and for something new. It was hard to tell who was more ecstatic, though she seemed to quill it down a little bit better as they whooped and hugged her fiercely.

There was also that time when the shadows attacked at the gates, fighting along her fellow students to defend the school and proving herself in front of Molan that she was capable to take care of and hold her own in battle - even though it had been so draining.

The macron was finally gone and the flashes receding to the back of her mind, leaving a mixed aftertaste on the tip of her tongue. Again, she couldn't tell if it was something she could like because it left a sort of chill. As if knowing that eating too much of that particular macron could easily twist the sweet taste to something sour and ugly and bad. She didn't want that, never would. A little would be okay though, OuO figured. She'd just have the one.

Before him were a few innocent macarons left out in the open. For a moment he was skeptical about it, but the evidence that it was eaten before by someone did felt reassuring that they must be edible. Feral stepped closer and examined the array of colors of the delicate macarons in guessing about the flavors. He then made the decision of picking up a chocolate brown macaron with a dark cream sandwiched together. It looks rather rich and must taste good; that was his logic as he ate the entire thing in his mouth.

Chewing it, his face cringed at the taste of it. It was . . . spicy, yet taste like ash. It was the oddest taste ever, but he still chewed on it as the taste lingered upon his tongue. It was triggering something in his mind of what he had been keeping locked away in mind; a reoccurring memory that is certainly driving him mad. His childhood friend who he almost killed that day, and he caused utter chaos at the gardens of his home. Trees have been uprooted and the earth has been churned up.

He was a destructive beast . . .

The macaron has been swallowed down bitterly and he glared at the tray before him; wanting to flip it and destroy the rest. But he stopped himself, it'll only prove that he is that mad and destructive when Feral was much more than that. He was better than that . . . or so he hopes to be better.

The macaroon tasted disgusting. She couldn’t understand why she still had it in her mouth, but she did.

She found herself teleported back to her home. It was a luxurious suburban home—spacious and nestled in a comfortable neighborhood free of poverty and crime. But even a life as financially comfortable as hers had its own special set of problems.

A vase crashed against the kitchen wall and splattered into tiny clay pieces. The girl with her hair still brunette and long stood still in place, her hands curled into fists. Bright green eyes pierced her father’s own, dark and brooding yet still glimmering with a calm fire. Despite the cold rage on his face, the teenager refused to back down. Instead she held her chin higher while she glowered at the man she called her father.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said. “I want to do what I want now, not you.”

“No.”

Instant rage. “Why?!”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he answered simply, slipping into a seat at the kitchen table. “I know what’s best for you.”

“But you don’t,” she seethed, slipping out of the kitchen with the slam of the door.

Quote:

Before you looms an assortment of macarons. They appear to have been nibbled on already, just a little... by someone or something about your size. Since they've already been sampled, what harm could it do to have a little more? It's not like you were the one who messed them up...

Which one should she choose? Wiz blinked when a pretty red macaroon caught her eye. She stared at it expectantly before picking off a piece, inspecting it thoroughly and popping it into her mouth, almost wincing at the spicy cinnamon taste it came with. The caterpillar began to fan her mouth, beads of sweat starting to roll down her face. She just had to pick one that tasted like fireball didn't she?

While she was looking fr water or anything frosty, wiz's eyes widened as a particular memory began to surface , one that wasn't so pleasant.

memory

She was on another pillaging trip with her brother, in shock at such carelessness he took destroying homes and murdering their inhabitants. Anasia c9uldnt do anything but stare, frozen as the ice beneath her feet.

Yimnir laughed as he kicked a fallen giant , blood and other unknown pducts were split on the frozen ground.

His Laugh still gives her nightmares.

Wiz jumped and quickly looked at the macaroon and ran out of the area.

((Entering))

JabberWhut was exploring the table again as he had completely failed at exploring the sugar cube cups. Why he kept on going for the middle door, he had no idea, but he figured that if he came back to it later, maybe the nervous tick or whatever it was would be poof, gone. Wishful thinking sure, but there was nothing else he could exactly do at the moment.

There were a large plate of macaroons before him. He noticed bits of them missing as if others had taste tested before him. It shouldn't be too big of a deal if he just tasted one. He was hungry.

He reached his hand to the nearest giant macaroon and broke off a piece the size of his hand. He nibbled on it.

It tasted like sunshine. No, he couldn't taste sunshine, but it was warm, a soft spice, a quiet burning sensation--No, no, no. This is actually REALLY spicy. AHHHHHHH MY TONGUE IS ON FIRE. He began spitting it out, and at the same time, he felt his entire body getting warm, the warmth creeping up his neck. It wasn't exactly an unpleasant feeling, but it sure was hell creepy.

He felt the warmth creep up into the very roots of his hair before it stopped. All that was left was a small warmth, like eternal sunshine surrounding him. If someone were to have spoken to him at that very moment, he would have jumped a foot high because this moment felt intimate, private. It was like he was sitting out on the swings with his sister back when he was younger, a lot younger and before she had been found a genius.

JabberWhut dropped the remains of his half eaten piece of macaroon on the floor and left.

[ Peace ]

For a time, he watched as other approached the assortment of macarons, taking pieces from different ones here and there. Some walked away in a hurry, others seemed rather happy after taking a bite. But none turned into animals or color or seemed to view the world in funny shapes.

He saw no reason to hold back after a time, reaching for a piece of the nearest macaron. He took a small bite, chewing gradually as he tried to identify the flavor. Earthy, a hair bitter.... herbs. He took another bite. It tasted like the tea he'd soaked a tad too long. That night . . .


Neithan let out a breath, flopping down into the sturdy chair before his desk. The mug of tea was set on the desk itself, steam coming from the slowly darkening water he'd heated by his own hands. A simple task to counter the chaos he'd been experiencing the whole day. He'd been accepted into the academy, and had that day made the move from the small room he'd been given till he could procure proper residence, to the... well.

Dorm room. The space was a large one, or at least felt so to him after the tiny place he'd resided previous. A stone wall for the outer-most wall, complete with wide windows he could open as he wished. Three walls of wood that matched the floor, and a tall, wide door more than comfortable for him to pass through without being wary of his horns or wings. The room itself was grand. The simple bed, dresser, desk and chair, trashcan, and small bookshelf were the only furnishings of the room. He'd supplied last minute the large trunk that sat beneath one of the windows, locked within his armor and few other possessions.

And a rather picky vaisel that now hopped into his lap, its wings tucking against its body and tail flicking as he relaxed. Carefully, he ran his hand across its back, pausing only to reach with the other hand for his tea. Only to see he'd forgotten to remove the teabag. Quickly doing so and tossing the thing out, he took a sip and grimaced a tad. Bit more bitter than he usually took it--without sugar, without milk--but it would do. He looked around his new dorm, new residence, and glanced at the page on his desk containing the information about his new school schedule. Starting in the morrow. He took another sip of his drink and gave a light snort. Lots of new things always seemed to be surrounding him.


. . . Burn let out a low sigh, eyes opening from the memory. It was... a pleasant one. No questions, no concerns. Simple facts and pleasures. He missed that vaisel, he realized, suddenly a tad sad it had yet to appear in his dream. When he awoke at least he knew it would be there. Likely waiting for him to rise and get it food. For the time, he began to move away from the treats, mood... a tad lighter than it had been when he'd first arrived.

Frostpaw had... more by accident than anything, stumbled upon another land of oversized goodies. Whoever it was that seemed to have an obsession with food in this world... well they were okay. Because they were all tasty. Though the side effects he could live without at times.

Still, that didn't stop his curiosity as he moved closer and peered at the oversized things. And dared to snatch a small bit for himself. A rather interesting shade of brown. Not too uncommon or odd for a baked treat. Though as he popped the bit in his mouth and chewed he found the flavor entirely different from what he'd expected.

He nearly spat out the mess of heat that felt as if it would scorch his tongue, sputting a bit as he managed to swallow the crumbs of it hastily and looked at the part remaining in his hand with loathing. "What is this junk?" All he could recall, all that came to mind with it was flames.

He despised fire as anyone who couldn't bear it would. The very act of being around too much heat could mean feeling sick for days. And here he was reminded of it with a ash-like substance that only left your tongue stinging? What person would bake such a thing!?