a/n: meh. Ish just another Ollie x IA one-shot. Sort of connected to Forever Alone Day, but you don't have to read it to read this
Awkward Awards: Blueberry Scones
If there was one thing I hated it was not having enough scones. Come on! Not enough blueberry scones! How can anyone stand living without blueberry scones? All those popular "original" Vocaloids at work (technically, it's work) all say something weird and stupid. Like Kaito-nii-san would say, "of course you can live without blueberry scones! What you really can't live without is watermelon ice cream!" or Rin-senpai would say, "Kyaaa! What are blueberry scones to orange-flavored road-roller cake, ne? Now, those you can't live without!"
In my opinion, Ia is the only one who is close to sane. What she says is that imagination is more important, picturing is important. Then she started talking about Sara Crewe from the book called A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett that wasn't really about a princess at all, but rather a girl who was as charming as a princess. "Sara could picture for a living, Oliver! That's how good she was at it! Even on the most horrid nights she could picture a banquet hall with candles and food aplenty!"
Well, that was Ia and her egg-head books for you. But it's… cute, in a way, and soothing. Her crazy, dreamy ramblings bring you to a complete different world where none of the world's trials can bother you.
Have you guesses who I am yet? Oh, really! Come on, think! Blueberry scones are dark blue and butterscotch-coloured, and British too! You must have guessed by now! Yes, that's right—I'm Oliver!
Well, right now I guess you must be wondering where on earth I get my blueberry scones. I know I sound completely obsessed, so if I had gotten them from shops every single time I'd be sick by now. And at the rate I keep on gobbling them up the shop owners would be so rich they'd have a gleaming golden and limestone mansion in Greece or Italy, looking over the rolling Mediterranean!
That day was a beautiful day, one of my favourite kinds of days. It was a winter afternoon, with clean, sparkling white snow covering everything like a glimmering white blanket. Fresh snow was falling gently, down, down, down, onto the ground. It wasn't that cold, not if you've lived in England for the first 13 years of your life. Today was New Year's Day, the first of January, and I had made my resolution.
Determined, I strode all the way to the grey, black and soft pink dorm that was nearest to the rooftop garden. It was the one dorm that was closed off and far away from the others, the one dorm that was always surrounded by peace and quiet.
Feeling bold, I knocked on the door, even though my nerves were telling me to bolt. For a few short moments, a battle was fought within me. Nerves. Scones. Nerves. Scones. Nerves. Scones. At last, the scones won.
The pale ivory door opened just a tiny crack, and I could see a single gray eye behind it. The owner of that eye sighed. "Oh, it's only you, Oliver. What is it? More scones?"
Yes, you heard dear old Ia right, my friend. She was the one who made most of my scones. Sometimes I went to the shop, but mostly I found hers much more delicious. They have that authentic homey taste to them. I remember, when I was still very little—little than now, even—Father worked at a bakery, and he used to take some scones home, piping hot, right out of the oven. My sister Olivia and I would clamour to get a bite, but we would always save a little bit for Mother. Our family hasn't been doing well for a while, so when I was offered this chance to work with Vocaloids, I knew this was the miracle our family had been waiting for.
Anyway, where were we? Oh, yes. Scones.
"What is it, Oliver?" Ia repeated.
I took a deep breath. "I-I… I wanted to learn to bake my own scones. It was a New Year's resolution… b-but if don't want to t-teach me… i-it's f-fine…" oh, why did I have to stutter like that? I must have sounded completely messed up and not in control! I mentally facepalmed myself right there and then.
Ia laughed. It was a nice laugh, kind and supportive, if a little unsure. "Of course I'll teach you! Let's head down to the kitchen."
As we walked down, I couldn't help but notice how quiet it was in the building today. Everyone must be huddled up inside by the fires, with their respective friends and cliques. The floor was cold on my bare feet, and the bandages weren't much help (Master won't let me have shoes, you see. He says it looks cute this way). The kitchen was equally empty. Nobody else seemed to have thought of the fact that cooking in the kitchen near the stove and oven was as warm as you could get. Those years of poverty were a good lesson.
Ia was trying to teach me to bake proper scones. Proper blueberry streusel scones. "We need 2 cups (260 grams) all-purpose flour, 1/3 cup (65 grams) granulated white sugar, 2 teaspoons (10 grams) baking powder, 1/8 teaspoon salt, 6 tablespoons (85 grams) chilled, unsalted butter, cut into pieces, 1 cup (150 grams) fresh blueberries, 1 large egg, lightly beaten, 1 teaspoon (5 grams) pure vanilla extract, 1/2 cup (120 ml) cream or milk for the dough."
But I, on the other hand, was insistent on adding random ingredients like cloves and oatmeal and cinnamon. Basically I wanted to add things that weren't in the recipe.
At each new thing I put in Ia turned around to hide what I knew was surprised and maybe a little bit disgusted or disapproving look. I didn't care. I knew that deep down she was laughing with amusement. I wasn't her friend for nothing, you know.
I was about to suggest onions when Ia laid a hand on my shoulder. "Oliver," she said, sternly. "I think that's enough funny ingredients, don't you?'
I opened my mouth to argue, but she silenced me, putting a finger to her lips, as was the universal sign for "shush".
So we baked them, and sat on the table that was placed near enough to the oven to feel warm. At one point, there was a very faint burning smell, and Ia panicked and shoved the scones out of the oven before I could react.
The scones didn't take long to cool, since it was winter. She pushed the tray of scones gently in my direction. "You first." Daring, I bit into one of my outrageous scones. Actually, they didn't taste so disgusting. After seeing me down two scones, Ia gingerly bit into one, and actually didn't puke.
"You're looking at me funny, Ia. I'm smirking in triumph, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are," she said, with a grudging smile.
a/n: yes, I know, the humor is really, really mild. Oliver's personality was based on the entries in the Ask Oliver RP tumblr, which I take as sort of official. I was happy with the last one-shot, so I decided to make another. Yay! Please read and review.