Disclaimer: Welcome to Night Vale belongs to Commonplace Books
Cookies
Kissed a little too gold by the oven, sprinkles smattered in haphazard splotches of indigo and turquoise. He'd insisted on making them without his mother's help, a decision which unfortunately shows in the crisped edges and mismatched decorations. It takes several minutes of nervous mulling before Earl manages to shove the treats across the rough wooden expanse between himself and the scout seated on the opposite end of the bench. With slight hesitation, the boy unties the knotted crimson kerchief and slips one out, examining it between bony fingertips.
"Sorry about your Cactus Care and Communication badge," Earl offers after a long moment of silence. It doesn't make sense to be as nervous as he is. The other scout has never given any indication that he doesn't like Earl. He technically hasn't given much indication of anything in the almost-two-months since their initiation into the troop. Mostly he stays in the back of the group, messy dark hair partially covering mismatched eyes that constantly rove in silent observation of the proceedings. Earl has never even heard his voice before, which he suspects may have something to do with the boy's failure to earn a badge in communication with desert vegetation.
Earl thinks about him sometimes between meetings. Wonders why he always looks vaguely mistrusting, what sorts of things he busies himself with in his free time, what his voice might sound like. Even now his curiosity on that last count goes unsatisfied; instead of a verbal thank-you, gangly speckled arms wrap unexpectedly around Earl's neck. The other boy is beanpole-thin and all limbs, but the hug isn't as awkward as it is warm. Something about the closeness or the residual smell of campfire smoke from the ceremony or the oddly placed scent of cinnamon - it reminds Earl of home.
"I think they're going to kick me out," the boy whispers in a cracking voice colored with an unexpected touch of panic. Earl pulls away, momentarily dumbfounded by the squeaking rasp as much as the words themselves.
"They don't kick you out for missing a badge." Earl's whispering too, though he doesn't know why - they're the only two left sitting outside the lodge this long after the ceremony. "I don't think anyway," he amends uncertainly. Wide eyes scrutinize his face - one light as aspen leaves, the other dark as polished mahogany.
"You sure?" The two boys are so close their noses are almost touching, the other still fixing Earl with a strangely intense focus incongruous to the nature of the situation, in his opinion.
"Pretty?" Satisfied with this response, the other scout nods twice before scrambling back to his previous position on the opposite end of the bench. Earl swears there's some sort of electric surge causing the pale ginger hair on his arms to stand on edge where the boy had been only moments before.
"I'm Cecil by the way." The words are still quiet, though more demure than secretive this time. Long eyelashes flutter shyly as he works to break the cookies evenly in half and slip a handful of the pieces toward his new friend.
"Earl Harlan," the other muffles around a sugary mouthful. Cecil lifts the confection to his nose to inhale the scent of cloves, quirking a grin.
"It's good to have a friend," he mumbles more to himself before taking a bite.
Author Notes: specific herbs are traditionally said to be linked to different properties.
cloves: friendship, luck