Author stuff: I decided to do happy second because I can't make you guys sad for too long. (A day, because I forgot last night. Whoops.) I'm not that cruel. I mean, like, I'll cackle maniacally for a while but then I feel bad and bring you blankets and cookies.
So, the happy part!
Day 5 - Flour
Roll with the Punches, Pt. 2
He was starting to panic. She wasn't in their room. She actually wasn't in New TrollMarket at all, from what he could tell. He could smell her – most of it congregating their private little nook – but she wasn't in any of her usual haunts. This was causing his anxiety to spike and his mind to race.
He was about to burst out of their system of caves and into the human world when she reappeared. He practically tackled her.
"Are you okay?" he said, looking her over. Nothing appeared to have changed or altered her appearance. She smelled… relatively normal. He didn't smell any blood or any other injuries, couldn't see them. So she must be okay.
He took the bags she was carrying, paying very little attention to their contents. He figured they were her usual haul.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice light and full of bemusement. "Are you okay? You look like someone electrocuted you. Again."
"I was worried when I couldn't find you."
"I had to go out for a few things. Had to get you a present."
"Present?" He looked at her incredulously, following her like some dutiful puppy back to their room. "It's not my birthday. It's… it's not Christmas or Easter, right?"
"No. I just felt like getting you something."
He looked down into the bags. There was, in fact, a wrapped box in one of them. It smelled vaguely familiar, though he wasn't exactly quite able to place it. Something powdery.
He set the bags down on their bed – a makeshift thing of various pillows and blankets scrounged from wherever they could be found – and waited for her.
She took her time before digging out the present from the one bag, putting other items away first. And she didn't hand it to him right away. She looked it over, patting the colorful foiled wrapping fondly. She gave a quiet sigh and offered it up to him.
"Here," she said.
He took it delicately from it, meeting her eyes to make sure that it was okay before tearing the paper – which he did with just as much care. He cut the strips of tape holding the paper together with the fine nails on his hands.
The paper covered a standard cardboard box, sealed again with tape. He looked up at her, raising his brow.
"Go on," she said, half laughing. She sat down on the bed next to the box, watching his face intently.
He opened the box, unsure of what to expect on the inside.
It was a bag of flour.
"Uh…" he said. "You want me to bake for you? Are you craving, like, some cake or, uh, bread or something?"
"Well," she said, pulling her knees up to her chest, "I'll definitely be having some cravings. I just don't know what they'll be yet."
He looked down at the bag of flour again. He… didn't get it. He looked back at her. She gave a scoff and rolled her eyes.
"Remember Petunia?"
"Petunia?"
"You sacrificed her to help defeat a gruesome?"
"Wait, our flour baby?"
"Yes!"
"What does out flour baby have to do with this?" He heft up the bag to show her.
"Jim," she said. "Flour. Baby. Think about it."
And he did.
"Oh," he said. "You… You're, uh, baby?"
He pointed to her stomach with wide eyes.
"Jeeze," she said. "Do you have rocks for brains?"