Barrot, for some reason, had the job of making the desserts. The Vegimals, with the guidance of the professor, had made a menu that would be both delicious and nutritious. The Vegimals thought it would be fun to have desserts for at least one meal per day. Grouber and Codish voted for all meals, but Tunip vetoed it. It made the day a bit sweeter (pun fully intended), and it helped put smiles on the crew's faces, especially after a tiring mission.

The orange Vegimal, Barrot, had made the desserts consistently, priding himself on the delicious results that happened each time something popped out of the oven. Of course, the others would help with the smaller things, like put on the icing, or mix the ingredients; but in a place where most of the crew grouped the Vegimals as almost like one being instead of separate individuals, he found comfort in dessert-making because this was his.

He wasn't sure how he felt about the "merging" of the Vegimals as one being. In a way, it made total sense. The Vegimals always stuck together, went through the same rooms together, did the same activities together. They worked better together than separately, and with almost none of the other Octonauts understanding Vegimalnese, it was extremely difficult (on both sides) to sit down individually and just talk.

But at the same time, the other Octonauts weren't really trying. The only exception was Shellington, but that kind of backfired. Now Shellington was the representative of the crew, and Tunip was the representative of the Vegimals. It's like two separate groups working together, instead of everyone being Octonauts.

He had voiced those thoughts to his brothers, but no one really seemed to mind. Codish, the pink one, didn't seem like he understood. Grouber, the large purple one, just laughed it off, saying some joke to try to gloss over it. The only one who seemed to listen was Tunip, but the yellow Vegimal didn't see that as a problem. "We are two different groups," Tunip said, trying to be reassuring. "But we are working together, there are no fights, and we are valued and respected. What more could we ask for?"

"Are we respected?" Barrot asked back, "if they do not know each of us for who we are?"

Barrot did not know. It was a true question; he had no idea of the answer. He did not know if he should even be bothered by this.

"Do you know all of them individually? Do you try to know them?" Tunip responded.

Barrot could not bring himself to lie "yes," and so ended the conversation. Tunip had a point, he know he did. So why did he feel like something inside of him was missing? Why did it feel like something was not right?

Over time, Barrot was able to focus on and shift through that feeling. It was a feeling in his gut, in the sweet spot between his stomach and chest. It felt like something was amiss. Not amiss in the external situation, but within him, within himself. Was there a root problem that he did not know about?

Barrot thought deeper within himself as he absentmindedly turned on the mixer for the vanilla kelp pudding. The sound whirred a bit loudly within the kitchen, but Barrot did it enough times to not mind it anymore.

He eyed the kelp pudding. He was so into making dessert because he felt like it was his own. For as long as he could remember, he was with his friends since the beginning. That's why the concept of calling each other "brothers" was much more than a cultural thing for their little band. To them and Barrot, they really were brothers; they were the closest anyone could be without a blood relation. And he loved that, he absolutely loved that. Except... Maybe it had its drawbacks.

Other than this dessert... pastime (he did not know what to call it. He valued it too much to just be a chore), had he had anything that was really his own? On their home island, their whole culture centered on different groups doing different chores. They did such activities the whole day, looking for food, cooking, watching young, etc. Then when the time came, they all had their meals together. And it was always together. There was never a moment when Barrot could be alone. He could never do his own thing... And, he only now realized, never really know who he was.

That's why, amidst all his confusing thoughts towards the crew, he also had admired them. They were each their own person, with their own interests, their own tastes, their own species. It was the complete opposite of what he had ever known. And now that he knew of a lifestyle other than a group identity and mentality, he craved it like a creature dying of thirst. He did not want to be just a Vegimal, not just from the eyes of the crew but from his own brothers as well. He wanted to be Barrot, whatever that meant. He wanted to be himself.

The whirring of the machine died down slowly as Barrot pushed the off switch. The spinny-thingy came to a stop, making the bowl stop moving as well. He brought up the spinny-thingy (Shellington had told them what it was when he taught them how to use kitchen appliances, but Barrot did not remember the name, nor really cared enough to know it again. Spinny-thingy was good enough for him) and poured the pudding into the bowls one by one. This dish was fairly simple, but he knew it was a crowd favorite. Especially from Captain Barnacles. He put the bowls onto a tray and wiped his flippers. They were ready to go.

He looked down at the floor. It's nice that he now knows what's bothering him, but what should he do about it? Where should he go from there? How can he even start to find out who he is?

Guess it just takes one day at a time.