Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
With a little guidance and some extra pressure, a long crack splits the middle of the egg, and Soleil gives a strangled squeak of surprise. It holds, however, which is bewildering to Sol. Following Maeve’s instructions, she pries into the egg with her thumbs, nose wrinkling at the gooey liquid that begins to creep down her skin with her slower pace. But as she pulls it apart it plops into the bowl with no further difficulty, shell-free.
“So cool,” she says distractedly, more interested in reaching eagerly for the next and final egg that she’s to do on her own. The cracking still goes a little bumpy, but the separation is nice and neat, leaving only a single piece of shell in the whites in the bowl. Soleil plucks it out with a shy smile and holds her sticky hands away from herself, reluctant to wipe them on the apron. “What now?” Each ingredient has been a wildly new experience, and the excitement is clear in her tone.
She watches with a flare of pride as Soleil quickly masters the movement of separating the two halves of the eggs from each other. Maeve grabs the damp cloth from the edge of the sink, wiping the bit of egg white from the girl's fingers easily, "There. All clean." Maeve hums, putting the cloth to the side for later, having a feeling they were going to need it later. "Alright, now we add in the sugar. This is what makes it nice and sweet." She explains, pulling over the jar of sugar and handing her the measuring cup.
"Here, put in a cup and a half." Maeve holds the jar steady so she can scoop out the ingredient without worrying about the jar potentially falling onto the floor. Once the sugar is in the bowl, a sweet puff of air coming up each time she pours it, Maeve hands her a wooden spoon. "Now we mix all the wet ingredients together before adding the dry a little bit at a time"
the only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm along with you
Soleil submits her hands easily to Maeve’s cleaning, trying very hard to stay still and patient. She’s a naturally biddable and polite child, but as soon as sugar is one the scene, well…even the most well-behaved of children can get a little distracted.
It’s tempting to overfill the cup - more sugar means it tastes better right? Surely it wouldn’t do anything to the cookies in her mind - but with Maeve overseeing she doesn’t give into temptation, and it goes into the bowl with little issues (or changes). Taking the spoon, the girl immediately sets to her task, brow furrowed and tongue peeking out in concentration anew. It’s a much larger spoon than she’s used to, and she’s scarcely used to human utensils at all, but the apron takes the brunt of the splatters when they happen. The wet ingredients blend much easier, but as soon as they start slowly adding in the dry and the mixture becomes thicker and harder to stir, Soleil eventually hands over the spoon with an apologetic look. “My arms are tired, can you help?”
It's very clear that Sol is trying her absolute best to follow the directions given to her. Maeve has to commend her for that. It isn't the easiest to contain ones desires when sugar is involved. With newly cleaned hands, Maeve releases Sol to measure out the sugar, adding it to the butter and egg mixture that's already waiting in the bowl. She lets her do it all herself. The mixing and measuring easily managed until the dry ingredients get added.
With a soft laugh, Maeve nods, taking the bowl from Soleil. She braces it against her abdomen, cradling it in the crook of her arm, wooden spoon in her other hand. She mixes the dough until it all comes together, having Sol add in the remaining dry ingredients, and finally the chocolate chips. Huffing out an exaggerated breath, swiping the back of her hand over her forehead, Maeve sets to bowl back down. "That's a bit of a workout, huh?" The Nightshade hums, grabbing two spoons for them to form balls of dough with and a baking sheet to place them on.
"Now comes the fun part. We're going to scoop the dough into little balls and place extra chocolate chips on top." Maeve picks up a spoon, gathering a little bit of dough onto it before rolling it between her hands just little to form a loose ball before allowing it to plop onto the baking sheet. "Then three chocolate chips." Delicately placing a few chocolate morsels onto the ball. "Now you."
the only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm along with you
Cookies are magic, Soleil decides as she is guided through the final steps by Maeve’s confident, maternal hands. The shaping of the balls of dough is undoubtedly her favorite part, despite the way her nose scrunches at the stickiness that lingers. It’s easily swiped away by an eager tongue at the end - which is an early treat unto itself. As are the chocolate chips she asks to sneak, too polite to try and do so sneakily.
The baking is undoubtedly the hardest part. Soleil is a patient girl, but the smell is heavenly, and the minutes seem to drag even as Maeve distracts her with conversation - and cleanup, of course. Best to get ahead of the mess.
And then, even more waiting for them to cool! Sol isn’t sure she’s going to make it, but the first bite into the still-gooey masterpiece is worth every hard won minute of patience. Her cheeks puff up like a happy chipmunk, and the rest of the cookie disappears within moments. It takes some reminding, but Soleil trots to the door with a plate of cookies at Maeve’s instruction, and sets them on the doorstep. A little doubtful and uncertain, but trusting. “For you Ludo,” she warbles quietly, uncertain if Ludo would hear her if she only said it inside her mind. Turning away from the door and the slowly cooling cookies on the plate beyond, Soleil runs back inside to throw her arms around Maeve’s waist, burying her face into the soft warmth of the woman’s belly. Inhaling her scent and hiding her vulnerable little smile. “Thank you Maeve,” she murmurs in a garble against the woman’s stomach, and the space rings with the sound of happy, girlish laughter when she is swept into the woman’s arms and taken back to the counter for a few more cookies.
