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Es had completed all of their work for the day early and now had no idea what else to do. Well, they had tried staring at the ceiling for a bit but got bored rather quickly.
They wanted to do something that was more novel.
So, they thought for a bit, then realized there was one thing that they hadn’t done before: make food. It had always been Jackalope’s job.
Hm, but the knives were restricted, for obvious reasons, so they couldn’t make soup or anything like that. What could they make, with that restriction?
They thought it out. The kitchen had an electric mixer, a stove, a whisk, and some ingredients, so what could they cook with that?
Es also realized that they had absolutely no cooking experience, and had no idea what they could make with their materials, so that idea probably was a bust.
Looking for new ideas, they decided to go to the supply closet, which seemingly always had everything they needed, maybe would have something else to keep them productively occupied, and their eyes fell on a cookbook.
A cookbook? Perhaps they could go through the recipes on it and figure out what they could make, shouldn’t be that hard.
Most of the recipes included vegetables and other things that required knives and/or a lot of experience. They again thought the idea was hopeless until they flipped the page and found a recipe that seemed promising.
Chocolate cake. The image seemed pretty appetizing, and after an inspection of the fridge and cabinets, they had the ingredients and the utensils.
Okay, so cooking, or baking now, wouldn’t be that hard, they just had to follow the recipe to the dot. Es was pretty good at following instructions, right?
Despite occasional slip-ups, the prisoners respected and feared them as per Jackalope’s instruction, right ?
So, they brought out all of the ingredients as per the instructions, preheated the oven, and then tried to reach the flour, which was on the top shelf, already hitting a roadblock. Uh oh.
As they were brainstorming how to get it down without any attacks on their pride, they heard footsteps. Why did Es feel embarrassed?
Futa walked into the room. “Excuse me? Are you baking? In a prison?”
A prisoner was the last thing Es wanted to see right now, in this vulnerable moment.
His words had his usual brash tone to them. Es might have been intimidated, had they not met him in his interrogation. In all actuality, he was less scary than Amane, a 12-year-old .
So, they would counter his tone. Es turned around with a confident grin, despite not feeling confident in their baking ability at all, and said, “What’s it to you? Am I, as the warden, not allowed to do what I want in my prison?”
Futa looked slightly caught off-guard. “Well, uh,” He looked around to find something wrong with them, “you can’t even reach the flour! Do you even know what you’re doing?”
Wow, Futa actually made a less bulletproof argument this time. Surprising. How were they going to get out of this one; especially with their high status intact?
Futa sensed their hesitation and stood in front of the cupboard with the flour. “Heh, look, it’s super easy. All you have to do is-”
He cockily pushed Es out of the way to reach the flour and reached up towards it. He attempted to get it, but couldn’t. He even tried jumping.
Es snorted, and Futa turned to glare at them, ears turning red in embarrassment, a similar shade to his hair. Seems that putting himself that high up on a pedestal would only result in a harder fall.
“Well then, Mister I’m-sooo-much-better-at-baking-than-you,” Es smirked, “it seems that you have failed.”
But while making fun of Futa was entertaining, they still wanted to make progress on their task, and there was an obstacle that they couldn’t overcome.
There was no way in a million years that they would ever ask one of the taller prisoners for help, so it seems that they would have to increase their height.
They could use a chair as a ladder, but the chairs were bolted to the ground due to the potential weapons they could become, so now what?
They looked at Futa. He was someone that Es could use to accomplish their task, but how?
Es was probably the lighter (and better) one, so it made sense for them to be the one to be lifted up, but Es also didn’t want to touch the man.
Es pondered for a few seconds of the least embarrassing solution to their dilemma. They snapped their fingers and realized what they could do.
“Hold out your hands, low to the ground.” Futa looked at them confusedly and then realized what they were implying. “I’m not-”
“Do it or I’ll tell the entire prison that you can’t reach flour on the top shelf despite being a 20-year-old adult.” Es blackmailed.
Futa stared at them. “That is not fair .”
Es gave him a threatening smile, knowing who was going to win the argument here.
After a staring contest, Futa sighed in defeat and begrudgingly put his laced-together hands an inch in a holding position over the ground. “But if you tell anyone about this, I’ll-”
Es felt that they weren’t in that much of a position to judge, despite being the warden, as they ascended and used his head as support, laying their hand on it.
They acquired the flour, and as they were being descended, a green-haired girl stepped into the room.
“What on earth are you two doing?” Amane stared at the comical scene.
Es stared back as if trying to intimidate Amane away. Futa looked like he was about to die of embarrassment.
Amane stepped towards the two after Es had been safely put on the ground. “I don’t think this is a safe practice.”
Futa grinned, as he had nothing to lose, and tried to salvage the situation. “Wanna join?”
Amane turned her head. “I am not going to partake in unholy practices such as these. I think you two need to mature.”
Futa became argumentative. “Mature? I am over 5 years older than both of you two. Es, when’s your birthday.”
Es shrugged.
At no further entry, Futa was agape. “ You don’t know ? It’s your birthday ?”
Es shrugged again. “None of my business, I suppose.”
Amane agreed, “Birthdays
are
a trivial waste of time, after all.”
Futa looked like his entire world was being rewritten. “B-but then how do you know that you’re fifteen? Am I even older than you?”
Es started to ignore the sounds of crisis emitting from the ginger, looking at the instructions.
It had always been that way, Futa just needed to learn how to not question it. Es had a feeling that Jackalope and Futa would not get along if they could talk to each other.
Hm. One tablespoon vanilla extract? They rummaged around the drawer with measuring cups in it. They pulled out the one labeled tsp. That was probably correct, as a tablespoon had the letters t, b, and s in them. They definitely had good inference skills, coming with their job.
Amane, who was starting to walk away, noticed the mistake and was at their side in an instant. “That’s not correct, that’s the one for a teaspoon.”
Oh, come on.
Es scowled. “Well, what else am I supposed to use?” Amane responded by pulling out a bigger spoon labeled tbsp. How were they supposed to know that?
“It’s common knowledge,” Amane responded to their thoughts, probably reading their confused face.
Es found no flaw in her argument, so they settled for taking her hat and putting it over her head. She had hat hair. Es smirked at them.
Amane stared at them back with darkened eyes. “Give. Me. My. Hat. Back.”
Es raised their eyebrows, said, “No,” and put her hat on the highest shelf that they could reach. Amane looked at them as if she could kill them with a stare, then brightened up, muttering something under her breath about overcoming hardships.
She took a breath. “Well, if you two are so incompetent as to not be able to differentiate two units of measurement, I suppose I must help you lost souls.” She started to wash her hands, preparing to help cook.
Futa seemed to have overcome his (?) crisis and looked at the two. “Well, I’m definitely older than you, Amane, so at least I have that.”
In response, Amane gathered up soapy water in her hands and threw it at Futa’s face, who shrieked like a little girl. “My eyes! Don’t put soap in them, they’re sensitive .”
Es ignored the two’s antics and put the correct amount of ingredients into the bowl of the electric mixer. They were mixing together the wet things first, making sure to follow the instructions to the dot.
Es might not have been able to do much, but they were relatively good at following instructions.
Soon after Futa was done whining and Amane was done restraining the urge to kick the man in the shin, they decided to help with the dry ingredients, disregarding their previous motives for being there.
However, they were positioned in such a way that Es couldn’t hear what they were talking about. They decided they wouldn’t investigate their conversation, something they would come to regret.
Es, focused on their ingredients, didn’t notice Amane approaching from behind like a stalking tiger, armed with a handful of flour.
She threw the flour at the warden, and it got all over their hair and they started coughing (in a dignified way).
Through their humiliation, Es made a decision.
Amane was unlucky, as there were extra eggs, and they, though their only throwing practice was throwing paper balls in the trash, had the ability to hit her.
They grabbed the egg and chucked it at the back of Amane’s head. Now, all of them had some sort of sustenance in their hair.
They were even.
Amane shrieked and tried to get the egg out of her hair but to no avail. She narrowed her eyes and stared at Es with a hateful, almost murderous (haha) expression.
Es assumed a confident stance, with flour in their hair, saying, “It’s only fair.”
Amane did not find this fair.
After that incident, the group engaged in a cold war, only coming over to read mixing instructions. Well, Futa was grinning like a proud parent, not understanding the grudge that he had just started.
When it came time to mix the wet and dry ingredients, Amane refused to go over there, and Futa brought over the powders.
“Okay,” said Es, reading the instructions, “It says here to mix it on low.”
Futa raised an eyebrow. “Ok, but that’ll take time. How about we mix it on high, what’s the worst that can happen?” He said, disregarding Es’ protests.
…
Futa now had flour in his hair, matching Es’.
Amane looked at him in amusement, forgetting her anger, and Es looked at Futa like: I told you so .
“Why do I get two foods in my hair? This is so unfair!” The oh-so-mature man whined.
“Well, it’s water, so it doesn’t really count. Plus, you brought this upon yourself.”
Es then mixed it on slow, as per the directions, and it went off with no hitch.
Eventually, the dough was finished, and they loaded it into a pan, put it into the oven, and set a timer.
The next thing they had to do: make frosting.
Es whisked together the ingredients, after Futa had mansplained to them how they were supposed to stir, not just around, but also back and forth. Futa seemed to have given up on asking them how they had not learned this.
He had caught on by now.
The icing was done, and Es soon found out they had to defend it from criminals.
Because now, instead of just committing murder, they had come in with spoons, and stolen the icing. While Es defended it, insisting that it was not to be eaten unless on the cake.
But despite their vehement defense of the sweet good, they too were curious to see how it turned out, but if they took some, then that would make them hypocritical.
Agh. Curse their impulse to defend the frosting for landing in this situation.
Amane unfortunately noticed their conflict. “Hey, were you thinking of eating the icing yourself? I’ll have you know I don’t appreciate hypocrites.”
Futa, who was less good at reading people followed along with Amane’s (correct) assumption. “Wow, I can’t believe you would do something like that. As the warden, aren’t you supposed to set a good example for the prisoners?”
Oh, he was going to play that game. “Well, as a prisoner, aren’t you supposed to listen to the warden unquestionably? Seems that we both aren’t fulfilling our desired roles, one more than the other.”
“And as an adult , aren’t you supposed to deal with us maturely, Futa?”
Futa turned to look at Amane, betrayed. “Amanee, you’re supposed to be on my side! What happened to our alliance?”
Es did not know what alliance they were talking about, perhaps it was discussed without their knowledge earlier when they were mixing the wet ingredients.
“I am the neutral party. I ally with the people of my choosing.”
Futa looked like an abandoned pet. “Have you no sense of loyalty?”
Amane thought for a second, then answered, “Not to you.”
“Why not me?”
“To preserve what little remains of our comradeship, I shall not divulge that information.”
Es watched on as the two bantered. It was quite entertaining, a 12-year-old slandering a grown man, and said grown man considering the feedback. Wasn’t Futa used to arguing with people on the internet?
Well, he may have been used to it, but he sucked, as they tuned back into the pair’s conversation to hear, “You are a pathetic man. I believe that sometimes even Shidou is more right than you, and that’s saying something.”
Futa melodramatically gasped. He seemed to be having more fun at this point. “I can’t believe you would say something like that; I would make a callout post on Twitter, if I still had my phone.”
“Twitter?”
“You can’t be serious.” Futa looked at her face, and she was serious. Es was lucky; they somehow knew about Twitter, even if they had no idea why. Maybe they should consider that more…
No. No more mystery. This was their day off.
“Why don’t you know about anything? Have you two lived under rocks your whole life?”
Es thought about that for a second and chimed into the conversation. “Well, I have lived in Milgram for as long as I can remember, but I think it depends on the material of the ceiling.”
Futa looked aghast. “What, so you haven’t touched grass your whole life? What are you?”
Es decided to speak on behalf of themself. “The prison warden of Milgram?”
Amane shrugged. “A loyal follower?”
Also, what was this strange terminology that he was using? Amane also had that question, and she and Es gave each other a side-eye.
Futa looked confused but seemingly had given up on the hope that they would understand his strange slang. As if to interrupt the silence, the cake timer went off.
Es opened the oven and attempted to take the cake out without mitts in full confidence.
The pan was searing hot, and Es cried out in pain.
A little too late, Futa asked, confused, “What are you doing, why did you try to take it out without mitts?”
In retrospect, they probably should have realized that since the oven would be hot, the pan would not be advisable to touch, but hey, it was their first time cooking.
Amane also inspected their wound, yet offered no words of sympathy, just, “You idiot.”
Futa decided to actually solve the problem, guiding the slightly dazed Es over to the sink, and turning on the water. “Put your hand in the water.”
Es complied, pinpricks of tears forming, not being used to feeling pain.
They had yet to have Mikoto’s interrogation, but it wasn’t as if any of the prisoners so far could hurt them. Jackalope’s claws were probably the only thing that brought them pain.
The water hurt for a second, then felt nice. The irritated red skin still slightly throbbed.
“Why did you do that!” Futa exclaimed, exasperated. Es glared at them, eyes still stinging. They were not about to cry.
Meanwhile, Amane got on oven mitts, which were lying nearby, and pulled out the cake, as if to say, ‘I could do it, why couldn't you?’. Es did not appreciate the insult, but didn’t retaliate in case the tears of pain betrayed their dignity.
Futa, who was acting like he wasn’t just fussing over Es a moment ago like a concerned older sibling, pulled out the bowl of partially pillaged icing. “Come on, let’s frost it.”
Es narrowed their eyes in focus, blinking the tears out of their eyes, grabbing a serving spoon to lather the white icing on and to spread it. The others did the same.
There was the problem of both Amane and Es trying to make it look perfect and symmetrical, contrasted by Futa randomly lathering it on. The argument was wordless, ending up with Futa being kicked out.
Eventually, after all the icing was on, Futa stole the bowl for mysterious reasons.
Es presumed he meant to eat it or squirrel it away, but he found some food coloring (how did they have all of these ingredients anyway?) and dyed it red while Es and Amane were focused on perfecting the icing.
He presented it to them both, and they seemed pretty confused. Futa procured toothpicks that were murderer-safe, and explained that they were going to be, “adding our own flair to the cake!”
At the non-reactiveness of Es and Amane, he scooped up the red icing with the toothpick and poorly drew a little fire symbol on part of the cake. He explained, “My older sister taught me this! When you make a cake, you have to add your own touch, or how else will it be your cake?”
Es connected the idea to the law books that they researched. “So like copyrighting the cake?”
Futa was dismayed by this connection. It probably brought back a memory. “No- it’s like a mark of yourself! It doesn’t have to be just one definite symbol, just draw whatever! It’s tradition.”
Amane shrugged and started drawing a cat. Es pondered what to put on the cake, as, what did they know how to draw?
Es took the toothpick and realized what they should draw. They drew the Milgram logo, as it was something that they had doodled often when they got bored taking notes.
Amane looked at their drawing and seemed to realize something. She took the toothpick and drew a weird cloud symbol.
But after her drawing, they were done, after all of the hurdles. Es looked at the group’s (mostly their) handiwork and felt a slight sensation of pride.
Even if it was nothing special, something Jackalope could make with fewer injuries, arguments, and food getting in hair, it still felt special.
And, for some strange reason, it tasted better than any other cake they had; maybe it was the sweetness of the memories made.
Or perhaps, Amane had added extra sugar.