Chapter 7 Pansy #2
Speaking of, there seemed to be more of it now.
The moss she’d accidentally dislodged upon her arrival had been returned to its proper place, nestled high above in intricate swirls.
She guessed Ren had figured out a way to salvage it.
If she wasn’t so preoccupied with pinpointing the origin of the smell, still bearing down upon her with the warm weight of a loved one’s embrace, she might’ve noted that they’d kicked up a fuss for nothing.
But, as it was, there was nothing beyond the singular question currently burning a hole through her thoughts.
“What in the world is that smell?” she wondered aloud, her gaze sweeping across the entry hall again and again, always to no avail.
“The consequences of your own actions,” Ren declared without missing a beat. Contrary to Pansy’s expectations, they’d followed her inside. Now, they stood in the open doorway, hands on their hips, their chest puffed up in unabashed triumph.
Pansy blinked, the snag of her own confusion upending her thoughts as much as the sight of Ren’s exultant grin.
Wait – did they think she disliked the smell?
How very wrong, but also – charming? It was the second time she’d used the word to describe Ren, and though it certainly fit, she couldn’t help but wonder, somewhat distantly, whether she ought to be using it.
Ren was a goblin – more specifically, a goblin she was actively trying to get rid of – and goblins weren’t supposed to be charming.
They were mean and cruel and, well, evil!
Just like the dark lords who commanded them.
And yet, the truth of this did nothing to quell the easy warmth seeping into her chest, buoying her up from the inside out.
She giggled, unable to stop herself. “The ‘consequences of my own actions’, huh? Then you better let me know exactly what I did, so I can do it again!”
“You – what? You like it?” Ren promptly deflated, their expression splintering to pieces against the spearpoint of their own confusion.
“It smells good! So, what is it?”
“A paste. For the moss,” Ren explained, almost grudgingly, as they pointed overhead.
“Interesting. I’d expect something like that to smell sour, not sweet.” A beat. “Is it weird that it actually makes me want to bake something?” Pansy asked, a sheepish smile unfurling across her lips.
“You want to bake something?” Ren’s ears perked up at that, revealing their interest despite an otherwise neutral expression.
“Mm-hmm. I’m thinking maybe some shortbread cookies.
” She needed to do a test batch anyway, the perils of an unfamiliar kitchen (and oven!) an already hard-learned lesson.
The last thing she needed was for the cookies she’d promised Mrs. Millwood to go the same way as the cake she and Blossom had prepared for Blossom’s mother’s fortieth birthday several years ago – namely, hard and charcoal-like.
No doubt, Pansy would never hear the end of it if they did.
“Any objections?” she asked, looking at Ren.
“I—” Ren’s mouth opened then snapped shut as a bronze flush bloomed across the bridge of their nose. They looked away, long lashes dusting the curve of their cheekbones, and grumbled, “Do whatever you want.”
“That’s the plan,” Pansy chirped, lowering the basket so that the kitten could hop out without plummeting the equivalent of several cat-sized stories.
Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to make much of a difference.
The kitten clambered over the basket’s rim without any grace, somehow managing to trip over his own paws in the process.
He tumbled out, landing in a fuzzy, flailing heap for all of half a second before he bounded upright, shook the dirt from his fur, and scampered off to explore parts heretofore unknown.
So much for “Don’t worry if he spends the first couple of days hiding”, Pansy thought with a laugh as the kitten tore across the living room, yowling all the way.
As much as she disliked the cottage’s present lack of furniture – something she planned to rectify as soon as she was able – Pansy couldn’t deny that, in this instance, it was probably for the best. In any appropriately furnished home, the kitten would’ve almost certainly crashed into something right out of the gate.
For all that Blossom had insisted they were hardy little creatures, Pansy wasn’t ready to put that to the test just yet.
Either way, she needn’t have worried. The kitten abandoned his wild laps about the room soon enough, electing, instead, to bat at the ivy that framed a nearby window.
“Hey! You! Stop that!” Ren snapped, marching over to the kitten, now laid on his back, a single cord of ivy pinned between his front paws.
The kitten paused, yellow eyes nearly swallowed whole by the black of his pupils, focusing on Ren with an uncanny sort of awareness, as if he understood them.
He didn’t, of course. But it nonetheless made the kitten’s decision to resume bunny-kicking his ivy prisoner less than a second later all the more hilarious – at least, from Pansy’s perspective.
“Aw. Look at him go.” She giggled. “How cute.”
“He’s not cute!” Ren snapped, whirling on her with a glare that could cut through glass. “He’s a menace!”
“And what exactly do you want me to do about it?” Pansy asked, cocking a brow. “I can hardly stand there holding the ivy out of his reach all day. And even if I did, what’s to stop him from setting his sights on any of the other plants growing around here?”
“Pansy.”
“Oh, fine.” She huffed. “Don’t say I don’t do anything nice for you.”
And with that she scooped up the kitten, quick enough that surprise swept the ivy from his grasp, and deposited him in the one place guaranteed to annoy Ren just as much: the top of their head.
She grinned. “Better?”
“Ugh.” Shooting her one last festering look, Ren reached up to pluck the kitten from their scalp. However, unlike Pansy, they no longer had the luxury of surprise on their side, and so the kitten, unwilling to be manhandled a second time, sank his claws into Ren’s dark hair and tender skin alike.
It took all of half a second for Ren to admit defeat, releasing their hold on the kitten with a hiss and a grimace.
“Get. Him. Off. Of. Me,” Ren ground out between clenched teeth, every inch of them rigid as a board.
“But he seems so comfortable there! Plus, I thought you loved animals, Ren.”
“Not when they’re digging several tiny needles into my scalp!”
“You know,” Pansy said, unmoved by the accusation searing through Ren’s stare, “it’s probably for the best that he’s up there instead of on the ground.
Cats apparently like to do their business in either dirt or sand.
And who’s to say he’ll actually use a proper litter box when you’ve more or less advertised the entire house as a toilet. ”
“What?” Ren’s eyes bulged. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am. Very much so. So, maybe you want to clean up a bit? I wouldn’t want to destroy anything of yours, given our agreement.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Ren’s stare narrowed. “You planned this,” they said, their voice thick with the sour drag of someone realizing they had been outplayed.
Pansy shrugged. In truth, she couldn’t take all the credit: Blossom had been the one to suggest she bring home the kitten. “Believe whatever you want,” she said. “Either way, my point still stands, meaning I’d get to sweeping if I were you. It was a pretty long walk back from Haverow.”
“This isn’t over,” Ren said with a scowl, jabbing a finger in Pansy’s direction before stalking out of the room.
No doubt they’d wanted to appear intimidating, their words as much a threat as the gesture that had accompanied them.
But the kitten, still sprawled across the top of their head like a fuzzy black hat, had rendered such a thing an impossibility.
Instead, they only managed to look ridiculous.
Make that another point for me, Pansy thought with a grin, riding high on her latest victory as she retreated into the kitchen.
For once, she was utterly untouchable. Ren had lost, and she had won, and all that damnable dirt was finally going to be swept away! Truly, nothing could ruin this for her, not even a finicky oven primed to burn her cookies to a crisp.
Only, Pansy didn’t even get that far because she’d done it again: she’d forgotten the sugar.
The realization hit her partway through mixing her batter, well beyond the point of no return.
Back when she’d lived in Haverow, this wouldn’t have been much of an issue.
She could just pop out to the grocer and be back within half an hour – or bother Blossom for a cup if the grocer was already closed.
But out here in the forest, an hours-long walk from the village, the fact registered with stomach-plummeting devastation.
Because no sugar meant no cookies, transforming the mixture sitting at the bottom of her metal bowl from a point of pride into a badge of shame. A waste.
Unless, she went back to Haverow anyway…
Maybe if I run, the grocer will still be open when I get there, Pansy thought to herself as she covered the bowl with a nearby lid.
It was a silly thought, the kind that Ren would probably think of as halfling stupidity.
But standing there, with her failure sitting on the counter before her, Pansy couldn’t bring herself to discount it.
She strode out of the kitchen, her basket hanging off her arm yet again. The heat that had once stained her cheeks now sat beneath her breastbone, newly condensed into a far more determined flame.
Pansy nearly made it into the entry hall before Ren, now armed with a broom and exceedingly full dustbin, rounded the corner, with kitten still in tow, and said, “You can’t possibly be thinking of going out this late.”