A Cake for Gunpowder, pt3

A short story about pastries and pirates, written by me! Go here for part 2:


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"NO SOLICITORS!" the loud voice roared. The dauntingly dark figure took a heavy step forward, emerging out of the dust cloud. It was Gunpowder, Leader of the Rogues. The Gabite took a claw and scratched its neck while looking down to see the suave Minccino, almost unfazed by what had just happened. "Oh, it's just you," Gunpowder snorted.

"Nice entrance," Chill smirked while putting down the box. "Though I think you ruined any future use in that nice door you had there."

"Yar, I burst through that door all th' time. Gots bit of a temper, they tells me," Gunpowder said while squinting towards the sky.

"Well--..." Chill started.

"ENOUGH CHITCHAT. Whatcha be wantin', little Minccino? I've got... uh... things ta’ do. Of the piratey sort." A grumble came from the Gabite as it looked around and uncomfortably shifted its weight. Chill knew what was up. He had noticed the tension in the air and that Gunpowder was avoiding eye contact as usual. When he first met Gunpowder, he used to shrug it off as "shady Rogue traits," but now he knew Gunpowder better than that. He knew a lot of secrets about Gunpowder. Some of which were unspeakable.

"Yer kind can’t be comin' 'round here. It's bad blood 'round these parts. If'n Devonshire caught wind--"

The ranting stopped immediately after seeing the box on the floor. "Whatcha got there...?" As Gunpowder started to lean down and curiously nose at the box, a pair of Rogue team members walking nearby looked over, noticing the two rivaling Guild Leaders. Gunpowder, seeing this, panicked and frantically started yelling, "What's that, some kinda dirty Rescuer trick? Arr, come to trick ol' Gunpowder in me own home, eh? When me wits an' guards be down, too. Well here's what I think o' that!"

The Gabite violently stomped a foot right down into the box. What looked to be a threat instantly turned to mush. A Rogue bullying a Rescuer. Nope, nothing looked out of the ordinary here. The Rogue team lost interest and walked away.

"Wh-... what manner of gobbledy-gook is this?" Gunpowder looked down, shocked to see cake frosting everywhere. Gunpowder was expecting something inside that box, but not this. The cake was thoroughly ruined.

“Well," Chill started again, wincing. He was completely covered in the cake's splattered icing. "I heard it was a special day today and--" he paused, spotting a nearby flower. He quickly picked it before continuing, "I got you a birthday surprise!" Chill seemed to beam as he presented the freshly picked flower to Gunpowder.

Gunpowder was completely baffled. No one ever tried to be nice for no reason at all, especially to the leader of the Rogues. Yet this little Minccino kept trying. If anything, there should be a bitter rivalry between the two opposing Guild Leaders, and while that appeared to be true on the outside, Chill was legitimately trying to be friends with Gunpowder behind the scenes. Maybe there was something to be had with this friendship thing after all. Maybe...

Gunpowder finally snapped to, and, looking down, extended a long claw down to the smiling Minccino and grabbed the flower. "S-sorry 'bout the ca-..."

“No worries, it's cool. Now uh... if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go... take care of... business,” the Rescue Leader shuddered, cake frosting dripping from him as he spoke. As a Minccino, Chill absolutely hated having his fur messy in any way, but even in a situation such as this, he was able to mostly keep his cool.

As Chill walked off into the distance, Gunpowder stood there alone in the entrance of the Devonshire Law Firm, still gripping the flower. Looking down at the cake's remains on the floor, Gunpowder noticed some writing. The destruction of the baked good was surely a sad sight to see, but through some miracle, the writing on the top of the cake was still intact. Lifting an adorned eyepatch, Gunpowder squinted and slowly read the words, "Happy birthday, friend~"

The Gabite let out a small chuckle and tipped its pirate hat, as if in salute. "Ya ain't bad, little Minccino. Thank ye... friend."