The Battle of the Victors (*S1/2*) - Round "1" - Crystal Mirage XIX
11-28-2023, 05:30 AM
(This post was last modified: 12-02-2023, 04:41 PM by Ixcaliber.)
“What do you remember?”
As her consciousness reformed the first thing that Franchesca was aware of was the delectable smell of something sweet baking nearby. One by one her senses returned to her. She became aware she was laid down on a hard surface, some kind of powder matted into her fur. The sound of a cheery pop song playing tinnily on a shoddy radio, occasionally distorting for a moment before there was the sound of an impact and the quality continued as it had been.
There had also been the sound of a voice. It had asked her what she remembered, which was a good question but she was at this point too busy getting her senses back online to worry about such things as memories. Luckily, from the way the voice was idly humming along to the radio (and singing the one or two scattered words its owner knew of the lyrics) it didn’t seem like it was desperately awaiting her response.
There was the muffled hum of a fan, which would intermittently become unmuffled with the sounds of something big and metal being pulled laboriously open. Lots of mouthwatering baking scents would be released by this as well. Franchesca was prepared to conclude that the noises she was hearing belonged to a particularly large oven - and hey wasn’t that a good step forward to be making conclusions again?
Now for the big one. Franchesca hesitantly opened her eyes. It took a moment for the world to come into focus. She was in a kitchen, easily the most well-appointed kitchen she’d ever seen, but with none of the impersonality that an industrial kitchen would have. The walls were cream and decorated with framed pictures of quaint kitchen slogans such as ‘Happiness is a small house, with a big kitchen - Alfred Hitchcock’ and ‘People who love to eat are always the best people - Julia Child’ and ‘The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to bake and get baked in return - Elton John’.
There were numerous countertops littered with bags of ingredients and numerous utensils, some of which looked familiar to Franchesca, some of which she would struggle to even invent a use for. A sink in one corner was piled high with cake tins and rolling pins and mixing bowls and the like. In another corner was the huge oven she had deduced the existence of, only larger than she had thought reasonable to imagine. It was large enough that at first it just looked like a door to another room, until you noticed the steam pouring out of it, the tray racks and the shadow of the fan spinning. And probably the heat would be a fairly strong signifier that you weren’t just walking into another room but Franchesca wasn’t close enough to feel that.
Speaking of where she was, she couldn’t help but notice she was lying on a kitchen counter, in a small drift of what she was going to assume was flour. Her body was slow to respond as she tried to sit up, her limbs suddenly afflicted with pins and needles as sensation returned to them. Franchesca gasped out loud and in doing so attracted the attention of this kitchen’s owner.
She was tall, with no fur, just smooth skin, and shifting rainbow coloured hair, tied back in a nice neat bun. She had an indeterminate amount of arms. At any given time, though it didn’t seem to fit with her understanding of the space that the woman was operating in, Franchesca would have sworn she was kneading some dough over at the far counter with one pair of arms, chopping some mysterious glowing white fruit at an entirely different counter with a second pair of arms, washing plates over by the sink with a third and smoking a ratty looking joint with a fourth. She was wearing an apron with what appeared to be a simplified cartoon version of herself face-on with eight hands extended around her, each holding a different kitchen utensil.
“How are you doing Frannie? Remember anything yet?”
Franchesca searched her memories. Her name was Franchesca Fox. She was a resident of Roshain, the voyaging city that she herself had set upon its path into the stars. Her best friend was a little shapeshifting dream-being called Nova, who she had rescued from the machinations of Nightmare Queen Vamera. She remembered Valhart, the broken knight whose agony continued to compel them to try to destroy and remake the universe itself, and the many confrontations that the three of them had had as they journeyed to the Source of All Things. She remembered being close to a final confrontation, but getting stranded on a dismal world orbiting a dying sun, and then she remembered waking here in this incongruous kitchen. Feeling compelled to supply this intimidating lady with an answer she recounted her most recent memories out loud.
“We were so close to the Source, but Rochelle, she’s the mayor of our city, said she was picking up signs of Valhart’s forces on this planet and of course me and Nova are going to go down there and investigate.” Fran said. “But it was a trick, Valhart was nowhere to be seen, me and Nova get separated, and Rochelle flies Roshain off towards the Source without us.”
“Woah, spoilers.” The lady muttered.
“I need to get back there. I don’t know what Rochelle is thinking, if she really did betray us or if there’s something else going on but I need to get to the Source and save everyone.” Fran was getting herself into an agitated state, and simultaneously seemed to be reacquiring full motor control of her body. She was trying to get up, but the lady simply placed a pair of hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down.
“Okay, calm down Fran.” she said soothingly, and while that usually was not an effective tactic to stem someone’s rising panic, this time she did feel a calmness coming over her. With this tranquility settled over her the lady looked down at her appraisingly and then shrugged with all of her numerous arms. “You’re not perfect but you’re close enough. I don’t really have time to try again at this point.”
“Ideally you’d remember all this, but since you don’t I’ll give you the cliff notes. You were taken by a powerful multiversal entity - that’s me - to participate in a Big Fight - essentially a nine person battle to the death, each round takes place in some interesting location from throughout the multiverse, and the round changes every time someone dies. Mine was called The Delectable Confection. I thought it was pretty good but the rest of the Hosts were like ‘ohh its so boring. Everyone’s just hanging around and talking and eating cake. Where’s the big fighting? Etc Etc’ you know the vibe.”
“Anyway things were going pretty well up until the last round where you and the other remaining contestant… um… both died somehow. I don’t know what happened I swear I only looked away for a minute. But the thing is that The Battle of the Victors (terrible name I personally hate it) is almost ready to go and the rest of the Hosts are waiting on my battle. I don’t have time to start over from scratch. I need you to go and be the representative of the Delectable Confection in this climactic battle.”
“I… died…?” Fran asked blankly. “I’m dead?”
“No, don’t be silly, you’re not currently dead, you just were for a while. I rebaked you.”
“You… rebaked me?” This line of conversation did not seem to be making things any better.
“Yes. I’ve been at it all day, trying to get you just right. Honestly it’s a little embarrassing, I used to bake entire universes into existence, but just really been struggling with getting the detail on you just right. In my defence it has been eons since I last did this. Nowadays the most complicated thing I bake are tiered wedding cakes, mainly in a baroque style.”
“You… used to bake… universes?” Fran asked. “You’re a God?”
“Oh, Gods don’t have anything on me, dear.” The lady said. “I’m The Baker.”
“I’m… dreaming right?” Fran asked. “This isn’t happening. I’m still stranded on that planet and having one of the most intense dreams of my life.”
“I think we can speed this along a little bit.” The Baker said, placing her fingertips upon Fran’s head and showing her a glimpse of the creation of a universe, not her own, the maker of her own universe had been more mechanically minded, but one that was similar enough to be understandable to the fox.
The sensation was overwhelming, the scent of a newly baked universe full of possibility and wonder was indescribable. It was too much information for a mortal mind to hold at once. She could taste the fabric of space and time, she remembered sprinkling the night sky with stars like it was a coating of sugar.
Fran pulled away, taking deep breaths as she processed what she’d just experienced. It was far too vivid, far too much for this to be a dream, she was forced to admit that this all might have been true. Which meant it was time to process everything she’d been told about being taken to be in a battle to the death, and dying, and being asked now to go and participate in this Battle of the Victors.
It was all so abstract, especially when all she wanted to do was go home and finally finish the fight against Valhart and save her own universe. But instead here she was face to face with God who was a chef who wanted her to go and fight some people for a reason she didn't really understand.
“How did I die?” she asked.
“I don’t quite know. You and Ginger, the other finalist, I think you were both trying to make your escape and I turn my back for five minutes and you’re both dead.”
“We weren’t trying to kill one another? Isn’t that the point?”
“Its more fun when there’s a mix of characters in there and you get some alliances, some emnities. You and Ginger were thick as thieves, as they say.” She paused and glanced at a clock mounted on the wall. “Look, we’re running low on time, and I don’t really need to negotiate with you here. I can force you to be cooperative with me on this, but it’s messy and I don’t like messy.”
Fran clenched her fists. “I think if it’d get you the results you want you’d just do it, messiness be damned. I think that you’re worried people would notice that I don’t have all the memories I’m supposed to have and realize you botched your battle. I’ll do it, and I’ll do my best to pretend I know what’s going on, but I want this… Ginger? I want her with me. You can rebake her just as easily as you can rebake me right?”
“Are you sure? You don’t even know her?”
“Admittedly all I’m going off is your description of our relationship, but, if we were trying to escape together then I’m not going to leave her behind.”
“Fine. I can work with that. You have yourself a deal.”
“I’m not done yet. I want you to protect my universe while I’m doing this for you. I don’t know what form that takes, I’m not the God here, but I don’t want to fight this battle for you and then go back and find my universe has been remade in Valhart’s image while I’ve been gone.”
A small frown crossed The Baker’s face for a moment, but she says “Deal. Any other stipulations or can I get back to work?”
Fran shook her head. “That’s everything.”
“Perfect. Then you should get your rest Fran. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”
As her consciousness reformed the first thing that Franchesca was aware of was the delectable smell of something sweet baking nearby. One by one her senses returned to her. She became aware she was laid down on a hard surface, some kind of powder matted into her fur. The sound of a cheery pop song playing tinnily on a shoddy radio, occasionally distorting for a moment before there was the sound of an impact and the quality continued as it had been.
There had also been the sound of a voice. It had asked her what she remembered, which was a good question but she was at this point too busy getting her senses back online to worry about such things as memories. Luckily, from the way the voice was idly humming along to the radio (and singing the one or two scattered words its owner knew of the lyrics) it didn’t seem like it was desperately awaiting her response.
There was the muffled hum of a fan, which would intermittently become unmuffled with the sounds of something big and metal being pulled laboriously open. Lots of mouthwatering baking scents would be released by this as well. Franchesca was prepared to conclude that the noises she was hearing belonged to a particularly large oven - and hey wasn’t that a good step forward to be making conclusions again?
Now for the big one. Franchesca hesitantly opened her eyes. It took a moment for the world to come into focus. She was in a kitchen, easily the most well-appointed kitchen she’d ever seen, but with none of the impersonality that an industrial kitchen would have. The walls were cream and decorated with framed pictures of quaint kitchen slogans such as ‘Happiness is a small house, with a big kitchen - Alfred Hitchcock’ and ‘People who love to eat are always the best people - Julia Child’ and ‘The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to bake and get baked in return - Elton John’.
There were numerous countertops littered with bags of ingredients and numerous utensils, some of which looked familiar to Franchesca, some of which she would struggle to even invent a use for. A sink in one corner was piled high with cake tins and rolling pins and mixing bowls and the like. In another corner was the huge oven she had deduced the existence of, only larger than she had thought reasonable to imagine. It was large enough that at first it just looked like a door to another room, until you noticed the steam pouring out of it, the tray racks and the shadow of the fan spinning. And probably the heat would be a fairly strong signifier that you weren’t just walking into another room but Franchesca wasn’t close enough to feel that.
Speaking of where she was, she couldn’t help but notice she was lying on a kitchen counter, in a small drift of what she was going to assume was flour. Her body was slow to respond as she tried to sit up, her limbs suddenly afflicted with pins and needles as sensation returned to them. Franchesca gasped out loud and in doing so attracted the attention of this kitchen’s owner.
She was tall, with no fur, just smooth skin, and shifting rainbow coloured hair, tied back in a nice neat bun. She had an indeterminate amount of arms. At any given time, though it didn’t seem to fit with her understanding of the space that the woman was operating in, Franchesca would have sworn she was kneading some dough over at the far counter with one pair of arms, chopping some mysterious glowing white fruit at an entirely different counter with a second pair of arms, washing plates over by the sink with a third and smoking a ratty looking joint with a fourth. She was wearing an apron with what appeared to be a simplified cartoon version of herself face-on with eight hands extended around her, each holding a different kitchen utensil.
“How are you doing Frannie? Remember anything yet?”
Franchesca searched her memories. Her name was Franchesca Fox. She was a resident of Roshain, the voyaging city that she herself had set upon its path into the stars. Her best friend was a little shapeshifting dream-being called Nova, who she had rescued from the machinations of Nightmare Queen Vamera. She remembered Valhart, the broken knight whose agony continued to compel them to try to destroy and remake the universe itself, and the many confrontations that the three of them had had as they journeyed to the Source of All Things. She remembered being close to a final confrontation, but getting stranded on a dismal world orbiting a dying sun, and then she remembered waking here in this incongruous kitchen. Feeling compelled to supply this intimidating lady with an answer she recounted her most recent memories out loud.
“We were so close to the Source, but Rochelle, she’s the mayor of our city, said she was picking up signs of Valhart’s forces on this planet and of course me and Nova are going to go down there and investigate.” Fran said. “But it was a trick, Valhart was nowhere to be seen, me and Nova get separated, and Rochelle flies Roshain off towards the Source without us.”
“Woah, spoilers.” The lady muttered.
“I need to get back there. I don’t know what Rochelle is thinking, if she really did betray us or if there’s something else going on but I need to get to the Source and save everyone.” Fran was getting herself into an agitated state, and simultaneously seemed to be reacquiring full motor control of her body. She was trying to get up, but the lady simply placed a pair of hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down.
“Okay, calm down Fran.” she said soothingly, and while that usually was not an effective tactic to stem someone’s rising panic, this time she did feel a calmness coming over her. With this tranquility settled over her the lady looked down at her appraisingly and then shrugged with all of her numerous arms. “You’re not perfect but you’re close enough. I don’t really have time to try again at this point.”
“Ideally you’d remember all this, but since you don’t I’ll give you the cliff notes. You were taken by a powerful multiversal entity - that’s me - to participate in a Big Fight - essentially a nine person battle to the death, each round takes place in some interesting location from throughout the multiverse, and the round changes every time someone dies. Mine was called The Delectable Confection. I thought it was pretty good but the rest of the Hosts were like ‘ohh its so boring. Everyone’s just hanging around and talking and eating cake. Where’s the big fighting? Etc Etc’ you know the vibe.”
“Anyway things were going pretty well up until the last round where you and the other remaining contestant… um… both died somehow. I don’t know what happened I swear I only looked away for a minute. But the thing is that The Battle of the Victors (terrible name I personally hate it) is almost ready to go and the rest of the Hosts are waiting on my battle. I don’t have time to start over from scratch. I need you to go and be the representative of the Delectable Confection in this climactic battle.”
“I… died…?” Fran asked blankly. “I’m dead?”
“No, don’t be silly, you’re not currently dead, you just were for a while. I rebaked you.”
“You… rebaked me?” This line of conversation did not seem to be making things any better.
“Yes. I’ve been at it all day, trying to get you just right. Honestly it’s a little embarrassing, I used to bake entire universes into existence, but just really been struggling with getting the detail on you just right. In my defence it has been eons since I last did this. Nowadays the most complicated thing I bake are tiered wedding cakes, mainly in a baroque style.”
“You… used to bake… universes?” Fran asked. “You’re a God?”
“Oh, Gods don’t have anything on me, dear.” The lady said. “I’m The Baker.”
“I’m… dreaming right?” Fran asked. “This isn’t happening. I’m still stranded on that planet and having one of the most intense dreams of my life.”
“I think we can speed this along a little bit.” The Baker said, placing her fingertips upon Fran’s head and showing her a glimpse of the creation of a universe, not her own, the maker of her own universe had been more mechanically minded, but one that was similar enough to be understandable to the fox.
The sensation was overwhelming, the scent of a newly baked universe full of possibility and wonder was indescribable. It was too much information for a mortal mind to hold at once. She could taste the fabric of space and time, she remembered sprinkling the night sky with stars like it was a coating of sugar.
Fran pulled away, taking deep breaths as she processed what she’d just experienced. It was far too vivid, far too much for this to be a dream, she was forced to admit that this all might have been true. Which meant it was time to process everything she’d been told about being taken to be in a battle to the death, and dying, and being asked now to go and participate in this Battle of the Victors.
It was all so abstract, especially when all she wanted to do was go home and finally finish the fight against Valhart and save her own universe. But instead here she was face to face with God who was a chef who wanted her to go and fight some people for a reason she didn't really understand.
“How did I die?” she asked.
“I don’t quite know. You and Ginger, the other finalist, I think you were both trying to make your escape and I turn my back for five minutes and you’re both dead.”
“We weren’t trying to kill one another? Isn’t that the point?”
“Its more fun when there’s a mix of characters in there and you get some alliances, some emnities. You and Ginger were thick as thieves, as they say.” She paused and glanced at a clock mounted on the wall. “Look, we’re running low on time, and I don’t really need to negotiate with you here. I can force you to be cooperative with me on this, but it’s messy and I don’t like messy.”
Fran clenched her fists. “I think if it’d get you the results you want you’d just do it, messiness be damned. I think that you’re worried people would notice that I don’t have all the memories I’m supposed to have and realize you botched your battle. I’ll do it, and I’ll do my best to pretend I know what’s going on, but I want this… Ginger? I want her with me. You can rebake her just as easily as you can rebake me right?”
“Are you sure? You don’t even know her?”
“Admittedly all I’m going off is your description of our relationship, but, if we were trying to escape together then I’m not going to leave her behind.”
“Fine. I can work with that. You have yourself a deal.”
“I’m not done yet. I want you to protect my universe while I’m doing this for you. I don’t know what form that takes, I’m not the God here, but I don’t want to fight this battle for you and then go back and find my universe has been remade in Valhart’s image while I’ve been gone.”
A small frown crossed The Baker’s face for a moment, but she says “Deal. Any other stipulations or can I get back to work?”
Fran shook her head. “That’s everything.”
“Perfect. Then you should get your rest Fran. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”
Spoiler