Oliver nodded, but told you, “Well, poppet, why don’t we both choose something we’d like from the other, then whoever wins can claim their prize.”
You smiled at him, accepting the terms and thinking of what you might like from him. He got out a beautiful pocket watch and handed it to you. You received the object wide eyed, (e/c) orbs entranced in its beauty. Which, after a moment of quick deliberation, you decided was almost up to par with its master. “Love, if I can’t find you in the next two hours, you win. If I can, I win, deal?”
“Deal.” you said, manic grin returning.
Oliver looked down on you, “Cheating and foul play?”
“Still acceptable. And a little is encouraged. After all, we want this to be fun, right?” you said, looking up into those blue swirling eyes. You could swear there were pink hues flecked in as well, and you were almost completely lost in them.
But you were ripped from his eyes when a lovely depraved smile crossed his face. “Sounds perfect, poppet.” Again your heart raced, but he just went on, “I’ll only be counting to forty five this time. Think you can handle it?”
“Bring it on!” you said playfully, ready to hide again. Then you became slightly thoughtful once more. What did you want from Oliver?
You still mused while he began to speak once more, “Now, love, I think I’ll count in here, and you’ll just have to find somewhere else, alright?”
Nodding, you moved towards the door. “No peeking!” you warned once again.
“Oh, really?” Oliver asked, cocking his head with a smirk, “How would you stop me, love?”
Grinning you told him, “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve too, Ollie.”
With that you left him to his thoughts, bounding down the hallway, wondering where he might check. Thinking you hadn’t really gotten a chance to explore the basement, you decided to see if there was any place to hide down there.
Oliver knew exactly what he wanted from you, and he would spare no expense to get it. He knew all too well how this game went, but you were no ordinary player. Would he finally be beaten?
Would you ask to be set free?
He realized if you did, he might even oblige. Oliver had grown attached to you, and while he never wanted you to leave, he felt considerate of your feelings.
Whispering to himself in resolution he said, “Well then, I’ll just have to find her first, won’t I?”
With that he set out, ready to use any and all means necessary to find you and get what he wanted.
You walked into your new hiding place, which seemed to be a bit a slaughter house. But you knew that smell. That was no ordinary flesh.
Of course, the stench was apparent, but not overpowering. What was more evident was the delicious smell of cooked treats coming from a little room off the side of the slaughterhouse. Walking, you realized you must have gone up a set of stairs, because the little kitchen had windows and blue checkered curtains that let in a beautiful light on the pastel pink walls. You could see little cupcakes and meat pies, and thought, Well, why don’t I try out a recipe?
He probably won’t be down here anytime soon.
And I don’t seem to care if I’m found.</i>
So with these thoughts in mind, you opened a cookbook that seemed handwritten.
The page you finally stopped on was the meat pies. It was a normal recipe, other than the type of meat. Cocking your head you looked down at the book for a moment, then went in the refrigerator.
You had to find,
1 cup diced Liar
2 cups chopped Cusser
and assorted vegetables to taste.
After you found the Liar and the Cusser labeled neatly back in the slaughter house, you went back to work making the crust. But you decided to change up a few things, just to make it your own.
Baking was always fun.
Ollie searched for the longest time, and began to get worried once again. But then he heard a peculiar sound. It was a door closing in the basement.
His blue eyes widened in surprise. Oliver always assumed people would try to escape as they hid, but you had actually gone back! He was slightly worried, thinking about you discovering all his hidden secrets down there.
Ollie hurried into the basement, noticing little things that were out of place.
Now sincerely afraid of what you might think, of finding you cowering in a corner, he opened the slaughterhouse door.
Still, you weren’t in there.
At the end of the room, the door was slightly ajar, a beautiful smell coming from the room. So he made his way there, only seeing you from behind, inspecting a cupcake. They were the ones he offered you to get you here.
But there were three different batches. And you were holding the one in the pink wrapper, the one filled with deadly poison.
“Poppet!” he said loudly, making you jump and turn around.
To his horror, you were eating another cupcake. Your beautiful (e/c) eyes widened in surprise, “I’m sorry, Oliver. Am I not supposed to be in here?”
“I...” he started, then stopped, looking for the wrapper. Then with a sigh he found it. It was a blue and pink swirled wrapper. The one batch that was completely harmless. “No, love, it’s alright.”
You smiled as you learned you weren’t in trouble. Oliver walked over to you, taking the cupcake you hadn’t started yet and putting it back on the plate. “Those ones in the pink wrappers aren’t meant for you, poppet.”
“Oh,” you said, “I’m terribly sorry.” What if he didn’t want you in here? What if he was mad you were cooking? What if-What if he asked you to leave? What if he took you back to the house with the white walls and gave you to the men in white coats?
You certainly didn’t want that...
He smiled back at you, “It’s quite alright.”
Then the timer went off and you clapped your hands. “They’re done!”
“What’s done, love?” Oliver looked at you, befuddled and adorable.
Oliver had just noticed the pink and blue apron you had put on. It was one of the cutest things that he had ever seen, and as you got out things from the oven he was sure this had to be love.
Crazy love, but isn’t that the best kind?
So he came up behind you, slipping a hand in your pocket and pulling out the pocket watch. Swinging it before your eyes he said, “I won.”
You looked up at him, suddenly with a worried look in your eyes. “You’re going to ask me to leave, aren’t you?”
“What?” he asked, stunned.
You bowed your head, (h/c) locks spilling over your face. “I can just go...” you said dejectedly, turning to walk away.
“But what if I told you I was going to ask you to stay?” Oliver said, catching you in a warm hug and wiping away the tears collecting in your (e/c) eyes.
You frowned, “You-You mean it?”
Oliver placed a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips, watching a blush spread over your cheeks. “Of course I mean it, love.”
You smiled in relief and hugged him tightly back. “So you’re not going to make me go back? I didn’t like that house, or the men in white coats. Please don’t make me go back, Oliver, I love it here. I love spending time with you.” you said all in a rush. With your face in his chest, he didn’t quite hear the last part.
“What was that last part again, love?” he asked, tipping your teary chin back up to look him in the eye.
You said fearfully, “I think I love you, and I don’t want to leave this place, ever.”
“Well,” Oliver smiled knowing you felt the same and said, “you won’t have to. Because I think I love you too, poppet.”
He leaned down to kiss you again, and even with the softness of it all, you could still taste a hint of cupcake frosting that made you smile.
You didn’t want it to ever end.
“Woah, break it up there, lovebirds.” Al said, walking in through the kitchen door, a little blood splatter on his cheeks.
You stepped away from Oliver, embarrassed, but he put an arm around your shoulders and held you close. Looking at the two brothers in the awkward silence, you asked Al, “Al, would you like a meat pie?”
“What? Like... one of his?” he asked, concerned.
You smiled, “I made them myself! I used his recipe, but I made just a few tweaks here and there.”
Al turned to the stovetop where they were cooling. A sickened look crossed his face and yours darkened. You discreetly picked up the butchers knife you had used to collect the liar and cusser from the back of the slaughter house. Al backed away, saying, “I’d really like to, but you see, I’m a vegan. Ask-Ask Oliver there, he’ll tell you.”
“Are you insulting my culinary skills?” you asked, moving towards him with a glint in your darkened, flashing (e/c) eyes.
His own red eyes widened and he escaped out the door before you could threaten him a second longer.
You looked back at Oliver, who was shaking with silent laughter. He brought you into another hug, “Love, you can stay forever and a half if you’d like to.”
And with this little plan the two of you lived happily ever after. Well by your standards. Which means killing, rampaging, baking people into meat pies, poisoning cupcakes...