#[ HAPPY BIRTHTREY TO MY BABYGIRL ]

[troisfleur]

a recipe for midnight violets.

A SIMPLE AFFAIR;

1 egg white 3-6 drops 100 proof vodka Caster sugar 1 paint brush—round size 1 recommended Freshly-picked flower petals

1 egg white; hard-fought for in a kitchen where common refrigerator manners often take a back seat to secret midnight hunger pangs and all staples are needed to keep the peace. Keep both eyes on it for the rest of the day, known by heart the amount of eggs in the containers. Leave another note on the ones reserved for Halloween baking. Remember that you still need to get the menu approved. Vow to do that first thing tomorrow, or else it will get swallowed by class and the final science club meeting before the stamp rally is in full swing.

3-6 drops 100 proof vodka; strike this off the list, as there’s no easy way to sneak that onto campus without severe repercussions. Consider it anyway, for the briefest of moments, while you’re flipping through your recipe journal for ideas while assembling said Halloween menu that still hasn’t been approved. Remember that you’re behind on everything, not just getting the menu in front of the eyes it needs. Feel your stomach drop just that little bit more. Ignore the part of you that rankles at the idea of leaving a single thing off an already-short recipe list. Remind yourself that a Vice Housewarden breaking the rules would reflect terribly on your dorm. Remind yourself that it’s only an agent for flavor and to dry the flowers faster.

Remind yourself that compromises keep Heartslabyul running as smoothly as it does. Remind yourself you don’t really have the time to be picky or dawdle looking at a recipe that won’t be needed for Halloween.

Caster sugar; just refilled last weekend because you go through it as fast as anything in this house. Keep track of the glass jar for the sugar as much as you do the eggs. Be grateful that you are the only one whose hands usually reach for it. Silently pray that none of the freshmen decide they want to do a little extra baking on the side, for their own means.

Reprimand a group of them anyway for loitering while you’re in the process of checking it again—always with a smile, always with a firm voice. Lose the smile when they inform you, “We’re almost out of hedgehog feed,” and nod in understanding. Bemoan that hedgehog feed is the veritable smorgasbord of fruits and vegetables and seeds they get served on platters by those looking for a croquet edge. Decide it’s not worth it to shoo them out; you can’t, anyway, when they’re doing their job.

Hover on the edges, because you rarely trust anyone with knives.

1 paint brush at the recommended size; found by combing through the unwieldy labyrinth of a storage room. Let it rest comfortably in your hands, and give your wrist a flick as if casting a spell. Feel how ingrained the movement is, easy as piping frosting onto a cake or painting roses red.

(Almost drop the brush when something loud clatters to the floor, and remember you’re in the middle of hunting for last-minute additions to costumes.)

Freshly-picked flower petals; select violets grown by hand in the past few weeks, a little magic worked into their soil to make them bloom a few weeks ahead of schedule. Find some small shred of time to be proud of your haul, having taken the place of your strawberry patch now that your berry harvest is finished. Be a little disappointed that they don’t want to bloom in full, and make a note to mess with the soil components next time, when you can afford more of this distraction. (Dwell only for a moment that the plot with your name on it is one of the few times your notes don’t seem to mysteriously disappear. Know that it isn’t on purpose, that there’s so much movement in the kitchen day in and day out that things get torn and lost. Decide you don’t have the time to consider malicious intent or sabotage, though you never leave the possibility behind—be confident that you can teach lessons later.)

Work around others while assembling your ingredients over the past week. Grow numb to the gentle chidings of how many things your hands are in, leading questions about what you want for your birthday. Give stock answers, because you don’t expect a follow-through, not out of apathy, but because there’s so much else to do. Be shocked, as you are every year, when you’re hounded for a proper answer. Repeat the same thing you’ve said for three years: do we have to do this? the party, the cakes, the song and sash?

Get an enthusiastic response in return, the type that almost seems affronted at the idea you might not want a celebration. Smile and shake your head in return. Get the same probing questions, looking for a proper response to the question of dire importance to everyone but yourself: what do you want for your birthday?

Give a stock answer. Highball it, just to see the way the grimaces get painted across your peers’ faces. Watch them nod—watch some of them mutter that’s not cheap or yeah, I figured as though you haven’t done this three years in a row.

Never tell them the truth: some peace and quiet would be nice.

Joke about the sophomores in charge of your birthday cake instead, and watch them defend your honor instead of probing further.

Remember to finally turn in the menu plan, both for snacks for those running their stamp rally booth, and for their own internal festivities throughout the coming weeks, and for November’s unbirthday party, as it will be here before anyone blinks—

Get a package first thing in the morning, and recognize the shape of the box before the cardboard’s even ripped off and your eyes glance at the return address. See the familiar embossed design, the script reading Patisserie Clover and the birthday card tucked on top underneath green ribbon.

Vow to open it later, because you’re halfway out the door and running later than usual to class, conjuring it away with a smile despite being pressed for time.

Forget about the package when sliding into your seat just under the wire to not be counted tardy. Let it slip out of your mind the moment you open your textbook to start taking notes. Let the morning fatigue drip into the corners of your mind, content that you’ve done what you can to catch up and your paper due today isn’t late, even if you stayed up later.

Lose track of the morning as it passes you by in a blur.

Skip most of lunch to return a book to the library. Get stuck in a conversation with one of the librarians as he asks how you enjoyed it, what books you had your eye on next. Feel your stomach punishing you for it as soon as you start suiting up for alchemy class. Sit with the hunger fighting at your stomach and head until you’re finally done for the day. Be thankful you’re not needed for stamp rally duty, and make a beeline for the kitchen as soon as you can.

Forget that per birthday tradition, you’ve been unceremoniously barred from stepping too deep into the action. Get an apple for your troubles, smell dinner on the horizon, and then be shooed out.

Eye someone’s hands on the caster sugar on the way back through the threshold; eye eggs being used—for dinner, for your own cake you’re barred from helping, for any other possibility. Smile and ask everyone not to burn the place down, to watch fingers and knives. Get shooed out before you can answer, are you excited for tomorrow?

Be thrilled you don’t have to answer that question honestly.

Walk halfway up the stairs until someone calls your name, looking for extra hands to tend to the flamingos since Heartslabyul is down so many hands. Shove the apple into your mouth and dig your magic pen out of your pocket, resign yourself to changing what you’re wearing to pink to assist.

Help until the sun is streaked pink enough to match your magicked shirt. Wipe the sweat off your brow and play keep-away with the apple core and a green-feathered chick.

Make your way three-fourths of the way up the stairs to your room before your hear someone else calling your name.

Feel your shoulders rise. Feel them fall when it’s just one of the sophomores telling you dinner will be ready soon.

Make it to your room. Take your shoes off. Take your glasses off and set them by the nightstand. Run a hand through your day-disheveled hair and decide to sit for a minute.

Close your eyes for a fraction of a second.

Open them to complete darkness and dried drool at the corner of your mouth.

Fumble for far too long to turn on your lamp, rub at your eyes until sleep’s pushed back and your glasses are on. Fumble around the bed for your phone and scroll through the couple of messages you’ve missed. Decide nothing is dire, but it’s later than you want it to be.

Have a sinking feeling in your stomach when it growls. Remember your plans that kept getting halted.

Slip your shoes back on and tiptoe through the halls as quietly as possible. Know if anyone catches you, they likely won’t bat an eye unless they’re sharp enough to remember what tomorrow is. Bet on it as you make your way down the stairs, walking faster through the threshold of the kitchen and making a beeline to the fridge.

Let your stomach growl.

Let your stomach sink.

Stare at the empty egg container with your note nowhere to be found. Forgo even bothering to look at the amount of caster sugar leftover. Take note of the bottom of the fridge cleared out, taken up by a cake container. Take note that the semi-opaque container can’t conceal the fact it’s leaning to one side.

Resign yourself to frustration and sleep before a box and gold embossing catch your eye. Remember the package from earlier you conjured away, shoved in the back from the shuffling of ingredients and food to make way for the cake. (Feel a little bad for the envelope you spirited away with it, as it’s now partially squished.)

Know what rests inside on green parchment paper before you open the package on the kitchen counter, illuminated by the glow of your magestone. Let the smell of sugar send you to a different kitchen, or resting your elbows on the counter on rainy days between customers. Make out the signatures of your parents as you open the birthday card, Tripp and Tressa’s signatures smaller and hastier below it.

Let the sweetness of the first violet melt on your tongue.

Hear the floor above you creak; decide after no footsteps follow it’s just an old building settling. Check your phone, notice that the time has rolled past midnight, the date underneath the time proclaiming it to be October 25 to bleary eyes.

Steal the peace and quiet while it lasts.

#❝𝕀'𝕄 ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝕋ℍ𝔸𝕋 𝔾𝕆𝕆𝔻 𝔸𝕋 𝔾𝔼𝕋𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝔽𝕀ℝ𝔼𝔻 𝕌ℙ 𝔸𝔹𝕆𝕌𝕋 𝕋ℍ𝕀ℕ𝔾𝕊.❞ 【𝔻ℝ𝔸𝔹𝔹𝕃𝔼𝕊.】 #[ HAPPY BIRTHTREY TO MY BABYGIRL ] #[ after a certain point celebrating birthdays feel a little more like work and less like a break ] #[ especially if it comes sandwiched between so much other work to do ] #[ Trey can get on everyone else's cases about their bad habits but this dude didn't even brush his damn teeth. much less EAT ] #[ smh my head ] #[ I am trying not to use this format too much but I find the specific distance it forces yourself to have with the subject really fun ] #[ predicted the egg question from his broomquet birthday card on accident ] #❝𝔹𝕀ℝ𝕋ℍ𝕋ℝ𝔼𝕐 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚.❞