#(not before relocating all the red flowers to a far away area lmao)

[advernia]

fic: with my lips engraved on every cup

— seven days, four seasons. just enough time to find a place to call home. - seasonal snippets on the dormouse & alice the second.

1: luci's b-day gift ft. diplomouse content! disclaimer: it's totally not farming-sim inspired lmao ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

winter He was there when Blanc handed the papers over to her, all of them checked, signed, and safely nestled within a long white folder. Behind them, standing tall but worn, was a cottage with a chipped black roof, musty stone walls, plywood barred windows, and piles of snow hiding a yard of dried grass.

All that a modest property enclosed by a picket fence with fading paint.

It’s a sore thumb among the many rows of homes and establishments around the Central Quarter; but still she accepted the deed with her shaking fingers and ecstatic grin. He watched quietly as she turned the folder back and forth, those blue eyes running over her own name written on the folder's front a few times; until she lowered her head and pulled the folder oh-so close to her chest.

The folder didn’t bend in her tight embrace, nor did its edges crumple in her firm grasp.

monday || spring 5 The yard has a touch of color now, meek greens that are far more pleasing to the eye than drab yellows and parched browns. She figures that flowers would make the yard look more lively, but the ground needed a little more care before she could get around to planting anything decent.

Advice from an expert gardener, she tells him.

Honestly speaking though, the yard wasn’t the only area of the property that achieved a new level of decency - cleaned and somewhat refurbished, she made the cottage look pretty, look more like a dwelling place rather than some long abandoned lot. Inside the cottage her belongings are little and decorations are sparse, but the simplicity has its charm and he’s sure she’d get by - long months of working under Cradle’s best confectionery allowed her to save up enough Lin to buy a house in Central, after all.

When she offers him a fresh batch of Earl Grey in what she mentioned to be her first ever tea set in Cradle (purchased with her own Lin, managed to coax a fifteen percent off to boot), he accepts it in a heartbeat.

tuesday || spring 13 The walls of the second floor mirror those of the first floor, that being the upper cement halves painted over with a calming cream color to contrast its dark brown wooden lower halves. It looked like coffee and cream that someone couldn’t bear to mix, something that brought about a sense of calm and warmth and also drowsiness. Then again, that might be his fault and also, it’s midday.

She serves him a cup of coffee along with something she called a calzone, a snack from the Land of Reason - the circular flaky pastry had been filled with bacon, egg, and more importantly cheese, and that ingredient alone made the whole thing absolutely delicious in his book. It paired surprisingly well with the rich coffee too, so maybe it’s no surprise that both his food and drink are gone after just a few minutes.

Maybe I should start a cafe, she says with a laugh, eyes dancing with mirth.

He dabs at the edges of his mouth with a napkin, pondering her suggestion. He tries to picture the first floor - a rectangular space that was much wider than it appeared to be - filled with tables and a wide glass display for assorted pastries and shelves storing canisters of tea leaves and coffee beans. Then there in the center of it all would be her, golden hair neatly tied up with a ribbon and blue eyes brimming with a kind warmth.

Welcome, she would say with a smile that reached her eyes, and he decides that it wasn’t a bad idea at all.

Maybe you should, he nods, tone completely serious.

wednesday || spring 21 It was his first time stepping into her kitchen, so he took his time to look around while she was still busy baking. He could’ve waited in the living room, but instead he sat on a stool near the windows and fought the urge to take a nap.

First of all, the place was at optimal temperature - a light breeze was flowing through the open windows to soothe the heat brought about by a running oven, relaxing the body in an environment that was currently a perfect balance of hot and cold.

Second, the scent wafting about the whole room was comforting - he’s not so sure how to describe it himself, but the warm aroma of baking bread along with the lingering touches of tea brewing in the air was more... soothing than appetizing at the moment.

And third, she was there and in the small space she truly looked like she was at home - feet smoothly going to and fro the counters to the oven, swift and steady hands prepping ingredients laid out on the counter, body upright and eyes lost in a state of focus. A practiced confidence exudes from her every action, and the longer he observed her the more he’s reminded that before she fell into Cradle, she was a confectioner from a place called London.

She hummed a tune as she worked, an unfamiliar melody to him that went up and down and up and down. It sounded cute and cheery and it’s something he could associate to her disposition, but all its chipper timbre couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

So instead of struggling, he gives in - his eyelids flutter shut and he couldn’t see her anymore, but he could still hear the soft patter of her shoes tapping against the floor, the humming from her throat. He could still breathe in the scents coming from her fruits of labor, a hefty cheese loaf sure taking its time to be ready for consumption and notes of floral - maybe jasmine - tea.

... He’d been meaning to ask her if she truly resigned from the confectionery, but perhaps that would have to wait.

thursday || spring 29 There’s a pretty windchime attached to the thatched door now, made out of magic crystals and ringing out a light tune in response to the door drawing open. She sees him standing by the doorway and urges him to come in, three letters in one hand and each bearing a different seal on them.

One had a dark color, could be easily mistaken for a big blot of ink but was actually the clay seal known to be used by the Black Army. The other one had an excellent reddish shade, easily identifying itself as the crimson wax seal of the regal Red Army. The last one was a shining bronze, and that color was exclusive to the charm seal bearing the insignia of the Civic Center.

The letters are stuffed away in some drawer, so he assumes that asking about their contents would be impolite.

Once he’s seated on the sofa she disappears into the kitchen to prepare some snacks, so he’s left alone in a... strangely bare home. There’s little furniture, the flowery decorations she hung up here and there have vanished, the picture frames containing assorted pictures of her and the two Armies of Cradle aren’t displayed on fireplace’s mantel, and the row of tall shelves she lined with books ranging from the history and culture of Cradle to Glazed Sweets, and How to Perfect Them weren't around either. Even the fluffy fur rug that he often contemplated taking a nap on was gone!

Spring cleaning, maybe?

They’re halfway through their Assam tea and custard cake when he brings this up - the innocent question renders her quiet for a second then she chuckles, setting her cup back down on its saucer.

Maybe it is spring cleaning - I promised myself to get this place ready in time, she says.

Ready for what? he prompts, head tilting to the side.

A smile blooms on her face, eyes crinkling at the corners.

For... a ‘grand’ opening, I hope!

friday || summer 6 Through the long unbarred and new stained-glass-pane windows shines a bright light - it’s pretty late but still he knocks on her door, standing on the cobblestone path and staring at the neatly trimmed grass of her lawn. She opens the door seconds later, still dressed in her casual skirts and staring at him and his suitcase curiously - nevertheless, she lets him in without any questions asked.

It’s funny how the first floor now looked similar to how he imagined it to be on that one spring day - the room was now filled with at least eight tables paired with cherrywood chairs, looking tasteful and comfortable with plaid blue cushions attached to each seat. Near the far end of the room and close to the door that led to the kitchen was a wide glass display case right beside a clean long counter, surface empty save for a cupcake stand set one end. The tall shelves where her books used to be were relocated to stand against the wall near the display case, hosting an array of tea tins and coffee packs with a toss of assorted accessories and knick-knacks in between.

The dark wooden walls were repainted with an easy mint color, the whole room much brighter with the addition of the iron hanging lanterns secured on the ceiling. Curtains and decors such as paintings and flower vases were simple yet bursting nicely with summer-feel colors, and one corner of the room even had a neat display of potted plants.

The whole space seemed to be well-distributed, not too bare and not too cramped either - there were adequate spaces between tables, ample moving room on the floor for people to roam about. It was a nice place and definitely looking like a good place to nap in, but...

... I won’t be here for your opening day, he blurts out once they’re seated.

He doesn't miss the quick blink of her eyes, the glance to his suitcase, her slow nodding and the brief purse of her lips.

Oh, she says after a while, voice something small.

There’s nothing much to say after that, and he couldn’t find a good reason for her to stay when she stands up and excuses herself. He stares blankly at his hands that have curled themselves into fists on his lap, something sour and unpleasant brewing in his stomach making him feel all the more uncomfortable and -

- then there’s the soft clink of something tapping against wood.

He looks up to see a glass of water and beside it, a fork laid out on a napkin and piece of cake laid out nicely on a saucer.

A slice of triple coffee cheesecake for a busy diplomat, she announces.

His eyes count four layers of brown though, all of different shades and textures.

... Triple layer? he repeats.

That’s right, she nods, then points to each section of the cake according to her narration. The crust below is made out of chocolate graham crackers and set above it is the first layer, a traditional-style cheescake made with a combination of two cheeses. The second layer is lighter since it’s a mousse, the portion of cheese mixed in making it semi-sweet. And finally, the top or third layer is a whipped cream finish, soft and airy with just the right amount of cream cheese mixed in. All three layers also have varying amounts of coffee in them, that’s why -

- it’s a triple coffee cheesecake, he finishes, raising his head fully to meet her eyes.

She holds his gaze for a moment before her open palm gestures to the saucer.

I hope it’s to your liking... dear first customer, she says, the makings of a smile on her lips.

saturday || summer 14 It was only on the strangest of occasions that he had full appreciation for his past of being a former soldier, namely for that one phase in his life where he had undergone rigorous stealth training. The ability to be inconspicuous at will was a ridiculous skill for a diplomat to have, but in the country of Cradle and on this very special day, he’d beg to differ.

So he jumps over the white picket fence, making himself as small as possible by lowering his head and keeping his body close to the ground. As he crept across the yard he caught whiffs of a rich velvety aroma wafting in the air, slipping past that partially opened door just a few steps within his reach now.

When he rises up to his full height to push the door open, she turns around to the sound of creaking wood and the sudden rush of night air flowing into the kitchen, hands still wrist-deep in soapy sink water along with an array of saucers and tea cups.

They just stare at each other for a few seconds: he glances at her slightly mussed ponytail, blinks at the dark brown stains on the apron worn over her dress. She studies his disheveled clothing, takes in what looked like exhaustion written over the entirety of his face.

Tough Valentine’s Day? she decides to ask, voice kind.

He lets out a sigh, closing the kitchen’s back door behind him.

... I wasn’t even able to take a midday nap, he mumbles.

She laughs a bit at the sight of his sullen expression before raising a soapy finger, pointing at the teapot set on the stove.

How about we both take a break, then? she grins. There’s some leftover chocolate cake we can eat, too!

The prospect of seeing chocolate again was slightly unnerving but he nods anyway, if only to see that sweet smile of hers once more.

sunday || summer 15 Behind her there’s a laundry basket filled with a neat pile of various cloths, stains on them ranging from a spectrum of playfully colorful to borderline suspicious.

Behind him is an open back door that led to the outside where the sun is high in the sky, round and bright and beckoning.

Neither of them budge, though - her folded arms are set on the table and her head rests on them sideways, eyes closed and breathing steady. Seated across from her, his elbow is propped up on the table with his chin resting on his hand.

In between them, his cup of coffee and her cup of fruit tea have probably gone cold.

There’s a thick lock of her hair splaying itself on the table, just within his reach. After some period of thought, his free hand reaches out to curl the strands in between his fingers.

Lift, spin, fall - slip in, slip out. Rinse, repeat.

As he idly toyed with her hair, his eyes traced the parts of her face that were visible to his point of view: they follow the curve of her eyelid, assessed the length of her eyelashes, studied those light dark imprints under her eye.

Her laundry can wait, he muses, letting the tranquil silence carry on a little further. It’s all so strange and new, really - the weather conditions, temperature, point in time, and location were all so ideal, but yet...

... with her sleeping face just right in front of him, the only thing he could possibly think of was staying awake.

monday || fall 3 The cafe’s pastel yellows and calm blues have been traded for warm oranges and homely browns, sweet scents of vanilla and sandalwood replaced with spicy notes of cinnamon and gingerbread.

The chalkboard menu doesn’t feature iced teas and fruit cakes anymore, but filling in for them was a selection of hot drinks and club sandwiches. The cupcake stand on the counter was now a wicker basket filled with an assortment of cookies, each one in a small bag secured by patterned ribbons.

There are the little things that stay the same though, like how the wooden sign outside the cafe already spells ‘open’ come six o’clock sharp in the mornings. The windchime attached to the door still rings out a clear tune that echoed throughout the whole room, and in response to that her swift welcome would follow, voice happily loud and smile reaching her eyes.

He stands up to leave when the clock strikes nine, the agenda of a general assembly still fresh in his mind. She’s attending to other customers so he decides to leave his payment on the table, right next to his empty mug of hot cocoa.

The windchime rings again when he pulls the door open, and before he’s able to take his first step outside, he feels something pull lightly at his arm.

When looks over his shoulder, she’s slipping a small bag with a striped green ribbon into his hand.

Have a good day, she beams, then she turns on her heel and bounds off to table three.

tuesday || fall 11 It’s only when she pours some more tea in his cup that he realizes that there were no other customers left in sight, and that from madding reds and oranges; the sky had already taken on dark hues of blues and purples.

I have to admit - I’m not so sure what other work a diplomat does asides from... communicating, she says with a laugh, taking the seat across from him. Do you do paperwork often, too?

He closes the folder in his hands, setting it on top of the other folders he had finished reading and set aside earlier.

It’s a case-to-case basis, he hums. But if you ask me... Establishing foreign policies, contracts, treaties, trade agreements, and the like usually end up with more talks than actual paperwork if there's already a relationship between countries present. New connections start up with more paperwork as a formality - I mediate and negotiate any meeting or summit, survey and study any paperwork concerned, but in the end it’s the Civic Center that makes the final decision and action.

... I see, she nods a couple of times, then she taps a finger on her chin. Um... I know I’ve been living here for a while now so this sounds silly of me to ask just now, but I’ve only studied the map of Cradle, and I was wondering... how wide exactly is this world?

No sooner than the question had left her lips, she finds his hands clutching her very own and his face just a handspan away.

His breath, smelling faintly of apple cider tea, fans her cheeks when he speaks.

Do you want to know? he asks, voice adapting a deep tone she’s never heard him use before.

Mouth going dry, her eyes try to skitter away from the intensity of his gaze but they’re hopelessly drawn to every facial feature of his that she hadn’t quite noticed before instead: the defined lines of his cheekbones, the sharp bridge of his nose, unusually long yet dainty eyelashes, the curve of his li -

Warmth pools even further in her cheeks, words a pathetic squeak stuck in her throat.

wednesday || fall 19 On the second shelf, he spots three tea tins and five coffee packs with different designs and packaging. He blinks and proceeds to go over the contents of the other shelves too, and in total he counts eight new tea tins and twelve unusual coffee packs.

When he picks out a coffee pack in gold and silver wrapping with a familiar sigil drawn on its center, he hears a hum of approval.

That has a strong smoky aroma but a sweet delicate flavor, someone says.

He turns around to see her standing not so far away, a serving tray in her hands and feet pointed elsewhere.

This coffee pack has the sigil of Tenniel, he points out. Their fine woodcarvings and colorful handicrafts are gaining popularity in Cradle, but there’s a general lack of appreciation for the extreme bitter flavors that all Tenniel food products seem to have.

Is that so? Then maybe more people should try tasting that coffee, she shrugs. I think that blend tastes rather lovely - not a tad bitter at all.

You also have coffee packs and tea tins from Gernsheim, Pleasance, Lionel, Ludovic, and Dalziel - Tenniel included, they’re small countries that Cradle formed trade agreements with. Those negotiations were recently made, so it’s natural that most of their products aren’t familiar and don’t have much of a reputation in Cradle’s markets yet. But why did you...

His voice began to trail off, as if the question on the tip of his tongue was slowly being answered the longer he stared at the soft smile on her face.

Someone recently taught me that the key to good diplomacy, she paused as she moved forward to pluck the coffee pack from his hands, ... is the effort to start with even the smallest of steps.

She winks at him before making a beeline for the kitchen.

thursday || fall 27 He picks off one glittery bag from the wicker basket on the counter, peering at the gingerbread cookie inside. It’s person-shaped, and there’s something about how its clothes are snow-white and the dot-buttons on it are gold.

Oh, he mouths after a few minutes.

He trades glitter for a star-patterned bag this time, and inside was another gingerbread cookie. Lo and behold, there it was: a person-shaped treat dressed in black clothes with silver accents.

Here’s your order, a cup of Dalziel’s triple berry te... what are you doing? she asks, setting the tea cup down gently on the counter.

In response to that he retrieves the glitter bag from the basket, then he turns around to wave the two bags in his hands.

You make Red and Black Army gingerbread men? he inquires. Her lips quirk upwards.

Children like those a lot, she explains. They find it really cute - and tasty!

He’d like to point out that while the Black Army as a whole would probably find this hilarious, it’s perhaps the majority of the ever-so proud Red Army that might find offense in seeing miniature versions of themselves being called cute and eaten by children.

He doesn’t, though.

What he settles for is putting the cookies back on the basket then leaning his body forwards, peering at her face instead. She stays in place but her head draws back a bit, eyes blinking a bit faster.

... What is it? she mutters after seconds of silence and scrutiny.

He goes over her features again; starting from the ends of her braided blonde hair, up to the center of her forehead, going to the blue of her eyes, passing the tip of her nose then down to those full lips.

I want a gingerbread cookie, he says.

The tension in her brow relaxes, her expression almost relieved.

Oh. Oh, that’s fine! Then you can have one -

... Of you.

- of those in the... wait, what?

friday || winter 4 There’s a long coat draped over her shoulders and a scarf around her neck, offering better protection from the cold than her nightgown could ever provide. Long socks cover her legs and fluffy slippers adorn her feet, and for a moment he ponders over how warm and comfortable that must feel.

Meanwhile, she’s going over the current situation - it’s just an hour before midnight, she’s about to go to bed but then she heard a couple of knocks on her door, so she decides to crack the door open just enough to take a peek. She ends up opening the door anyway because she sees him standing outside her snow-piled doorway, a lone suitcase his companion on the cobblestone path.

Well - this is familiar, she chuckled as she stepped aside and motioned him to enter. He accepts her invitation, pulling his suitcase along with him.

Another season meant that the silvery stripes and royal blues of winter would now take over the cafe’s warm oranges and homely browns, and the spice that used to linger in the air was cleared by the crisp smell of pine with touches of wood smoke from the fireplace.

The subdued colors weren’t so lively, but the cafe still felt so cozy.

When they’re seated and two steaming cups of fresh milk are in their hands, he pointedly stares at the large decoration set at the very center of the room.

Where did you get the tree? he asks, drawn to the shiny green leaves.

It’s... a generous donation from the Queen of Hearts, she grins. It came with a lot of decorations, too! I'll be putting them up tomorrow night, though.

I see. I’m sorry that I can’t help you with the decorating.

It’s fine, don’t worry about it! More importantly, where are you going this time?

... Ludovic. I’ll be there for five days.

Five days, hm? she hums for a bit, then later wrinkles her nose. Oh, didn’t you say that Ludovic is surrounded by mountain ranges? It must be way colder there right now since it’s winter! Are you sure you brought enough clothes?

I did. Ludovic’s winter has a lot more bite than Cradle’s, but I’ll be alright - I’ve grown used to it over time.

She pins him down with her narrowed eyes and pursed lips - he doesn’t shy away from her gaze though, choosing to meet her leering head on.

... Really? she mutters, a stern edge lowering her tone. How cute.

Really, he smiles.

He takes the sigh that follows seconds later as her sign of defeat, but he’s unsure on why she’s suddenly unraveling the layers of her scarf. She tugs at the cloth once and it lets go of her neck, yarn embellishments on each end falling loosely.

A couple of folds later and her outstretched arms offer him the scarf, a neat bundle of knitted beige cloth in her hands.

You can give it back once you’ve come home, she says.

saturday || winter 12 The papers spread out on the table are promptly ignored, just like how her intention of getting some accounting done was overthrown by a sudden interest in watching him brew coffee.

The blend was a gift to him given by a farmer’s village in Ludovic - the coffee beans were round in shape and black in color, earthy in smell and rather tiny. He opens the packet and scoops a spoonful of beans to put in the mortar, along with some...

Are those... beans? she asks from where she sat.

Ludovic’s cardamom, he replies casually.

Her brow furrows a bit, and it grows deeper by just watching him throw in some amounts of another unusual ingredient - star anise, she recognizes, and something in her shivered at the sight.

One of the locals taught me one of their favorite recipes, he says. They showed me how to make the coffee from start to finish, and when I took a sip of the finished product, it reminded me of you.

Hm? It reminded you... of me?

Yeah. The whole time I was drinking the coffee, I was thinking about how much I wanted to make it for you... and how’d you react once you had a taste of the coffee I made.

He isn’t facing her so she couldn’t see his expression properly, but there’s a solemnity to his confession that warms the tips of her ears.

... O-oh, she manages to spit out.

The pestle’s in his hand now, and the other one moves to hold the mortar. Grip tight and eyes focused, he began to crush the mortar’s contents. Crunching sounds accompany each grind of the pestle, catching both her eyes and her attention again.

Freed from their silk glove confines, she finds herself drawn to the bare skin of his hands, the curves of his knuckles, the bend of his fingers and the shape of his fingertips. They’re all so new sides to him that fascinate her, and after some prolonged staring she realizes two things -

One: his hands were larger than they looked, and they definitely belonged to a former soldier - some were faint and most were old, but her eyes could still pinpoint where some scars began and where they ended across his skin.

The second one, no matter how trivial it seemed, made her feel bubbly enough for her to vocalize that -

... This is first time someone’s ever made me coffee, she murmurs.

sunday || winter 13 A full moon’s blooming brightly in the night sky - the moonlight it trickles down on the stained glass windows makes each mosaic design shine, resulting in colorful shadows gracing the wooden floor.

Fifteen minutes had passed, but he still showed no sign of waking up like he had promised her earlier. Not like she had the heart to wake him herself, considering that he’d been in Tenniel’s grand court from dawn to midday solving a miscommunication, returned to Cradle just in time for a meeting in the Gardens, was afterwards ordered to mediate a growing village dispute somewhere around the closer outskirts of Cradle’s borders, then was hauled away immediately to act as an interpreter for the Gernsheim envoys having difficulty expressing their wish to pass through Cradle’s seas.

All that jumping in and out of Cradle in one day, made possible by magic - he surprised her when he suddenly appeared in her living room too, looking worse for wear than she’d ever seen him before.

Gently, she picks up the tea cup and saucer on the table - maybe it was pushy of her, forcing him to eat and drink something when his eyes could barely keep themselves open. Still, he drained the tea cup and left little traces of the cheesecake on the saucer without a single word of complaint.

Then he passed out on her couch.

... Five more minutes, she muses. Before heading back downstairs, her eyes go over his sleeping profile one more time: head laying sideways on a pillow, brown hair going about all sorts of directions across his face, jacket loose and vest unbuttoned, legs curled up near to the chest, one arm dangling off the couch.

One beige scarf around the neck, a hand keeping the fabric close to his lips.

Her face eases into a kind smile, her gaze as equally warm.

Welcome home, she says, a gentle whisper in the silent night.

.

.

.

.

.

2: oh man.... going back to writing dialogue with no quotation marks is an experience™.... and tbh i still can't settle on a temporary 'footing' for mousse's character┗(･ω･;)┛it's nice to know that he's pretty passionate about his job though! altho rly cybird... why isn't this diplomat fixing the diplomatic trainwreck that is cradle itself lolol 3: alice living in and owning a cafe in central is one of my personal headcanons - i was allowed to be self-indulgent, lol! ( ᐛ )و and the names of the countries on fall 19 btw are actually names of people that are one way or another related to the making / publishing of alice in wonderland! idk if cradle really has... uh, small neighboring countries... but i'd like to think there are??????? probably??? (゜▽゜;)