The Captain's Log: #104: Candy Outfit

There were only three rules at Confice’s annual Sugar Soirée:

 

1. Don your finest candy couture.

2. Leave all outside grievances at the door.

3. Have fun!

 

Eltanin had the first two down pat, and he was going to achieve the third if it killed him.

 

No, seriously. Sinan Arieh Harlow was right there, chatting up one of the soirée’s gracious ursine hosts not ten feet away. Too busy listing the benefits of imperialism, or whatever Empress Soevna was calling it these days, he hadn’t yet noticed his archnemesis sipping punch at the table 5 feet away. The good admiral was wearing a dashing pinstripe suit styled after black liquorice, with an allsorts bowtie to top it off. It was almost enough to make Eltanin feel underdressed in his spearmint button-up shirt and breeches.

 

“You should try the bon-bons,” said a little voice at his waist.

 

Eltanin lifted his arm. One of the native giant beefolk of this world was standing beside him, sipping a cup of punch with their orange tongue. A name tag sticker taped to their thorax identified them as:

 

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” the paperdemon replied, picking up one of the chocolatey delights and popping it into his mouth. “Mmmm. Tasting hints of… caramel?”

 

“Yes. Honey caramel, my own unique blend.”

 

“You made this?”

 

“By tarsus, yes!”

 

The very existence of the Sugar Soirée never failed to amaze Eltanin. Here was a world that had managed to achieve true peace, actual post-scarcity utopia, while countless others still mired themselves in pointless wars. All it took was an alliance between the bears and the bees, more sugar than they knew what to do with, the invention of boiled sweets, and nobody had any reason to fight anymore.

 

If only things could be so simple back in Avangard.

 

“Well, it’s wonderful. Any chance you could share a recipe?”

 

“I’d love to! Only… I think that human over there wants to say hello first.”

 

Uh oh. Sinan had finally emerged from his own self-righteous world and was booking it over to the refreshments table. Eltanin unfolded his wings and vaulted over the punch bowl seconds before a hand snatched at where his shirt collar had been.

 

“Rule two, Sinnie,” Eltanin said, holding up two fingers like a protective sign. He hoped Sinan was too mad to see that his hand was shaking, or hear the quaver in his voice.

 

Those gorgeous green eyes narrowed, like he was weighing the diplomatic consequences of throttling someone in front of the Conficean leadership. Then Sinan smiled, a full-fanged grin like a snarling dog, and barked out a laugh.

 

“El! What a surprise. Enjoying the festivities?”

“Very much, Rear-Admiral. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

Wait, that actually worked? Thank you, social contract!

 

“Try the bon-bons. Cera here made them xemselves.”

 

“These ones?” Sinan leaned over the tray, and Eltanin took the opportunity to make himself scarce.

 

“Humans sure are weird,” said a familiar voice two feet below him.

 

“Well, some of them can be,” Eltanin replied, pointing Cera over to one of the poseur tables at the sides of the ballroom. “That’s what makes them so loveable, though.”

 

“Love! So that’s what it was! Oh, I always wanted to see a love in real life. Is a love like a nuptial flight, where everyone else dies afterward except the queen?”

 

Eltanin wondered if explaining what a one-night stand was might blow xeir little bee brain, but then again, that was basically what a nuptial flight was, dialed up to a hundred.

 

“No, not quite. Maybe you’ll get to see it one day, if you ever venture out into the Paperverse. Speaking of which, you never did get to share that recipe.”

 

“Oh! Yes, of course. So you’ll need cream, butter, and just a touch of salt…”

Author's note: The Sugar Soirée arc continues here!