Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Steeple

Some said the Peak of Truth was inhabited by a monster, one who would destroy any seekers of enlightenment whose wills faltered. Others said the Peak was guarded by a sage, who would put pilgrims to impossible riddles that not a one could solve, leaving the Truth forever out of Cookiekind's grasp.

The truth was... Pure Vanilla Cookie, the Truthless Recluse, used any means necessary to save seekers the same agony and disappointment. That there was no single, shining Truth awaiting them at the end of the Sugarfree Road, only a hideous reality awaiting them at the end of their trials. He had seen what came of those discoveries. Madness and despair.

So Pure Vanilla was neither a monster nor sage. No cookie-devouring creature haunting the hills, but neither some brooding immortal who could live off dew and sunlight. He kept a small flock of sheep, some chickens, a few hives, grew indigo and vegetables and what fruits he couldn't cultivate in the wild. He spun and dyed his own cloth for his clothes, he made cheese and sold that along with wool further down the mountains.

He couldn't call himself happy, but he was at least content, and kept himself busy. It was easier to stave off the sorrow when there was work to be done and bellies to fill. It was a life.

Right then the Truthless Recluse had an idle moment, the evening chores done, the animals shut up and comfortable for the night. Pure Vanilla's idle moments were rarely truly so, for being able to sit a spell meant he was free to spin. He was sitting at his spinning wheel by the hearth, foot pumping the treadle as he spun out the creamy wool.

Donteatacowman 

"Isn't this downright homey!" someone exclaimed behind him with a clap of delight. 

The Sage's curiosity was a dangerous thing to spark. He'd left this Peak abandoned so very many years ago, an open invitation for infinite truth-seekers to climb. Of course countless Cookies over the years would stake their claim on it, set up tolls or traps along its path. That's the nature of power, baby! The Sage's job was to set people on the right path, not to clear it for them. What would be the point of a Truth so easily won? Who would believe it? 

All that to say, the Truthless Recluse being such an obnoxious thorn in the sides of the Sage's loyal followers... really had nothing to do with the Sage! Not his problem. He had no fight to pick. No, he was only here to bear witness to the puzzling anomaly of a Cookie currently spinning his own- what was that, yarn? What century did he think this was?

(As for how he got inside without alerting the Recluse, well, no matter who he let squat here, this was still his Peak.) 

"And surprisingly crowded! Sheep over here, chickens over there, you've got loads of friends! What, you're not scared of them reaching enlightenment when your back is turned?" 

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse knew the Sage of Truth, and how he had might magical power, but that did not prepare them to have their quiet evening shattered by a sudden teleportation. In their house. Right behind them.

Their reaction did not disappoint: Pure Vanilla jumped in their seat, exclaiming "Witches!" Had they had their mitre still on, it'd be askew. As things were, they had a hand to their chest, breathing harshly.

"S-sage! What - what..." Pure Vanilla coughs, trying to regain their shattered composure. "You couldn't have knocked?"

Donteatacowman

The Sage is polite enough not to burst out laughing, but the humor still dances in his eyes. 

"Aw! Don't choke on your awe all at once, now!" 

The Sage held up his key-shaped staff in response, a twinkle in his eye. "There's not much in this world I haven't unlocked already. And now that I know it's got a genuine caretaker, I want to see what you've done with the place!"

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse very deliberately puts their wool down, and rubs their face. Okay. The Sage was an eccentric, they knew this. They really wished they could go back to their spinning, but would arguing delay or prolong this nonsense?

"There's not must to see. You know I have animals, and plants, and my house. That's it."

That's all in their house and its grounds anyway. The real secret is elsewhere, higher up on the peak. It wasn't just the milder climate that lead the Recluse to live below the tree line.

Donteatacowman

The Sage clutched his soul jam like a string of pearls at the perceived slight. 

"Oh, you could take the most beautiful sonnets and spin them into eulogies, couldn't you?" He clicked his tongue then, shooing the Recluse along onto his feet. The Recluse clearly cared for those animals and plants a great deal, to say nothing of what he's done with the house itself. 

"This place isn't the depressing exile I imagined it to be. How odd! How beautiful! How funny! I want to see it all."

Steeple

The Recluse didn't want to get up. They wanted to sit here and rest their feet after a day of work. They could be as stubborn as their sheep.

"Just don't move anything out of the way so I can't find it after."

The Sage was a big boy, he could look himself. It wasn't a large house, nor a particularly unusual one. Except for the many books and other hints of a past life in academia and on the road, it might belong to any alpine shepherd.

Donteatacowman

What a cruel Cookie!

"Suit yourself!" It was sing-song. "My! Free rein of the place already. I'll have to ask some of your animal friends to be my tour guides instead? I suppose we'll start from the top and work our way down."

After all, if even a single lost sheep was prone to wander, it'd be easy to bait the Recluse up to the top. 

His smile deepened. "I'll meet you up there, Recluse."

Steeple

Oh, that bastard was clever all right. The Sage might interpret any hawk or songbird they interacted with to count as a 'friend' and go right to the peak, or go snooping around.

Speaking of animals, the Truthless Recluse looked toward the hearth where his two dogs were still sleeping. The larger, white one had no excuse to be slacking on guarding.

"...No need to go that far."

With a grunt, the Truthless Recluse rose, and only then did their dogs stir. Powder only raises her white head in mild curiosity, but the mottled herder Caster sits up with a yip as she wags her tail and trots over to Sage to sniff.

Traitors.

"This is my hearthroom, where I was taking my ease until you dropped in."

As an all-purpose room with the hearth crackling, it's quite cozy. There's a decorative quilt on one wall, a tapestry depicting a pastoral scene on another, and a sampler above the fireplace ("No matter where I serve my guests / They seem to like my kitchen best"). A woven mat is under a small table, and a rag rug is before the hearth, right at the feet of the easy chair the Recluse was sitting in. The windows are shut against the cold, the glass reflecting the firelight. Everything is tidy and comfortable, hardly a den of despair.

Donteatacowman

What a shame that the Recluse wasn't willing to stand by his convictions. Having begun writing such a dramatic confrontation scene at the peak in his head, it took an act of supreme grace for the Sage to let it go again and allow himself to be given the tour he'd originally asked for. No annoyance showed in the gentle hand the Sage offered the dog to sniff. 

None of this shit was here the last time the Sage had been. So this was what the Recluse used all the wool on, eh? The irony of the sampler didn't escape his notice.

"I see, I see! So this is what it looks like to have free time. I'm in so much demand on the daily, I'd nearly forgotten!"

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse didn't bother hiding their scoff. What did the Sage think they were doing twelve or more hours a day? Singing and weaving flowers into their hair? Sure, magic made things easier, but animals still had to be fed, plants tended to, the house and outbuildings cleaned. The other cookie looked like he never picked up anything heavier than that key in his life.

"But your hands are soft as always, I'd wager."

Better get this over with. True to the sampler the kitchen was more crowded and lived in. There are a large range, a more sizeable table littered with papers and jars, cupboards, a sink with drainboard, and a door to an ample pantry on the side. Bundles of cured meat, herbs, and roots hung from the beams in both rooms, but there wasn't so much as a single fly. All the dishes were simple and thick but clean and put away.

"My kitchen. Any work I don't do in my hearthroom I do here."

Pure Vanilla does not ask if the Sage wants refreshments. He can get his own back in his own house, since he can teleport, and the sooner this is done the better.

Donteatacowman

"Truthless Recluse!" The Recluse got a titter for his troubles. "What do you know about my hands that I don't?" Satire, clarity of purpose, and all - if it weren't for that withering tone of voice, the Sage would have interpreted that as an honest come-on. He was still happy to take it that way regardless. What boldness! 

The Sage didn't even seem to notice or care that he hadn't been given dinner yet. The Recluse's attitude is giving him more than enough to chew on.

Steeple

Ugh, he couldn't even give the Recluse the satisfaction of being insulted when they insulted him to his face.

"Very little." they replied, before moving out of the kitchen. The only other rooms were the bathroom and bedroom, and the Sage didn't need to waste time there.

Outside the evening air was crisp and cool but not too chilly yet. That is, not for the Recluse, who shrugged on their dark mantle and put on his hat. Caster and Powder followed, curious about what they were up to.

"I suppose you'll want to see the animals? The silo and woodpile aren't very interesting."

Donteatacowman

The Sage trailed behind the Recluse as he walked, only offering a cursory glance at the other half of the building. Did the Recluse really think that he wouldn't notice how much they were skipping? Or, bless him, did he possess enough decorum to think the bedroom wasn't even worth mentioning in a tour of the house? 

"I'm but a simple silent witness to whatever you see fit to reveal, Recluse." The cheerful tone implied the Sage was taking notes even as they headed outside, the dogs at their heels. The Sage rarely deigned to even let his feet drop to the grass, apparently unaffected by the night chill. "You've been very hard at work, indeed! Anything to keep your mind off the Truth, eh?"

Steeple

The Recluse had slipped into their workboots as the dogs milled around, curious as to what the two were up to. Now all four of them made their way across the yard and down to the buildings.

"My root cellar. The walls and door are insulated, so it keeps cold even in summer."

Instead of a proper basement, the Truthless Recluse had the cellar built into an earthen wall. The door opened to a woodlined space with sand on the floor and filled with barrels, bins, shelves, and cupboards. The smell of fresh soil, fruit, and dairy wafted out.

"I work hard because thats what shepherding takes." Then, as if reluctant to give a concession, "It does take my mind off what actually awaits at the peak. I would be able to take my ease more often if you'd stop sending your students up there."

Donteatacowman

Oh, this definitely wasn't here before. How long had the Recluse been squatting at the Peak? Either farming as a single Cookie was very profitable or the Sage had lost track of time. 

"No Cookie has a monopoly on the Truth. Not even me! The Cookie of Truth! I'm gracious enough to share." The Sage talked as he poked around in the shelves as though a best-by date might spring out and remind him how long this had all been going on. "Only an eensy-weensy-teeny-tiny percentage of my flock make it up here in the first place. You turn them away so easily, though! I'm impressed. If I didn't know better, I'd think they lack all simply lack conviction."

Steeple

At the back of the cellar were the preserved jars, all lined up neatly in rows, of meat and produce. Nothing was older than two years, but that meant nothing since the Truthless Recluse knew how much they could and did eat in a year, and kept the extra in case of emergencies. The wooden walls were weathered, but how long beyond a year or two could be hard to tell by sight alone. The real sign of age in their home were the fruit trees outside, most of which were at least a decade old.

"...Generally a focus on philosophy doesn't lend itself well to navigating mountains. I don't have to do very much."

Otherwise the Recluse would be up to their eyeballs in starry-eyed students.

Donteatacowman

The Sage's investigation had him crouching in back of the cellar, so his answer came with a raised finger to help identify where he still was. "I'll consider updating the syllabus." Hm! Nothing too too bad. It didn't speak to a century or longer, which was the minimum measurement of time the Sage was looking for. This Cookie really had sneaked in under his nose in the guise of legend, hadn't he? 

Mismatched eyes peered through a couple jars in the back. "Perhaps you could come in for a guest lecture or two? You've done so well up here yourself, after all!"

Sheerly teasing, even if the Sage had an actual curriculum to follow in the first place.

Steeple

...What could be so interesting about preserves? Surely the Sage had jam?

"Even assuming I was interested, what would I talk about? Disillusionment? How to stay away from mountains? ...Canning techniques?"

Donteatacowman

It was too bad that the Recluse kept those questions to themself, or they may at least have gotten hints at the answer. 

The Sage floated out of the recesses of the cellar and up to the Recluse's eye height, all so he could laugh himself down to the ground again. "D'you know what? You're a welcome guest speaker any time, tee-arr!  Any and all of the above! I'm dying to hear what you'd like to present to my dear followers."

Steeple

Nicknames already? Huh. Well, their title was a bit of a mouthful.

"It wouldn't be much of a lecture. Stay off the Peak and stop seeking the truth." short and simple, but hardly worth a visit. "If more of them found interest in staring in jars I could be left in peace. Don't tell me you're so shut up in your ivory tower you've never seen a root cellar before."

Donteatacowman

"'No' never stops anyone with a real craving for the Truth. It never stopped you." 

His eyes crinkled up as he smiled, one pointy milk-white tooth visible in the dim light. "And no, in fact, my ivory tower of sorts has had a different resident as of late. Any guesses who?" 

Steeple

The Sage of Truth... just what did he know? The Truthless Recluse narrows their eyes, glad that they're the one between the Sage and the exit.

"For someone so dedicated to the Truth you do talk in riddles. Or do you just like games?"

Donteatacowman

"It's called teaching," the Sage said, the second word enunciated as "CALL-uh-duh." "How are you meant to find the answer if I just present it to you? Make some guesses, c'mon! I have full faith that you're capable of figuring such a simple question out. Want me to repeat it?"

Steeple

The frown on the Truthless Recluse's face deepens, partly because they have a sudden urge to laugh. Teaching? Them? Here? How stubborn could one cookie get?

They didn't dislike that.

"Fine. You expect me to know the answer, so the answer must be someone well-known or someone I personally know. If it's the latter, then you must know me well enough to guess who I might know. Furthermore, if it was just the cheesemonger I visit on market day you wouldn't make such a meal of the question."

The Truthless Recluse took a breath. They weren't used to talking at length like this.

"Does that satisfy your thirst for rhetoric?" 

Donteatacowman

"Oh, oh, oh!"

He didn't think the Recluse would actually try. What an incorrigible flirt!

"You've definitely got the brain power, kid! Let's break it down into a smaller question." He flourished his wand as if pointing to a chalkboard. Before them appeared a simple scene in cardboard cutouts behind an illusory stage: the Recluse and the Sage, both rendered more-or-less-faithfully (ignoring that the Sage's self-portrait was covered in glitter), the Peak, a sheep, two dogs... and a hastily-sketched out cheesemonger. 

"Question the first! When I told you another resident had taken 'my ivory tower', what do you think I was referring to?" 

There's only one thing on 'stage' that could be interpreted as such, unless the Recluse got really poetic and weird about it, which would admittedly have been welcome too.

Steeple

Their eyes widen at the sudden summoning, grip tightening on their staff, but it's just a silly illustration. The Recluse sniffs a silent laugh at the last-minute addition.

The Truthless Recluse isn't laughing when the Sage explains the diorama. He can't know. Can he? The Sage knew of Truth, but how much did he know, especially of the Peak? Could they lie? Could he tell? She couldn't really be called 'living', not with that living death.

But the panic subsides with the question, and the clear lack of any Moonstone on the display. It's just them two. Oh.... oh for - the Sage only meant the Recluse themself. They got worked up over nothing.

Dodging the question, they neatly reply, "Since you mean the Peak... well, I wouldn't suggest you move here, gently baked as you are."

Donteatacowman

The Sage's eyes widened at the Recluse's own evident panic. Interesting...! For whatever reason, the Recluse interpreted that "gimme" question as something much more challenging, missing the point in the process. He evaluated his own simple illustrations one more time. 

"Terribly sorry, terribly sorry. It looks like I've missed a data point!" 

In between the Peak (sequestered on stage left) and the Cookie and animal puppets, there dropped a rectangle of cardboard with a question mark scribbled on it in permanent marker. 

"You got confused at my mentioning a resident, didn't you?" An illusory hand (much larger than the Cookie puppets, wrinkled and gnarled, flesh-colored rather than blue) appeared with a pair of scissors, snipping the new rectangular puppet into the shape of a freshly-baked Cookie. "So this addition to the cast is a someone, not a something..."

Steeple

He couldn't, he couldn't know. The Truthless Recluse was a very languid sort of cookie, but they could feel panic rising like gorge up their throat. They gripped their staff tightly with both hands. Especially with that hateful hand of a Witch above, mocking them. Mocking her.

"No one else lives here." they persist stubbornly. "Enough of your games!"

Donteatacowman

"Present tense!" the Sage proclaimed with an air of triumph. "Ergo! You've described a mystery Cookie who lived here, someone you 'personally know'..."

The mystery cookie skipped up the Peak cheerfully. Then it hopped in place once, shocked, and dropped from the stage entirely.  The Sage stroked his chin, watching. 

"Aaa~aah...! Is that why you're so tirelessly dedicated to saving my students from their own curiosity? How truly tragic a figure you are, Recluse!"

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse could bite their own traitorous tongue in half. Thier hazy eyes flickered back and forth minutely, as if searching. They were closest to the exit. The door locked from the outside. The Sage wouldn't starve in here, but how long could a cookie bear to live in a dark hole before agreeing to anything? No, no, the Sage clearly could teleport, that would only aggravate him, and the damned thing was so contrary.

The cellar felt airless despite the open door and windy night. The Recluse can't hide the frisson of tension that runs through them.

"Why are you doing this?" they ask, voice softer and almost scared, forced through their choked throat. 

Donteatacowman

"Why?" The Sage drew back, his hand hovering over his soul jam. "Truthless, you are my antipode. I'll know the truth and it shall set you free."

Quite pleased at his own verse, the Sage allowed the illusion to disappear. Brightly, he added in an aside, "I wanna know what makes you tick, that's all - whatever led your friend to their own fall."

He seemed to have stopped squeezing for now, but that was only because there was more left to see on the tour.

Steeple

The Recluse looks down at the Soul Jam, swallowing down the sorrow that welled up. The Light of Deceit had found them, colorless and cool, and helped them learn how to prevent this tragedy from happening ever again.

The Sage making his motives clear sends a surge of both relief and terror through the Truthless Recluse. The heady combination makes them waver, hastily reaching out for a shelf as they wobble.

He knows. He knows about her. But not what happened. No, of course not, else he wouldn't have the Souljam of Truth still. Truthless Recluse can't breath, coughs to clear his throat, but it doesn't work. Their head swims, their arms shake, but not their hands: no, the Recluse's hands grip the shelf and staff like a drowning sailor clinging to flotsam.

"You... c-can't..." they manage to wheeze out between their teeth.

Donteatacowman

That reaction was unexpected, to say the least. 

"...Alright, alright, you don't gotta milk it." The Sage blipped to the Recluse's side, evidently ready to catch him when and if he fell. He may need to go get the guy water or something at this rate.

Seeing his Truth - with no preparation, no context for it - really screwed this poor bastard up, didn't it?

Steeple

When the Sage teleports, the Recluse startles, badly, their breath going from fast to a wheeze. Still, they brace themselves on his narrow shoulder.

"I - I need some air."

Slowly, the Truthless Recluse makes their way outside, leaning against the turf on the side of the door. (Not shutting it). They take in deep draughts of clean, crisp mountain evening air, trying to slow their heartbeat and clear their mind.

Donteatacowman

Rather than keep yapping, the Sage lay off, letting the Cookie take what strength they needed from him. Not that he could offer much from where he was standing, unless...

...

Ah, hell, why not? 

The Sage twirled his key at a spot in the snow in front of the Recluse. Where he pointed, a water cooler, of all things, arose from it like an ancient demon being summoned.

Steeple

At the movement of the key staff, the Truthless Recluses braces themself further, only to be met with... A water cooler. On the grass. There's even those little paper cups.

It's too much. It's absurd. The Truthless Recluse sighs to keep the hysterical laughter from bubbling up, and slowly gets a cup and fills it. They sip the cool water slowly, and tip the last of it over their face to refresh themselves.

The cold helps. The Truthless Recluse takes another deep breath, but is visibly calmer.

"How do you know." they ask. They don't have to specify.

Donteatacowman

"Weeeeell, when you lose a lot of air like that real fast, the moisture in your lungs goes out with it," the Sage said, stretching his wand behind him to hover in mid-air so he could cross his arms behind his back and lean on it. 

There was a reason besides sheer charming wit to avoid the question. He didn't want to answer right away and send the Cookie into another panic spiral. A distraction, a familiar annoyance might get the Recluse their bearings a little faster than confrontation about whoever this friend of theirs was.

Steeple

The gambit works, the Recluse's annoyance a more familiar and comfortable emotion. They sigh, and organize their thoughts before speaking.

"You know she's here, but you only want to know how she came to be... like that?"

Donteatacowman

The Sage stilled, his mind whirring. 

That was, of course, entirely new information. What was the best answer to give to ensure he found out as much of the Truth as possible?

"I think," he said gently, standing up straight again, "that I may be better off learning from you today. Of course I want my followers to seek their Truth. You can't change my mind about that. But what happened to her... that shouldn't happen to any student."

He was cold-reading the situation based on what information the Recluse has let slip. 

"If I can learn what happened, maybe I can find out how to prevent it." The Sage looked up hopefully. None of that was technically false. 

Steeple

If the Sage already knew of her existence, what was the point in hiding anything else?

"...It shouldn't." They agreed. 

That assertion alone brought the Recluse's walls down. They wouldn't speak if the Sage didn't want to keep his students safe. They had been alone with this secret for so long... Eventually some pilgrim would sneak past.

"I should have stopped our studies. Or, at least... I don't know what would have happened if I left like I thought about at times."

The Truthless Recluse looks up at the clear night sky. At the waxing gibbous moon.

"What she learned, what happened right after... it changed her. For the worse. The things she would have done..! I couldn't..." they pause, swallowing, keeping thier head tilted back to steam their burning eyes, "Only with the very Dark Moon magic we studied did I seal her away. Sleeping... sleeping, but not crumbled."

Donteatacowman

What a deluge of information. The Sage was taking mental notes throughout.

When the Recluse paused, the Sage prodded, "How do you mean, it changed her for the worse?" What exactly would she have done? 

Otherwise, Dark Moon magic - that's a delight to hear about! It's one of the Sage's special interests to lecture about, after all, on top of being his every day practice. How many surprises can fit into this one tiny Cookie?

Steeple

"...I don't know if it was the shock, or what happened after, or both, but... she fell into the Ultimate Dough after the revelation, and was rebaked. Like she was a different person..."

The wide brim of the mitre shades the Truthless Recluse's face, only the pained press of their lips visible in the moonlight.

"She became... infuriated. Without any scruples at all, she planned to do horrible things. I couldn't even have the courage to stop her for good. Despite my Soul Jam, I was too weak to make the right choice. So now I remain here, in penance, to keep watch over her resting place, and keep any from meeting her fate."

Donteatacowman

Oh-ho!

What an incredible Cookie! To have witnessed that Truth and found her own purpose, to take on the Witches themselves, it sounds like. Though best not to assume. The Sage wasn't the reckless type to just try to free this Cookie for the sake of questioning her. Not without more information. 

Besides, the longer he could stay on the Recluse's good side, the better. So many debates to be had in the future! So many things to learn from them! "What a beautiful Truth you've found," the Sage said. "Trying to do good for so many Cookies despite the pain the whole ordeal has caused you. You're fascinating, you know that?" 

Well. Somewhat good side.

Steeple

All of these high emotions, and then finally sharing this terrible, heavy secret with someone who didn't need it explained... has tired out the Truthless Recluse. They just want to sit inside and spin by the fire and let the thoughts melt away. Or bury their hands and face into a sheep's fleece and smell that animal warmth. Or sleep in until eight or nine in the morning, luxury.

"How is it a Truth? I have the Souljam of Deceit, for I use any means to thwart off any who seek their so-called 'enlightenment', including sowing confusion and discord." they shake their head, "Regardless, you understand why I can't allow any other cookies to seek out the Peak of Truth. No one could withstand its weight. So stop filling their heads with nonsense."

Donteatacowman

It was rather late in the day for a lecture on the nature of relative Truth, so the Sage let the topic slip for now. 

"Ohhhh, I wouldn't say 'no one...'!"

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse just. Stares at him. It's obvious even under the hat.

"I wouldn't be talking to you if you didn't know. Which is a good question... how can you bear to encourage others along the path, knowing where it ends?"

Donteatacowman

"Perhaps I meant you, Recluse! It's a compliment!" 

The Sage leaned his chin on his fingers mid-air. "Not everyone draws the same conclusion from the same fact. Who knows! Maybe someday that same Truth will inspire a Cookie to such great heights that they'll make Earthbread truly habitable with nary a Witch-shaped threat to be found!"

Steeple

"Oh."

Pure Vanilla doesn't feel like they withstood anything. Their life shattered on that day, when they lost so much: their dear friend, their conviction, their life. Anything after was just... scraped together.

"I don't... I did not withstand that weight, at all. How could we even find such a Cookie? How could we even tell their mettle?"

Without realizing, the Recluse had started including the Sage.

Donteatacowman

"You won't like the answer," the Sage answered in sing-song. For the  Recluse's sake, they toned the performance down somewhat afterwards, speaking more seriously.

"It's what I spend every day attempting. You know what they say about making omelettes. You have to break a few eggs." 

Trial and error, in other words.

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse squeezes their staff in both hands.

"You're right." they say, cold and sharp as a new razor. "I don't. Cookies aren't made to be broken."

That would make the Sage little better than the Witches.

Donteatacowman

"I'm open to new ideas," the Sage said cheerfully. "Perhaps, knowing what you do, we could devise some sort of convoluted trials with riddles and tests of courage for you to administer to find the one destined savior! Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Likely fruitless, but hey, there was an outside chance they could find someone. 

Steeple

...It's something. The Recluse has their doubts on how effective it could be, but it's not just.... throwing naive students at the problem.

"That sounds more feasible. I just..." they are so, so tired, "How can you even stand it? Knowing that Truth of our origins, knowing how every detail of our forms are for..." they can't even finish that thought. "I can't even look at most Cookies anymore, without thinking of it."

Donteatacowman

"It's pretty fucked up," the Sage admitted, smile still on his face. "The Witches aren't the ones who determine our Truth unless we let them." 

Flipping his key, the Sage hovered higher in the air, spreading out his arms cinematically. "You, for one, didn't just throw yourself into someone's mouth as soon as you learned, right? You rejected that premise for the falsehood it is!" Well, to everyone but the Witches. "And so did I! Can't speak for your friend, but..!"

Steeple

From anyone else the Truthless Recluse would call it naive. Of all things to describe the Sage of Truth? Naive is far from one of them. The Sage isn't just being optimistic or in denial, he truly means that. The Recluse doesn't know what to make of it as they chew over his words.

"There is that." they admit. "My friend... when she turned, she also wanted to defeat the Witches. But she was willing to crumble so many to achieve that, justifying that when she took control she'd just... raise them again."

Which is also why the Truthless Recluse really didn't like the whole omelette analogy.

"I couldn't fight her alone, sealing her away was the most of what I could do. Instead, you're willing to listen to me. If you want my help, then that's my condition: you need to listen to me when I say you go too far. You may be the questing Truth if you allow me to be the doubtful Deceit. Antipodes."

Donteatacowman

What a clever girl. Yes, someday, the Sage realized, the Sage and the Recluse were destined to get into some kind of winner-take-all battle to the point of crumbling for the Sage to rescue that poor, imprisoned brilliant mind and help her overthrow the Witches once and for all. 

No rush on that. 

The Sage reached down from the sky with a hand to shake, a broad smile on his face. "Wouldn't have it any other way, my friend."

Steeple

The Recluse looks at the offered hand as if it's a snake rearing to bite. But like with the nettle, the safest means are the boldest, and the Truthless Recluse reaches out to grasp his hand firmly to shake, once.

"I never thought anyone else would ever know about the Witches. Despite our differences... I am glad to know you."

Donteatacowman

The Sage alighted to Earthbread gracefully, not letting go of that hand. "What kind of friend would I be to drag you out in the middle of the night, anyway? Come, come." 

The Sage opened a portal to the other-realm. As quick as a wink, the Recluse was yanked through it - infinite eyes blinking at them curiously - and back out, into the comfort of their own hearthroom. 

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse stood back from the wall to walk back, when the Sage of Truth just - pulled them through a vortex of light. Before they could make sense of it, they were standing in their own home again, blinking owlishly.

"...Right."

That explained the teleporting. The Truthless Recluse takes a breather by going to the door and slipping off their workbooks and whistling for Caster and Powder. The dogs trot in, circling the Recluse who pats them both, before going to their spots by the hearth.

Going back to their spinning wheel, the Recluse runs their fingertips along the bobbin, letting the feel of the yarn ground them.

"...Have you had dinner?" they ask. Even if he had, the Truthless Recluse still has a few refreshments and comforts still.

Donteatacowman

The Sage preferred to nourish the mind than the body but what they said with a delighted clap was, "Recluse! Is your sampler true after all? Shall I go take my seat and wait to be served?" They stood politely this time, unsnooping. See? They could mind their manners!

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse looks over the fireplace, and huffs a laugh. It had become such a fixture that they didn't think about the words as such. How fitting.

(The date stitched in the corner is from centuries past. The linen is a little dull, but still white, the crosstitched colors still strong, if not as bright as they started life)

"If you like. It's time I had my own as well." Which was true enough. The Sage didn't take up much of their time yet.

The kitchen only had two chairs, and the Recluse left the one at the table for the Sage to sit in while they moved the other from the corner where it was holding a sack of vanilla broadbeans, a plant of the Truthless Recluse's own invention.

"I hope you like mutton." they said, checking on the pot on the back of the stove where the sheep meat had been stewing for several hours. Billows of fragrant steam rose from the pot as they raised the lid.

Donteatacowman

The Sage took his seat with the flourish necessary to not sit on his coattails. He wasn't particularly interested in the meat. The Recluse had a reputation for cruelty, after all; no surprise that they'd slaughter the sheep, no matter how cute and fluffy they are to onlookers like himself. 

"And what are those, so rudely taking your seat?" It didn't even occur to him to offer the empty one to the Recluse. The Sage was the guest, after all!

As soon as the Recluse turned back to the table, there would be two prim china teacups of rich milk, one for each of them. Standard-issue, which was to say, cow milk, obtained magically rather than by the labor of anyone's hands. 

Steeple

Every year, the Truthless Recluse slaughtered two sheep - often barren ewes - and a lamb. The fresh meat made for good holiday fare, and the preserved meat lasted a long time for the year's consumption. Their slaughter, like everything, was by season, and the Sage of Truth was very lucky he arrived during the summer fattening and not during the spring lambing. Had it been lambing season, the Recluse would already have been asleep and would not be roused for anything.

Speaking of time, the Sage is also lucky the Recluse was planning tortillas tonight instead of something longer. With easy movements from long practice, they take their mixing bowl and fill it with a double measure of masa, mixing in water to make the dough. They look up at the question, noting how the Sage made himself at home: especially looking at the delicacy of the porcelain cups, so different from the thick white mugs the Recluse had.

"...The fruits of my own labors. My senior thesis in my Academy days, it's a hybrid of broadbeans and the vanilla orchid."

Pure Vanilla had lived in the high meadows of the shepherd side of their family, but the other half was from the warmer, wetter lowlands, where the vanilla orchids grew.

"...I wanted to spread vanilla further, since the orchids can be tricky to cultivate and harvest."

Donteatacowman

It wasn't true that, like the Recluse had assumed so far, the Sage did nothing with his hands. But it would be fair enough to say he rarely stooped to the mundane options for acquiring meals. When he had so many admirers and adherents lining up to beg even an hour of his wisdom, lavish offers of dining out were easy to come by, to the point that the Sage had stopped planning for them. (This, too, was one of those meals.)

But that meant the Recluse's practiced motions made for a fascinating sort of trick, as full of flair in his eyes as his own wand-twirling. The Sage did nothing to hide his appreciation for the skill involved, even if he'd think of it as beneath him, personally, to practice. 

"...You were an Academy student. Of course you were! From sowing regular seeds to those of doubt." The Sage tilted his head, hands folded together as he leaned forward. "You said your studies brought you both to the Peak?" 

The subject of the Recluse's study seemed incongruous, but maybe that friend of theirs was to blame. They'd said that the two had studied together.

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse didn't mention the Academy's name, but it seems the Sage knew which one without having to ask. Interesting. Then again, the Recluse didn't know how widely their invention spread, so the story could be very well known.

"...Yes. I found the main curriculum lacking in some respects. I was nothing compared to my friend, who was a genius beyond me. She shared her hopes and aspirations and theories with me, and I helped. My thesis was for my graduation, but my passion was with our study on the origins of cookiekind."

The Recluse speaks dispassionately, as if reading from a book. Their only liveliness is from mixing the dough with easy rhythm, stopping only to add more water.

Donteatacowman

"Weeell, things have been topsy-turvy over there lately." As in, for the last century or three, after that incident. "Can't be helped!"

The Sage already knew the end of this story. Prying for the juicy middle bits might yield interesting tidbits, but that wasn't what the Sage was after for tonight.

How to ask this in a way that might get answered...?

"Saying her name won't shatter her memory, you know," the Sage said, uncharacteristically gentle. "Might bring back some good ones, in fact."

Steeple

The Sage of Truth has not at all earned that privilege. Not yet. But that doesn't mean the Truthless Recluse minds if he found out her identity.

The dough done, they take a break long enough to sit down and pick up the delicate cup. No need to waste milk, when offered. It's different from sheep milk, less rich and milder in flavor, but still good.

"Don't you like riddles? I've given you enough information to find that out on your own." They sip more of the cow milk, the taste nostalgic for when they came down from the mountains and to the Academy, or more recently, the towns. Places where milk was a year-round treat. "Tell me your findings next time."

Donteatacowman

Ah! The Sage really thought he'd had them, there. A sly grin curled on his face. "Looking up your ex right after the first date? I thought that'd be a little forward of me, Recluse." 

He kicked back in his chair, sipping his own milk and letting the teacup vanish when he was done. The Recluse was trying to send him on an honest quest. It wasn't that he didn't have the time or inclination to do a little travel and studying, but doing so on the Recluse's orders felt more like a strategy to distract him from the many, many Cookies who craved his teachings.

Steeple

The likelihood of the Sage knowing exactly what else they were up to in the Academy together was extremely low, so he didn't know the half of it with that 'ex' comment. Treasured memories of a treasured past. They did still brew those same potions, just took a lower dose nowadays.

"You pretend a shame you do not possess." they said primly, "You just want to pick me apart for answers; I'm trying to give you a game. Isn't that what you wanted?"

The Sage wanted to tease and inquire, so the Truthless Recluse was giving him a simple challenge. That... and a reason to return. 

Milk finished, the Recluse carefully sets the fine porcelain down, and goes back to preparing dinner. They bring out assorted vegetables picked earlier from the kitchen garden, a comal, the press, and a round basket into which they place a kitchen cloth.  They put the comal onto the front stove and light the brisk fire with magic. As the comal heats, the Recluse quickly makes tortillas with the press.

"If you want to be useful, slice the vegetables for me." they say, indicating the lettuce, tomatoes, chilis, red onions, and cilantro.

Donteatacowman

The Sage's eyes widened and his hand fluttered to his chest, evidently offended to his core, though that was betrayed by the smile that silently said ahah! I've found a brand-new question to answer!

Cookies didn't see through the Sage. They never understood what he was talking about to the point of even pressing. 

"You wound me, Recluse! I'm not toying with you, here. I don't want games. I want debates. I want answers. I want Truth to out!" His tilted chair fell toward the table again as he rebalanced himself. 

"Buuut... I won't push you, since we're friends and all." He evidently thought he was being quite generous in saying so. 

So much for a work-free meal, but the Sage couldn't say he minded. "Let me think. Do I want to be useful? Let's weigh the pros and cons." He talked as he stood to find a cutting board and knife, then sat and began to chop. 

"Usefulness might endear me to you, and you intrigue me! But work is such a pain. You're being rude enough forcing your dear guest to work over a hot stove so! (Or, in the vicinity of one.) 

"On the other hand, I'm already halfway done with the lettuce, and conventional wisdom would hold that I finish what I start. But that's, in fact, an erroneous thought process! At the point of making any decision, you evaluate what the consequences are - in other words, the future costs. Anything you've already paid is gone for good. So," he says finally, sighing wearily, "if I decide to save myself the trouble, I'll never get back the extreme effort I've put forth to this point, no matter what I choose. But that fallacy only applies to current decision making, you see..." 

Oh, but he did love to share his wisdom. The onions were finished now, too.

The cilantro had been "accidentally" brushed in a little pile underneath the cutting board, like dust under a rug. 

Steeple

At the dramatic denial, the Truthless Recluse sniffed another almost laugh. Now that they were off more dangerous topics, they didn't mind their theatrics as much.

Then he pressed his advantage, prattling on about the benefits as the Recluse made the tortillas. They pressed the dough a couple times until flat, then slapped them onto the hot comal, waited half a minute, flipped, waited, and after another flip let the tortilla puff up before setting it into the lined basket.

The Sage's cheerful argument is nonsensical, but his voice is sonorous as any preacher's, and fills the kitchen pleasantly. The Recluse rarely had any company but the animals outside of market day, and something loosened in their chest as they listened.

"Are you really applying the sunk cost fallacy to the easiest of kitchen tasks?" they said, their exasperation almost fond. The discussion was stirring something long sleeping within. "Your very premise is flawed, Sage: I forced nothing, for I said only 'if you wish to be useful'. Had you been a total layabout, you'd sit in happy idleness. You run the risk of looking like a lout, true, but that's the price of laziness. Lastly..."

Even the Recluse's tongue was loosening, engaging in more poetic flourishes than... a long, long time. The Truthless Recluse's back was turned as the Sage of Truth hid the cilantro like a secret, and they finished with a sigh.

"...Lastly, Sage, do not crush my cilantro. Bruised herbs do not keep at all, so they either must be eaten immediately, cooked, or go into the chickens' bellies tomorrow."

Donteatacowman 

The Sage's head lifted suddenly, likely the same way that Caster's and Powder's would when treats were discussed. 

It wasn't that no Cookies in the world know enough about academics to have an intelligent discussion. But the Sage had, by necessity, focused on the Cookies who didn't know enough yet to do so. He'd expected the Recluse to either appreciate those unstructured top-of-his-head thoughts that he'd cobbled together as if they were a lecture (as the students could never tell the difference), to tell him off, or to ignore him entirely. 

Your very premise is flawed. Someone questioning the Sage not from ignorance but from critical thinking. It felt like a breath of air given to a drowning man. 

The Sage flung his arms ou- whoops, he put the knife down, and then flung his arms back out again. "You passed my test!" he proclaimed through laughter. "Flying colors! Top of your class!" 

He then flipped over the cutting board, revealing how the cilantro had oh-so-magically and mysteriously teleported there, and gasped in shock. "And look at that! How did you know?" 

He began carefully picking up each sprig to lay it down, pointedly not crushing it and yet keeping it far away from the meat or other vegetables.

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse glances over after the current tortilla batch is done, and huffs that not-laugh again, except they actually smile slightly. From the aborted disregard for knife safety out of enthusiasm, to the ridiculous announcement... well. He wasn't as irritating, but merely being ridiculous on purpose. Like watching a grown dog revert to enthusiastic puppylike gamboling around grass after the snowmelt.

"I could smell the cilantro's scent increase, but didn't hear it connected to any cutting. The scent wasn't as strong as it is for chopping, so it had be merely bruised instead. Since you didn't crush too much of my herbage, I'll forgive you."

The Recluse could have just remained mysterious, but the Sage wasn't the only one who liked to explain. They always had weak eyes, and the cataracts only made their dependence on other senses grow.

"As an academic, I imagine you overly rely on sight, yes? People who don't work with their hands can forget how important the other senses are. Like to make tortillas you might look for a recipe with measurements instead of learning what texture to make the dough instead."

Donteatacowman

He'd had a guess that smell might be involved, but it seemed unlikely, as the scent was weak. Incredible! Show-stopping! What clever deduction, and oh, what theatricality in how they revealed the trick!

The Sage clapped once, lifting himself out of his chair by magic to literally hover over the Recluse's shoulder. 

"Youuuuu~" He dragged the word out, then, dipping into a lower tone, continued, "are one smart Cookie, tee-arr." 

His hand half-covered his grin. "We both only know each other by titles, huh? I have an idea. If I'm already supposed to be digging through records to find your old friend's name, let's have our own test of scholarly aptitude, hm? See which of us is the better researcher." 

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse stiffened when the Sage floated near, and the effect of that low voice so close by was... well. Stirring up some decidedly not academic feelings. The Sage of Truth was not an unattractive man, especially with the way his clothes were so close-fitting.

Light above. The Recluse had been alone too long.

"Would I even be able to find your name? I rarely travel beyond this area, since I can't leave the sheep long."

Donteatacowman

"I can't leave my own post long either, you know. I'm surprised you're ever willing to abandon yours, even just to the base of the Peak! What if your back is turned and someone-" 

The Sage started to laugh (intending to describe one of his followers sneaking in to climb the Peak), but cut himself off. Teasing the Recluse about their misguided attempts to protect Truth-seekers was one thing, but now that he had the correct framing... Needling the Recluse about the possibility of failing to protect a Cookie from following in their friend's footsteps - That would just be cruel, wouldn't it? 

The Sage hmphed. "Well, at any rate, I'm sure you have your own methods for securing the Peak during your thrice-daily cheesemonger visits."

Steeple

The Sage of Truth? Cutting his own words off? Will wonders never cease. Good to know he has some tact. Fortunately for the Sage, it's not a sore spot at all.

"I visit for market day once a week, and climbing the Peak takes far longer than a day, as I'm sure you know. Even if a cookie could just teleport up there, the wind, chill, and thin air would make it slow going, if not deadly. Even if I weren't keeping your students at bay, I would have to stop them to make sure they were properly equipped for such an arduous climb."

Any wilderness could easily kill the unprepared and the unlucky, and mountains as tall as these only moreso. Just making it to the treeline could be done, yes, but above that the climb got only more difficult.

"That's why I only have to worry about my flock and fields. You're lucky you talked to me before haymaking, or I wouldn't be able to find help for love or money."

The Sage of Truth might know the phrase 'make hay while the sun shines' only as a homely saying, and not the rapid backbreaking work period as everyone rushed to get the winter's feed harvested and saved, all while praying for the rain to stay away long enough for the silage to dry first.

Donteatacowman

The Sage shrugged. "Eh, it's been a little while for me. Once you've seen it once, you've seen it a million times, amiright? And I saw it a lot more than once. I..." 

He wrinkled his nose and looked away. "...can't stop anyone from being stupid about it, if they're motivated enough. I'll work some mountain safety into the Lore of the Peak lecture... somehow. I suppose the trek is harder for anyone without one of these." He tapped his finger on his soul jam.

Steeple

That was a relief. The Truthless Recluse could navigate the mountains and even the Peak thanks to their familiarity and Souljam, but others weren't so lucky. Fortunately every town in the mountains knew better, so only the truly brave or foolhardy made the attempt.

"Indeed. Our partnership is fruitful already."

They turn back to their dough, quickly toasting the rounds one by one on the comal. This close, the Recluse can smell the Sage: an abundance of fresh creamy milk of course, and a hint of smokiness.

"...Dinner will be ready once I finish these."

Donteatacowman

Their partnership, huh...? The Sage didn't retreat to the table quite yet. 

The Sage had let slip how often he'd been on the Peak, but the Recluse seemed distracted by something - presumably the meal. Or maybe they already knew? Doubtful, considering their earlier conversation. 

The Sage relaxed back on one of the counters, casual to the point of near-parody. "This has always been my house, you know."

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse pauses at that declaration, mind whirling. This belonged to the Sage? Not just the Peak, but this house specifically? That would explain the flippant comments about seeing what they had 'done with the place'. They had only thought he meant the Peak itself. Obviously someone who knew that dangerous Truth would be familiar with the environs surrounding it.

They glance over at him, where the Sage looked just picture perfect, his long lithe body a single line. Despite his frippery, he looked natural there, somehow. The Recluse continues with the last of the dough.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a fellow hermit." they say aloud, while thinking about whether his name could be hidden somewhere.

Donteatacowman

There was a faraway look in the Sage's eyes. "Certainly not. Far from it. Since the moment I was baked, my students have been as abundant as the stars in the sky. I was happy to share as much knowledge as they wanted, and oh, they craved it all. 

"...The Truth at the Peak wasn't always a tapestry of horror, but it wasn't the real Truth, either. A thousand years of illusory peace... gone, and replaced with what you can now see at the Peak."

It was genuine reminiscing despite himself, as the Sage had briefly forgotten the upcoming meal or any reason to be cagey about his origins.

"Everything changed then." The Sage lifted himself off the floor again, literally giving himself a pick-me-up. "And I left the Peak for good. Not to imply you're an unwelcome addition, my friend." 

Steeple

As one of the five Virtuous, the Sage of Truth certainly would know the history of the Peak. The Truthless Recluse listens quietly, with a gentler face.

"I wonder what changed. If we had been baked earlier... would my friend have only seen your lectures, instead of the Truth?"

So much could have been prevented. True sorrow settles on their expression, with none of the annoyance or apathy from before.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have seen you at your zenith. I'm sure you must have been even more impressive, up on the Peak."

Donteatacowman

The Sage shook his head. "Of course you'd think that, as a Cookie of Deceit. It was, then, just like it is now. A world in blissful ignorance. waiting its turn patiently to be devoured. I wasn't forced down from the Peak. I escaped that same burden you have now." 

The Recluse received one long, thoughtful gaze from the Sage's blue-and-yellow eyes into their own matching pair. 

Then the Sage dropped himself into the chair from mid-air, crossing his legs to rest his feet on the table. (As reckless as the movement looked, the cilantro remained untouched, undisturbed, and far from the Sage's shoes.) "So! How 'bout that free meal?"

Steeple

This is the first time in a long, long, long while that the Truthless Recluse had ever spoken of what was seen there, at the Banquet. They had thought about it, many times, but to have someone else speak it aloud, to know that it wasn't just them and their sleeping friend... The Recluse stared back into the Sage's celestial eyes, mismatched to others but matching their own, and felt...

The moment broken, by another jape. The Recluse could have screamed. They wanted to grab him by his stupid collar and - and - 

"Get your shoes off my clean table." they huff, instead. "You weren't raised in a barn: act like it."

Still, the Truthless Recluse takes the basket to the table, collecting the vegetables onto a platter. The mutton he places onto a trivet, then fetches a pair of mugs, plates, napkins, and two jugs. The mugs are filled with ewe milk from the larger jug, since they're suckling still. They make tacos for them both, spooning the stewed, fragrant mutton onto the fresh tortillas and topping them with the chopped vegetables and drizzling crema fresca at last. The bruised cilantro goes on top of the Truthless Recluse's dish, but not on the plate they place before the Sage of Truth.

"Let me guess," they say as they sit down; they don't pray before meals anymore, "the cilantro tastes soapy to you?"

Donteatacowman

The shoes were immediately back on the floor where they belonged. The pose was merely to change the subject and so had become unnecessary. 

The point was not, in fact, to get under the Recluse's skin. The Sage had told the Fount's story without having consciously decided to. Enough of that for today. 

And thankfully, the Recluse was reacting just as he'd hoped. 

The Sage took one sip of this new Milk and put it down, never to be touched again (unless the Recluse pointed it out, in which case he would have been planning to drink it the whole time). He smiled down at the plate. 

"My deepest, darkness secret," he says mournfully. "Cilantro! How could you have guessed my one weakness?" 

Steeple

"You exposed that one yourself," The Recluse replied, mollified by the quick action. "If you want to hide your secret, you need to make sacrifices."

It's a joke, but delivered with the same flat tone the Truthless Recluse defaulted to.

They bite into their dinner, having looked forward to this all day. Mutton needs long, slow cooking, and simming on the back of the stove for half the day broken down all the tissues, making the meat delicious and tender. Some didn't like the gamier taste of sheep, preferring lamb, but the Recluse had been eating mutton their whole life. Not only were they used to the strong taste, but relished it. Of course, the seasonings mitigated the flavor, but they never shied from gaminess. All the juices soaked into the tortilla, and the fresh vegetables gave the taco a wonderful crunch. Finished with the cilantro and smooth crema, it was a perfect dinner.

Donteatacowman

The Sage watched only to the point where he realized it was odd that he was watching. It was one thing to admire the Recluse deliberating over a scholarly point - another entirely to stare in similar fascination at them only eating a taco. Sheesh! 

He held his hand up in the air and, when he brought it down, it was holding a little golden fork. "I know this is gonna look like I'm a snob who doesn't know what a taco is," he said, conjuring up a matching knife to cut a bite-sized slice out of the meal placed before him. "But consider this: you're serving a guy in a white suit whose jacket collar as big as his hands. So which one of us lacks situational awareness, huh?" 

And he popped the fork in his mouth, pleased with himself.

Steeple

A little staring was hardly the strangest or rudest thing the Sage did, so the Recluse doesn't mind. There's not much else to look at in here.

Then the Sage of Truth, learned scholar and orator, actually whipped up a knife and fork to eat his meal. They immediately put their food down to stare. Even with the explanation that isn't better.

"You, because the taco is harder and messier to eat if you cut the tortilla to shreds." they can't believe they have to explain this. "do you cut up a sandwich before eating it? It's not a salad."

Maintaining perfect eye contact, the Truthless Recluse pinches the tortilla closed at the edges as they lift it, like a normal person, leans over the plate, and takes a bite. No spillage. Because the tortilla contained it all.

Donteatacowman

Consternation. Then delight. 

"Yes," the Sage said, the idea clearly having just come to him. "Perhaps I do cut up each sandwich before eating it, in fact! What's wrong with that?" 

He pointed with the knife. "And you had to lean over your plate to bite. Of what, pray tell, were you afraid? If your oh-so-trusted tortilla could contain each drip, then you may as well sit back and take a big, worry-free bite!"  He spread his hands at the Recluse, inviting them to try.

Steeple

There is absolutely nothing the Truthless Recluse can say to that, because such a person is clearly too far gone to realize the error of his ways.

"It's basic manners, like having a teacup on a saucer. You're not dribbling your drink, yet it's placed on a plate."

Just to prove the point, the Truthless Recluse sits more upright, holding the taco with one hand and taking another, normal sized, bite. A little of the lettuce teeters, and the Recluse nibbles that down too. Their irritation fades into something more thoughtful.

"Actually... do you ever have difficulty holding objects? Hand tremors?"

Donteatacowman

The Sage's opponent had already conceded in all points but for demonstrating that a taco could be eaten cleanly in ideal circumstances. 

"For the record," the Sage said, lifting a finger. "You aren't wearing my bulky, spotlessly white outfit. And even if you were and could eat cleanly with it on, it's hasty generalization to consider it reasonable for any other given Cookie to eat exactly as neatly as you can." 

He lowered the finger. "But, for holding onto things? Don't hand me a stack of sheep or anything, but I get by. Why?"

Steeple

The Sage of Truth, clearly a powerful magic user, could just use that magic to treat any spots, but the Truthless Recluse will save that argument until the others are exhausted. They doubt he's ever had to do the washing.

"Most other Cookies, wearing such a garment, would use the napkin I did provide."

Or not wear bright white to a farm dinner, but doubtless the Sage had some excuse there.

"I bring up that possibility because sometimes eating things in a different way is to make it easier on the diner. I couldn't assume you weren't hiding something like that behind your audacity."

Donteatacowman

A broad, thin smile is their answer. "Well!" 

The Sage taps the table and leans in. "That is a good point I could certainly bring up. With you taking the point of a common-sense practice born out of habit, you have the advantage of seeming reasonable to most anyone listening, as your position is the incumbent, as it were. My task is to poke enough holes by way of counterexample that the premise 'one should not eat a specific food with cutlery meant for different food' eventually deflates. Cultural and physical differences are the low-hanging fruit!" 

The Sage leans back again, cutting himself another bite. "You've just done part of my job for me, but what should I expect from an avatar of Doubt? Can't train you outta that one!" 

The mutton is quite good.

Steeple

Oh everything that was sweet and good on Earthbread, the Sage was like this for everything huh. The Recluse feels exhausted at the prospect, but the stronger feeling is stubbornness. They won't let this pampered fop talk his way out of his ridiculous assertions in their own home.

"You started this battle, knowing I would object to your tool usage. The very basics of war tactics is not to get into a fight you know you cannot win." they counter. "You can't start eating soup with a fork and bleat about being on the losing side of the argument defending it."

Just to prove thier point, and also a mischievous impulse of their own, exhumed by the Sage's nonsense, the Truthless Recluse stands, walking around the table to stand right behind the Sage of Truth. They take the untouched napkin, shake it out, and neatly tie its generous length around the Sage's neck, careful of his abundant hair.

"See?" they say, leaning down to talk directly into his ear. "Your clothes are safe from my messy cooking."

Donteatacowman

The Sage had plenty of counterarguments stored up, all in good fun of course. Really, the choices were ridiculously abundant and the Recluse kept offering new and better subtopics to hone in on and hash out together. He was going to enjoy this one. 

That was what he was thinking even as his hair was swept behind a length of cloth; his head turned, a catlike smile on his lips. 

But with the Recluse bent down so, their mouths were...! 

The Sage's eyes were startled, his smile still present, but he didn't pursue that first impulse that came to his mind. The only evidence of it was a dusting of color underneath his gold monocle and the fact that he had no immediate verbal counter.

Steeple
Hah, that shut him up. The Truthless Recluse let themself pause, take a good look over his face... down to his lips and back up. They smirked, even as they backed up.

"I'm glad you agree." they said, returning to their side of the table. Just to rub it in, the Recluse leaned back in their chair and took an immense bite, half the taco disappearing down their gullet at once.

Looks like the Recluse wasn't the only one hard up.

Donteatacowman

As the Recluse looked over the Sage’s own lips contemplatively, a thrill shot through him, here then gone again. There was an odd breathlessness in his lungs.

“My! What a surprise deployment of the appeal ad stuprum. It’s a fallacy, but hey, you’ve made me look stupid and that’s what counts, right?” The Sage only felt safe calling it what it was because of the obscurity of the term. 

Of course he liked to win debates. Winning was fun. But his motives for starting arguments in general were, in his own mind, constructive. Argumentation was the process by which two Cookies took turns gradually uncovering a buried Truth. If nothing else, the next time the Recluse chose what silverware to set the table with (if any), the decision would be purposeful and have explicit reasoning behind it. 

The argument had stopped in its tracks before succeeding on any further front, but with the Cookie of Deceit as an opponent, merely successfully raising the argument may have needed to be the bar of success. 

And there’d be a next time. They could address the fork-on-soup argument then. 

The Sage had, distracted, gone ahead to reach for the taco to eat it normally. As it had been cut into already, all he got was a mess in his hand and a smear along his elaborate, trailing jacket cuff.

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse was not familiar with every single term, but context made it quite obvious what it meant. They didn't scruple to use every tool at their disposal, especially when it netted such excellent results.

"If you didn't work so hard to make yourself sound smart, you would have less opportunity to make yourself look the fool." The Truthless Recluse's words were harsh, but the tone was amused. See the Sage of Truth be fallable eases their irritation.

They were surprised into a snort of laughter they did their best to smother at the proving of their initial point. The Recluse gave up their own napkin to help wipe that up.

"I won't say I told you so," they said, "but I will allow that a point in your favor, even if its from your own doing. You can eat it your way and I won't say anything."

Donteatacowman

The Sage proclaimed the Truth, but he didn't hesitate to manipulate assumptions. Getting caught in one will teach a better lesson than any lecture, and as the argument had nothing to do with stupidity, the Recluse's barb about sounding smart didn't quite hit home. 

But...! Before he could say so, the Recluse was the one proven True by experience. 

Any instinctive genuine frustration (at the mess and his own embarrassment) was preemptively flushed out of the Sage's system by the Recluse's barely-concealed laugh. He took the napkin gratefully, allowing himself more mortal means of cleaning the mess than the flashy magic he may otherwise choose. "You're quite the gracious host." After wiping up, he glanced at the Recluse, chewing over his own newly discovered humility. 

Then he pointed at the hearthroom, his cane summoned into his hand once it was pointed away, only for long enough to make the gesture. Beside the door appeared an ornate wooden coatrack.

"There! I'll hang my jacket up next time and we can avoid all this needless fussing." 

It was his way of graciously admitting defeat... for now.

Steeple

The fact that the Sage could admit defeat went a long way with the Recluse. It proved that he wasn't just interesting in proving his intellect or lording it over others, just that he was very enthusiastic. An abundance of passion was far easier to forgive than arrogance.

They did blink at the coatrack though. That... was quite generous of him.

"I usually hang my outerwear behind the stove where they can dry." they said, indicating the space behind the stove, "I think your jacket will suit your addition better."

The Truthless Recluse took another bite of mutton, washing it down with ewe milk.

"...I think," they said after, "I envy you."

Donteatacowman

If it wasn't in his very nature as the Sage of Truth, maybe that ability to lose would be harder. But one does not quest for Truth and end up centuries down the line with exactly the same ideas that one started out with. (Like whether there's one real version of the Truth in the first place!) The Sage had to let himself be wrong sometimes in order to learn better. 

Granted, those times were few and far between.... except when he was with the Recluse. 

"...I think I envy you."

He looked up at that statement, curious. The Recluse lived alone. They could mean any of the many followers the Sage possessed, or his freedom or his power or his impeccable fashion, but that doesn't seem like the answer.

"I told you," he said. "I used to be you." He set aside the treacherous plate for now so he could lean forward on his arms. "After the first Banquet ever held after Cookiekind was created, I lived here in constant fear for my followers and the rest of Earthbread. I know what kind of isolation, what kind of dread and fear that breeds. Is that what you mean?" 

Steeple

"I still can hardly believe it," The Truthless Recluse said, staring at the Sage of Truth's hands. They looked so fragile compared to their own workworn ones, "I don't doubt you, but it feels impossible. Especially because you seem to have such hope. I feel like I'm gradually sinking into a mire, only aloft because I find more footholds that slow that descent."

They had been alive for so long, living with that knowledge, being alone with it. So many times the Recluse wondered why they didn't just give up, but... There were a thousand tiny reasons to hold on. Even if just one more day to look upon his friend, encased in Moonstone.

"That's why I keep my flock. The sheep keep my year going, and the work distracts me."

Donteatacowman

"I can give you the pep talk I needed to hear, easily, about how I overcame everything to get where I am now! But something's bugging me." 

The Sage paused to get his thoughts in order. 

"I made it down the Peak and back to the rest of Cookiekind, reached the height of my character development - yes, it was great, highly recommended. 

"But then. 

"Someone up there thought I was getting too big for my britches, ran the risk of disrupting the yummy status quo. And admittedly, getting chopped in half to make me easier to swallow impeded my progress quite a bit! But, seeing the other half of my soul jam still on the Peak... I gotta admit, you might have an even harder time climbing out than I did. The deck's stacked against you. I expect that power is chaining you down rather than making you free."

Steeple

The Sage of Truth had been stirring up the Truthless Recluse's emotions all evening, drawing them out of their carefully maintained shell of lassitude. The Sage is getting far more indulgence from the Recluse than most guests, for them to be vulnerable enough to feel.

Thus when the Sage of Truth's revelation hits, the Truthless Recluse lacks their usual defenses.

They knew the Soul Jam of Deceit used to be one whole with the Soul Jam of Truth. Anything further than that, the circumstances under which it happened, the Recluse had no idea. They didnt even think to ask.

Now they're learning abruptly that the Sage of Truth used to have a whole Soul Jam, and had it torn in two by the Witches, just for climbing too high, for being too powerful. Guilt, that everpresent companion, roils up, boiling the Recluse from the inside. They feel nauseous, dizzy, faint; they clutch at their chest where the Soul Jam lies under their mozzetta, pallid and cool.

It's their fault. It's their fault. It's their fault.

Everything is their fault. They should have stopped White Lily. They should never have helped her. The Sage would have a whole Soul Jam if they hadn't stolen it from under him. The Recluse trembles, hands only not shaking because they grip their clothes and the table. They should have crumbled long ago, and the world would have been better for it. What does it matter, with every cookie being detined to go to crumbs or be devoured by their very creators? No one cares about their existence, their petty little lives.

"I should never have been baked..." they mutter to themselves.

Donteatacowman

The Sage realized too late how much the Recluse may have needed that pep talk. Taken aback, the Sage drew away from them. 

"Oh... We're doing this now?" He gave a half-laugh, his hands not quite knowing what to do with themselves. "I don't even have a set prepared. We were still doing warmups!" He did, at least, open a portal to retrieve a briefcase from that dark realm of golden eyes. "Epic battles between Truth and Deceit over your kitchen table...! You're gonna give me grey hairs, Recluse." 

The meal and the rest of the clutter on the table were swept away. The briefcase popped open to reveal a manilla envelope stuffed with pages of evidence, a self-keying typewriter acting as stenographer, and an array of notes for the Sage to reference. The lighting in the kitchen dimmed except for circles around the two of them. The Sage stood, hands resting only lightly on the table. 

"Alright! You should never have been baked. Present your case." The Sage's eye glinted from above as the monocle caught the light. "Lemme rip your lies to shreds."

Steeple

Of alls things, the Truthless Recluse did not expect... all that. Some comforting words, maybe another debate over dinner. Not a whole setup and show at their humble little table. The Sage of Truth has a unique ability to render the Recluse speechless.

The very absurdity cut through the Recluse's misery like little else would. Was this because, as the Sage said, he had been where they were, and so knew what would help? It's oddly touching, even as the Recluse hardly knows what to do with themself, put on the spot like this. 

'Let me rip your lies to shreds.'

Absurd, yes, but... genuine. Cutting through to where sympathy might not. Debridement instead of palliation.

"...I stole what was rightfully yours. I aided my friend instead of stopping her. Nothing I've done is of any consequence. I'm always... I'm always just repenting after the fact instead of preventing tragedy."

Donteatacowman

The Sage, listening, had begun rolling up his sleeves. "You sure that's your opening statement? I'll give you a do-over. Because that's the most laughably weak, flimsy argument I've ever heard!" 

But it gave him a lot of material to slice through. 

"On the topic of theft! Utterly worthless. We can talk about where your soul jam belongs at a later date, 'kay? Remember what I was saying about decisions - they only affect future costs, not what you've already paid. Who the soul jam ought to belong to right now is not up for debate." The disclaimer was to cover their ass for when they inevitably asked for their soul jam back. If they did it now, it'd hurt their case.

"To make a case for theft, you'd have to prove to me that you knowingly took it from me. In other words, that you're working with the Witches. Otherwise, hate to be the one to tell you, but you're as much a pawn as the rest of us."

The Sage turned his back for a moment, hands clasped behind. "For the rest, I remind you, you're arguing that you should have never have been baked. That means that any action you've taken would be better off not having happened. This isn't about you having regrets now and again. It's about your existence being regrettable." He spun around. "So! Aiding your friend is an oopsies we can address here, but your failure to stop her is outside our jurisdiction. If you weren't baked, you'd have failed anyway! Which, fun coinkydink, also applies to complaints about being ineffective at anything else you do." 

The Sage ripped a page off the typewriter, reading the transcript over to make sure he got the Recluse's phrasing right. His eyes flickered across the lines, then over the top of the page. "You sure you don't wanna back down before we get going? Or at least switch your complaint from repenting your existence to, like, that you feel bad and it's justified. You're smart enough to know these arguments make no sense."

Steeple

The Sage of Truth could be obnoxious, yes, but he isn't a sage for nothing: his arguments are sound and laid out as tidily as silverware by a plate. The Truthless Recluse almost resents how easy and clear his points are, and therefore difficult to refute. The Sage is explicitly respecting their intelligence, and not just trying to blandly soothe away their unhappiness as irrational.

"Eloquent as always," they say despite themself, both hands twisting the fabric in their lap. "If I didn't exist, I feel that my friend wouldn't have made the progress she did, or... gave up, without my encouragement."

Even as they speak the words aloud, however, it sounds ridiculous. White Lily was not the kind of person to give up just because she didn't have a partner in crime. There's no reason at all to assume their absence would have changed that. The Truthless Recluse doesn't even try to hide that revelation from their face, and gives the matter more thought.

"...No, she would have studied even without me, so I'm... being melodramatic." they sigh, tired again, "You make a good point about the Soul Jam as well. I think you're right that I feel helplessness and regret, and I can't see why I shouldn't."

Donteatacowman

The Sage floated backwards, watching the Recluse from above as they worked that point out for themself. "Hey, hey hey hey, no fair! Leading language," he said, stamping his foot in the air. "You think I'm gonna let that Deceit by, just because it agrees with my point?" 

A sheet of paper followed his hand, from which the Sage read, "'Melodramatic,' adjective! 'Characterized by sensationalism, exaggeration, or an excess of emotion.'" He tossed the paper over his shoulder. "Your affect's flatter than a week-old soda. You're a lot of things, Recluse, but not melodramatic. Present your new arguments, and make 'em better ones this time! Together we'll find out the Truth."

Steeple

That's exactly what the Truthless Recluse might have thought, had the Sage of Truth not said anything. Once again his combination of theatrics and insight cuts straight to the heart of the matter.

"Consider my usual mein and how melodrama might look on myself, rather than others." they counter. The Sage isn't entirely wrong, but  that argument is weak. "Regardless, let's find more accurate phrasing without my self pity. I feel regret, which makes me feel useless and impotent. I feel hopeless, so I can't imagine a future for myself."

Maybe its the influence of the Soul Jam of Truth, or maybe the way the Sage of Truth blows away all the morose chaff, but it's easier, somehow, to express themself. For their tongue to loosen and actually say how they're feeling instead of getting stuck and withdrawing.

Donteatacowman

"Melodrama's a performance, Recluse! Out of the two of us, you really think you're the performer?" The spotlight over the Recluse flickers weakly. 

Having had no time for discovery, the Sage has to argue what happened to this mysterious friend through inference alone, the only facts being what the Recluse has hinted at. 

"For the sake of argument, let's accept those feelings as justified." The Sage pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, swaying and proving his point about melodrama. "Woe is us! Mere livestock for the gods above! I couldn't save my dearest from the oh-so-deliciously-forbidden Truth, so now I must eternally spend my days locked away from the world to save it from itself!" The Sage had gone into a tight spin in the air above the table, finally dropping backwards in a swoon. (His papers stayed hovering where he had left them.) His head fell right where the Recluse's plate had been, eyes clenched shut.

They popped open again when he deadpanned, "So, do I have all that right? Don't wanna put words in your mouth!"

Steeple

"Now you're getting into semantics. You must know how it is used colloquially for disproportionate emotions."

Not that the Truthless Recluse cares about this argument too much - the Sage is clearly making a point - but he also clearly enjoys these kind of quibbles.

For nothing else the Sage of Truth said was false. He got it in one: the Truthless Recluse feels tired, sagging into their seat even as they look down where the Sage lays.

"More or less. If we're the same as you say... then what do I do?" the Recluse twists the fabric in their lap further, "How can you possibly find the will to keep going?"

Donteatacowman

Of course the Sage loved quibbles, but in this case, he set it aside to deal with proving the main point. 

"You want my advice?" 

The Sage smirked as though his head wasn't in the same place as it would be if brought in on a platter. Instead of springing up, he stayed there, eyes meeting the Recluse's. Where'd the Recluse's stubbornness go all of a sudden? 

"Skip the arguments. We already know the conclusion. Join the side of Truth! Stop throwing Cookies off the Peak! If you're so ready to give up, commit to it! Give up Deceit."

Steeple

Right where the Truthless Recluse had been eating the flesh of a sheep they had killed with their own hands. They thought about those parallels many times before, but unlike sheep, the Witches had baked them on purpose, gave them the awareness to know horror of this scale. The image and its argument weren't lost on them.

"...Well argued." the Truthless Recluse conceded, "When there is another incident like my friend, when a Cookie decides that any life is forfeit in favor of seeking to spite our Gods, what then? Will you take responsibility and crumble them yourself?"

Donteatacowman

The smirk disappeared. 

"Depends on if I agree with their reasoning." 

A beat. The smile returned, wider and more predatory. "Hey, I'm the Cookie of Truth. 's long as I've got the soul jam, you can trust me. I'm gonna make the right decisions for the both of us!"

Steeple

Agreed - !? The Truthless Recluse slams a fist on the table near the Sage of Truth's head.

"Agreed!? If you're going to destroy hundreds, thousands of cookies, then how is that any better than the Witches? She claimed she could revive them all, assuming she could even ward off the Witches in the first place! As if that loss were nothing, no matter how long it had been, no matter how much paint hat caused! How could you possibly - ?"

The Recluse coughs, having spoken too forcefully and too much.

"Truth or not, I cannot trust you if you could make her same mistakes."

Donteatacowman

"You can't trust me? Aw..." 

The Sage rolled away from that fist, now on his belly on the table, his chin in his hands. 

Slowly, rolling each word deliberately over his tongue, the Sage said, "Who. Cares!" 

He reached up to poke the Recluse squarely in the nose. "If you were never baked, you couldn't stop her either. You just admitted that! You couldn't stop me, either. Even now, you've got no will to keep going. Whether you agree with my methods or not, I've got nothing in my way anymore."

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse could bite his finger. They know the average jaw strength, if fully committed, could shear to the bone. The Sage likely would try to just pull away, possibly degloving the skin, if not mangling more flesh. It'd be so easy, with the element of surprise.

The Truthless Recluse settles for an unamused frown.

"So we come full circle, and I should find purpose in stopping you so I can stop others. Because even if I couldn't stop my friend after her revelation, I can easily stop cookies from getting there at all."

Donteatacowman

"But that purpose made you feel hopeless," the Sage corrected. "Like you're better off not having been baked. Resigning yourself to depression forever - Is that your real Truth?"

The Sage doesn't think so, or at least doesn't believe it's the whole story. The stage is still set; the spotlights are still on.

Steeple

It's not. They both know that. Yet what is the point? If the Sage of Truth can't stop history repeating itself, then the Truthless Recluse will have to.

...Wait. They have a half-formed idea, but the Recluse will not voice it until it's fully hatched.

"I am the Cookie of Deceit after all. What would I be without my Soul Jam?"

Donteatacowman

The Sage was still jonesing for a debate. He didn't want surrender or cooperation - he wanted fierce argument. The Recluse was so damned resigned so far. 

Did the Sage even want his soul jam back? It's a question he hadn't needed to ask himself yet. Obviously! That was his soul in there! 

But this Cookie... The Sage hadn't met anyone like them before. They were so strong, yet so fragile. And as contrary as their methods were, the kid had gotten so far with only half a soul jam. They were as ambitious as the Sage himself. 

The Sage narrowed his eyes, pushing himself back up into the air. "I told you earlier. 'Where your soul jam belongs' is outside the scope of this argument. We're talking about you right now - the gestalt - and for now, your soul jam's a big part of you!"

Steeple

"So you keep saying. Very well."

The Sage of Truth had a point: the matter of the Soul Jam wasn't the focus. They couldn't give it up for a number of reasons, but that was a separate matter.

"My Truth... is difficult to think about. I've been doing this duty for so long I struggle to separate myself from it. I can't imagine what I'd do otherwise."

Donteatacowman

"Fair enough. But you're getting off topic, aren't you?" 

The Sage crossed his arms. "Unless you've given up on your argument already. Are you convinced you want to have been baked? Can we pack it up here, let these guys off early?" He jabbed a thumb at the briefcase and typewriter, which clattered and dinged happily at the concept.

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse smiled very slightly at the animated typewriter. That's right, they were arguing for a reason. The Recluse was rusty at this, prone to spiraling by themself.

"I feel like I'm going in circles myself. I convince myself and then doubt myself only to come around again. Had I not been baked... It's possible my friend could have discovered the secret anyway, but without anyone to stop her. Maybe if I had left earlier or tried to stop her, she would have continued on stubbornly, or done even worse damage. It's impossible to know."

They take a breath. Thoughts they've had before, many times, but getting it all down seemed to... sort them out. Pin down the arguments into an orderly manner.

"Then my conclusion is... it's impossible to know if the reasons I wished to never have been baked would have occurred regardless of my existence. The solution wouldn't to have not been baked. Therefore, wishing for such a thing is borne from my own doubt and misery and not sound rhetoric."

Donteatacowman

The Sage narrowed his eyes. 

Yes, the Recluse had been spiraling. Cutting them off at the next rotation is hardly a victory. 

"This was your practice round," he announced. At once, the props disappeared, the stage lights were replaced with the normal warm light of the kitchen, and the plates of mutton were back where they had been before. "Next time, you've gotta give me something to whet my teeth on! Sheesh, Recluse." He extended an arm and flopped the hand out at the wrist dismissively, settling back into his chair opposite them. "Think your words through next time! You got me all excited for nothing." 

Steeple

Normally when the Truthless Recluse wishes violence on someone, it's rare and ruthless. Right now it's the kind of aggravation that comes from a friend and they merely want to shake them until that monocle pops right off.

"You're just disappointed I resolved the matter myself instead of arguing further."

They take another bite of their taco. The mutton is still warm even; this mollifies them further.

"If you want a more difficult task, think of how to introduce cookies to the Truth without them repeating my friend's mistake or crumbling them."

Donteatacowman

The Sage sang out, "You know me so well already!" 

He was done with dinner by a long shot. Even though he didn't get the opponent he'd gotten so psyched up for, the Sage of Truth still seemed pretty pleased at the results. It wasn't that often that Cookies were so open to correcting the mistakes in their ways of thinking. 

"You'd better wait 'til I get my homework done about her. You're about the most biased source I could find! Hiding the facts is your bread and butter, after all."

Steeple

"And I'll find your true name. I have some ideas already, considering this was your home."

While the Truthless Recluse would give this place another look over, it was a blatant lie. They had another source to consider.

"By the way, do you prefer capon or turkey? If you let me know your visit ahead of time, I can hunt if you want wild turkey, and have the fowl roasted for your meal."

Caponizing a cockerel is a small feat, only requiring a simple spell, but the resulting bird is succulent and fit for a proper guest table. Some people preferred gamier meat, so going into the second growth where the turkeys proliferated was a simple task.

Donteatacowman

Huh...! How generous.

The Sage was no gourmand and had no preference whatsoever between the birds, except as far as the capon may be some kind of veiled threat in the making. 

"Actually," the Sage said. He didn't plan to keep coming to the Peak to mooch, but if this was the Recluse's way of making him feel welcome, who was he to say no? "I'd much rather sample some of your academic work." Even if the Recluse's senior thesis wasn't suitable for a meal, surely some kind of plant they'd cultivated at the Academy might be. 

He tilted his head with a smile. "Do you drink? I'll bring a bottle of juice." Blueberry, naturally. 

Steeple

Oh, the vanilla broadbeans? Yes, the Truthless Recluse could prepare those. Eaten plainly, they had a mild aromatic, floral sweetness enjoyable on their own or paired with stronger and spicier flavors. When roasted, the vanilla flavor increased exponentially, an easy source for vanillin for extracts and pastes, or just using whole as a spice. Already they're sketching out a menu.

"I do. If you care about pairings, bring something light for the fowl."

And if the juice proved a good aperitif, the Truthless Recluse might bring out something really special to follow it.

Donteatacowman

Something about the ridiculously casual way the Recluse was planning this - it tickled inside the Sage's ribs. Right after he'd been fully prepared to crush them in a debate, no less! (And, admittedly, also after the Sage had lost a much lower-stakes debate and made an absolute fool of himself in the process.)

It felt like getting suckered into something. But, like with the Recluse's spiraling, the feeling didn't line up with the facts. If the Recluse were trying to tease the Sage away from teaching his students, they would be the one to propose the time, and they'd give him a much more arduous task than heading back to the Academy and checking a few transcripts. 

"Sunset, same day next week?" he offered. "Is it a date?"

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse was just glad he was amenable to such a proposal. That, and not trying to suggest meeting in the middle of the day, or milking time.

"That will do." they say, before finishing off his taco.

He stands, going into the pantry and coming back with a small wheel of cheese.

"Until next week. Here." they push it onto the Sage, "It's properly aged, so it's ready for eating."

Donteatacowman

The Sage stood, too, leaving behind his empty plate. (The other-realm was a much easier alternative to doggy bags.)

"What's this for?" He peered at the cheese handed to him, surprised. "You know housewarming gifts go to the new homeowner, not the old one, right?"

Steeple

That did save the Truthless Recluse from having to clear his plate.

"...You're a guest. I can't leave you go empty handed."

Clearly, it was just manners.

Donteatacowman

The Sage surged forward and placed the cheese back in the Recluse's hands, long fingers curling around theirs. 

"I broke into 'your' home," he said cheerfully. "And you've already just spoiled me rotten for it."

Steeple

The Truthless Recluse looks back at the Sage of Truth, then down at the cheese, and then their eyes skim away. Their face is placid, but their Soul Jam thrums with bashfulness.

"It's really not much cost to me. Just take it." then, after a moment, pushing it back. "Try it and tell me how it tastes."

Donteatacowman

Well, now. That was an odd sensation. From the Recluse's soul jam, that excised piece of the Sage called out to him wordlessly. It wasn't the Light of Truth. Even though it was tinged with Deceit, the feeling itself was no lie. 

That was a neat trick. The Sage wondered if the Recluse could even tell what they were broadcasting in that still, small voice. 

"If it means that much to you, sure, I'll give 'er a taste."

A portal opened up behind the Sage, waiting for him to take his leave. He lingered. 

"If you happen to be selling your wares in earshot of one of my lectures, you should really give it a listen. I'll try and work some of that mountain safety stuff in for you this week."

As if he would restrain himself to cold facts when performing for his dear students! No, there would be plenty of poetry and lecturing on dualities and antipodes in the coming days, too.

Steeple

"See that you do." is what the Truthless Recluse says, but it does leave them relieved.

Once the Sage of Truth takes his leave, the Truthless Recluse sighs and takes their seat again. They have much to think on.

Their first hunt for answers is to go over the house itself. When the Truthless Recluse first found it, the house was convenient, nothing more. It was empty, for the most part, filled with little more than dust and cobwebs and vines falling into the windows. Now, the only hint the Recluse could find was a single carving of "B M C". It's very scant information, for the carving might not have been done by the Sage of Truth at all. Still, it's something to go on.

Of all magic, the Truthless Recluse had mastered the clean cold path of the white full moon. Yet, that very skill paved the way to the forbidden crescent moon magic they and White Lily had dipped in together. Still a celestial magic, chill and distant, but far more obscure and secretive. How the Sage of Truth managed to pry its strength is another mystery to solve. If their suspicions are correct.... there's no magic outside of his purview.

The moon phases just happened to align with what the Truthless Recluse wanted to achieve. Perhaps the Sage of Truth timed it thus, to take the same advantage afterward. With the moon half waxed, the Truthless Recluse set to work that night.

With the window wide open to let the halflight of the moon in, the Truthless Recluse sketched out their magic circle in the pool of moonlight. Equidistant between light and dark, full and crescent, the burgeoning moonlight was ripe for scrying magic. The kind of spell to illuminate hidden truths and dispel dark obfuscation. White overcoming dark, until the time for shrouding came again.

"Show me the rest of the true name, waned from my knowledge." the Truthless Recluse chanted, "Wax the letters back to fullness, let them shine forth within me."

That done, the Recluse settled down on the pallet and pillow central to the circle, and lay down bathed in moonlight. In dreams were these spells the strongest, the moon having influence on sleep.

When their habits awoke them, the Truthless Recluse was in the dark once more, only the blue of the predawn light visible in the sky. They sat up and dusted themselves off.

They had chores to do.

Donteatacowman

As much as the Sage loved the various applications of magic, his method of research was comparatively mundane. The Recluse had admitted that they'd attended the Blueberry Yogurt Academy of Magic (and there was only one Academy that could mean) and what their senior thesis had been. Broadbeans and the vanilla orchid. Even if the Sage hadn't planned to find out the Truthless Recluse's origins, he would have had to find them out in the course of his research, then pinpoint from there who the Recluse had studied alongside. 

The Academy was intact, as teeming with intellectual life as ever, even if the number of students was smaller than in years gone by. For his visit, the Sage chose to attend as a prospective student, a young girl who wouldn't get the same glances of potential recognition that may get tossed at the Sage of Truth. (Yeah, she's ashamed. So what? Back off!) She almost needn't have bothered. The professors here were showing their age. She spent, in retrospect, far too long going down a rabbit trail of horticulture, poring over the entire thesis as soon as she found it in hopes of insight into the Recluse's history, caring more about their writing style and choice of citations than the name on the front page. 

When she got around to researching that tidbit, checking academic transcripts and permanent records... Well, that information was much more readily usable than the lengthy discussion of pollination in legumes. 

After all, that friend of the Recluse's had a lot of history at the Academy. Even if it was unexpectedly ancient, to the point that any other classmate of theirs had been buried beneath the sands of time, her story was still actively discussed. The Sage plucked a few flowers from the garden, barely hidden in the brush littering the Academy's grounds, in case the two of them chose to do Show-and-Tell.