May and Bake 1&2

#1

>You are anon, because of your woefully generic name, your friends call you Bake-Anon to distinguish you from all the other anons.
>You don’t mind it, you were after all the team cook whenever there was an exte-...
>You stop thinking about that, you’re not a part of that life anymore.
>You sigh
>It’s been how long? Mere months maybe, feeling like years.
>Your sister ran the Bakery with your mother and father, but she ran away to become a pilot
>She was always an airhead, you smile sadly
>Since the Breach, the Bakery was trashed and your parents were hurt. You had to take over the shop to pay for the medical bills.
>Apparently your sister had become something of an Atlesian fighter ace. She visited for a few moments while you were sweeping the dusty floor after the Breach. Medals pinned on her jacket.
>As quick as she arrived, she left. Having only exchanged a few words.
>All of your cousins, now even your sister, are Hunters, pilots, or soldiers.
>You were once like them. Now you are a baker.

>The small Bakery-Cafe shop is mostly empty throughout the day. Most of the shops income in made through custom orders, like wedding cakes, or birthday cakes.
>You had made yourself an espresso just a few seconds ago, setting it on the glass display, when someone walked into the shop
>She wore comfortable clothes, a red and white sweater, blue pants. A rifle slung over her shoulder.
>Probably a Huntress needing some coffee.
>You walk over to the cash register, ready to take her order
>Instead she walks right past you and sits in the corner, silent.
>That doesn’t happen very often.
>You open your mouth to greet her and ask if she needs anything, but you stop when you notice that she’s slouched over and looking down at the table
>You rub your chin in thought and whip something up real quick
>In 10 minutes you have a box of the thing you threw together in the back and a shot of espresso.
>You put it down on her table and sit across from her, she looks up at it.
>You notice her eyes are red, maybe from crying?
“Strawberry and whipped cream Crêpe, drizzled with chocolate. And an espresso for some energy.”
>She glances up at you, looking like a deer caught in headlights, then at the box. You open it, the crêpe is wrapped like a horn, with the strawberries in the horn.
“You’re a hunter right? You guys are always moving.”
>She’s speechless.
“Take it, on the house.”
>She blushes and stammers out a quiet thanks, taking the shot of espresso in one go and taking the box, her rifle, and bolting out the door.
>All within a few seconds
>You sit there flabbergasted, letting out an, ‘Okay.”
>A few hours later you find a small note taped to the door of the shop
>Written on the note is a proper thanks, and her name on the bottom. May Zedong.
>Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you could see red on green, and the tiny glint of a scope in a distant tree.
>Maybe being a Baker won’t be so boring anymore.

>Today was horrible for May Zedong.
>Team BRNZ lost the Vytal Festival battle
>To a bunch of unprofessionals
>They were having a talk right in the middle of the battle, who does that?
>After they had recovered, Brawnz pulled May aside and chewed her out
>Calling her a horrible shot
>If she had been able to hit anyone, they wouldn’t have lost
>If she wasn’t spotted, she would have been able to put more fire down on them
>If she was quicker, she would have denied them some of their advantages
>It was too much, she pushed him aside and stormed out, taking a transport into the town.
>She hoped to find a quiet corner to just let it all blow over.
>Brawnz wasn’t the calmest person in Vacuo, he was probably yelling at Roy and Nolan now too
>They probably didn’t care that she left.
>Soon after walking around she found an empty cafe and stormed in, sitting in the corner.
>What if she actually was a horrible shot? If she was actually slow, not fit to be a Huntress.
>These thoughts of doubt were weighing heavily on her
>She tried her best not to cry. A huntress wouldn’t cry.
>Then she heard two quiet thumps, looking up, she saw a white box and a cup of espresso.
“Strawberry and whipped cream Crêpe, drizzled with chocolate. And an espresso for some energy.”
>May looked up at who put them down, the owner of the shop? He seemed awfully young to be the owner. And awfully cute.
>She looked back down at the box, the Baker opening it. It looks absolutely delicious, masterfully made. She had never seen anything quite like it.
“You’re a hunter right? You guys are always moving. Take it, on the house.”
>Her mind went a million miles an hour. Why was he giving it to her for free? Did he fancy her? She felt her face heat up.

>The only appropriate response was to down the espresso, grab the box and exfiltrate immediately.
>She tried to say thanks, but botched it.
>Then she expertly, May downed the shot, took her rifle and crêpe and darted out the door.
>The crêpe was delicious, like a thin cake. And the whipped cream, strawberries and chocolate blended together wonderfully in her mouth.
>She wanted more, and what other foods could this baker make?
>The fact that he was cute didn’t hurt either.
>She got a piece of paper, pen and tape. Writing down a proper thank you, and signing it.
>200 meters from the objective.
>She was shaking in anticipation. Should she hand him the note personally? Or just tape it to the door?
>She sped walked to the door.
>As she passed the objective she quickly taped the note to it, then walking off.
>As soon as she was out of sight she masterfully used her rifle to climb up a tree.
>A vantage point, providing moderate concealment.
>She took off the scope from her rifle and peered through it. Staring.
>Once he walked out and grabbed the note, she saw his smile.
>She admired his walk. A walk full of confidence, a trained walk only a warrior had. He had a way of checking his corners, glancing both ways before fully walking out.
>She found herself smiling along with him.
>That night she walked back, positively glowing.
>Maybe today wasn’t so bad.

===

#2

>It was a particularly cold day, the shop didn’t have a heater installed
>It was again, a slow day. Not many visitors, not many orders.
>You spent the day experimenting with some new recipes, and browsing some anonymous forums.
>Wondering if she would visit the shop today and wondering why she was feeling down.
>You’re still on those forums.
>And you just discovered why she was feeling upset.
>You stumbled upon a recording of her match in the Vytal Festival, you had completely forgotten about the tournament.
>You don’t usually follow the Hunter/Huntress scene, but you come to the conclusion that this Team JNPR had far better teamwork than Team BRNZ.
>And all four members of Team BRNZ was taken out with a single swing, that would discourage anyone.
>You look out the window and see the sunset, knowing that the temperature would soon drop.
>One of your cousins has always been a candle addict, and she always mails you a sizable box of candles per month.
>You wonder how she gets all these candles
>On second thought maybe you shouldn’t wonder.
>You go into the back and take out some candles. Lighting them and placing them around the shop.
>You dim the lights and let the light of the candles do its thing
>That’s when you notice another note on the door.

>You go outside into the cold and take a look at the note.
>It’s from May, asking if you have any more crepes.
>You note how pretty her handwriting is, yours looks like chicken scratch.
>Except for when you’re writing on a cake with frosting or chocolate, your handwriting is on point then.
>You scan the trees lining the street looking for her, but it’s too dark.
“You’re going to have to come on inside and order one!”
>You yell out to her, a smile on your face.
>You walk back into your shop, gathering the ingredients for something else.
>Everyone likes chocolate.
>You make a cup of hot chocolate with one of your own mugs, topped with whipped cream and shredded dark chocolate, with a candy cane soaking in the cocoa.
>You know the candy cane will melt into the cocoa, adding peppermint into it
>It’s a month early to be making peppermint cocoa but it was the first thing that came to mind.
>Ten minutes later you hear the bells on your front door jingle
>You walk over to the counter with the mug of cocoa in your hand.
>She’s shivering. From the cold? From excitement? You noted how she zoomed out before, probably from nervousness.
“Here. Hot cup of cocoa to warm you up.”
>She takes the mug and slams down a small walkie talkie on the counter before speed walking out the door again
>You had your mouth open, to ask a question
>But she left before you could say anything
>It takes you a few moments, but you realize that you had the lights dimmed
>And candles lit
>She took your mug

>You figure out that she gets really nervous when in the presence of strangers
>She talks through radio most of the time
>That first impression you made on her must have given her a mini heart attack
>It took hours to clear up that situation with the candles that night
>You lit them for warmth not for romance
>You find out that she has a huge interest in ranged weaponry and dust ballistics
>Not surprising since she carries a sniper rifle that fires what could only be dust rounds
>One morning you ask her out to the range
“Impress me with your shooting.”
>You said, you hear a clatter shortly after
>You could have sworn you heard a distant squeal of joy on the other end
>Seconds later she gives you the time
>Today at 1100 hours.
>Well looks like you’re closing early today.
>You close up shop and change out of your work clothes
>When you get to the outdoor firing range you hear a single gun firing
>You enter the range and find that it’s mostly empty, probably due to the festival going on
>Everyone’s partying and nobody is training
>Except for May. You spot her pretty quickly sitting on a chair with a bipod on her rifle set up on a table.
>You look down range and it seems that her shots are pretty accurate
>Up until around 800 meters away.
>She hears you arrive, but doesn’t say anything. It’s obvious that she tried to hit targets exceeding 800 meters
>You can see craters surrounding the targets.
>She’s disappointed in herself.
>Thinking quickly you grab a spotters scope from a nearby rack and place it on her table
“Snipers need spotters. Let me be your spotter.”

>You hope you remember how to be a spotter.
>You sit down, the small table making you touch elbows
>She tries to let out a protest but stops when you put your eye to the scope
“Single target. 12 O’clock. Steel plate target on fence. Yellow.”
>She looks at you in half surprise and half disbelief
>A couple of months ago you could have snapped that off quicker. More precise.
>But this will do.
“R-Repeat.”
“Single target. 12 O’clock. Steel plate target on fence. Yellow.”
>It’s the target over 1km away.
>You flick on the laser range finder
>You give her the range and the wind.
“Send.”
>BANG
>The shot didn’t even go close to the target.
>You look at May, she’s breathing erratically and her face is as red as her sweater
>But still peering down her scope.
>You get up and put your hands on her shoulders, over the soft fabric
>She stops breathing and is still
>You tell her to relax. You start to massage her shoulders
>You’re no masseuse but everyone knows the basic shoulder massage thing
>She lets out a gasp and then a moan
>Guess you’re not half bad at this
>You wonder if her skin is as soft as her scarf
>Your curiosity gets the better of you as you brush her neck with your fingers
>She jumps a little and you stammer out a sorry
“N-No, I didn’t say stop.”
>You continue massaging her shoulders, occasionally brushing her neck and her hair
>It is as soft as her scarf
>She let out stifled moans as you worked the knots out of her shoulders
>BANG
>That shot startled you
>You look down range and find a hole in the bullseye of the middle of the 800 meter target.
“Good shot.”
>Ten minutes later you two pack up and head back to the shop.
>Walking back, she grabs your sleeve
>You look at her
>Her face is still red, but she gives you a smile that would melt chocolate
>You haven’t had that much excitement in a while, and you find yourself smiling back
>Goddamnit
>She took your mug
>And now she’s probably taken your heart.