/K/arver- Cocoa sweet home Pt1

>The officer asks if I'm okay, for the nth time now, and I say I am, moving to the cruiser
>One last look at the police station as we depart leaves me feeling as though a small, but incredibly important part of me is now missing
>The hospital found nothing wrong, but I still feel slightly incomplete, even now
>6 months later, today, all of this comes to a close
>The investigation is complete, and now I get to reclaim the evidence
>Thank God I've had the hobby of bringing the local station cookies a few times a year since the age of 12
>Walk into the station (with a tray full of ginger honey cookies, homemade, of course)
>Walk to the evidence room with an officer, a friend from high school
>I've been feeling it for a while now
>This feeling of nearing completion
>Getting back to 100%
>Getting back to where I should be
>Turn the corner into the evidence room, when I suddenly feel an impact on my stomach
>The impact is entirely unexpected, forcing my brain to struggle for information to deal with this sudden occurrence, barely managing not to reflexively throw an elbow
>Look down to see a head of silvery white hair, presumably attached to some manner if creature, just at my sternum
>Pressure is felt along my sides to my back at the level of the lower ribs, produced by appendages of some variety which attempt to wrap all the way around my back, drawing the head deeper into my solar plexus
>The sound of a breath, quick and yet slow, is heard from region of my now slightly indented abdomen
>There is a slight dampness spreading in the area of my upper abdomen, and a smell reminiscent of a cross between CLP and Cosmoline
>My ears, struggling to gain information for my sluggish and startled brain, are able to pick up only two syllables from this small, silver adorned creature
>"Pa...pa"
>A voice so soft and fragile, it seemed to be swept away by the noise of the dehumidifier in the evidence room
>"Hey Anon, why are you just standing there? You can come through the door, you know? Here, wait by the desk while I fetch your gun."
>Startled slightly by the voice of the officer, I look up
>The pressure around my waist disappears as though it was a lie, but the warmth remains to tell me that it wasn't
>I respond to him and then move over to the evidence receiving desk, making no indication that the precinct poltergeist had just shown itself
>I shoot the shit with the evidence clerk for a bit
>Turns out he just picked up a p10c, says he really likes it
>As we discuss glorious Czechnology, the officer comes back with my Makarov in an evidence bag
>"Alright, Anon, I'm gonna walk you out of the building now, try not to come in too often. Wait, nevermind that, bring snickerdoodles next time."
>After he walks me to my car, he hands me the evidence bag containing my Makarov, sticky holster, and 3 magazines


>After handing me the bag he reminds me to hit him up sometime
>I tell him I'm up for drinks anytime, and he heads back into the station
>I get into my car and open up the bag, placing my Makarov on the seat beside me to admire her for a bit
>I insert the keys and turn over the engine, bringing my car to life
>The Bluetooth, as usual, is taking forever to connect
>As I take off the handbrake and shift into reverse, my neck is seized around it's circumference as if to put me into a sleeper hold, and I feel pressure against my upper torso starting from my upper right arm and leading into my torso
>I reflexively shift back into park and reassess the situation I am facing
>Looking down I see a head of silver hair
>My nasal cavities pick up the familiar smells of CLP and cosmoline
>My ears, feeling as though I have my Liberators IIs on and turned up to max pick up a constant string of syllables, varying in intensity from soft whispering to loud crying
>"pa...pa....pa.Pa....PaPA...PAPA"
>My skin feels damp at the location of my lower right collarbone, which is being nuzzled into by this small, silver crowned being, all while continuing to grow damper still
>My brain tells me that this is likely not a carjacking, and to not react violently toward this creature which is probably only a human child
>The grip of the child strengthens around my neck, reducing blood flow to the brain and forcing me to make a quick decision
>Against my better judgement, I take my hands off the controls if the vehicle and wrap them around the back of the small, trembling animal in front of me, bringing her closer to me while also securing blood flow for my carotid artery and fresh oxygen for my brain
>In a cool calming tone, I reassure the child that everything will be ok
>"W-will Papa a-a-abandon Cocoa ag-gain? C-Cocoa just did her b-best, a-and p-pro-p-protected Papa from the bad man, why was Cocoa p-put in that dark room w-without p-p-Papa?!?"
>My brain freezes from the new input it just received
>Based off of what this child is saying, she knows me, and continues to call me Papa, and seems to bear a similar name to my Makarov, or, rather, the same name
>I run through my options, and decide that the best thing to do is to stay in this position until the child calms down
>Not that I actually have a choice, as inhuman strength resides in the small arms encircled around my neck, leaving me with few viable options to begin with
>A few minutes go by, and the child slowly releases it's stranglehold around my neck, giving me the ability to slightly distance myself from her
>I am able to get a good look at her face for the first time
>A face bearing a mix or Eurasian and east German features is reflected in my eyes, all framed by silvery white hair
>She appears to be roughly 9 years old from the facial structure, and should be at the age that she would still be almost entirely dependant on her parents, with separation from said parents being undoubtedly a devastating occurrence
>Even though I can't recall having seen her before, I feel a connection with this child, in a way that I just can't quite put my finger on
>I see that her eyes, irises bearing a light blue hue, have become reddened from crying
>I reach into the center console and grab a tissue to dot her eyes and cheeks with and also to allow her to clear her nose
>She accepts the assistance by closing her eyes and sticking her face toward me to be cleaned, as if this is a practiced move
>I make an off hand remark that she seems used to this
>"It's because Papa is the one that always cleans up after me if I make myself a mess."
>I ask if she knows where her father is and she cocks her head to the side cutely in confusion
>"What are you saying Papa, you're right here?"


>I think to myself and start to put together the pieces
>Eurasian features
>Familiar name
>That pentagram I made out of salt and various metals a year back that I prayed to the /k/ube through while blaring Death Grips and chanting in Latin to mess with my roommates
>And, most importantly of all, the timing
>I made a leap of judgement, I'll either be correct or it'll be the funhouse for me
>I know it now
>She's my Cocoa
>My precious little Cocoa
>I'm baffled by this and don't know how to respond at the moment
>The station must also be concerned that I've been sitting here for what must have been at least 10 minutes
>I ask Cocoa if she would like to go home now
>"I want to go! Anywhere but that old evidence room!"
>I agree with her assessment
>I push her back in the seat and buckle the seatbelt
>I hope this isn't violating too many traffic laws
>I ask her if it's too tight, or if she's good sitting there
>"I'm used to belts being tight, Papa, but I'd rather sit there!"
>She points to my lap, or, on second glance, above my groin, right to where I usually carry
>I tell her that we can talk about that later, and she smiles and agrees
> I finally put my car into reverse, the Bluetooth long having connected, playing my stolen music playlist (all Fallout stuff)
>I, no, we pull out if the parking lot to the latter part of "Let's Ride Into the Sunset Together", being ushered out to the twanging of a country ballad and riding east, in the opposite direction of the setting sun
>We make it home from the police station, no worse for wear
>Station is literally a mile away, that's why I bake cookies for them
>Set vehicle into park and look over at Cocoa, who has been holding on to my arm the whole time
>She seems nervous, presumably still traumatized by her captivity in the evidence room
>I try to step out of the car but can't seem to make it to the ground
>Cocoa has a death grip on my arm, her body trembling and tears forming in the corners of her sapphire blue eyes beginning to materialize tears
>"Papa, you're not leaving, right? You're not leaving Cocoa again, right?"
>I tell her that I'm not leaving, but I still have to get out to open up the garage door and get the mail
>"C-can you take me with you?"
>I give my words of confirmation and unbuckle her seatbelt
>I stead of getting out the door and walking around, she crawls across the center console and wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my ribcage
>She's light, and I don't care much about the neighbors,sohis isn't a problem
>I'm used to ruck marches, so carrying a small child should be easy, I think to myself
>Extricate myself from the car, careful not to bang Cocoa on the doorframe
>Go type in the code for the garage with minor difficulty, then walk out to check the mail
>Checking in the mail is much more difficult, as I have to lean down to make sure nothing is stuck to the back
>Usually easy, but the koala on my chest isn't making it easy
>aussiesfearthedropbear.jpeg
>Basic mail:Tricare telling me about new vision plans, the NRA begging for money (they can have my dues when they repeal the Hughes), and a new Sam's Club ad
>Stop back by car and pick up the rest of the evidence and the evidence bag before going inside
>Cocoa is markedly more relaxed now and allows me to detach her from my torso


>I place Cocoa on a chair in the dining room
>I clean most of my guns here, so she seems really relaxed right now
>Get carried away and before I think it through ask her if she wants something to eat
>"I want to try the human food that Papa eats!"
>Well, she's certainly cheered up from the time at the station, almost leading one to believe that her former crying appearance was a lie
>Think about what Cocoa would like to eat
>She's Russian derived, right?
>Or maybe Bulgarian cuisine would serve her better?
>I know how to cook pelmenis, kebabs, stuffed peppers, you name it
>But, would a kid really want to eat that?
>From my time with her I know that she isn't a picky eater, figuratively speaking
>Well, hopefully figuratively is now literally, or my food budget this month is going to be tight
>But still, what do kids like to and want to eat?
>And something that I can enjoy too
>My stocks of dinosaur nuggets are entirely depleted and I don't have any hotdogs either
>I raid the pantry, finding a flash of inspiration, and grab all of the items that I think will be useful
>Set two pots on the stove, one with water set to boil and one which will be the saucepan, while preheating the oven to 350°F
>Throw the curved pasta into the boiling water while the saucepan has uncertain ratios of cheese, butter, and heavy cream put into it
>Cocoa watches, eyes affixed to the magic occurring on the stove top
>Drain the pasta after it's cooked and then combine it with the now gooey cheese sauce in a Pyrex baking dish, apply breadcrumbs, and place it in the oven
>Cocoa, now entirely spellbound by what is occurring, walks to the front of the oven and stares through the window as it Cooks
>A few dozen minutes later, I pull out the dish from the oven and separate the contents into bowls
>I place a bowl with a spoon in front of Cocoa, who has followed this champion of children's dishes all the way from pantry to table like a puppy following it's master
>Cocoa unreservedly takes hold of the spoon and jams all of the contents supported by it into her tiny open maw
>She chews, an expression of delight spreading across her face, her smile reaching past her eyes and an imaginary halo appearing on top of her head
>I knew this would work
>My go to dish for kids and invalids alike
>The one
>The only
>Mak and cheese

>Cocoa is enthralled by the Mak and cheese that I threw together, completely forgetting table manners, if she even knew them in the first place
>She miraculously doesn't drop anything onto either the table or the ground, though the same can't be said for her face
>The border of her mouth is soon covered in cheese sauce, piling up at an alarming rate, though nowhere near the mach speed at which food is being forced into her mouth by the spoon, which could be more adequately described as a miniature shovel at this point
>I continue to watch this spectacle contentedly, and after a short time all of the Mak has been devoured
>Cocoa looks towarb me with a smile framed in cheese
>"Thanks, Papa, that was really tasty!"
>I am compelled by an unknown force to help her clean up her face
>I reach down and pick a napkin off of the table and bring it to Cocoa's face in order to wipe around her mouth
>She brings her face closer to the hand extended towards her and closes her eyes
>absolutecarnage.jpeg
>I wipe around the rim of the mouth, also making sure not to miss the cheese sauce that somehow has landed itself on her upper cheek just below her eye
>I finish wiping her up and withdraw my hand
>Feeling the pressure disappear, Cocoa opens up her eyes and smiles at me
>"Thank you, Papa!"
>I tell her to go wash her hands and her face while I clean up the dishes
>She trots away to the bathroom, and I execute my plan
>I move quickly to the freezer and take out the single greatest thing contained within
>28 beautiful ounces of Häagen-Dazs vanilla ice cream
>I heat up the ice cream scoop with warm water and grab two glass bowls from the cabinet
>I use the scoop to put three perfect spheres of creamy goodness into each bowl
>Cocoa comes trotting back from the bathroom, her face still slightly damp around the mouth
>I tell her that I've prepared desert for both of us
>"I've never had that before, Papa, is it good?"
>I tell her not to worry, and assure her that it's the best
>I slide the bowl of ice cream over to her seat, and place a small spoon in it
>She sits down, somewhat confused by the white balls in the bowl
>"Papa, are you sure this is food? They're so pretty?"
>While I also agree that the glistening globes are pretty, but their worth isnt only in their appearance
>Urge her to try them
>She picks up her spoon and digs into the silky spheres with minor difficulty
>Cocoa brings the a small piece of vanilla ambrosia up to her eyes to observe it first, and then unhesitantly brings the spoon to her mouth
>As she closes her lips around the spoon, her eyes instantly widen
>"It's cold!"
>Well yeah, it's ice cream
>"It's sweet, really tasty!"
>Well I sure hope so
>Cocoa continues to work her way through her ice cream, when suddenly she freezes with her spoon still in her mouth
>I ask her if she got a brain freeze
>She shakes her head from left to right, eyes slowly clouding with tears
>The spoon falls from her mouth and clatters on the floor
>"C-Cocoa was s-s-so lonely-y. I...I-"
>I immediately grab her head and hug her into my chest, bringing her ear right next to my heart
>I run my fingers through her hair in a slow and soothing manner in an effort to calm her down
>A damp area forms on my chest, but her breathing is slowly stabilizing
>My brain turns over, and I realize the root of the problem
>Cocoa probably has abandonment issues, from being left in cosmoline for so long
>After the stay in the evidence room, she seems to have deveolped some new mental scars
>Finally realize what I forgot to tell her this entire time
>"Welcome home, Cocoa"
>Cocoa looks up at me from my chest
>Tears still running down her cheeks, she smiles
>"I'm home Papa!"