Today was just another one of those days.
Pops had overslept, mostly because he had been up very late last night tossing and turning. His mind had been - and still was - preoccupied with this new strudel recipe that he was trying to perfect.
It just wasn’t fluffy enough, and so he had added more baking soda, and then it became too crumbly. How was he expected to serve this to his friends on Saturday with tea-time? It was a culinary nightmare!
Pops always had the dream of becoming a great baker. He currently didn’t have enough time to practice as much as he would have liked, but at least he was able to take great pride in his hobby.
He was currently dragging himself through a cup of hot coffee, struggling to wake up, and going over the recipe in his mind.
Perhaps I should make biscuits instead, he thought, but immediately shook his head.
No, Pops doesn’t give up. We are going to ace this recipe, and Saturday will be amazing.
There was a noise behind him, like a branch being snapped.
Pops normally liked to take his breakfast outside, under the fresh morning air. It was always much easier to wake up when facing the glory of a new day - but he was starting to wish that he had skipped that ritual, at least for today. He just wasn’t in the mood.
With a sigh, Pops threw the scalding coffee over his shoulder, receiving a scream in response.
“Just one day,” He said, shaking his head. “Could you not do this, for just one day?”
Behind him, another coatl was rubbing hot coffee off his face. He was wearing a ridiculous black outfit that was meant to be discrete, but that instantly marked him as Today’s Newest Annoyance for Pops.
“You left the Factory, and disgraced your people! For this you will die!” The Coatl yelled, charging towards Pops with an outstretched machete.
Another sigh. Pops expertly dodged to the side, avoiding the blow and slamming his assailant against one of the trees.
“If you guys would leave me alone for just a few hours, then I might be able to make better pastries,” Pops said, mostly to himself.
The dazed Coatl picked himself off the ground, searching for his weapon. He quickly realized that it was in Pops’ paw, pointed directly at his throat.
“I don’t care about your pastries,” The assassin replied, confused. “You have to come back to Cedric sooner or later - the only other option that you have is death.”
Pops sighed again, and slid the blade forward.
It took only a little while for him to clean up the mess, and try to go back to his breakfast. He went inside to brew a fresh pot of coffee and to ponder about his pastries again.
But his mind kept wandering back to this morning. And last night, when he had been mixing a batch of lemonade, and a Spiral had fluttered down from the ceiling, spraying the room with arrows.
One of them had shattered his favorite mug, and then the lemonade was completely ruined. He hadn’t wanted it pink, much less red.
No, there was never an escape from his past.
When Pops was younger, he had been brash and stupid, filled with unappreciated dexterity and skills. And he had been poor, which was a very bad combination.
His solution had been to strike out into mercenary work. Which, eventually, led to him working for the Factory, one of the largest assassin guilds in the world. Led by an anonymous dragon who only called himself Cedric, and who considered it a personal insult when his workers decided that they wanted to retire and go into baking instead.
Cedric, with an unlimited supply of killers and resources at his disposal, which he continuously sent after Pops. Day after day after day.
“Awh man,” Pops’ face fell even more, when he returned inside. The batch of muffins that he had made last night was sitting on the counter, sagging almost into nothingness.
“What happened?” He sighed, poking at the pastries. They looked like someone had taken them out of the stove before they were finished. . .
There was a thought.
Pops glanced at the stove for a second and saw that it was still on, and the door was left wide open.
Another step, from behind him, followed by a flurry of movement.
“You lot are all so sloppy!” Pops yelled, when the Guardian lunged at him. “How do any of you ever finish a job?!”
The Guardian slammed into the table, splattering half baked muffin over the walls.
“You will pay for your crimes!!” The assassin shrieked, preparing herself to charge again.
“I heard you halfway across the room,” Pops said, shaking his head. “Those muffins were going to be blueberry chocolate chip. . . I hope that you’re satisfied with yourself.”
The warrior screamed something in response and leaped for him again, twin blades spinning in her claws.
It was almost painfully simple to deal with Cedric’s lot, Pop thought. The only annoyance was that they were always after him, like a barrage of fleas on an old dog who just wanted to be left alone.
He guided the assassin into the stove, until she stopped moving, before fixing up the newest mess.
Pops’ pastries suffered because his mind was always on these dragons, and his paws were always busy cleaning up after them.
“I literally hate you,” He told the dead guardian, pulling it out of the stove. “You’ve ruined more of my products than any of my competitors.”
It was a rare treat for him to be able to wake up to anything other than screaming mercenaries, he thought. That was how his mornings went, and he never got to finish a cup of coffee.
Pops quietly disposed of the assassin, and then it was lunch-time.
He carefully checked his home for booby traps, or hidden murderers, and then finally let out a sigh of relief when he found it to be safe.
“Looks like it’s just you and me now,” He said, with a genuine smile at the flour on the table.
“Let’s see if we can’t make you into some rye bread.”
Just as he was pouring the flour into his mixing bowl, there was a knock at the door. Sadly, painfully, Pops placed the bag back onto the table.
“I’m coming,” He muttered, reaching under the table for his knife.