Lost in Olive Garden

If you know you know

Glossary
This will be updated as Kormadish terms appear.

kormade: a (nonhuman) inhabitant of the Empire of Croissant

thornface: to make this face >:3

Prologue
Where did the angels go?

Did they vanish into a swirl

Of empty feathers?

Did they disappear into the shadows

Of the darkest night?

Did they fall into the darkest void

Far below their realm of heaven?

The angels used to be here,

Singing among the clouds,

Watching over us.

Where did they go?

Chapter One
Rain was pouring down, and Wheeze had never seen so much rain.

The sky was relentless in its sobbing, seeking to drown the city in its tears, and rivers surged through the streets, soaking into his boots and pasting his robes to his body. His hair was slicked to his neck and shoulders and glued to his forehead with all the water, and he lifted it out of his face, squinting into the storm.

There.

He splashed through puddles as deep as oceans, practically swimming up the street to the shadow under the lamp post. There, clinging to the base, shimmering in the dim light, was a glowing scarf, made of the finest lightningflies’ silk. Wheeze reached down and scooped it out of the water, recognizing its crimson glimmer in an instant. So he'd come this way. Good to know.

Excellent to know.

Stellar.

Now...

Where had he gone from here?

"Hey," a voice said from the misty shadows, and a set of horns emerged. "Any luck?"

Wheeze held up the scarf in response, and Hyper came closer, squinting at the garment.

"Isn't that the expensive scarf Screecht got me?"

They hesitated and then corrected themselves, "That I snatched from Screecht's collection?"

"Yeah," Wheeze said. "He's been borrowing it a lot lately."

Both of them turned their eyes up the street, into the rain, and Hyper said:

"I wish this town wasn't so big. There's no telling where he went off to this time."

They furrowed their brow and added, "Of course, if he really went to commit the Heist, we'll know his location soon enough. Thanks to them."

A grim silence fell as they both thought of the Baguettalion, though neither of them wanted to speak that name. Wheeze especially preferred to avoid the thought of them altogether. The memories were too strong. Too painful. They had to stay on that dusty shelf in the back of his mind.

Those days were over.

Long over.

Wheeze cleared his throat and said, "Shall we go? I doubt we can stop him once he's got his sights on a target, but he's worth looking for at the very least."

Hyper nodded, and the two kormades got into their van, the size emblazoned with a flaming croissant. A canoe containing a mighty cannon was mounted on the roof, but that's irrelevant. The cannon wasn't for anything. Nothing at all, and it was perfectly legal. Pay it no mind. And the canoe? Not at all used for rowing through non-liquid traffic.

Neither of them were qualified to drive, but Hyper got behind the wheel and floored it, thornfacing more than anyone had ever thornfaced. Wheeze wheezed, rolling down the window to feel the rain -- as if he hadn't felt the rain enough already -- and the van careened through the Knoodle Sector.