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One morning, Blue ignorantly walked into the kitchen to see Ink plating up some scrambled eggs. He turned around. “Oh hey Blue! I made breakfast!” and he put the eggs down at the table.
“Oh! Thank you, these look great!” Blue said foolishly, sitting in his chair, not yet noticing the smell, and taking a large, unsuspecting bite.
He choked.
The taste was indescribable. It was overwhelmingly sweet, but also somehow tasted alarmingly of alcohol, burning his throat and filling his nose with the slightly off scent of liquor and in all honesty Blue could barely even taste the eggs. He stood up, grabbed a glass of water, and desperately tried to drown the taste out of his mouth.
Ink, completely oblivious to his own assassination attempt, hovered in concern. “Woah, Blue? You good, buddy?”
“…Ink.” Blue said calmly.
“Yeah?”
“What did you put in those eggs?”
“Vanilla and sugar, why?”
“Vanilla an- Why The Hell Would You—?“
“Well I thought that that smell when you mix vanilla and sugar with eggs while making cookies was really good so I thought “why not fry that over the stove?” So I did!”
Blue took a deep breath as he tried to process this. “Okay, 1. This doesn’t taste anything like vanilla and even if it did-“
“What do you mean it doesn’t taste like vanilla?” Ink interrupted. “I poured in half the bottle, of course it tastes like vanilla!”
What the fuck.
…well that explained the taste of alcohol. (That smell was never going to leave his nose.)
“…Ink, with all due respect,” Blue said, trying to be as gentle as possible. “Please never cook anything ever again.”