Peanut Butter and Mustard

What a wonderful night it has been, and how fortunate that there’s barely anyone at the bar to witness the aftermath, save for Hops and two customers who look worse for wear than Emerald. After seven drinks too many, Emerald has well and truly tested their limits - as they are inclined to do in the pursuit of that warm and woozy pleasure that alcohol embodies. Tonight, they have gone from delightfully dizzy to miserably nauseous. They have the dignity and stomach to not make a mess on the bar floor, but absolutely no enthusiasm to move from their seat. 

Hops witnesses scenes such as these daily, so she is hardly phased, but extends a look of profound pity and slight judgment to the patrons. She also extends her hand, holding a glass of water - a great act of mercy. 

After drinking the water and declaring that Hops must be demon-sent, Emerald takes a few minutes to steel themself. They will leave the Rabbit Hole, and they will get home - no matter what it takes. It takes a lot of courage to get up, but no monumental task has ever been accomplished through cowardice. Solemnly nodding at Hops, they wobble towards the exit. 

Emerald lives a half-hour walk away from the Wonderland Casino, but tonight this trek feels like several hours. Too focused on putting one leg in front of the other, they block out the flashing lights of Burrowgatory at night. Usually, Emerald enjoys the bustling streets and caverns lit by glowing crystal, but ignoring the sights and sounds is easier when they are already so overwhelmed. 

One thing they can’t disregard is the smell of freshly prepared food. 

It is both lucky and unfortunate for a drinking spree to take place in the thick of breeding season - lucky because food is available, and unfortunate because the food trucks on every street corner boast an array of meals that is dazzling, but not in a good way. Some of the smells are almost offensive, while others could only be described as intriguing. But food would fix Emerald enough for them to finish their journey home, so they begin to pay attention to each pop-up shop. 

“Curious Curries”? No, those are too curious - one of them is bright blue and bubbles far too ominously for Emerald’s liking. 

What about a pizza place called “Peculiar Passions”? It honestly sounds like a sex shop, and the toppings confirm Emerald’s assumption, because there’s no way a pizza can be this… lubricated without some funny business going on. Slippery sex pizza simply does not sit right with Emerald. They conclude that Peculiar Passions is a carat laundering front.

The next one they pass by is called “Sindwich”, and proclaims to deliver “the most sinful of sandwiches”. This could either be good or bad, and the only way to find out is by looking at the menu. Being this drunk means it’s hard to read, so Emerald spends a few minutes dumbly looking at the options. 

Condensed oat milk, lettuce, and tomato? Pass. Caramelized onion, banana, and chili jam? Interesting, but too mushy. Peas, peas, and more peas slathered in the water off the peas? That’s too many peas. Strawberries, crushed walnuts, and mushrooms? Emerald would go for the fruit and nut, but not the fungus. 

Finally, Emerald’s eyes glaze over the last item on the list. It’s a peanut butter and mustard sandwich, with optional salted caramel glaze. Barring the glaze, this is maybe the least weird sandwich they’d find all month. It’s also twice as cheap as every other sandwich, which is slightly dubious, but that suits Emerald perfectly fine. 

They order it, and the succubun working the stall says it’s their favorite, but not as popular with the customers. All shall be revealed through a taste test. 

Emerald takes a ravenous bite and almost doesn’t process the flavors until they feel the mustard sting in their nose. The two textures of the different pastes clash a little unpleasantly, but the peanut butter has a welcome richness to compliment the spice of the mustard, which is extreme in the book of mustards. Emerald has never had a mustard this spicy, but since there’s peanut butter in the sandwich, it’s very much edible. It’s weirdly good? 

After the first bite, Emerald finishes the sandwich way too fast and starts hiccuping. They feel a lot less terrible, though, and once the hiccups are cured with a free glass of water, they ask the burning question. “Why is this twice as cheap as every other sandwich?” 

“Oh, it’s because solid fillings have a tax in the sandwich industry. Peanut butter is just about liquid enough for us to get away with it.” 

Emerald is still too drunk to fully comprehend the intricacies of sandwich tax evasion, but they nod, smile, and continue on their way home - wondering if they have any peanut butter in their cupboards, or mustard. Probably not: for all that they hoard, food tastes best when it’s not prepared by oneself, so eating out is the best as far as gluttony is concerned. 

The rest of the walk home is easier with the food in their stomach, but just like every walk home from the Rabbit Hole, Emerald curses their own appreciation for high-heeled shoes. In just a quarter of an hour, they will stagger through their door and into their bedroom, collapse amidst the blankets, and shift into bun form to be as cozy as possible.

Maybe, they will dream a lurid dream of escaping the bureaucracies of a sandwich court - but it’s far more likely that Emerald’s sleep will have no dream at all.