Dreaming Dove

The bell above the Paradise Café jingled merrily, announcing Peter's arrival. The dining room was quiet and mostly empty, save for a few buns who were doing exactly what he was; seeking a little quiet away from the rest of the Mochi Moon festivities.

"Welcome in," Beanny called from behind the bar, smiling as she finished wiping down the mug in her hands. "Can I getcha anything?"

"Not just yet, thanks." Peter returned the smile, but then his eyes wandered to the stools in front of the bar. "Oh boy. Are they...?"

"Out like a light," Beanny confirmed, stifling a laugh. "I told them I wasn't sure if that last Angora Au Lait was a good idea, but they seemed to be having such a good time."

Sitting on one of the bar stools, slumped over onto the bar itself, Dove was sleeping so deeply that a snail-trail of drool tracked down the side of their mouth. It was a wonder they weren't snoring, too. Peter took the stool beside them, shaking his head good-humoredly. "I'll take an Angora too, actually. Is this their first Mochi Moon?"

"No, if you can believe it," Beanny replied, starting on the drink. "But no matter how much time passes, Dove has the hardest time holding their liquor. And, Dove being Dove, they always want to participate in the festivities as much as they can. So they get talked into doing a bar crawl from the festival grounds, to the Rabbit Hole, and then to here. And, thus..." Beanny motioned to the passed out cherrubun next to Peter. Now it was Peter's turn to laugh.

"Could be worse," he said, and meant it. Drunken, rowdy customers were probably worse, he had to guess. Dove puking all over the bar instead of passing out was definitely worse.

"It could absolutely be worse," Beanny agreed. She slid the finished coffee over to her patron. "Besides, I really don't mind it. Dove's the whole reason I'm here in Burrowgatory, after all. Least I can do is let 'em pass out after a night of partying."

Dove stirred for a moment, mumbled something uninteligable through sleepy lips, and promptly fell silent again. Neither Peter not Beanny could tell if Dove had actually woken up to say something, or if they were just prone to sleep talking when drunk.

Dove, for their part, had not woken up - they were ears-deep in a dream so convoluted that even in their dreaming state they could barely keep track of the plot. Dan had asked them for help pounding mochi, and Dove had been all to happy to lend a hand. As they worked the mallet, the handle became... a strange texture. Slimy? Scaley? Slippery? Belatedly, they realized the mallet had turned into a snake that got longer every time Dove swung it. The mochi was gone; Dan was gone. It was just them, and this strange brown snake with a huge, hammer-like head. For whatever reason, Dove found that they weren't scared of the snake, and so they just kept swinging it, watching it get longer. All at once, the snake coiled around the bun, wrapping them tightly and opening it's jaws in Dove's face. Fangs inches away from Dove's skin, the snake suddently paused, and out of it's moth came the voice of... Primrose?

"Ah, young Dove, there you are. We have been trying to contact you about your snake's extended warranty."

Dove scrunched their face up in confusion. Snakes had warranties? What was the standard warranty on a snake?

"This isn't mine," Dove finally managed to say. "I'm borrowing it from Dan."

"Ah, so this is Dan's snake... very well then, we will attempt to reach Dan at a later date." Without any fanfare, the snake released Dove, then proceeded to take its own tail into its mouth and swallow itself until nothing was left.

In the waking world, Dove stirred again and let out a muffled cry of confusion. Peter finished the last of his coffee and gestured to the cherribun. "Want me to take them home?"

"Hm?" Beanny looked up from her work tidying the bar; Peter was the last customer in the building now, and that coffee had been last call. "Oh. No, it's fine. They live relatively close to where I do, anyway."

"You sure?" he asked, eyeing the sleeping bun, who was now twitching erratically. "I don't mind. I can drop 'em off while you close up shop."

Beanny considered this for a moment, looking at all the work still to be done to close; while the cafe wasn't the most popular place for Mochi Moon celebrations, it certainly wasn't an unpopular place, and she had mountains of dishes to do. She looked at Peter, then Dove, then her workload again, then back at Peter. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," he grinned, standing from his stool and stretching. He took off his coat and tossed it around Dove's shoulders, knowing that the night air was more likely to get to them than himself. Then, gently, he gathered up the bun into his arms. Dove didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Damn. They really are out."

"Maybe next year they won't get in over their ears," Beanny said good-naturedly. "Or the year after, or the year after that, or..."

Peter laughed; a deep, rumbling laugh that rolled in his chest like thunder. As though they could hear it, Dove turned their head into his shirt and sighed deeply. This only made Peter laugh again, though this one was a low, fond chuckle. With a nod of his head as way of goodbye to Beanny, he made his way out of the cafe and into the night air, heavenly cargo in tow.