BONUS ROUND 4 - FOOD

[scallioncreamcheesebagel]

In this round, we want to see prompts inspired by food!

Fills can be in any format, and you can fill your teammates prompts, but you cannot fill your own prompt. 

You can post as many fills and as many prompts as you want!

for your prompt post title, please use the following format:

PROMPT: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

for your fill post title, please use the following format:

FILL: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

to participate, reply to this post!

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PROMPT: TEAM YELLOW TANABE

[arsquare]

Character loses their sense of taste

FILL: Team RWBY

[hopelessgemini]

fandom: RWBY

ship: winter/cinder

-

Five weeks after almost killing Amber, Cinder finds that she can’t taste shit anymore.

She agonises over it for a little while — she does love going out to eat with the money Salem gives her, and there doesn’t seem to be much point to it now — and then gets over it quickly. There are things to be done, after all, and she can’t really afford to spend all her time stuck on the mundane. At least she can still eat.

Emerald notices, because Emerald pays more attention to her than necessary. She keeps trying to experiment with it, seeing what Cinder will react to, and inevitably becoming disappointed when the answer is nothing. Even after the Fall of Beacon, when Salem grows her a new arm and a new voicebox and cauterises the bleeding, burning wound that is her eye, nothing changes.

It’s such a small thing. It’s such a small thing. It shouldn’t matter.

-

“All of this food tastes like sand,” Winter says.

Cinder puts her arm around her shoulder to be companionable, and also to get Grimm fluid all over her nice shirt. There isn’t even any Grimm shit attached to her anymore; it just creeps out from under her skin. “That happens,” she says. Winter frowns. “Try not to get into your head about it.”

Winter looks down at her plate, back up at Cinder. “But you made it for me. I want to know what it tastes like.”

The current working theory is that the Maiden powers are slightly too much for a human body to hold, so parts of them — their sense of taste, their temperature regulation — just short out sometimes. Winter says that sometimes her voice has layers to it; Cinder can’t cough without bursting into flames anymore. Neither of them can feel the heat of the desert.

“I mean, you’re eating it ‘cause I made it,” Cinder says, in an attempt to be charitable. “That’s something.”

Winter looks at her plate again. “I know. If it’s any consolation, I can pretend I remember what it’s supposed to taste like.”