Matte Cracks


Written by Septia.


Cast-dough bakery steamed with excitement. Cofn's chimneys billowing smokestacks of soot and fennel into the air, bowl after bowl staked up on the counter and filled with measurements of yeast, spices, and liquids, or a mixture thereof, as accurately as the oven taur managed whilst glugging down cups of sunflower oil. 
	-Gllmfhkr- “Phaa, Swot foda for swot dough.” Cofn hummed, fiddling with her ash hatch to ensure all was heated and ready. 
	“Gonna need some more Button breads, they're flying off the shelves.” A call came from the store-front, the satyr handling the customers peeking in through the door. 
	Cofn rattled with a scramble of metal. “Brod is brewing,” she called back to Met at the counter. She listened to the crowd of patrons gathered on the other side, before the slide door -Cklt- clacked shut. 
	“Gaests, here for ofn fresh foda~” Customers, actual customers, and so many of them all here for her baking. Cofn's feed hatch sparked up as she twirled on all three legs, casting ingredients into the bowls and treating them accorting to recipes she'd memorised long ago. The oven gyrating her hips to a waltz. 
	“Lygen lustum, lustum Lyg. Swoot, swoot, deoras~.” Cofn sang as she prepared newly scooped up ingredients, and scooched her rear onto the table at her back. From the clutches of Cofn's tyflon laminated chambers came a moist undulation -Shrglwllgrvl-. The metal buns crinkled of oils -Crlrlsth- which lubricated the oven's cheeks before broadening, framing a patch of toasted hazel which plumped up and welled outwards, buns winding along the non-stick surface with the ease of the wind caressing a field. A bevy of buns billowed forth in bumpy bales. -Chrlrplthg- -Chrlprths- -Twmp- Bread, browned and piping hot bumbled their way out to smother the air with the warmth of milled anise. 
	“So many more to go,” Cofn huffed. She poured herself into preparing the coming batches, mimicking how her rear chute dispatched the results. Taking the step to arrange the weekend's event had been worth it after all, she could barely believe she got through it. The oven scooped a decorated platter with the new batch and slid it over it for her dear assistant to pick up. She clacked open her hatch to pour in the next batch from the counter. On the way back, the baker gave herself just a moment to savour the fruity oil from her cup, her mind already mapping out how to handle the other orders. It had been months since Cofn had to bake in the day, and she was ready to make up for lost time-. 
	“Cass Undernam, here to inspec-.” 
	“Wwbrhoowuaoa,” Cofn, realising too late she should have kept her mind on a leash, rather than letting it wander free. Though, at that moment it was a mute point. The  cast iron behemoth bumping into the intruder, and, toppling. 
	-Shcrlrlpfths- The unlatched feed chute crinkling as the guest disturbed their walls of pliable metallic polymer, the surface warping and splattering with lubricant, and sealing shut against their skin in the void left behind by the expelled fluids. 
	-Kbwdkcngktks- Cofn crashed onto the floor, catching a hold of the bench on the left side, and revolving with the momentum holding -Cllnntchg-. She swallowed her breath, bearing herself to peer down at the hatch… -Chllrp- -Ctwtnkdk- just in time to see the iron grill swing back shut, and catching merely a glimpse of a pair of black polished shoes immersed into the sea of malleable polymer. 
	-Schrlfhhrlbpth- And with a slurp the last of the man was devoured in the sea of silver… 
	“Oooh… deora…” Cofn squealed, clenching her fists till they vibrated. 


~ 1 ~


“Boss? Everything gon-. What? We have em here and, that's-. Yes just a-. Gimme a shout if you need help boss,” Met called out. What was she even worried about? That the steel behemoth had hurt herself? He had to handle the frontlines, and not interfere. Met took in a deep breath… “So that's two dozen-…” 


“Deora me, deora me, d-deora me…” Cofn scrambled, fiddling with her latch and trying to jam her palm into her perpetually bloated abdomen though excitement and stress merged into a cocktail, quite apt in baking loaves of any sizes… “Why nao? Wh-why…” 
	-Kdnnk-Dkth-Dkkntk- A knock on the far door leading out to the alley. 
	“H-halleo?” Cofn stammered. 
	The door flung open, knocking over a broom as the trench coat clad woman entered, locking onto Cofn with the glossy glare of cold reptillian gaze. 
	“Kass Portsson. State's small errands inspector,” she flashed a badge and flicked her tongue absent-mindely, but with such a -Cnntrrkcht- crack of the muscle whip, it sent a shiver down Cofn's exhaust pipes. 
	“Insc-sncea-… isn-is.. inscoffen-.” 
	“Inspector, correct,” Kass affirmed. “My partner Cass went ahead, I'll assume he isn't here?” 
	Cofn blinked. “Is, not?” 
	“Figured,” Kass continued and holstered her identification to unsheathe her notepad, “I tell you, the only things we got in common is how much we ain't got. Back at hq they always called us the cases saying since we got the same name.” 
	“That, is not true.” Cofn interjected. 
	Kass speared Cofn with her needle of a pupil. The inspector taking her first pause since entering the bakery. 
	“You have a name, beginning with 'K', he with, 'C',” Cofn mumbled. 
	Kass scribbled in the margins “Undoubtably. I wouldn't worry about them, If I know em and do I ever, he's snuck off bargaining for favors in some black market, disposing of illicit evidence, or getting smashed on a monday forenoon,” the inspector said and sauntered to the other end of the bakery, dragging a semi-scaled finger across the surface of the counter and sinks, “or with these neighbourhoods to judge, he's off doing something far more depraved and illegal.” 
	“A-ah?” Cofn continued to stammer. 
	The part lizard peered back to Cofn for just a moment. “Oh, do not be mistaken, that was entirely intended as a slight against your decrepit precinct.” 
	“Aha.” Cofn wheezed. 
	“And I know enough on em to have the lads lock em up. But I can't, I'd need him to slip up.” 
	-Grrgbhghhrrugl- -Kdwnnggg- A clang reverberated from Cofn's abdomen, the oventuar clasping over it by reflex. 
	“Alas, despite knowing about his behaviour, this small business inspector've never caught em in the act. Cause I'm just, so, damned, good, at my actual job.” Kass said whilst clenching her fist. -Ckptch- Hard enough to snap her notepad stylus in half. Depositing the debris in her pocket and fishing out a new stylus. 
	“Aaah…” Cofn said, stumped and quivering. This meant… 
	“But I'm not here to go on about myself, or my waste of skin of a partner,” Cass said, slamming her elbows into the table separating her and Cofn, kicking up a cloud of flour dust, “this is about business, your business.” 
	Cofn expelled a puff of nervous steam. “B-bakery is h-here for a-all deoras, in need of food. An, little Gesotig, b-but, but will be cleaned, every day. O-only fresh and s-safe foda-.” 
	“This ain't 'bout your buns, buster.” Kass flipped back through pages of her notepad. “Missed fees; late fees; missed late fees; late fees missed for missed late fees, covering for late missed fees; debts to nutritional tofu inc; accepting benefits for a single woman-…,” Kass peered at Cofn, “person, business; and finally, hiring of permanent staff, off the books.” Kass smacked the back of her palm to the pad. “All's here, clear as day.” 
	“P-payment, coming fo-for-.” 
	“I couldn't care less, those fees are formalities. We got a bit of a method back at hq: dig till you strike obstructions, then stop diggin' and take action.” Kass sauntered up around the bench, eyelids narrowing as they neared the towering behemoth cowering in their presence. “That satyr, is where we take action.” 
	Cofn's whole frame quivered, clutching over the bumps and -Cllggshl- moist clangs from the churns within. “W-will, he be punished nao? Is he in g-gesotig f-. T-trouble?” 
	“Depends how you carry yourself through this. I'd lock up shop for the day this instance, in other cases.” 
	Cofn waited with bated breath as Kass flipped back to the latest page. 
	“But, I know your little, shop… has gotten popular; business's booming, barely got through the front. Clever move to stand out right close to tygla-fast, breaking the bank with catching the interests of customers just before the fasting starts. Closing your door's now would have consequences.” 
	A fleck of relief nestled into Cofn's core. “All to be taken care off, business, fees, p-papers for deora. W-when shall all be handled?” 
	Kass took her third break from speaking, holstering her notepad. “Already told you, The Tyga fast is coming.” 
	Cofn paused. “That, is friday.” 
	“Start of the month we'll be back here friday. State holidays's won't keep me from doing my seeing this case to the end.” 
	Cofn weaved her fingers together, shuddering. “C-could… is there, a list of all that needs… completed?” 
	Kass plucked up a block of papers, scribbling row after row, -Tthhrrtch- then tore it free -Shsrllpt- moistened the back with a drag of her tongue -spspltths- and pasted it onto Cofn's abdomen.
	“Friday.” She said, and walked out… 
	Cofn unleashed her midsection, hands free in the air, as if distancing themselves from the -Ghbrglsp- rumbling iron. “Y-yes.” 
	Kass stopped at the threshold. “Remember what I said?” 
	“Y-you, said so-… the precinct…?” 
	“I said when we hit an obstruction, we stop diggin'. Given the circumstances, consider yourself lucky to be granted this additional leniency from us. Cuz, if I uncover, anythin' else,” she turned, eyes glossed with the reflection of midday sun, blotting out her pupil in the light, “anything, befitting this decrepit neighbourhood. Then whatever's cookin' in there,” she gestured to the grill door, “won't be the only thing behind bars.” 
	She popped the collar of her coat, and stepped out. Her head popped back in a few moments later. “Cass and I got this thing where he shuts the door. I should've gotten used to this with all his indiscretions, but you know,” Kass said as the door creaked shut, “I'm great at my jo-.” -Clltk-. 
	Cofn stared at the door. At the note on her bloated iron, off into the bakery… She tilted forwards, so all she could stare at was the ground.


~ 2 ~


“Any botherings, Deora?” Cofn said after hearing Met sigh, joining him in the front. 
	“Boss? It is fine, just tuckered out.” 
	“Those swotest Deora require the calmest of rests. It is the cleanup hour by now.” 
	“That,” Met seemed to hesitate, then their shoulders dropped, “sounds good.” He wedged past her, heading out into the alley. 
	“Take all time you need~.” -Clltckt- The door shut behind her assistant. Cofn's expression faltered, and she sloughed over the counter. “Deora me… Bakery Dyvors… Dyvors… Ofnes…” Cofn mumbled, lamenting under the pressure of the meeting some hours behind her now, still fresh and oozing in her mind. She drew her face up, and peered at the empty front, hauling herself off to lock the door for the evening. How could much long time have passed, and yet she was nowhere gone processing the inspection, the late fees, the deadline to seal hers and Met's fate… or the fact Cass was near completely processed by now… 


“Gesotig gryttaa…” she mumbled. -Bbforoorf- a cloud of toasty baking ooze seeped from her exhaust pipes, carrying a tinge of a stain of tartness. 


-Krcklltsssth- Cofn threaded down a plate against the floor, slumping down in a crouch. Cofn fiddling with baking paper even as her tyflon cheeks -Cbhrrllfthghrrsths- rumbled and stretched. -Chrlrlpththchtsh- Tethers of oil and syrup with the hue of leather crinkled and dragged as the buns veered out of the way, moulding around the oncoming patch of rugged baked wheat with the density of steel but as pliant as a cloud. -Chrlrlpgccsth- the brim broadened, fondling, conforming to the sculpt of the loaf, clutched in the exit hatch, conforming to the dimensions of the loaf as s it stretched to surpass the behemoth's thighs. -Chrrbfhfhrs- It carried a hint of the walnut shade of the fluffy buns before, but that was the lightest it went, the remaining distending loaf ruled by a dark, boaken bark, with its veins of air pockets giving the loaf the guise of hardened tree armour as well. 
	“Ahoo… deora… appologies… s-so much that. Mrf… happen, all at once…” she mumbled. Her mood as solemn as the trunk of a dark, solid brick of a bread burgeoned out of her behind. Her cheeks quivered, rippling from caressing against the craggled surface of the baked bar. The dusky hue and speckled surface gave it the look of crisp bread, though thick as an arm was long and would crack teeth before submitting to them. 
	“Least, swot deora, made a fol brod to… oooh…” Cofn peered back, at the sorry state of the dense trunk, the palm at the midsection falling limp and sliding down the oblate orb. Grytta…” A meal too coarse and hard to be savoured or enjoyed, one which could only be made in gesotig grytta…
	-Crhglrlrtshg- -Sppthts- Droplets of oil trickled onto the sheet, the length of bread refusing to bend, stretching out as a wooden beam, tilted sharp 3 degrees form the denounced oven'. -Chhkclrlpths- it thunked onto the plate with a crack of a ship's biscuit, Cofn’s demeanor sloping along with the sturdy, umber balk of cruddy, squared branch-bread… She shuffled forwards. -Shhochrhts- The bread drawn out, enveloped in the clutches of her tyflon hind… until… -Chrrpsfhts- the tip passed through the brim. -Chttwhtfpo- -Kfkwfdddnnetph- and the loaf smacked down into the tray, undulating the metal against the stone floor in a scramble of tossing out a silverware drawer. 
	Cofn remained crouched, sighing. “What is an ofn to do.” She mumbled. Cofn peered down at the monstrosity on the floor, melding in with the shadows and jabbing out form it as spears in the bottom of a pit trap. 


Cofn hoisted the bread onto the center counter… “Please… sorry, deora…” she sighed, and begun cutting the bread into small enough chunks to toss out… 
	-Chrhffv- -Twhhp- But the knife, sliced through the tough exterior, as if it desired to be opened, detesting Cofn's effort. Where the exterior had vacated dry, the insides oozed forth a stack of moisture, a humidity carrying that particular, tart, coarse flavour…
	Cofn's mouth shrunk to a small 'o', digits trailing along the surface, caressing the insides, feeling the spongy, rubbery bound of its texture. She cut a slice, and held it closes, sampling the air and analysing, contemplating.
	“Far, from swot,” she mumbled, and let the slice dangle between her fingers, “but, grytta brod, foda still…,” she mumbled, “brod… from so, sour dough.” She placed a palm at her midsection. This was not a recipe she had memorised. And yet… “Looks like, you try to be foda, still.” 
	“Phaaa… hffm, haa? Oh, sorry boss,” Met mumbled as he awkwardly wiggled in from the backdoor. “Thought you'd be cleaning the place. Oh, hey,” Met gestured towards the dark bread, “that looks, different.” 
	Cofn spied the Satyr in the corner of her vision, a stroke of worry drawn over her lips, but melding into a smile. “Deora, want to try a slice? Brod best when fresh.” 
	Met scratched some bun fluff off their horn, -Ghrbrllgsh- stomach burbling a protest under their apron. “Eh, you're on, boss, gotta give everything a shot.” 
	Cofn nodded, “so true, deora.” She said, and proceeded to divide the loaf into presentable chunks.