Gentle

Chapter 8

Prompt: person B trying to cook person A's fav dish

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"Ow!"

Ericka cried out at the unpleasant sensation of teeth sinking into her finger. She hissed at the pain, wondering if any skin had been broken, and also wondering how in the world teeth composed of dough even had the power to hurt. But, nevertheless, she only shrugged it off. Ericka had dealt with worse, she thought, and in the end the concept of making a simple homemade soup should have been a breeze.

Only, it wasn't. At least, not when that said soup was monsterball soup.

For nearly an hour now, she had been engaged in a fruitless attempt to tame the feisty little sentient dumplings in the pot. It was difficult enough at first when she had only opened the package of dumplings, and they'd attempted their best to bounce off the counter. Upon finally wrangling them into the pot, they still didn't make things any easier. Some of the little doughballs were content inside the warm broth, but others were much more mischievous and tried to jump out before Ericka could even place the lid on top, wailing with complaints. But she was in charge of this meal. And in no way did she want to be controlled by some little dumplings who thought they knew it all.

The woman put on a determined face, wrapping her injured finger in a Band-Aid and grabbing a wooden spoon from the counter. She waved it around threateningly over the bubbling pot of soup.

"All right, you, back! Back in there!"

Instantly triggered by her new behavior, the naughty dumplings began to bounce with much more frantic excitement, higher and more daringly. But Ericka wouldn't have it.

"I said back! Back I tell you!"

She smacked one down with the spoon, snickering triumphantly when it plopped back down into the soup and moped.

"Haha! You're not the boss of me!"

Another dumpling took the first's lead and tried pulling off the same move, only to be smacked down by Ericka's spoon again.

"Oh no you don't! You stay in there!"

With each dumpling who thought they were swifter than the last, Ericka continued to keep proving them wrong, the trusty spoon in her hand smacking them into submission, and the woman letting out a joyful exclamation each time she did so.

"Aha! I got you!"

"Not today, doughface!"

"Yes! In your face!"

"Whoo! That's what I'm talking about!"

"Ericka wins again!"

"Honeybat?"

Ericka gave a startled cry at the familiar voice and quickly found the lid, slamming it down on top of the pot. She put her hands behind her back, shielding the spoon from the sight of her husband, Dracula, having just awakened for the night and still in his pajamas.

The Count was confused, his eyebrow raised as he looked at her. "Ericka? Sweetheart, what are you doing?"

"Who, me?" Ericka said, plastering on a large grin and trying to remain inconspicuous. "Why, I'm not doing anything!"

"Honeybat," he said, now a little suspicious. "What are you hiding behind your back?"

Ericka's grin grew wider. "Nothing!"

"Come on, now, love droppings, let me see," he cooed, using his magic to conjure the item out of her hands. "A spoon?" he mused aloud. It was then that his ears picked up the now muffled sounds of the dumplings underneath the lid. Curiously, he moved behind her and opened the lid, seeing them inside the pot. Then he realized what was going on, and smirked at his wife. "Monsterball soup?"

Ericka sighed. "Yes. I wanted to have it ready for you. You know, breakfast in bed? Only... who knew it would be such a hassle to make!"

Dracula chuckled and wrapped his arms around her in an embrace, pulling her close and rubbing his nose against hers in a sweet nuzzle. "I appreciate it, my love. I know quite well how troublesome those little guys can be! Here, let me help you finish." He gave her a quick peck then used the wooden spoon to begin moving the broth around in the pot. But suddenly, in vengeance, one of the dumplings grabbed hold of the spoon in its doughy mouth and chomped it, consuming it in one big bite!

Drac and Ericka gasped, watching as the little dumpling let out a belch and then immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry!" it squeaked in its teeny voice.

The pair could do nothing more than laugh.