Bran
Did Leah’s pendant work?
Yup, but why did we pull him?
Bran
Thanks, Cheddar. You’re a good friend.
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Chapter 4 — Cheddar
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“Ron! Go get Nurse Davis.”
That was Cheddar’s cue to get out of there!
They didn’t like these types of stressful situations, but as a Finder Keeper, they always got the job done. Cheddar looked around the classroom, taking it all in, so colorful. They were out of time.
Reaching up and touching their illusory strawberry blond curls, they closed their eyes. The transition was disorienting, even for one like them. Hands slid to the back of their neck, grabbing hold of the pendant and sliding it up and off.
The change started instantly. A rush of icy wind blew past, causing a shiver, followed by their ears popping, and a slight tingling of the skin. Cheddar kept their eyes closed to avoid the disorienting visual changes and waited for the tingling to stop. A moment later, they opened their eyes. The world returned to the way they knew it — gray. They had left the Kitchen and returned to the Dinner Table. A few of the students noticed she had disappeared, but it wouldn’t last. The Lady always handled the memories, bless her laws, she liked things nice and orderly.
Gone were Leah’s delicate features, big blue eyes, pale rosy skin, and the strawberry blonde curls. Replaced with Cheddar’s head of black stubble, closed set brown eyes, and dirty, yet serviceable, clothing. They neither looked like a boy nor a girl, avoiding many of the visual cues used to snap-categorize sex as gender into the neatly formed columns of the old world. The ones Cheddar might have featured hid under a large olive hunter’s coat with bulging pockets, dark brown worker’s cargo pants, held up by a black belt supporting several pouches, and a gray rucksack, a shadesack, sitting on their back like a turtle’s shell.
Cheddar took the wagon-wheel pendant and carefully slid it into one of their many pouches. Once it had belonged to the real Leah, but that was a long time ago. Now, Cheddar owned the original — a gift from a friend. Leah had a copy in the Kitchen, but it was just that, a copy.
“Why, why, why? YOU ARE STILL COOKING.” Cheddar’s skin flushed. They ran their hand over their shaved head — the feeling helped them calm down.
The shades couldn’t understand what Cheddar was saying, but could hear beyond the Kitchen and on to the Dinner Table reacting in their own way. Cheddar knew shouting would attract them, but it didn’t matter — not really — Asher’s screaming already pulled them in.
Cheddar bent over and stuck a finger in the face of the crying morsel named Asher. “The Lady won’t like this; she’s going to be so mad and it’s all your fault.”
Asher rolled and tore at his face.
Cheddar stopped, the anger expelled by air and vibrating lips as they made a horse like sound and gave a headshake. They looked at the boy — the snack — he was in a lot of pain. Pain they caused. “I’m sorry, it’s just unexpected. You’ll be okay.”
The gathered crowd was rushing towards them. Cheddar needed to move — quick.
The shade of Ms. Rutherford almost charged through them as she headed for Asher’s side, but Cheddar burst into action, shadesack leading the way they dove sideways between two desks. Taking the impact on their shoulder and sliding to a stop, “I need to get out of here, no time for shade dodging today — nope, nope, nope.” They crawled, stood, and bolted for the exit a few steps behind the already speeding Wheeler. “Plus, if they all chase me, who’ll help the snack?”
The door was clear, Cheddar picked up speed — Leah walked in — Cheddar zigged, spun, and pressed their back against the wall left of the door. They narrowly missed Leah. One touch, and she would have broken. They felt the wheel pendant gently vibrate in their pouch.
Leah froze in the doorway. Her mouth hanging open as Asher thrashed on the ground, struggling against Ms. Rutherford and O’Leary.
She took a step into the classroom. Then a second.
Cheddar waited patiently on the balls of their feet.
She took a third.
Cheddar slipped out, careful to angle their rucksack to avoid brushing against her back. They moved at a brisk pace towards the school’s western exit; their shadesack and pouches, making a collection of muffled clacks, jingles, and tongs. “Handle, bell, lock, clip, key-one, key-three, metal stake…,” and on it went as they moved down the hallway, taking inventory and trying to quell the shaky feeling in the pit of their stomach.
“Absorbing a grimoire page in the Kitchen? That was rare, nearly unheard of, and not good at all — especially not a Maelstrom artifact.” That was impossible. Cheddar hadn’t seen many artifacts free of the vaults, but the ones they’d delivered had never taken effect like that.
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Cheddar looked around with a sigh as they made for the exit. Everything from floor to ceiling was a dull gray — even City High’s Hurricane coat-of-arms had lost its blue and gold glory. They loved the Dinner Table, but they really missed the colors. They didn’t get to shift very often, but it was always a shock.
Slamming down on the door’s bar, they pushed it wide. The light from inside to outside remained the same. It rarely — if ever — changed, and only the Lady knew where it came from. The normally red brick of the high school, houses in the distance, and the bikes in the bike rack were all devoid of color.
There were three exceptions; The occasional leaf or blade of grass, Cheddar, and in amongst the gray bikes of various styles was a baby blue Roadway Racer with a few patches of ruddy rust. It had handlebars that curved like ram horns in wrapped red cloth, pedals with orange reflectors on them, and brakes — what it didn’t have? Wheels. It was lacking the rims and rubber to do anything but sit and be colorful.
Cheddar moved towards their bike. “Hey, Roady. You ready to go?”
They pulled out a small bell from a side pocket in their cargo pants, moved up, and attached it to Roady’s handlebars. Then, gave it a ring. The single chime was crisp and hung in the air as the bell glowed a deep purple. Before the sound could completely fade, Roady had two thin wheels and a now unblemished frame.
Cheddar pulled Roady free, hopped up to the seat and pedaled him into gear. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, — let’s ride!” They stuck to alleys and side streets when they could. When they couldn’t, they used the gutter. Riding the gutter was an easy way to avoid most shades — no one walked in the gutter if they could help it.
As always, the gray landscape blurred together, but they were used to it. Cheddar had been a Finder Keeper for as long as they could remember, and they knew the truth; colorful people were ready to be eaten, not by them, no, but by the Lady. Colorful things were on the Dinner Table. Gray stuff, shades if they were people, were still cooking. Their world was the Kitchen.
Their rucksack bobbed from side-to-side as they picked up speed. “You ready Roady? The hill is coming.” Cheddar’s brow furrowed. “Peddle faster, peddle faster, peddle faster,” they panted their pedaling mantra while legs pumped furiously, pushing Roady faster as the incline neared.
Roady hit the bottom and slowed — the incline was steep. With a finger flick, Roady got the message and swapped gears. The chain clicked into place, Cheddar leaned into the handlebars using their weight to push down on the pedals. Their eyes darted under vehicles, in the shadows between houses and alley openings. The trap would spring at any moment. Maybe the pack was hunting at one of their other spots? They were already midway up the hill and, so far, no movement. They jinxed it. A pack of dogs, ten if you counted bodies instead of heads, came snarling out of the alleys on either side of the street. Cheddar clenched their teeth. So much for that idea. “No. Cleo! Cleo, no! No, bad!” The speed Cheddar and Roady built was enough to get them ahead of the pack, but Cleo and her friends were gaining.
The pack barked and growled as they sprinted after their prey, dodging or leaping over colorless cars as their drivers obliviously sped up and down the hill.
Cleo was a big rottweiler. Muscles bristled as her paws pounded the pavement, her two tongues hanging out of her two mouths. All dogs, far as Cheddar knew, had two heads. Their primary head and body were colorful, Cleo’s followed the black and mahogany of most Rottweilers, but their second head was semi-transparent, incorporeal even, and gray like the Kitchen’s residents, but that didn’t stop their teeth from tearing into flesh like the corporeal one beside it.
Here, most people called them howlers — Cheddar liked the old name better. Every time they saw a dog, it sent a pang of sadness through them, and they often gazed down at the collar strapped to their wrist like a bracelet. A single bone shaped charm dangled from it with the name Bruno engraved. He was a good dog.
There weren’t many hills like this in City, but Cleo often used this one as part of her pack’s hunting territory. They crested it with Cleo, lunging for Roady’s rear tire, but as they hit the downslope with Cheddar pushing hard, her jaws caught nothing but air.
“Bye, Cleo.” Cheddar sped down the hill, leaving a chorus of howls behind. Cleo broke off the chase, and the others followed her lead.
Cheddar used this route when they had to journey to City West. Drivers caused problems for Dinner Table residents, including finder keepers, because drivers couldn’t see you and cars still squished you. The busier the street, the more dangerous it was.
Cleo’s Hill was much safer than a busy street, even the shades seemed to avoid her.
They kept clear of the few vehicles that zipped past, deciding it was best to hop the curb and ride the rest of the way on the sidewalk. It wasn’t too much further to the Fry Factory, and that’s where they needed to check in with Meatloaf, their boss.
Leaning into the last corner, they pulled into the parking lot of an old fast-food restaurant with laminated closed for renovations signs slapped on the drive thru menu and window. Cheddar zoomed past the little window, followed the wall of the building, and made a sharp turn to the left, stopping short of an empty bike rack next to the front entrance and its guard.
They hopped off Roady and gave him a pat as they rang the bike’s bell. It flickered purple, the wheels disappeared, and the ruddy rust returned as the chime faded. Sliding the bell into a cargo pocket, Cheddar turned to the door guard with a wave. “Hey, Jumbo Shrimp.”
Jumbo Shrimp looked older than Cheddar, most likely mid-20s, with short messy blond hair, a thin beard, and pasty white skin that contrasted with his red zip-up hoodie, and purple sweatpants. It was all baggy, but Cheddar knew it needed to be — he was a Sole Stepper.
The strangest feature about Jumbo Shrimp was the shoes. They covered him: boots, flip-flops, slippers, stilettos, cleats, and other assorted footwear were slung through belts, bandoliers, and even over his shoulders. Two pairs of runners and one pair of hikers of various sizes sat on the ground; laces loosened so he could slip them on quick. Footwear was everywhere, except on his feet — those were bare.
“Hi, what’re you doing here?”
“Me? Um… Oh, I need to see Meatloaf. Something really, really, really, weird happened today with an artifact drop and I don’t think the Lady will like it.”
Jumbo Shrimp’s normally darting eyes stopped, focused on Cheddar, and went wide. “Upset the Lady?” He took a step forward and slid his left foot into a size 12 hiking boot, then quickly followed with his right. The boots glowed purple, laces tightening on their own, and Cheddar watched as the 5-foot something, 120-pound Finder Keeper grew north of 6-feet and doubled in muscle bulk. The elastic belts and bandoliers stretched, the hoody filled out, and the purple sweatpants no longer reached his ankles. “You know what happens if you upset the Lady, right?”
Cheddar swallowed with an audible gulp. “I, I, I, upset you all.” This was going to be so very bad.