Cofn's Rebreading

Written by Sep&Tia

“Thank you, for the business, enjoy and stay careful out there buds.” Met wished the customers well on their way out, following them to the door and turning the sign over. “Thanks so much, you bud come back.” He rehearsed in the silent storefront. Met felt over his chest and apron as he hummed between tonalities. “It is another tone when I'm being genuine,” the satyr pondered.
-Ckkllgnng- A tumble of metal roused the form behind the storefront’s counter, muffled by the slide gate leading into the bakery depths.
“Boss?” Met called out, rushing so their dusty white hat sloughed off their ears, drawing open the sliding doors. First, she noticed her boss. Cofn, the behemoth of cast iron, second, was the jumbo-sized bowl of batter that had fallen to the floor. In a moment the two intersected, as one of the oven's metal iron paws sunk into the mixture, whilst the -Schrrlghhs-.
“Stsshy… thsy. Lustum, Lyg, Lustum lyy, swoot, swoot, Tweona.” Cofn sung in tongues archaic, a farce of stumbles and stirs waddling through a city of stocked benches and bowls.
Met observed. Ears twitched. It sounded genuine.
“Boss?” he tried again, watching as each step further embedded Cofn's pad into the bowls. “Cofn, how can you manage to be off balance on three legs?”
“Mmghhalleo?” Cofn mumbled and turned to face them, the sunken ceramic countenance shaking up as she saw her employee. “Oo, Deora, front going smoof?”
“Should be, it is closing time, shift should be over. It is, getting late.”
The pot-belly stove’s head wobbled as she tried to focus in on Met. “Ooh.” Her mind settled on as a response.
“I can come in tomorrow for the event, seems a bit much to handle all on your own.”
“Mfs mfmf oh deora me. Will be more than fine, You a little swot deora helping all needed. Mandatory rest morrow. One apron only morrow.”
“That'sI get it, I get it,” Met said, turned and sighed, “best I'm not seen here just in case, I'll get ready. To head home.”
“Mm… deora, home. Yes.” Cofn mumbled. Measuring up glasses of milk. “Meloc, in bowl. Bowl, in counter, leg, on floor…” -Cshwpptsh- “Leg, on in bowl?” Cofn mumbled, first now realizing where that last bowl had gone. “Ooh Deora… Bowl. On counter on bowl, meloc on floor,” she mumbled, and in the sleep deprived rut poured the carton out on the floor. As she lifted up the bowl. “Hufm… gaucho… deora me, meloc on, badough, crod on, hatch, foda on floor, meolc on counter.” she mumbled in the mess of her own making, her exhaust chimney huffing out clouds of nervous smog behind her as the oven strutted from place to place in the bakery, managing the huge ingredient batches set to be ready for tomorrow's big event. “Floor, bowl, brod, melon… hatch, counter.”
Met came back in through the door. “Sure I shouldn't leave the apron here tonight? It might get, dirty if its too long at home with me. Also,” he noted and plucked off a spice off the shelf, “shouldn't you add the anise to that dough before it is kneaded?”
Cofn stared mumbling under dry, ceramic lips. “Deora… home… anise… deora, apron, home, foda, apron… hatch-…”

~ 1 ~

-Ghhlbuh- -Glblpbugbch- “Hawmf… o… swot…” as she chugged down a cup of sunflower oil, the early rays of morning just creeping through the alley to penetrate the bakery. She had to be smooth and limber, and start right away. Yesterday being a blur of work, but she had to stick the landing, or the event would be for naught.
“Swot Brod…” she mumbled, caressing down her black cast iron core, the perpetually bloated midsection gyrating along with her, as the oil lubricated her oven tract the industrial innards working on bundling the dough smooth.
“Stead, spoof,” Cofn said, lining up a row of bowls of rising dough whilst her rear leg adjusted the baking plate resting beneath her teflon delivery chute. “Ofnes work well, foda for all those in need.” She huffed to herself, fiddling with the latch on her feed chute. A rumble coursed through her all the way down from her baking chamber. -Chfoooorrfth- A cluster of pale, crisp fog billowed through her, injecting the aroma of sea salt and fresh, cured flour, and freshly baked bread into the kitchen. “So, so, smoof and well, feel brod grow and grow…” She hummed and lowered herself, opening the hatch to her fed chamber, even as she was ready to relinquish her batch. It would be a haste job, she was under pressure, yet those thoughts faded, as the ofnes sank away into herself, savouring every moment. -Crhrsllft- At first only a trickle of the corn essence oil trickled through the canyons of metal. A nectar of grease which flowed as the brim expanded, and the cheeks, buns of teflon, broadened, pliant to bend to every inkling of intention. -Sshhffslst- The buffer of hide ground against polished metal reverberated from the cheeks as a patch of darkened amber peeked through the brim. -Crrhsth- a light crunch, crumble of the bread's bottom trailing down, dotting the tray. “Smooth, those biggest foda takes the biggest time.” Cofn hummed whilst their cheeks cleaved in her crouch, exposing an expanse of crisp, flat crust, spreading wide as it wedged outwards. It crawled forth, closing in to the ground, just as Cofn brought the floor closer to it… until the tip of the bread touched the parchment clad tray. Close enough that a single drop of oil crept over the edge, and tether paper to crust…
Cofn smiled, a wave of motion coursing down her arms, reaching for the next bowl, and tilting it over towards her feed hatch, seeing the risen heap of porous dough detach slough forwards. She raised her frame in anticipation to catch it, and the bottom of the fresh bun reached the plate… -Chlrlptsh- -Cfmmmoorssth- as she rose, the bun inflated from her hind, whereas the bottom laid related to the crisp of a cracker, and toasted to autumn amber, which now billowed forth in a dunes dressed in fields of cashew. In its egress, the mound swelled up, unfolding its girth, forming the cap of a mushroom. The single bun plumped out to fill the expance between the grand ovens's three legs, -Frllsshstsh- to the naked eye the solid dough was pouring as a liquid out, the non-slip polymer coating, decanting with a fluidity of pudding once in the open, held light as shaven wool. -Shhcllfpths- -Cbbwsn- The expansion of the bread passed its zenith as Cofn ferried another batch into her feed hatch, trailing and brushing into the dough to plunge into the depths of packed metal polymer. The higher the bun went, the darker its hue of cream baked bread it took on. Until the expansion slowed. Cofn stood tall… but the bun came along with her, suspended by the vacuum in her pucker clinging onto the high rise…
Cofn smiled. “Swot brod make ofn fol, and soon to fol so many deoras.” She clutched her hatch shut.
-Cllptsh- -Smmcphcsthc- and the pucker detached with a smooch of bun to bun. The whole round loaf dropping back into the tray. -Chtphhs- Scrambling with a rattle to the floor as the buoyant substance sprung and jostled with the rush of an accordion's outro. Its fluffy surface settling to radiate the warmth of a late summer's eve, baking the air with fresh tangs of anise and the wheat rich succulence of buttered pastry. Its jiggling pelting the ground with splotches of oil, giving the smooth pillow of a bun a sheen of reflective gloss. The whole bun crammed under Cofn's form.
“Big Deora brod, foda of all swot in all world.” She stood above it, resting, drinking in the air, satisfied to have it in her clutches… she wanted it to stay in this cage she made for it, to share its warmth with her… but, all the more, she wanted others to enjoy it, and she had more to deliver.

~ 2 ~

Cofn beamed. So many “S-so many.” she mumbled. The oven staring into the occupied bakery’s storefront. Crowds gathered around the pedestals hoisting up a bakers dozen of gargantuan buns, some as tall as the patrons themselves, and all exuding their aroma to make the resurrected bakery fill with the redolence of dreamy pastries. Though there were so many there, chatting, watching, drooling. Fine dressed folk as well as those in respectable rags, they came for the spectacle, but from this, a captive consumer base could be forged.
“Channel OC on location. The Overlook Ceres network got news of a local event that raised the attention of this delightful bakery a stone's throw from the pier.”
Cofn nearly leapt at in the air, her legs straining, raised so her pronged hair hit the ceiling before she sprung down in embarrassment, but her beam kept steady… Delightful? That is what they had said, was it really?
“And it sure doesn't disappoint, this correspondent is already salivating, but dare all that stops me from tearing into one of these beauties myself, is the sheer magnitude of the buns on display.” At a gesture the camera panned away from the reporter, and swept over the bakery. Cofn again freezed with a jitter in place as it passed her by, raising a hand to wave.
“C-careful, calm, all s-swot deoras here.”
“The bakery is owned and run by a single baker, but one with an advantage for the craft, it is amazing what one can accomplish, should thy put their minds to it.”
Cofn nodded along with them, wrapping up orders of bread absent-mindedly as some of the crowd could not straddle their appetite, and so many were still coming through the doo-… Cofn dropped a bag on the counter.
Outside, leaning against the glass window. Slumped a batch of bread batter, imprints of metal pads strewn across its deformed shape… and wrapped, in an apron. Met's… All the buzz of her surrounds dampened, compressed and focused into a single line of white noise piercing through the stove's mind. The realization rejected, but presented again and again by the sight… It anchored her mind to a reality she could not accept…
-Chhrsh-.
It was the only other sound that pierced her veil. A crumble and tear of dough… Cofn stepped over the desk, the crowd veering from the behemoth of cast iron closing in to one pillar, upon which the first jumbo bun rested…
Few heard the crack, all acknowledged Cofn, the crumble of the bun reigned in the silent murmer of the crowd…
-Chrrpsshgt- -Chfhhrrhsths- “Pahahaaa.” And with a tear of wheat flesh, and a combustion of floating confetti of crumbs, the bun erupted with a gasping shape barrelling out, the shrivelled amber floof with curved horns still spread through chunks of fresh bread, steam pouring out through the gorge as a mist from sacred mountains as the satyr stretched and gasped in for air.
Their breath drowned in the roar of the crowd, applauds and whistles soaring through the bakery, as Cofn clutched a hold of Met, keeping her steady on the pedestal.
“D-deora m-me, Deora, calm, rest, all safe nao.” she whispered, breath shaky.
Met, hazy from her awakening in a prison of flush, was delighted at the support, leaning back in Cofn's grasp, oblivious to his shirt that clung to his frame, twisted and warped, and the corset below, which sat loose.
“Sees embrace what is... skies, who is that?” asked the reporter.
Cofn felt her senses sharpen, at once acknowledging the surrounding crowd, with the same shock as they did her. “The f-first, employee deora sso dedicated, they born from brod.” She said with a wide gesture, then supporting Met again, who mimicked the motion of her arms. “Tah-dhawh, bitches.” They muttered.
Another wave of cheers and laughter roused the bakery.
Cofn allowed herself a sigh of relief, until her gaze caught the lens of the camera. The eye, through which all bore witnesses.