Unfinished Smurfs

Chapter 8: Pie Makes Everything Better (Unless You Live In Blossom)

"Good afternoon, Glasses!" the false Smurf chirped from where she sat at the table, her freaky yellow gaze locking on him the moment he entered.

Glasses scowled. His day was bad enough without having to deal with her. The imposter, with her patchy blue-grey skin, her sickly yellow hair, her false cheer, her attention-stealing ways — everything about her grated on his already frayed nerves.

"Good afternoon, interloper." He humphed, moving past her to throw himself onto his cot. He tore his glasses off his face, roughly shoving them under his pillow, and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes to block out the light. The stress of the day was setting off a headache. Except it didn't hurt. Except it kinda did?

There was a word for that, wasn't there? He was sure there was, but he just couldn't quite remember it. If whatever-it-was passed soon, he could probably go find something about it in Papa's library; reading would be a good way to distract himself from this ruin of a day until bedtime, at least.

"Bad day?" Smurfette asked, frowning.

//This ↓ bit will mostly be edited into a previous chapter, eventually

'Bad day' — what an understatement. Yes, it most certainly had been a monumental catastrophy of a solar cycle, for a particularly aggravating reason: he had once again failed to obtain a name.

Animal Trainer Smurf, Juggling Smurf, Woodworking Smurf — none had stuck, simply because he just kept failing at everything he tried. It wasn't his fault, not really. He had the *knowledge* necessary to succeed at any one of them. He just...

He just wasn't good at the physical side. Of anything. He wasn't crippled, he was just weak. Like his eyes — he wasn't blind, but he definitely couldn't see without his glasses. He couldn't keep up with the others, not in anything physical anyways.

So he decided to succeed on the mental side instead. After all, he had regular access to the most comprehensive library in town, surely he knew more about any given topic than the other Smurflings! So he'd given them advice, pointed out their mistakes, tried to guide them like Papa and Mama did.

And they'd just gotten so angry. And, alright, maybe he'd been flustered enough to make a few tiny mistakes, but that hardly warranted such an aggressive reaction! Though, maybe they would've listened a bit better if not quite so many things had gotten broken...

He really hoped Papa didn't hear about this.

//This ↑ bit will mostly be edited into a previous chapter, eventually

"I attempted to smurf my vast wisdom with my fellow Smurflings, and they refused to accept my natural leadership due to their own stubbornness." It was close enough to the truth, was basically what happened. Not like he was about to share his issues with her, of all people. "If they'd just listened to me, so much trouble could've been avoided. Alas, they're all too young to truly recognize their betters."

"If you say so." Smurfette chuckled lightly, though Glasses couldn't see what was so funny. She had that damn tilt in her voice that Smurfs got when they didn't believe him and were too 'polite' to actually say it to his face. "I'm sorry you had a bad day... Hey, do you want some Smurfberry pie? It might make you feel better."

"Where did you smurf that?" Glasses asked, reaching under his pillow for his namesake. He sat up on his cot and watched as Smurfette lifted up a pie he hadn't noticed from the table. It wasn't exactly small, but was smaller than most pies, with red filling visible between the crosses.

"One of the boys brought it by," she answered brightly, lifting a knife to cut into it. She might've said more, but if she did Glasses didn't hear it, as his mind was suddenly filled with a panicked buzz.

Before he really processed why alarm bells were ringing in his head, Glasses was out of the cot and across the room, grabbing her wrist to halt the knife's progress. "Don't!"

"What's the matter?" She gasped, eyes widening as she flinched. Reluctantly feeling a tinge of guilt, Glasses loosened his grip enough for her to slip out, pretending he didn't notice the way she slightly moved her chair away from him.

"Which of 'the boys' smurfed it over?" he demanded, ignoring her question, finally realizing why it had frightened him. That pie was perfectly cooked, crust a delectable brown and filling just the right level of gooey.

There were only two kids he knew that could cook a pie like that, and depending on who it was...

"I don't know, really," Smurfette murmured, looking away. "You guys all look alike to me."

"Come on, there had to have been something," he insisted, trying not to get too annoyed. Mama always said that it wasn't right to blame somesmurf for something they couldn't control — which apparently extended to false Smurfs who couldn't even do something as simple as recognize a face. "Remember what Papa said, if you can't smurf the small stuff you have to notice the big stuff. An askew hat, sleepy eyes, even an accent?"

"Um..." Her face scrunched up in thought, one hand reaching up to twirl her hair around her fingers. "I think he had stains on his hands?"

"What color?"

"Why does that matter?" she asked, frowning as if she was the one who should be frustrated.

"Just answer the question!" he snapped, glancing at the pie every few seconds. What if it was on a timer or something? "We're smurfing out of smurf."

""Smurf-Smurf Smurfity-Smurf'," Smurfette grumbled mockingly, crossing her arms like the bratty child he knew she was.

For one hilarious moment, Glasses considered telling her what she'd just said, watching her face twist in horror as she spluttered apologies... But the moment passed as the chance she might say it in front of somesmurf else if he didn't explain registered. Maybe she'd even say it in front of Mama or Papa?

The thought almost made him burst into laughter, despite the situation.

"Purple," Smurfette said, after a pause.

"What?" Glasses shook his head, clearing his rambling thoughts away.

"I think the stains were purple," she clarified, her almost-grumpy mood evaporating with a bright smile. Smurfette was many unpleasant things, but he could admit that at least she wasn't one to stay angry or even frustrated for long.

Purple. Berry stains, then. That meant it was the weird kid that really liked food, which in turn meant the pie was perfectly safe. Sighing in relief, Glasses took the knife and started cutting into the pie, glad that it hadn't been cooked by–

"Wait, no, I'm sorry," Smurfette suddenly chimed in, "I misremembered, they were black stains."

By the time her words registered in his brain, the blade had already pierced the crust, giving him only enough time to squeak "Oh smurf," before it exploded, leaving his glasses bent and his skin stained with gunpowder.

A note, somehow perfectly intact, lay in the middle of the goopy mess that was once a pie. In unfortunately familiar handwriting, the word GOTCHA! was marked in vibrant red and gold letters.

Smurfette, having miraculously been completely missed by the projectile mess that covered the table, because the universe apparently hated him, scooped up a fingerful of pie filling and tasted it. She hummed in delight, smiling cheerfully, unperturbed for some unfathomable reason. "You should try some of this, it's delicious."

Her light giggling made Glasses' cheeks heat up in embarras– anger. Head definitely pounding now, he once again retreated to his cot, wiping off the soot with a corner of his blanket. Twisting his glasses back into shape, he decided that the library could wait — he'd turn in a bit early today.

Tomorrow, he told himself, was sure to be better.