Sugar Squad

Chapter 7 - The Snowflake Galleria

A low hiss and the smell of something scorching dragged Bel from the depths of slumber.

For a blissful second, he didn’t remember where he was. Then reality crashed down on him with the weight of a titan’s foot.

He was still crammed inside Cinnamon’s slipper. But this wasn’t the relatively bearable confinement from when he’d first fallen asleep. Cinnamon’s foot was pressing down with enough force to turn him into a human pancake.

And he wasn’t just trapped beneath her sole anymore. He was wedged between her toes.

He was specifically caught in the crevice between her big and second toes. His hair was slimy and slick with the remnants of last night’s lotion. It coated his face and neck, making everything suffocating.

It’s like being forced to live attached to a slime monster!

Through the muffled barrier, he could hear the clatter of plates as well as a high-pitched sizzle. She was cooking. She was actually up and making food while he was trapped between her toes like a forgotten piece of lint.

The sheer absurdity was so profound that he didn’t even muster the energy to scream.

Every step she took was like an earthquake. He swore he felt his ribs vibrate every time she did a little skip.

After what felt like an eternity of being jostled, squeezed and marinated in toe-sweat and lotion, the movement finally ceased.

“Wake up, Belial.” Her voice boomed down from above, muffled but clear. “Breakfast is ready.”

As if I haven’t been up for the past few minutes.

His world tilted as she lifted her foot. She wiggled her toes, and the motion sent him sliding along her slick sole until he collapsed at the slipper’s heel. Light flooded in as she yanked her foot out completely.

SNAP!

The stretching overtook him until he was back to normal size, gasping for air.

“Today’s a free day for us,” Cinnamon announced, barely glancing at him as she set a dish on the table. “You got an extra hour of sleep. Aren’t I generous?”

Between her toes… I woke up between her toes!

She finally looked back. “Wash up before you eat.”

He wanted to punch something. Instead, he dragged himself towards the bathroom, shuddering.

The bathroom counter was full of girly products. There were lotions in bottles, hair ties scattered everywhere and a hairbrush with blonde strands still tangled in it. Marshmallow’s, obviously.

Yet there was no toothbrush. He scanned the counter twice. Nothing.

His mouth tasted like he’d licked the bottom of Cinnamon’s nasty foot. Considering where he’d spent the night, it wasn’t far from the truth. And the longer the salt lingered on his taste buds, the closer he was to vomiting.

He walked back out to the main room, heading towards the kitchen, where the girls were seated.

“Where’s my toothbrush?” he asked, rubbing crust from his eyes.

Four sets of eyes blinked at him in unison.

“My brush,” he clarified, making a brushing motion with his hand. “The thing I use so my teeth don’t rot out? Ringing any bells?”

“Oh!” Marshmallow’s face lit up. “We only brush once a month, Bel. Too much brushing actually hurts our teeth.”

“Gargling with mintwash is sufficient for our daily bacterial neutralisation,” Pepper added.

Bel slapped his forehead. “So you want me to just not brush my teeth? For two months?”

“Relax.” Cinnamon grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him back towards the bathroom. She opened a drawer and pulled out an orange toothbrush. “Use mine.”

“Ew!”

“Don’t ‘ew’ me,” she scoffed, shoving it into his hand. “We have self-sanitising bristles. Cleaner than anything your human dentists have ever dreamed of, I guarantee it.”

Bel stared at the toothbrush, whimpering. It looked normal enough, but the bristles were shimmering. Combined with the thought that Cinnamon’s saliva had been all over it…

“Just use it,” she sighed.

After one of the strangest toothbrushing sessions of his life—the bristles hummed when they touched his teeth—Bel took a quick shower. He dressed in his normal clothing: his jeans and his hoodie. But though he planned to reuse the socks he entered the North Pole with, they were nowhere to be found.

He cracked open the bathroom door. “Where are my socks? The ones I came here with?”

“Laundry basket!” Cinnamon called back cheerfully. “They were getting ripe, Belial.”

“I’ll wear them dirty. It’s better than wearing nothing.”

“Too late!” Ginger sang. “Already in the pile. You’ll get ‘em back when they’re washed.”

“Fuck…” It gnawed at him, but he had no choice but to adapt to walking around this home consistently barefoot.

When he reached the kitchen, he was seated on a cushion on the floor. It was slightly better than yesterday’s arrangement but still humiliating. A bowl of unbelievably sugary cereal was placed in his lap. He tucked his feet under him immediately as he sat cross-legged.

“Adjusting to going barefoot?” Ginger asked from above.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just observing. You’ve got cute little feet, doodlebug.”

Bel tried to make his feet disappear into his jeans. Didn’t work. Effectively a captive audience, he was forced to pretend Ginger didn’t exist as he ate his breakfast. The girls’ conversation above went completely over his head.

“If we’re gonna take more high-risk missions, we gotta be certain we can get them done,” Cinnamon said. “The longer we stay inconsistent, the longer we’re gonna remain a laughingstock”

“We did technically save Mistletown from Seph,” Marshmallow said. “Not a high-risk mission, but still…”

“We saved it after we let her destroy half of it,” Pepper noted.

Bel let his gaze wander around the apartment. He noticed the old, boxy television set in the living room. It was finally on, flickering with that familiar CRT glow. And on the screen, in all her nauseating glory, was Princess Vanilla.

He gagged. This was that long animated movie about a rabbit princess with huge, “lucky” feet that Morrigan had been obsessed with for an entire year. He’d sat through it at least ten times, enduring her squeals every time the princess did her stupid “lucky foot dance”.

He interrupted the girls’ conversation. “How do you even have that movie here?”

“We’re full of surprises, aren’t we?” Ginger said, grinning down at him.

“Ginger has special tastes,” Cinnamon explained. “And a habit of hoarding souvenirs from her various vacations.”

“I dub it a cultural exchange program,” Ginger chuckled. “I bless humans with my mysterious elven presence, and in return, they bless me with their foods, their movies and their pop-punk hits.” She stuffed another waffle in her mouth.

“I like that movie there,” Marshmallow noted. “Don’t know how they make the drawings move so whimsically like that, but it’s beautiful.”

“Try it on the tenth watch,” Bel muttered.

“Eleventh, and I’m still wide-eyed when I see it,” she giggled back.

“Now we’ve got a new punishment tool,” Cinnamon chuckled, rising from her seat. “Listen. Twenty-minute tidy-up, then we’re heading to the Galeria.”

“What’s that?” Bel asked.

“It’s a centralised commercial hub for goods and services,” Pepper explained.

He linked. “You mean a mall.”

“Exactly as I said, Belial.”

A mall. A normal mall. Bel’s chest nearly exploded with relief. But he caught himself before the smile could reach his face, forcing his expression back into flat indifference.

“Woo-hoo. The mall.”

The chores came first, of course.

Ginger whizzed around the kitchen as if she’d been injected with caffeine. Rather than loading the dishwasher as a normal person would, she filled the sink with water and dipped her fingers in it.

The water immediately began to boil.

“See? This is what we call efficiency,” she announced, dumping a stack of plates into the hot water. One of them cracked under the sudden temperature change. “Oops. Casualties happen, kid.”

Meanwhile, Pepper handled the living room. She just walked to the centre of the room and stomped her foot against the floor three times.

Every dust bunny suddenly leapt into the air. They swirled together to form a grey sphere that floated towards Pepper’s outstretched palm. She cupped it in her hand and examined it before walking to the trash and dumping it in.

Over by the window, Marshmallow hummed softly to herself as she sprinkled a collection of glowing plants.

Bel stood awkwardly in the middle of the chaos. He kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, extremely conscious of how exposed they were.

“Guess you don’t need me,” he mumbled.

“Wrong!” Cinnamon’s voice made him jump. Her hands landed on his shoulders. “You get to help me with something easy, Belial.”

Every alarm in his brain went off.

She pointed towards the hallway, where a large basket sat in the corner near the bathroom door. It was overflowing with shirts, pants, towels and socks. So many socks. Striped ones, fuzzy ones—they all looked as if they’d been used to mop up dirty water. And right on the top of the pile were his socks, just as disgusting as the rest.

“Before clothes can be washed,” Cinnamon explained, “the socks need to be organised. Match each pair and roll them into a ball. Simple.”

“That’s like asking me to juggle live grenades. Forget it.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “I guess you’d rather spend the rest of the day in a cage while we’re at the mall.”

His fists clenched. He had two options: endure the dungeon of dirty socks or endure the literal dungeon while they all went out and had fun.

With a dramatic sigh, he shuffled towards the basket of doom.

Cinnamon was already hard at work, humming to herself as she fished out pairs of socks. Her tail swayed back and forth with each movement. Bel had never really looked at it before. It was long, furry and black like her hair; it was like that of a monkey.

It looks so soft…

Without thinking, he reached out and tugged it.

Cinnamon let out an ear-splitting scream. She dropped to all fours, and her ears curled inward. Every hair on her tail stood on end. She remained frozen in this position for three seconds, breathing heavily. Then, slowly, she turned her head.

“Did you just pull my tail?” she panted.

“I was…” Bel’s brain finally caught up with what he’d just done. “I was just curious.”

“Curious?” Her tail lashed back and forth. She forced herself to stand upright again. She then grabbed Bel by the ear. “If you ever touch my tail again without permission, I will make you so tiny you’ll be a mere insect sleeping between my toes. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he stammered.

“Good.” She released him, trying to fix her tail. “Socks. Organise them.”

By the time the basket was organised, Bel felt like he needed to sanitise his hands. Perhaps his entire existence. Each crusty sock made him gag.

“It wasn’t even that bad,” Cinnamon sighed. “Now go sit and wait. We’re leaving in five.”

---

The girls changed into their casual attire while Bel waited in the living room, relieved that they hadn’t forced him back into that ridiculous elf uniform. Even if he despised his lack of socks, at least he wasn’t donning a pathetic skirt.

Cinnamon emerged first, having swapped her house slippers for a pair of worn-out blue sneakers that had seen better days.

Pepper came out next, lacing up her boots with precision. She tested the tightness by stomping once, then nodded in satisfaction.

Marshmallow appeared in her usual soft flats. She did a little spin.

Then came Ginger. A sense of dread washed over Bel.

She was wearing flip-flops. Thin flip-flops with an insulting strap wedged between her toes. They were bright red to match her polish and looked like they would slip off with every step.

“Do you seriously never get cold?” he blurted out.

“It’s warm enough,” she replied with a shrug. “You humans are so fragile, always whining about temperature.”

The walk to the mall was torture. With every step she took, her flip-flops made that distinctive slap-slap-slap sound. It echoed in Bel’s skull. He tried to zone out and focus on anything else in his environment, but then he noticed the dust.

Street dust, dirt and other unknown substances accumulated on her soles. By the time they had walked three blocks, her feet looked as if she’d been running through a field barefoot.

He twitched uncontrollably.

“You look like you’re having a heart attack,” Ginger said, suddenly stopping in her tracks. She turned to face him, dangling a flip-flop off her toes. “What’s the big deal? Really? They’re just feet.”

Bel’s face went pale. He tried to look away, but the image was already burnt into his retina.

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” Cinnamon said. “Where exactly does this hatred of feet come from?”

“I’m not listening,” Bel muttered, walking faster.

“Now I need to know,” Ginger giggled. “Come on.”

“Leave him alone,” Marshmallow said gently.

Bel simply kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead and prayed that the mall would appear and put him out of his misery.

Finally it came into view. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening.

The Snowflake Galleria was enormous—easily five times larger than any shopping centre he had seen back home. But it wasn’t the mere size that had stopped him. It was the oddness of it.

The entire structure seemed to be made of crystallised ice and glass, though not in a way that would make sense. Walls curved in ways that defied gravity. Sections of the building floated above others, connected by bridges that looked like frozen waterfalls flowing upwards. The whole thing shimmered, refracting the sunlight into a million rainbows.

“So, Belial, welcome to the Snowflake Galleria!” Cinnamon spread her arms wide like she owned the place. “Biggest shopping centre in the entire district. They’ve got everything here.”

“It’s big,” he said.

“Big?” Cinnamon grabbed him. “Show some more excitement than that. You know you’ve never seen something this impressive back home. They just added a wing last month with a whole section dedicated to imported huma candies. We’ve got scarves on sale that’ll change colour just based on your mood. Been trying to get some myself, but with our recent pay dock, it seems—”

“You’re gonna ramble him to sleep,” Ginger interrupted.

“I am not rambling!” Cinnamon pouted. “I’m just excited. It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper shopping day.”

She tugged Bel by the hand. As they approached the entrance, the massive doors opened automatically; two enormous snowmen stood on either side, their stick arms reaching out to pull the doors open physically.

“Are those things alive?” Bel asked.

“That you ask so many questions shows your attentiveness,” Pepper lightly chuckled.

The main atrium was huge, with many levels spiralling up in a helix. Instead of escalators or lifts, there were glowing conveyor paths that moved elves from one shop to another in organised lines. Some moved straight across; others curved at radical angles.

Floating orbs of light drifted through the air like fireflies. The ceiling—a swirling aurora of colours—was constantly shifting and flowing.

Then there were the shops. Some looked almost normal, with clothing stores sporting mannequins in the windows. But others were completely alien. One store’s windows displayed different scenes depending on the angle from which you viewed them.

“Impressed?” Ginger asked, clearly enjoying Bel’s stunned reaction. “Yeah, we don’t really just do the whole boring rectangle building thing NYC’s known for.”

They stepped onto one of the bright conveyor belts, and Bel felt his stomach drop as it started to move. It lifted them gently to the second level.

“First thing’s first.” Cinnamon steered them off the belt and towards a shop with a sign shaped like a giant boot. But she stopped abruptly, her attention caught by something across the way.

A small kiosk selling those colour-changing scarves she’d mentioned earlier. Her eyes lit up.

“Ooh! Actually, can we…”

“Next year,” Pepper said, snapping Cinnamon’s head back towards the shop. “Don’t forget what the boy needs, as well as your reduced pay.”

“Right, right. Boots first, scarves later.”

Bel cocked his head. It was strange seeing Cinnamon act so normally. Almost childishly, in fact. She was usually so controlling and stern. But here, surrounded by all these beautiful things she couldn’t afford, she looked like any other excited kid.

Ginger suddenly crouched, grabbed Bel’s ankle and yanked his sneaker off.

“Hey!” Bel exclaimed, hopping on one leg. “Give that back!”

“Hmm.” Ginger squinted, inspecting the tongue of his shoe. “Size H, I’d say. Pretty basic for a human boy. Honestly, I was hoping for something more monstrous in scale.”

She lobbed his shoe back at him.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Just guesstimating your size.” She tossed him a peace sign as she started walking away. “Anyways, there are anklets and toe rings calling my name, and I’m not leaving empty-handed. Try not to miss me too much, doodlebug.”

Smack-smack-smack went her flip-flops as she vanished into the crowd.

“Sicko,” he groaned, shoving his foot back in his sneaker. “Why do I need new shoes?”

“You’ll need proper boots here,” Cinnamon explained, adopting her leader-like demeanour again. “The snow at the North Pole isn’t like the snow you’re used to.”

“It has greater magical saturation and lower temperatures,” Pepper clarified. “We can handle it in whichever footwear we choose. Humans we’re not so sure about.”

“But I have boots at home. Like, three thick pairs. You’re telling me that when you kidnapped me and raided my closet, you just happened to forget all of them?”

“We were in a rush,” Cinnamon mumbled. “Sorry if breaking the law of the land didn’t leave room for better packing.”

Before Bel could argue further, Marshmallow gently squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. Ginger’s not here to stare at your feet anymore.”

“We are,” Pepper stated with a smirk.

“Ugh! I’m old enough to shop for boots on my own. Just give me twenty bucks.”

“Leaving you alone is a disaster waiting to happen,” Cinnamon said.

“Maybe I like chaos.”

“You’ll like it less when you’re eating dinner straight from my sneakers tonight. Now move.”

The shop smelt like leather and peppermint mixed together. Hundreds of rows of footwear lined the walls: long, curling boots; thick slippers that allegedly “massaged your feet with every step”; even glittery sandals that hung from the ceiling like ornaments.

Bel took one look at the row of sandals near the entrance and winced. Even without anyone wearing them, his brain immediately supplied the image of Ginger’s toes wriggling through the straps.

Stop thinking about it.

As if on cue, a clerk appeared. In her hands was a strange bronze device shaped like a cross between tongs and a clamp. She pointed to a small wooden bench.

Bel’s eyes widened in horror. “Ma’am, I have a strict policy about anyone getting within two feet of my feet.”

“Sit,” Cinnamon ordered.

“Bel, she just needs to measure you properly,” Marshmallow said. “It won’t hurt.”

“Speak for yourself!”

“It’s mandatory,” Cinnamon insisted. “I trust a professional’s measurement ten times more than Ginger’s. I already told her we were bringing someone new; don’t make me look like a liar.”

Shaking, he let Marshmallow’s minimal pressure guide him onto the bench. His bare feet dangled above the floor for a moment.

The clerk knelt with a polite smile, lifting Bel’s right foot. The measuring device opened, and she carefully positioned it around Bel’s foot.

The cold metal clamped around the sides of the foot. Then a third piece pressed down on his sole. Soft spikes slowly sank in and vibrated.

A strangled sound escaped Bel. His toes curled involuntarily.

“Ticklish,” Pepper noted.

“I am not,” he shot back instantly.

“Then why is your face so red?” Cinnamon asked. “And look, you’re doing that thing where you scrunch your toes.”

“His feet are blushing too!” Marshmallow giggled, clapping her hands. “That’s so cute.”

“Can’t you guys just look away?” he pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I have never seen anyone with such dainty-looking feet be so ashamed of them,” Cinnamon said. “I bet somebody out there wants to lick the bottoms of those things, Belial.”

“What? Why would you even think that?”

“They do look pretty tasty,” Marshmallow added. “With the sweat, they’re like glazed doughnuts. Non-killer doughnuts.”

“You’re killing me right now, all of you.”

“Noted,” Pepper chuckled.

Bel covered his ears with both hands, trying to drown out the conversation. His face was burning. Meanwhile, the girls had already shifted into a debate about something else.

“The Tundra Trekker 300X,” Pepper argued, pointing at a pair of monstrous boots with soles thick enough to flatten cobblestones. “Warmest thermal rating. Perfect for him.”

“Too clunky,” Cinnamon countered, tapping a sleeker model. “It’s all about mobility, not warmth. He’s clumsy enough already without lugging tanks on his feet.”

Bel registered about half of this. The other half of his brain was chanting multiplication tables just so he wouldn’t shriek every time the clerk’s tool grazed his toes.

Seven times seven is forty-nine. Eight times eight is sixty-four. Nine times… Damn it! It tickles! No, no, no, Bel, don’t laugh! Don’t laugh!

“Almost done,” the clerk muttered softly.

When the ordeal finally ended, Bel let out a drained sigh. The clerk held up the tool and simply said, “Size F.”

“Two whole letters off, Ginger,” Cinnamon groaned to herself. Then she leaned down, pressing her nose against Bel’s. “Decision time. Which shoe do you want, Belial?”

Bel blinked dumbly at the pairs being waggled in front of his face. He pointed at random.

“Silent-Step Striders!” Cinnamon’s face lit up. “Perfect choice! These are so comfortable, and they have these noise-dampening enchantments so you won’t sound like a stomping mammoth when you walk, and—”

“Breathe,” Pepper said.

“I’m breathing! I’m just saying the boy made a smart choice.”

But Bel barely heard her. Because across the shop, near a display of sneakers, he’d spotted someone.

It was an elf girl. Maybe his age, maybe a year younger. She stood partly hidden behind a rack of colourful shoes, but her eyes were fixed directly on him.

She seemed different from the human girls he was used to. She had the same basic elf features, like pointed ears. But there was something in her expression that puzzled him. No smirking, no giggling… She just stared at him with a focus that made his skin crawl.

More alarmingly, she wasn’t looking at his face. She was staring at his feet. Her cheeks were a tad flushed.

Why is she staring at me like that?

He shut his eyes, counted to three and opened them again.

She had disappeared. His chest felt strange—too tight and loose at the same time. What the hell was that?

“Bel, you okay?” Marshmallow’s voice broke through his thoughts. She stroked his hair. “Yoo-hoo.”

“I’m fine.”

---

Twenty minutes later, Bel’s feet were encased in the Silent-Step Striders. To his shock, they felt incredibly comfortable. The interior was lined with something that felt like warm clouds, and when he took a step, there was absolutely no sound.

“Okay, this world is trippy,” he admitted.

“I’m gonna assume that’s a good thing.” Cinnamon beamed. “I know awesome boots when I see them.”

They drifted back into the glittering main atrium. Bel was still processing the boot-shopping experience: the measuring, the embarrassment and especially the mysterious girl. He gasped as Cinnamon stopped abruptly in his path.

She pressed a handful of silver coins into his palm. They weighed a ton compared to American coins.

“Hey, you said you were old enough to take care of yourself. Why don’t you prove it?”

Bel stared at the coins. “You’re serious?”

“Thirty minutes. Forty gelt.” Cinnamon patted his head. “Buy something on your own. Behave yourself, and maybe you’ll graduate from sleeping inside my slipper. You’ll earn a nice, comfy spot in my bed.”

Bel’s heart skipped. A real bed? With pillows and the ability to breathe without inhaling cinnamon-scented foot sweat?

“You’re joking.”

Pepper stepped forward, holding out her beeper. “Use my beeper for now. If you’re in trouble, press the red button. We’ll come.”

“Eventually,” Cinnamon added, reaching down to tug his cheek. “So try not to need us, okay?”

Marshmallow leaned down and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. “You can do it, Bel. We believe in you.”

And then, just like that, they stepped onto one of the glowing conveyor belts. It carried them away. Bel stood there, alone in the middle of this massive shopping centre, clutching forty gelt and a beeper.

It was surreal and terrifying.

A real bed was on the table. All he had to do was behave for thirty minutes.

He looked up at the spiralling levels of the Galleria above him. Somewhere in this glassy labyrinth wandered that mysterious elf girl.

Why do I even care? She’s just another girl. Another dirty elf. Probably just as crazy as the rest of them.

Yet even as he thought it, his heart beat faster. For reasons he couldn’t explain, part of him wanted to see if he could find her again. He took a deep breath and started walking.

Thirty minutes. Anything can happen in thirty minutes.

---

Author’s Note:
Aw, if he thinks this is the last time they’ll be touching his feet, he’s wrong. The day has still got plenty of hours to burn. Originally there was going to be a plot point about Bel having to hide his ears to blend into this world. I scrapped it because it was too convoluted to make work, especially if somebody saw him indoors (like at the girls’ apartment), where he wouldn’t need a hat.