Post by Sadie on Oct 28, 2009 23:13:48 GMT -5
A response to the word "cupcakes." I hope you think I did your word justice!
--
When Kuki came to greet him at the door, Wally was convinced that he was seeing a ghost.
Upon closer inspection, he was able to ascertain that it was not the ghost of a girlfriend past, it was Kuki, beaming at him underneath a layer of flour. It was spotted on her body in patches, primarily covering her face and hands and hair. But her smile suggested that she did not even know it was there, and if she did, she didn’t even mind it.
“Someone’s been busy,” Wally commented, lightly brushing his lips onto hers and picking up some flour meanwhile. His slid the back of his hand over his mouth to remove the traces of flour and then lifted his head to let his nose take in the scent in the air. Immediately, a grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Whatever you’re cooking, it smells good.”
“Cupcakes!” Kuki slid her lithe fingers into his and began to pull him toward the kitchen – for what purpose, he had no idea. But the kitchen looked worse than she did – the innards of slaughtered eggs spewed onto the countertops, patches of scattered flour, dripping vegetable oil that fell to the ground and shattered. And finally, the oven, radiating warmth and that alluring smell that he had come to love.
Kuki creaked open the over door and peeked in at them, wrinkling her nose at something that was apparently not right. Her tongue clicked slightly as she stood, dusted off a splatter of flour that made no difference in the multitude of areas that she had left, and turned to face Wally with an entreating smile.
A smile that, no matter how sweet, usually meant bad news.
“I forgot to buy the frosting,” she started, wincing guiltily at her obvious mistake. “I need to run and go get some. You’ll watch the cupcakes, right?” Her imploring eyes glittered in the dim light of the kitchen, violet depths radiating a pleading for the good of her fluffy treats. “Please?”
“Yeah, sure.” Wally could care less, as long as he got some of the treats in the end. He didn’t know what it was that made her baking so good, but it probably had something to do with the Asian magic that he was convinced that she possessed. Anything to get those delights out of the oven sooner, he would agree to.
With a quick “Thanks, Wally,” she was out the door and in the car, flying down the driveway in a mad dash to get to her frosting. Wally checked the timer on the stove and shrugged. There were still a few more minutes before they would have to come out. Lazily, he wandered into the living room, flopping onto the couch and flipping through the channels of their old television set.
The bright screen flickered as his search for a good channel showed to be in vain. There were cute, romance-y movies that Kuki would have liked, and a few games of golf that were going on. But the sad lack of wrestling and of football was disappointing, and Wally sighed, leaning back into the comfortable cushions of their old couch and letting their soft sides engulf him.
The next thing he knew, there was an alarm blaring, and the air around was thick with the scent of smoke. He leaped off of the couch and whirled around, trying to wake from his sleepy stupor and figure out what was going on around him. Horrified, he realized that the smell was wafting in from the kitchen, its smoky fingers curling around his throat cruelly. Fire, he though, and ran into the closet for the extinguisher.
He went into the kitchen spraying, letting the white foam invade the room and flood its insides. Soon, the very walls were dripping with the stuff, smothering the crevices and seeping into their closed areas. When there was a blanket of white spread around him, Wally stopped, and stopped to survey the ruins of the room.
After a second, he realized that there was no fire.
The smoke was curling out of the oven, and with a horror, Wally remembered the promised treats, and hastily waded through the foaming waves on the floor to turn off the oven. When he opened up the door, smoke poured out of it, floating up to choke him and smother him and sending him into a wave of thick coughs.
He tried in vain to wave the smoke away, but only succeeded in covering himself with more foam and traces of the foul smoke. It was during this endeavor that Kuki returned, cheerily skipping into the kitchen. Her smile, the full half-moon smile a moment before, dropped into a horrific cry of terror that wrenched on Wally’s guilt.
“I-I can explain!” Wally defended himself gruffly, dripping foam and trying to see through the smoke that had infiltrated his vision. “It. . . er. . . the oven exploded!”
Which didn’t quite work, seeing as the oven was still intact.
Kuki’s eyes roamed over the contents of the kitchen, taking in every foam-covered, slightly burned bit. Wally was tense, waiting for her reaction, as she lifted her gaze to the ceiling, spotted with white specks, and the floor, a puddle of foam, to his own covered self. Then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing.
Wading her way through the foam, she approached him, delighted laughter still rolling off of her lips. Her arm went around him, getting some of the messy concoction all over her shirt, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek.
“Love,” she chirped happily, with little puffs of white now dotted on her cheek, “you are never allowed near the oven again.”
--
When Kuki came to greet him at the door, Wally was convinced that he was seeing a ghost.
Upon closer inspection, he was able to ascertain that it was not the ghost of a girlfriend past, it was Kuki, beaming at him underneath a layer of flour. It was spotted on her body in patches, primarily covering her face and hands and hair. But her smile suggested that she did not even know it was there, and if she did, she didn’t even mind it.
“Someone’s been busy,” Wally commented, lightly brushing his lips onto hers and picking up some flour meanwhile. His slid the back of his hand over his mouth to remove the traces of flour and then lifted his head to let his nose take in the scent in the air. Immediately, a grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Whatever you’re cooking, it smells good.”
“Cupcakes!” Kuki slid her lithe fingers into his and began to pull him toward the kitchen – for what purpose, he had no idea. But the kitchen looked worse than she did – the innards of slaughtered eggs spewed onto the countertops, patches of scattered flour, dripping vegetable oil that fell to the ground and shattered. And finally, the oven, radiating warmth and that alluring smell that he had come to love.
Kuki creaked open the over door and peeked in at them, wrinkling her nose at something that was apparently not right. Her tongue clicked slightly as she stood, dusted off a splatter of flour that made no difference in the multitude of areas that she had left, and turned to face Wally with an entreating smile.
A smile that, no matter how sweet, usually meant bad news.
“I forgot to buy the frosting,” she started, wincing guiltily at her obvious mistake. “I need to run and go get some. You’ll watch the cupcakes, right?” Her imploring eyes glittered in the dim light of the kitchen, violet depths radiating a pleading for the good of her fluffy treats. “Please?”
“Yeah, sure.” Wally could care less, as long as he got some of the treats in the end. He didn’t know what it was that made her baking so good, but it probably had something to do with the Asian magic that he was convinced that she possessed. Anything to get those delights out of the oven sooner, he would agree to.
With a quick “Thanks, Wally,” she was out the door and in the car, flying down the driveway in a mad dash to get to her frosting. Wally checked the timer on the stove and shrugged. There were still a few more minutes before they would have to come out. Lazily, he wandered into the living room, flopping onto the couch and flipping through the channels of their old television set.
The bright screen flickered as his search for a good channel showed to be in vain. There were cute, romance-y movies that Kuki would have liked, and a few games of golf that were going on. But the sad lack of wrestling and of football was disappointing, and Wally sighed, leaning back into the comfortable cushions of their old couch and letting their soft sides engulf him.
The next thing he knew, there was an alarm blaring, and the air around was thick with the scent of smoke. He leaped off of the couch and whirled around, trying to wake from his sleepy stupor and figure out what was going on around him. Horrified, he realized that the smell was wafting in from the kitchen, its smoky fingers curling around his throat cruelly. Fire, he though, and ran into the closet for the extinguisher.
He went into the kitchen spraying, letting the white foam invade the room and flood its insides. Soon, the very walls were dripping with the stuff, smothering the crevices and seeping into their closed areas. When there was a blanket of white spread around him, Wally stopped, and stopped to survey the ruins of the room.
After a second, he realized that there was no fire.
The smoke was curling out of the oven, and with a horror, Wally remembered the promised treats, and hastily waded through the foaming waves on the floor to turn off the oven. When he opened up the door, smoke poured out of it, floating up to choke him and smother him and sending him into a wave of thick coughs.
He tried in vain to wave the smoke away, but only succeeded in covering himself with more foam and traces of the foul smoke. It was during this endeavor that Kuki returned, cheerily skipping into the kitchen. Her smile, the full half-moon smile a moment before, dropped into a horrific cry of terror that wrenched on Wally’s guilt.
“I-I can explain!” Wally defended himself gruffly, dripping foam and trying to see through the smoke that had infiltrated his vision. “It. . . er. . . the oven exploded!”
Which didn’t quite work, seeing as the oven was still intact.
Kuki’s eyes roamed over the contents of the kitchen, taking in every foam-covered, slightly burned bit. Wally was tense, waiting for her reaction, as she lifted her gaze to the ceiling, spotted with white specks, and the floor, a puddle of foam, to his own covered self. Then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing.
Wading her way through the foam, she approached him, delighted laughter still rolling off of her lips. Her arm went around him, getting some of the messy concoction all over her shirt, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek.
“Love,” she chirped happily, with little puffs of white now dotted on her cheek, “you are never allowed near the oven again.”
