((ooc: Takes place on the same day as
Stray Kat I, and is a response to
Lonely Birds.))
Cupcakes!
Calley was making cupcakes. His tongue stuck into his cheek in careful concentration as he poured the sugar into—
SLAM.
—Calley looked down into the mixing bowl, at the pile of white snow that therein lay. Huh. Err... You could never have too much sugar in a cupcake, right? Yeeeeah... The teenager stuck his hand in, and started attempting to shovel some of that pile back into its packaging. It was kind of getting mixed with the flour, a little, but—
GLARE.
His shoulders snapped together in a cringe. Mrs. Dumonde was holding her hand out. Slowly and wordlessly, he handed over the sugar. She rolled the bag back up, clipped it, and imprisoned it in the cupboards. With another hard stare his way, he might add. That part wasn’t so bad—she seemed to be giving hard stares to the countertops, appliances, and air, too. He kind of suspected that she didn’t like him—or, at least, she didn’t like the alarming amount of tiger fur he left on her thirteen-year-old daughter’s bed—but he didn’t think she liked anything right now. Idly, he wondered what had happened to get her so upset. Had one of the bottomless pit students snuck in and eaten all of tomorrow’s breakfast preparations, again? Maybe. Or maybe he shouldn’t worry about that, and just delicately tiptoe past where she was vengefully loading the dishwasher to quietly sneak the eggs and milk out of the fridge. He could ask Katrina later. For now: he was making cupcakes!
April 13, 2009. It was a good day to wait fifteen to twenty minutes for cupcakes to bake. He pre-heated the oven, and everything. And frosting! Lo, but there was frosting. Mrs. Dumonde had surrendered the kitchen with an exasperated sigh and a worried set to her eyes, so Calley didn’t need to fret about his masterpiece creation being interrupted. Or about getting yelled at for using the same knife in both the vanilla and chocolate frosting jars. Behold: cupcakes with Kat & Cat embellishment. Granted that the Kats were mostly stick figures and the cats were mostly roundish blobs, but it was the thought that counted. He tiger-stripped a few others with flourishes of his butter knife, and voila: he was ready. Tray carefully stuffed with baked goodness, Calley proudly set up the stairs to the dorms. At the top, he took a turn down the girl’s hallway. Paused outside of one welcoming door, and knocked.
It was April 13, 2009, and for the first time since he was fourteen, Calley had remembered his own birthday. He was nineteen years old. And it was awesome. Because he’d dropped a whale on his former employer, and he might stay in one place for a few consecutive months, and he actually had friends now. There was much cause for celebration, here. And look: cupcakes! He knocked again.
“Kat?” He called out, bouncing just the slightest bit on his heels. Err, nix the bouncing. Clearly, it was not befitting of a
nineteen year old. He was getting old. The bouncing, however, refused to stay nixed. One of the cupcakes vibrated dangerously close to the edge of the plate; he nudged it back in place just in time. Bounce!
Bounce, bounce!
Bounce...?
Bounce...
...Bounce.
Calley knocked again, and pushed the door open slowly. She was good about leaving the door just a little cracked, in case a certain feline wanted to push his way inside. No Kat. Huh. That was a little weird, at this time of day. Wasn’t she usually doing homework? Maybe she’d gone to practice her oboe, instead. Or was hanging out somewhere else. He could wait. Given the size of the Mansion, and given Katrina’s tendency to be invisible, that would probably be best. She’d be back soon. He sat down on the edge of her bed, cupcake tray proudly on his lap. Wait!
Wait, wait!
Wait...?
...Wait.
Hmm, he should probably do a taste test. With a nefarious glance at the door, Calley selected one of the more blob-and-line Kat & Cats, and took a bite. Paused. Stared down at the thing in his hand. Woah. That
was a lot of sugar. But not terrible. Kat could politely eat one, and then maybe they could bake a new batch together. A less how-much-
did-he-put-in batch. For now, wait!
...Wait...
...Wait.
Calley’s hand strayed back for another cupcake. And another. And another. It gave him something to do, while he waited. He probably could have baked several batches of much better cupcakes by now. Maybe he should go do that. Baby blue eyes glanced from the clock to the door. Maybe. But what if she came? Clearly, she was having a busy day. He wouldn’t want to miss her.
It was kind of uncomfortable perching on the bed—he slid down to the floor, and stretched out his stiff back before settling against the bedside. The tray shifted from his lap to his side. Right next to his hand. He stared down at the tiger-stripped tops. Tiger-stripped: pfft. More like zebra stripped. And the Kat & Cat ones—not even
he could tell what he’d been drawing. Could you even call that a drawing? He picked another up, and shoved it into his mouth whole. Chewed lumpily. Waited.
They were the worst cupcakes ever.
