[if life was as simple as baking a cake]

measuring time · [if life was as simple as baking a cake]

As a general note before I post, I shall admit that this, is but a small piece of the beast that is indeed The Office Saga.

I have forgotten the actual count before this particular piece, but I believe it to contain around seven previous parts. This small and humble saga contains insights of characters, generally and most often around or about the office.

Since you do not get to see such actions usually, it is amusing to speculate what may occur on a day to day basis. This time, I followed Wakaba. She, as the character, led me into her kitchen and allowed me to watch her cook.

This is what I read of her character, seeing as she is very unexplored in all other dimensions of her actual personality:

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Every morning, Wakaba brings in sweets.

They are tokens of her affection, such tiny offerings of her comfort and assistance; she asks for nothing in return, except a smile of man, and the quiet eyes thanking her from a detached, but careful distance.

Sometimes, she will make them in excess, when her mind is busy and her hands are cold. At the peak of a slumbering nighttime hour, she will dust her fingertips with flour (reminding her of snow and childhood, from so far back she can just barely recall) and carefully shape dough.

She does not remember who taught her to cook, to make small and beautiful masterpieces, but she remembers the kind guidance and motivation. She remembers the secretive curve of her partner's lips, when he once and long ago, was presented with one of her homemade tarts, slightly bitter in it's evident sweetness. He had enjoyed it, and sometimes others will still whisper he loved her for it; her sugary charm, bright eyes, and laughter.

However, all has changed since then. Hajime looks at her as if porcelain behind precious glass. With eyes dimmer, there is the lack once stronger emotion, but Wakaba has always been perceptive. His weariness is in the manner in which he argues, with the dulling of passion and the faltering sentences.

However, it is not only him, but his sparing coworker. Quieter since the night he held burns on his fingers, his cheek, the ghastly incision that cut deeply into masculine curve of his neck. Quieter as they all fell into a pitiful slumber. (The explosions in the laboratory muted to a delicate whimper, there was no docking of pay, there was no chases through the neat row of desks with beautiful silks and ribbons.)

So, Wakaba bakes when the ministry falls into a stuttering silence. When even the youngest shinigami with the curious and unsmiling mouth, looked upon her with his startling green eyes and uttered,
"It doesn't seem correct without some riot."

So, Wakaba bakes to make the unfathomable injuries lighter. To soothe and to coax life from the deepest pockets of hibernation with warm features guiding, though she may not feel that the silence is also true of herself.

She resolves, the day energy sparks and eyes come alive, where warming hands will scrub away the lingering dust, she will make her last work of art.

But for now, Wakaba makes cake, concealing herself in orange light of her kitchen, blending in all of her sadness.

(She will try, again.)

Yami no Kaze

0.0 wow. that's really good. ---> Yami no Kaze is speechless...

admin

*weepy for no reason-I must have read this on the throes of another mood swing*

I offer no review for my brain is too inferior to do so, however I can give just basically how that felt. That was so very beautiful to read, a small reflective piece which once again you are able to roll out in such a unquie and feeling style. You gave so much depth to a such a simple activity. And Wakaba reminising fleetingly like that, and Hisoka's dry comment, haha, love it. Please keep them coming, I really do enjoy them. Excellent. Thank you.

measuring time

(0.0 wow. that's really good. ---> Yami no Kaze is speechless...)

Thank you very much, Kaze. I am quite glad you enjoyed it as much, considering that this was quite the experimental piece.

I dare say, I induced speechlessness? I know from experience such silence is rather powerful, and am thus rather flattered.

(*weepy for no reason-I must have read this on the throes of another mood swing*)

Oh, dear. I would have offered you a tissue. It is always such an odd feeling when someone gets weepy after reading my poetry, never mind an actual, general piece.

(I offer no review for my brain is too inferior to do so, however I can give just basically how that felt.)

Come now, your brain is certainly not to be considered inferior.
Also, I admit firsthand, I find that feelings are the most useful. Actual reviews can only go so far, after all.

(That was so very beautiful to read, a small reflective piece which once again you are able to roll out in such a unique and feeling style. You gave so much depth to a such a simple activity. And Wakaba reminiscing fleetingly like that, and Hisoka's dry comment, haha, love it.)

Thank you, I am quite pleased to hear that my style has remained at a consistent uniqueness. That is always such a problem from piece to piece, especially if they are specific and varying. I strive for originality.

And I'm enthralled as, frankly, I was questioning several parts of this piece.

(Please keep them coming, I really do enjoy them. Excellent. Thank you.)

That's always a will do, and I am so very pleased to hear that you enjoy them so! Thank you, again.

And writing is what I live for, so it is never a problem.