The first step was to dig up the recipe he’d been saving to send the Moon Elf for a rainy day. Rather specifically, during the spring when strawberries were fresh and the little seeds he’d poked into their garden secretly grew into pretty fruiting plants that would undoubtedly taste the sweetest, and be the juiciest. Because of course they would, growing where he’d planted them. He was no green thumb, but he knew enough that he was sure he’d given them the perfect spot. It was unfortunate he had to buy some, but it couldn’t be helped, when one was in the middle of winter and no little red fruits were to be seen anywhere but greenhouses and like places. He chose the best he could find, carefully inspecting each one before purchase. No tubs of berries under a brand name, all perfectly shaped. He liked the strange ones. The ones with the fat legs, or the ones that made a butt shaped (Really, those made him snicker. How could he not buy them? They were hilarious!)
When he got back to the cottage and found it empty, he happily set to work, tugging the apron Mart used to bake in and tying it off, pulling his hair up and scrolling through his phone a few moments before finding the perfect playlist to blast while he went to prep. He read the instructions carefully, and chopped, pureed, mixed, sifted, mixed some more, then combined his ingredients into two separate round pans he’d managed to dig out. By the end he had a smear of pureed strawberry across his nose, a healthy dusting of flour on his hair from an accidental puff from the mixer, and a handprint he likely knew nothing about on the seat of his black pants where he’d brushed a hand clean long enough to scroll up the screen of his phone for the next step in the process. Once it had gone into the oven, he did a little happy dance, and washed up everything he’d used so far… Which was a lot. Best to get it out of the way, since he had to learn how to make icing.
This process was nearly as intense, really. Sugar and cream and so much whipping with a whisk. Because the recipe he’d found said to do so. When he was left with the perfect fluffy white icing, he felt rather proud! Look at him doing homebody stuff. Strawberries had been saved, and sat on the stove cooking down in sugar to make a sweet fruity drizzle. Once it had cooled some, he dipped a fingertip in, and tasted it… Perfect. The best. Honestly, it couldn’t be going better at this point! Quite uplifted, the acrobat went about the rest of his tasks with a bounce in his step. It was probably for the best that there were no neighbors here, for he also sang quite terribly, as was his habit when he was sure he was alone. Beyonce, Halsey, even a Head Automatica song or two. Who said his tastes weren’t varied? When the cake was all finished, it was a wonder to look at. Tall and covered in fluffy white icing with delicate drizzles of the strawberry reduction, and the one perfect little fruit set right in the middle, cut to look like a flower. Well, he’d tried, anyway. If strawberries were porcupines, then that was what was right there, proud and bright and sweet and dusted with just a bit of powdered sugar. He carefully set it all on a cake plate, and set the cover over it. Done!
Really, it was too bad he’d gotten mixed up somewhere in the steps. The poor thing was yet to realize… The cake itself was chewy (Chewy? What? Blech!) and didn’t taste anywhere near the sweet strawberry he would expect, but rather cardboard that had dreamed about a strawberry, once. The icing, though fluffy, could not hold up to the heat that remained in the kitchen… And everything melted into what would best be described as a crime scene.
Alas! An attempt was made.
