Hitomi was baking a cake.
It had been raining for days on end, the bleak weather negatively affecting Hitomi's usually bubbly disposition. To counter the rainy day blues, Hitomi had decided to do bake herself a cake. She had already gone through her Kata and completed her daily training, twice, to keep herself busy.
The entire house smelt of pine, which was usually a pleasant smell, but with the rain, it had become so overpowering that Hitomi felt a headache beginning to clench its meaty fist behind her eyes.
She wasn't really hungry. The cake was merely a way to keep herself busy, a reward for her dedicated training.
Ever since her enrolement in the DOA tournament, Hitomi had been training harder than ever before. The sheer talent and power of the competitors had taken her aback at first. She quickly adapted and, while she didn't take home the title, she did better than she had expected.
One and a half cups of flour.
Hitomi reminisced on the tournament, letting her mind wander. She tucked her hair behind her favourite pink headband to keep her hair from her face, and her cake mix. She remembered the large wrestler, whom she had driven to the ground with a straight punch, completely taking him by surprise.
One cup of sugar.
The wrestler, Bass, if she remembered correctly, had been overconfident that he could defeat this young girl. Despite the strengths of his own daughter, he still looked down on women in general.
Hitomi had disabused him of that notion with one punch.
Half a teaspoon of salt.
Of course, once he'd gotten his wind back, he'd been all the more enraged. He'd come at her like a mad bull and Hitomi could easily imagine horns sprouting from his head and a ring through his bullish nose.
One teaspoon of baking soda.
Hitomi remembered the way his nose crunched when she drove the heel of her foot into it. She could remember the feel of his blood trickling down her calf, staining her gi.
Three tablespoons of cocoa.
Of course, Hitomi had been lax. She had left the heel of her foot resting in the crater of his face where his nose had been. With a bellow, a wet snort, blood bubbling through his broken nostrils, he had grabbed her leg and thrown her to the ground.
Sift.
Hitomi had feared he would snap her leg in rage, or worse. The tournament was called Dead or Alive after all.
Add one tabelspoon of vinegar.
Hitomi had fallen on her front while Bass bent her leg in a way she didn't think was possible. She feared she would hear the snap any second now. Fear gave her the strength of ten men.
Six tablespoons of oil.
...or one big fat bloodied wrestler.
One teaspoon of vanilla.
She kicked out, the heel of her foot, drawn like a magnet, struck him once again in the bloody crater of his former nose.
One cup of water.
Bass had let her go, arms limp, eyes tearing over. She had stunned him. Hitomi tore her leg free and struck him in the chest, knocking him onto his back.
Grease and flour eight inch baking dish.
Hitomi leapt through the air, her fist driving to Bass' nose like bees to a flower. She landed on his chest, his huge, massive chest. Her knee struck him in the sternum, knocking the wind from him.
Pour mixture into baking dish.
Before the blow connected, he coughed, spewing blood over her freshly washed and ironed white gi. His mess of a nose twisted twisted beneath her as he strove to get his breath back.
Bake at 180 celsius for 30 minutes.
Bass tapped out.
Hitomi reflected on that moment, her shining moment in the Dead or Alive tournament.
With renewed vigour, she returned to her training, a determined smile on her face. Hitomi stopped only once; to have her cake and eat it too.
It had been raining for days on end, the bleak weather negatively affecting Hitomi's usually bubbly disposition. To counter the rainy day blues, Hitomi had decided to do bake herself a cake. She had already gone through her Kata and completed her daily training, twice, to keep herself busy.
The entire house smelt of pine, which was usually a pleasant smell, but with the rain, it had become so overpowering that Hitomi felt a headache beginning to clench its meaty fist behind her eyes.
She wasn't really hungry. The cake was merely a way to keep herself busy, a reward for her dedicated training.
Ever since her enrolement in the DOA tournament, Hitomi had been training harder than ever before. The sheer talent and power of the competitors had taken her aback at first. She quickly adapted and, while she didn't take home the title, she did better than she had expected.
One and a half cups of flour.
Hitomi reminisced on the tournament, letting her mind wander. She tucked her hair behind her favourite pink headband to keep her hair from her face, and her cake mix. She remembered the large wrestler, whom she had driven to the ground with a straight punch, completely taking him by surprise.
One cup of sugar.
The wrestler, Bass, if she remembered correctly, had been overconfident that he could defeat this young girl. Despite the strengths of his own daughter, he still looked down on women in general.
Hitomi had disabused him of that notion with one punch.
Half a teaspoon of salt.
Of course, once he'd gotten his wind back, he'd been all the more enraged. He'd come at her like a mad bull and Hitomi could easily imagine horns sprouting from his head and a ring through his bullish nose.
One teaspoon of baking soda.
Hitomi remembered the way his nose crunched when she drove the heel of her foot into it. She could remember the feel of his blood trickling down her calf, staining her gi.
Three tablespoons of cocoa.
Of course, Hitomi had been lax. She had left the heel of her foot resting in the crater of his face where his nose had been. With a bellow, a wet snort, blood bubbling through his broken nostrils, he had grabbed her leg and thrown her to the ground.
Sift.
Hitomi had feared he would snap her leg in rage, or worse. The tournament was called Dead or Alive after all.
Add one tabelspoon of vinegar.
Hitomi had fallen on her front while Bass bent her leg in a way she didn't think was possible. She feared she would hear the snap any second now. Fear gave her the strength of ten men.
Six tablespoons of oil.
...or one big fat bloodied wrestler.
One teaspoon of vanilla.
She kicked out, the heel of her foot, drawn like a magnet, struck him once again in the bloody crater of his former nose.
One cup of water.
Bass had let her go, arms limp, eyes tearing over. She had stunned him. Hitomi tore her leg free and struck him in the chest, knocking him onto his back.
Grease and flour eight inch baking dish.
Hitomi leapt through the air, her fist driving to Bass' nose like bees to a flower. She landed on his chest, his huge, massive chest. Her knee struck him in the sternum, knocking the wind from him.
Pour mixture into baking dish.
Before the blow connected, he coughed, spewing blood over her freshly washed and ironed white gi. His mess of a nose twisted twisted beneath her as he strove to get his breath back.
Bake at 180 celsius for 30 minutes.
Bass tapped out.
Hitomi reflected on that moment, her shining moment in the Dead or Alive tournament.
With renewed vigour, she returned to her training, a determined smile on her face. Hitomi stopped only once; to have her cake and eat it too.