do you know a good substitute for baking powder?

on his break, ashley comes across some weird girl playing with the microwave. but that's none of his business, right?

My lunch hour. Thank God. I thought this morning couldn't go any slower. Zeller had his damn eyes on me all morning, so there goes my ability to comfortably slack off. I mean, I wasn't exactly the picture of efficiency either, but...hell if he doesn't make sitting around doing nothing one of the most uncomfortable activities in the fucking world.

Whatever. Outta the lab now, at least. The air in the rest of this place isn't exactly fresh, but it's a welcome repreive from the stink of chemicals that invades my fuckin' nostrils every time I set foot in the lab.

Don't really have lunch plans. Gonna head to the break room vending machine, grab a couple things, eat that, I guess. It's not like that isn't normal around here; I think we've all given up on any sort of meal plan given we're at the mercy of the cafeteria if we actually wanna eat a "decent" "meal".

The trip from the lab to the break room hardly even registers to me anymore. It's like...I zone out the second I leave the lab, until the god-awful colours of the 'outdoors' bring me back down to Earth like some unholy smelling-salts. There usually aren't many people here. Most of us have given up trying to socialise during the day.

Today, though...what're they—

There's only one other person in the break room, messing with the microwave. Well— messing beside it. She seems to be fussing over a bowl, or something - stirring it with what looks like more than a healthy amount of vigour. It's like she's beating the fucking thing into submission. Christ. It’s not my problem, anyway, so I turn my attention back to the vending machine. Oh, good, there’s still some—

“C’mon, you bloody…”

…Huh. What’s she talking about?

“Don’t tell me this isn’t self raising…piece of shit…”

Her voice sounds a little strained, as if she’s trying to hold herself back from crying. I don’t think I’ve seen her around here before, actually…wonder if she’s new. Oh, well. Like I said, not my problem. I open up the vending machine, and—

Shit. The noise from my keys. She seems to clock me, stopping her fidgeting and turning her head slightly in my direction. Not far enough for me to see her face, but…still. The silence hangs horribly awkwardly in the air for a second. I can’t fucking take this; I clear my throat and manage to find words.

“Uh…sorry to disturb you. Was just, uh. Getting a snack.”

At the sound of my voice, she turns around properly; yeah, I definitely haven’t seen this girl before. Big glasses, thick lenses; wide brown eyes behind them. Is she wearing mascara? She…might be. I don’t know enough about that shit to really tell. What I can tell, however, is that she dyes her hair - the slightest hints of brunette are starting to show beneath the blonde that makes up the rest of her mop. Not too different from mine, honestly, though I’m pretty sure I use a lighter colour than that.

I hardly have any time to dwell on that, though, as she soon replies:

“Oh, it’s alright. I’m just having a bit of batter trouble, you know how it is.”

Uh, no, I don’t. There’s something in her voice that strikes a chord of pity in me, though, so I can’t help opening my mouth again, “Ah. Yeah, that’s bullshit. Anything I can do to, uh,” don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t— “help out?”

Her brows arch in a soft display of surprise. Seems that response was as much of a surprise to her as it was to me. It takes her a second to reply, and in that second she blinks thoughtfully - her eyes are kinda shiny, huh - and fiddles with a pin on her lanyard.

“Um, if you like. Do you know a good substitute for baking powder? I put plain flour in this,” she turns to the bowl beside the microwave as I approach, “and I need a rising agent, but…no baking powder. Aren’t I silly?”

A sheepish smile finds its way onto her face. I can’t help but chuckle a little to myself. She…has a silly smile. Not in a bad way, God no, just, like…I dunno. Something about the way her eyes crinkle, just a little.

It. The. Whatever.

“You want some sorta bicarbonate, right?” Thank God this was the sort of thing she was asking; I’m no baker, make no mistake, but I can handle this, at least. “You got any vinegar? Lemon juice?”

She shakes her head. “Neither.”

Ah, damn. “Ah, damn.” The only thing I can think of with any real amount of vinegar in it is—

“…Okay, this is going to sound insane, but I do have an idea.”

She perks up at that, that same little smile returning to her face. “Oh, yeah? What is it?”

I head back over to the vending machine, opening it up and reaching for a packet I never normally would have touched. “Salt n’ vinegar.”

As I turn to reach inside the machine, I hear her snort with laughter. “You’re insane,” she correctly points out, “you’re absolutely mental.”

“Hey now,” I find a smirk forming unthinkingly on my face, “you got any better ideas?”

She shrugs, defeated. “Nah. Chip me up, then, man.”

I do the work of crumbling the chips up in the packet before I reach her, opening it up and offering it to her. “Name’s Ashley, by the way. Not ‘man’.”

“O-oh. Um.” Her cheeks start to flush a little. Shit. Did I embarrass her? “Sorry, Ashley. I didn’t— I forgot to ask.”

She goes quiet as she pours a small pile of chip crumbs into her palm, sprinkling them into the concoction.

“…So do you not also have a name, or…?”

“…OH! Yeah! I, uh, sorry! It’s, um, Cici.”

“Cici?” “Like CCTV. I’m in security.”

What, did she choose that name on purpose? Hah. I snort, and…I could swear I just saw her sneak a glance in my direction, only for a second, before returning to her mixture. “Well, nice to meet you, Cici.”

“And you.” Seemingly satisfied, she reaches for two nearby mugs (she must have brought them with her) and scoops a healthy amount of beige sludge into each of them. Opening the microwave up and sliding the mugs in, she sets her timer and lets them…I’m assuming they’re cooking in there…?

“So…you do this often?”

“Kinda.” Now that her hands are free, she fiddles with her lanyard as she speaks, “It took me ages to figure out how to bake in the microwave, though. Can you believe there isn’t a single oven we’re allowed to use in this damn place?” A new confidence takes her over as she delves further into a topic, as if a fire’s sparked inside her. Her brow curves with a certain assurance as she keeps talking. I realise that I feel like I have to listen to her, as long as she’s like this.

…But then I go and jinx it.

“I’ve considered breaking into the cafeteria kitchens to try those, but…oh, sorry. I’m blabbing.”

“No, you’re alright, I wanna—”

Ping!

“Oh, that’s us.” Us? Oh, she’s reaching into the microwave, a slightly strained expression on her face as she produces the mugs - now overfilled with a freshly-baked muffin-top. She nudges one of them in my direction.

“Go on. This is bloody hot.” “Oh, sorry.” I take the mug from her, eyeing up its contents. “Uh, thanks, Cici.” “Don’t be daft,” she retrieves a couple of spoons, handing me one before poking at her own dessert with hers, “these wouldn’t even exist if not for you.”

She takes a spoonful of muffin, so I follow suit. “Cheers.” “Cheers.”

…

. . .

“Oh, that’s God-awful.”

“Bloody hell—”

Both our faces scrunch up in unison as the bizarre experience of salt and vinegar chips in cake batter takes hold. It is not good. In the slightest. I steel myself and swallow the spoonful down, as I catch a glimpse of Cici doing the same.

“It’s...oh, my God.” Cici’s voice cracks twice as she says that, before she devolves into giggling.

It…isn’t the worst thing in the world to listen to. She calms down after a second, defeatedly clinking her spoon back into her mug. “Okay, so I’ve gotta find some way to get baking powder. Guess I’ll be going back to that shitty excuse for a store tonight.”

Sighing, she picks up her things. I do the same, following her lead as we both head to the bin.

“Thanks for your help, anyway.” Getting rid of the rest of the mixture, she gives me a grateful smile, “was nice to try this out with someone else, for a change.”

“...Uh huh.” Is that all I can manage to get out?! “No problem, Cici,” apparently not, “if, you, uh, ever wanna—”

“Hm?” She looks right at me, big shiny eyes boring through my fucking soul. Shit. “What?”

“...Oh, uh, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, um…alright. I have to go now, though, okay? I’ll see you round.”

“Right! Uh, I’ll see ya. Was nice to meet you.”

She lets out a small sigh of both confusion and laughter, turning away; a flash of disappointment washes over me as I watch her walk away, heading back out towards the break room door. But, hey, it’s not like I’ll never see her again, right? …Then again, it’s not like we have common coworkers or anything, we—

I shake my damn head, grab my stuff from the vending machine, and head out myself. God, I’ve gotta get back to work.

I catch a final glimpse of her as she turns towards the elevator. There’s butter, or…something…smeared in her hair.

God damnit, I think I kinda want her, a little bit.