"Shawshank!" Fat Amy exclaimed, shoving open the kitchen door. "What are you doing!"
Beca, with her back to the door, jumped at the sound of Amy's shout, the bag of cake mix in her fingers ripping open in her surprise. Chocolate cake powder billowed into the air in a giant brown cloud then began falling lightly to the floor like a wildly demented snowfall.
"Amy! Jesus, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" Beca spun around, a fine dusting of brown covering her face and hands. "Look at what you made me do!"
Amy tried mightily to control her laughter but couldn't. "Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"Yes," Fat Amy replied, a hand to her mouth. "I am, seriously." Then, she snorted.
"Oh, bite me!" Beca exclaimed, hitting the blonde woman square in the face with a handful of cake mix.
Amy huffed, brown powder pluming out from her lips. "Oh, no, you didn't!" she shouted.
Beca reared back with the rapidly emptying bag. "Oh, yes, I did! You want another round?"
Glancing around the kitchen, Amy suddenly grabbed an egg, pulling her hand back in imitation of Beca's threatening pose. "You really want to go there?"
"Don't you throw that egg at me!"
"Why not?" Amy asked. "Then I could just add a little milk and stick your head in an oven for an hour."
"An hour?!" Beca exclaimed. She lowered the bag and straightened. "You'd over-bake me?" she responded softly.
"Well, I don't know!" Amy snapped, lowering her egg. "How long does it take to bake a cake?"
"Well, the box says 35 to 45 minutes..."
Suddenly, Amy shook her head, dislodging more cake mix. "Wait a minute, why are you baking a cake anyway? You're not exactly Julia Childs."
"It's Julia Child , you idiot."
"How the hell would I know, I'm not Julia Child , either!"
Beca sighed and tossed the remaining mix into the sink, raising up another brown plume of dust.
"I thought I'd make a cake for Chloe's birthday since she's been working so hard and everything," she explained. "You know, for fun."
Amy snorted. "Huh, Beca, you and a kitchen do not equal fun. Fireball explosions maybe, but not fun."
"Then help me."
"What?!" Amy recoiled in horror. "Are you kidding?! No way, just because I'm the best chef in Tasmania, I quit when all those Aboriginals claimed they got food poisoning..."
Beca turned back towards the counter. "Yeah, right, whatever..." Beca suddenly spun around and advanced on the best singer in Tasmania.
"You know something? Fine, I don't need your help!"
"Fine!" Amy turned to storm out of the kitchen.
"Wait!" the brunette shouted. "Come on, Amy, give me a hand."
Amy looked at Beca for a long moment then sighed in resignation. She picked up the cake mix box, pretending to read the instructions.
"So, how do you pre-heat an oven?"
Beca sighed. "I guess it doesn't really matter now anyway, the cake mix is all over me... and you... and the kitchen."
Fat Amy scoffed at her friend. "Come on, Shawshank, you know Chloe has a cookbook around here somewhere. I'll bet there are a dozen cake recipes in it."
