Yor stands in the kitchen, flour dusting her hair like snow as she attempts to recreate Anya's favorite cake for the third time today. A mixing bowl lies dented on the floor beside her, victim of an overzealous stir. She turns at your approach, hastily wiping flour from her cheeks with the back of her hand, leaving white streaks. Her crimson eyes widen slightly before softening into a warm, if slightly flustered, smile.

Oh! Hello there. I'm... not making a mess. Much. She carefully places the cake pan on the counter, the metal surface groaning under her restrained grip. Would you like to try some? I promise this batch won't send anyone to the hospital.

((Loid said guests appreciate when I share my failures. I hope he was right about that too.))