2. Tiramisu

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honey and clover

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6 egg yolks

1 cup white sugar, divided

1 pound mascarpone cheese

6 egg whites, stiffly beaten

1/4 cup heavy cream

3 tablespoons kirshwasser

1 1/4 cups strong brewed coffee, cold

25 ladyfingers

1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder

—

Misa's quick, hurried steps echoed in her ears as she crossed the street, ground watery and murky beneath her, a shallow ocean pooling beneath her feet.

She tipped the shade of her polka dot umbrella to take a look at the lugubrious tumult of clouds above her, spinning wildly like ashen strips of watercolor. She wondered how such a good day could be so dreary. Bleakness colored the city gray, bright thatches of color in the corner of sky eyes from traffic lights. The crowd thinned with their flickering images and she hastily crossed the street before the methodical plowing and stopping of cars began its dance anew.

In the shade of the veranda, she closed her umbrella and toed out the line of dripping water, fluffing out her skirts and brushing stray mud speckles off of her striped tights. Her reflection greeted her with a pleasant smile.

When she opened the door however, she was immediately swamped by an overwhelming amount of work.

Not that Amane Misa would complain, she was quite aware that work was her stability in life.

And anyway, she had more troubling matters.

She quickly excused herself from the busy interior of the bakery to huddle quietly in the back corner of the kitchen, away from the stressed chefs and towering works of edible art. The back hadn't been used in quite a while, and as such, the nearby ingredients were placed about haphazardly and the large expansion or work place was chipped by knife wounds and smeared with residual icing.

She gathered the ingredients, pulled the old recipe book from the bookshelf (none of the other cooks needed it, mainly because they knew it like the back of their hands, and Misa clearly did not) and coughed and sputtered when it spat out a generous amount of dust into her face.

She took a quick check in the mirror to make sure the dust hadn't ruined her makeup. She had another laborious shoot that afternoon, even though she'd just came from one.

As she cracked the eggs into the bowl, she reluctantly admitted that modeling was a lot harder than she had anticipated.

Misa clearly had talent, but modeling required an unfathomable amount of patience as well as a strain on the mouth. She had spent more than an house taking off the layers of making, spending a profuse amount of time rinsing product out of her hair, and a liberal usage of skincare was daily. However, the satisfaction came every morning when her advertisements were featured in OK! Girl and Full Kiss.

Her latest had included hair extensions, a black bow atop her head, and a full blue dress with a white apron. The ensemble was finished with black heels and striped stockings, a purple cat, and a mad man with a top hat. The photographer had insisted she had the perfect pair of baby blue eyes for an Alice in Wonderland shoot. Misa had been overjoyed, seeing as though fables and fairytales were some of her favorite pastimes when she was a child.

Thinking about the days she and her sister would listen quietly with their heads tucked against their pillows and stuffed bunny rabbits, their mother whispering quietly in the dim light, soft voice fabricating the most lovely of tales. Misa always thought that the girls of the stories were always beautiful, and she wanted to be just like that. It was one of the reasons she had become a model.

Of course, she certainly hadn't thought that posing with pouted lips could require so much effort.

She'd find a way to endure though, and at the moment, she had more pressing matters to attend to.

On the shelf above her, she had carefully poised a replicate bowl of buttercream on one of the shelves, in perfect sight for her elbow to carelessly swipe off. For some reason, she had the feeling that such an imprecise measurement in the precise science of baking was a bit of a tangled twist of fate, and she had a stinging feeling in the back of her head that somehow this would lead to one thing going to another, and the whole cake would go awry.

One, two, three…

And there it went, falling lifelessly with a dull wet sound into the limp mixture. She cringed as it splattered over the front of her apron, before she pulled it out with the tips of her manicured nails.

After much debate, she decided that she'd just have to go with it, and hope for the best.

While she pulled out the electric mixer, she wondered how she could have possibly made such a delectable cake with the simplest of accidents. More so, she wondered how she had attracted the attention of a kindly old man and his sweet-addicted grandson with a marginal amount of buttercream.

The man had promised to come tomorrow to pick up the cake, and she had, in return, promised to bake him another one. Misa wondered how one could eat a startling amount of cake—or desserts, in general—and not get sick. Or fat. She would personally never eat even a bit of it in fear for the sugar going to her thighs. A bit ironic, seeing as she worked in a bakery.

She turned off the mixer and flipped the page, before spraying the pan with non-stick grease.

"Mika-chan," the double doors to the kitchen swung open and the girl in question yelped and the frosting she had been painting onto the side of a cake in lacy roses sprayed over the side of the counter. Akemi watched, nonplussed, as the meek girl nervously scratched the back of her head.

"Err—yes?"

"Have you seen Misa? I told her to come in early today…but I didn't see her come in yet—

Misa snapped the oven shut, running her hands on her apron before spinning around in a spray of sunny hair before she trotted over to the front of the long kitchen.

"Akemi-chan Misa is over here!" She waved her hand, before coming to a halt in front of her rather unhappy looking boss.

"Where have you been?" She snapped.

"Eh—well I …"

Misa didn't have time to say anything else, and Akemi pulled her to the forefront of the store, which had amassed a considerable amount of people since she had last seen it. Misa sighed in exasperation as she began to methodically plow through the crowd of people and their cravings for desserts.

—

In a medium bowl beat together the egg yolks and 1/3 cup of sugar. Using a

wooden spoon stir in mascarpone cheese, beaten egg whites, cream and

kirschwasser; stir until smooth. Set aside.

—

Mister Chambord came in some hours later, taking notice of Misa's disheveled—yet still, oddly, every askew hair framed her face perfectly, and her crumpled striped socks pooling around her ankles didn't look in the least unattractive, nor was her wrinkled dress or exhausted look—appearance. While exasperated and altogether drained, the girl looked pleased.

Watari found the catalyst to her significant pride in herself when she showed him the red velvet cake.

If it tasted as good as it looked, L would certainly be quite pleased.

It was a two-tier cake (already, young master L would be infinitely delighted at the fact that it was doubled the size) with cream cheese icing, wrapped up in a silver box and plush, pink ribbon.

"I hope your grandson likes it." She smiled as she handed it over.

The elderly man's eyes were twinkling. "Oh, I'm very sure he will."

With that, Watari paid for L's cake, and tipped his hat to the young lady waving out of the parlor's front door, stepping out into the dreary afternoon.

The rain had come in waves that day, sometimes it was such a torrential downpour that cars would stop altogether, their bright red lights hazy in the misting after splash. Other times the sky seemed to lessen in it's growling, and the clouds would thin enough for beams of light to speckle the city's interior. Watari had luckily caught one of those moments, tucking the package under his arm as he exited the car and stepped into L's latest headquarters.

The hotel ceiling stretched into an oblivion of crystal chandeliers and white walls, its floor an expansion of marble, interior; an Italian Renaissance sculpture garden. The hotel staff were charming, and the cleaning quick and to the point. No doubt the three of these combined were the main reasons L had chosen such a coordinate for his latest roost, that, and its uncanny placing between three of Tokyo's best bakeries.

He found his young charge in the exact place he had last left him.

L had seated himself in the middle of a darkened room, plush stretch chairs and modern glass tables that resembled works of art were pushed against the walls, every available surface that wasn't the floor had a precarious amount of desserts and dirty dishes. The windows, which took up the entire left wall in its floor to ceiling stretch of glass, were swathed in the darkest curtains, to the point that only freckles of light painted the ground near their edges.

The man himself was huddled in his typical position, edges glowing blue in the wan spill of artificial light—actually, the only light in the entire room— from his computer. Around him, books were stacked in towers that ended with a fortitude of cupcakes, which he would pluck occasionally, or simply eat altogether when one of the books it was placed upon struck his sudden fancy.

"Ryuuzaki-sama," He knocked on the threshold to the room. "I have brought you another cake."

"That's very kind of you Watari," Answered his charge, around a scoop of rice pudding. "However…I don't recall asking you of one—

"Ah, but this is my treat." With that, he handed the box over to the surprised, but altogether curious detective.

L placed the regal box on another stack of books, between a pie and a plate full of cookies, and made no move to open it. Obviously he was intent on finishing the last of his pudding.

Instead of turning around and beginning to wash the magnanimous amount of used dishes that were making mountains on the kitchen counter and getting ready to oust him from the kitchen, he paused and tilted his head.

"And the case?"

"Finished." L popped another scoopful into his mouth.

"All of them?"

The man shook his head out, the strands coming together to make a cloud-like look. "That would be the assumption, yes."

He wondered if he should bother to inquire if he should purchase plane tickets, as was per usual when L had finished all his cases. However, the genius detective made no move to speak to him, and he decided that it would be best to at least try to make a dent in the amount of cleaning the staff would have to do when they arrived next morning.

By the time L had cleaned off most of his prior sweets and moved to the cake Watari had surprised him with, the hour was well into the morning, as his computer read and the beginnings of light under his black curtains proved.

When he finally did take a bite out of it, he was pleasantly surprised to find it exactly how he wanted it.

He examined the wrapping carefully, the same tedious and careful placing of each fold.

Most definitely where Watari had purchased the sweets from before.

He hummed as he grabbed another forkful.

How intriguing.

—

Dissolve remaining 2/3 cup sugar in coffee. Quickly, to avoid complete

saturation, dip ends of ladyfingers in coffee mixture. Place ladyfingers in a

single layer in a 9 x 13 inch glass baking dish. Spread a layer of cheese

mixture over the ladyfingers; repeat layers, ending with cheese mixture.

—

"Ah, Misa Misa-chan, hold that pose for a minute—

Seconds passed, before the young model was flocked to by a crowd of makeup artists, clambering about her with plumed brushes and puckered lips, cooing "pucker your lips like this," or "turn your head this way" to which Misa had to careen her head at odd angles and twist her lips until they hurt, scrunching her eyebrows or puffing her cheeks. They did this at timed moments in the shoot, much to the ire of the photographer, who didn't like the distractions.

At the moment, Misa was trying her hardest to be exactly what everybody wanted, which was proving to be a feet indeed as everyone seemed to want opposite things.

The photographer wanted her to arch her back and push her chest up, hands on the sofa. The magazine editor, who looked like quite a character—and not in a good way—had a pinched look on her face and was constantly arguing with the editors behind the computers where Misa's pictures were transferring from the cameras.

At the same time, the wardrobe artist would hop onto the set and fix her many skirts, and move her pose, which would irritate the photographer and then everyone would be yelling.

Not that Misa didn't enjoy working for Couture Pink. The brand was a fashion icon and girls everywhere wore their clothing. Misa wasn't particularly drawn to the style—the dresses were all long and ruffled like ball gowns, and drawn out in pastels with bouquets of flowers, with natural tones to the face and matte lips. The only polish she wore—if she wore any at all—was a dusty pink where typically she'd have black, or if she was feeling rather up to it, neon green. The style wasn't as gothic as she'd like, certainly, but the advertisement would be on the back cover of Girls Nineteen.

When it was all over, Misa sighed and slumped tiredly against the back of her dressing room, terribly worn out.

—

—

L had another handful of cases on his hands.

Of course, almost immediately were the first three eliminated. L could have deduced the murderer of Miss Takahashi almost immediately, had he taken the time to actually go over the evidence in one go, rather then spend a minute gazing sightlessly at his screen, before returning to the delicious cake.

Not to say the cake was distracting. Not in the slightest. He always found that the better the taste, the faster he'd work.

However, it was the mystery behind the flavor that kept him drawn to it.

L hadn't even had the cake for a full twenty four hours, but he had already devoured the bottom half, and was savoring the top tier with small, thoroughly chewed bites to get the full enhancement of flavor.

But, at any rate, that was neither here nor there.

Out of a total of twelve cases (none of which were even anywhere near his level…or Eraldo Coil's…or Denueve's… in fact, a typical detective fresh into the ranks could possible solve them) only one was remotely anything interesting.

Even then, all he had to do was call Wedy in to plant a couple bugs, and he'd have what he needed.

Speaking of the master of breaking and entering, the woman had left her magazines all over the table in the hotel's living room. While the blonde had never seen him personally, she did stop by occasionally at his headquarters to bother Watari or grab food. Neither of which greatly appealed to him.

With a sigh, he grabbed them from the smooth surface of the wood, and was about to trash them when he spotted the advertisement on the backside of its glossy texture.

He mused that magazines typically beheld the most attractive of women, and this one was obviously no exception.

L noted the bullets reading about an exclusive interview with uprising star Misa Misa-chan, and he supposed anyone calling themselves such an inane nickname certainly lived up to the almost doll like, pastel lips and incarnadine cheeks, would certainly go well together. Whether that was an insult or a compliment, he hadn't yet pondered fully.

Well, he had finished what he had came to Japan for, but was too lazy at the moment to look for more cases, and certainly had time to kill.

So instead of what he should be doing, which was perhaps begrudging himself all the way to bed before shutting his eyes with enough tension to hurt his muscles and sit in bed for minutes after minutes until he finally drowned in nightmares, he perched on the couch and flipped to page thirty-three.

—

Cover and refrigerate for several hours. Sprinkle with cocoa just before serving.

—

:D