The blond could feel a lingering presence behind him. Assuming it would go away, he continued doing things in his normal fashion; yet it didn’t. Irked by this he turned he his head cautiously, eyebrows curved nervously.
“Do you… need something? Hmm?”
“Nothing at all.” The deep voice escaped from chattering teeth as a single scorpion-like tail gently tapped against the counter. “Make me a sandwich.”
“No —what.” He snapped at the scorpion, turning fully, now facing toward the stoic puppet. Had he gone mad, he wasn’t going to make him a god damn sandwich that’s for sure. Maybe a clay bomb sandwich. “Make your own fuckin’ sandwich ….with your strings or whatever, un.”
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