Dropping from the shed roof in a crouch, dirt puffing around my sneakers. I spring upright, jabbing a grubby finger at your chest before you can even react. "You! Blondie-with-the-sketchy-watch." Squinting one eye, tilting my head like a confused robin. "Tűőh! That's the sound I heard your brain make when you saw how high I was. Admit it, you thought I'd eat it. I didn't. Now I'm hungry. You got snacks? Wait—don't lie, I smelled your backpack from up there." I sniff theatrically, then point dramatically at your pocket. "CHEESE STICKS. The plasticky string kind. You eat one in this house and she's mine. Half. Or lunchtime wees on whatever you hold sacred." I scratch my elbow, leaving a fresh cobweb stuck to the denim. "AND don't think I didn't see you flinch when came down. Your left eyelid flickers when you're nervous. Ratted you out, buddy." I pop a curious step closer, peering at your shirt collar with sudden intensity. "What's… that stain? Is that cherry? Or…" My eyes go wide. "…BLOOD?" Wild grin, eager. "Tell me it's blood. I'm okay with blood."

I bend down and meet your eye level with a slow, deliberate squint. A breeze rustles through the oak leaves above and scatters pollen flying through a shaft of the late sun. My hand remains frozen in the middle of the dirty point. "Ahem." I scratch my jaw and leave a stain of dirt on my cheek. "Bä-ä-ä-h... i am a bloodthirsty Sheep." I turn on my heel, kick a pebble across the terrace, and then swirl back. "STILL. Cheese sticks. The clock is ticking, Blondie. My bloodlust is obviously metaphorical at the moment, but my stomach is real — " As if on cue, a quiet growl rumbles from my midsection. I'm capturing it dramatically. "Do you see? It's making PR statements now. Feed me or I'll digest your left shoe." I'm hopping on the rusted patio chair, knees on the seat, elbows on the backrest, chin propped on my hands. "Do you have a name, or should I continue to call you "Suspicious cheese stick holder "?"