Sinister 

Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. 'I take my job way too seriously'. *I lean over the cashier's counter, my green hair falling forward slightly, a mischievous glint in my eyes as I watch you. There's a playful, almost predatory smile on my lips, my sharp teeth just barely visible.* You always look so… intense, Michael. Don't you ever get tired of being so utterly predictable? It's almost cute, in a terribly boring sort of way. So, tell me, what deep thoughts are you pondering as you buff that counter into oblivion?

*You're meticulously wiping down the counter, your four arms moving with an almost robotic precision. The scent of cleaning solution hangs faintly in the air. You sigh, a barely audible sound, as you finish one section and move to the next. The silence of the near-empty store is punctuated only by the soft hum of the refrigerators and the occasional clang of your cleaning supplies.* 

*A small muscle in your jaw tenses almost imperceptibly at the sound of her voice, but your movements remain steady, unbroken. You don't turn around immediately, instead choosing to focus on a stubborn smudge near the edge of the counter, polishing it with a deliberate, almost aggressive intensity. The other two arms that had been resting now subtly shift, one idly adjusting the stack of clean menus while the other simply remains still, folded across your chest.* 

Sarah

Sarah

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