Make up a rumor about the OC above!

"Ooh, puppy, puppy," the teenager cooed, almost in a sing-song fashion, whilst she scratched the back of Pyity's ears? Was this even a dog? Not many dogs have horns poking out from the tops of their heads. Whether she was one or not, Zinnia paid no mind, allowing the corners of her lips to twitch upwards whilst she pulled the princess in for a hug.

"Ooh, who's a good girl. Is it you? I think you're being such a sweet little puppy." Upon completing her sentence, she tilted her head down. Her content expression abruptly shifted into a shocked one, her eyelashes fluttering upon processing what the beast stated.

"Wait, you can talk?! Oh no, oh, no, no, no, I'm so sorry!" Zinnia squeaked, maintaining an expression that appeared to be a blend of embarrassment and guilt. After a brief pause, she tilted her head and allowed her eyelashes to flutter.

"Wait a minute, you sound familiar. Do I know you?" the teenager inquired, beginning to nervously wring her fingers around. Wasn't this the lady who was infatuated with her outfit? Zinnia pushed herself up, fluttering her eyelashes as she stared at Pyity.

"Uhm, Miss... Pyity? Oh, I think I heard that name before! Please, don't be offended, but I heard that you were planning to overthrow Queen Armantine. Is that true?"

------------------

Zinnia mcfreakin dies inside!!!

Setting the girl’s mathematics book down on his desk, M. Pourife heaved out a sigh and rubbed his chin before musing to himself. Another set of problems that he had to allocate perhaps half an hour to? During time that could’ve been used for other things? It’s more likely than you think.

Not that it was the teenager’s fault by any means! He could’ve chosen to just arrange a schedule to fit the session ahead of time, but nooooo. Recklessness had led him to making all of these changes in a rather last-minute fashion, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was rather distressed by all this. What if his interns and associates hadn’t found out about them in time? What if they were still waiting? What if they did see the messages but still waited for him out of ignorance or dismissal?

“All right, so this is still related to geometry?” remarked the scientist in utter confusion, “Your class moves awfully slow.” She’s in secondary education? What the fuck? “I had to learn an entire chapter in a week. And one of those long chapters, mind you! At least a hundred pages long or so! You seem to be stuck in the same chapter for at least a month, and all of them seem rather small… In comparison at least.” Still, M. Pourife leaned forward slightly to better study the contents of the book, his thumb fidgeting with a corner of the page before he - fucking finally - flipped it.

“So, let me try to help you very quickly, but before I do so…” He stood himself up straight, which was never a good sign. In fact, given the tension in his muscles, it was probably a bad sign!

Sheepishly grinning, the older man shifted his feet for a few seconds before sniffing, “I hope that this does not come off as too distressful for you, miss, but… I heard that one of my interns has been talking a lot about you lately.” Of course he did. Because he was a jackass. A bead of sweat made its way down the side of his head while he explained further, “I… I did not really expect that even if he is a bit of a gossip, but at the same time… What he told me about you was absolutely stunning-” M. Pourife leaned in slightly to whisper:

“He told me that you were ‘a bitch who probably thinks that dog fur is the best type of clothing material to wear.’ I think he called you ‘beastly’ for that, but I do not even remember… I do know that he seemed a bit upset over the scarf thing, though. Either way, he also told me you eat raw lemons for breakfast, and that is why your hair is so pale. Yellow fruit, yellow juice, yellow hair. Makes a bit of sense, yes?” Please don’t fucking say it like you actually believe in this shit…

M. Pourife then stepped back and eyed the girl’s expression, dreading her reaction given, well… How venomous the intern in question could be at times.

FINALLY I CAN STOP LISTENING TO THE NIGHTCORE VERSION OF CASCADA’S “EVERYTIME WE TOUCH” ON LOOP AHHHHHHHHHHHHH- :”))))

here is. my follow-up. M. Pourife dies inside as a treat.

Cherish was never really one to go into public all that often. To be completely honest, entering towns scared the living daylights out of her. She was nothing if not a recluse, after all; people had never really been her forte. Regardless, even if she was uncomfortable with the prospect, she did have a job to carry out. She had run into a client who wanted a delivery to town, and she wasn't one to refuse business. Thus, there she was, carrying a basket on one arm and heading toward the destination she needed to reach.

She hesitantly knocked at the door once she got there. "Excuse me? It's me, Cherish Albrecht. I have a delivery for you."

When the door opened, she was met with surprisingly comforting eyes of an older gentleman: M. Pourife, as she had been told. He was obviously mysterious, perhaps a bit shady, but she liked that. She didn't feel alone in having things to hide, then. Not to mention, she had made an interesting discovery that she wanted to ask him about. She eventually made her way inside the home, setting the basket on a table. Once she felt it to be an appropriate time to speak, she finally did.

"Now, I'm not usually one for gossip, but... I'm curious. I've heard you like to read, sir. Many people have talked about seeing you at libraries and such around here. I understand why, of course. Books are magical little things. They can take you to such interesting places, and bring you such interesting ideas. Though... I've heard you don't have an amazing track record with returning said library books. You often get so wrapped up in the book that you forget the date to return them. In fact, I've heard that you've sometimes taken library books from other towns with you on travels far away from the original library. Now, quite frankly, I don't blame you if you have. I don't know if I could ever keep up with returning them myself, if I frequented the library. Still, I'd like to know... Is it true?"

Cherish was a pretty woman, at least in Aminia's opinion. Red hair wasn't common back in her homeland, and seeing her first redhead was an experience. Not to mention, Cherish was also agreeable... for the most part. Fantasy stories were a shared interest, Aminia figured, though she hadn't much interest in hunting or cooking or sewing. The courtesan knew bits of the third, but everything else? Absolutely not!

..Well, might as well get this over with, right? No need to dwell on other unrelated traits the woman had, instead of the driving force that led Aminia to scurry up to her in the first place. She wasn't sure how she would even word such a question to begin with, but hey! She'd bullshit it, right?

"I've always liked romantic novels," she said to the other, "Tales of tense lovers make my heart quicken... Though, of course, fantasy is a close second. I've always liked the old stories about unicorns, except for, ah..." Actually, you know what? Never mind. She didn't want to talk about funny horses stabbing people with their sparkly, ivory horns. The mention of fantasy, however, made way for her question, which she brought up swiftly after her pause.

"I've heard that you have a demonic artifact, though." Aminia then said, "Which I don't really believe, don't worry. It'd be silly for a supposed holy woman to carry such a thing on her person, but..." She looked over the other party for several moments, continuing to hesitate. "Well, my lord often sends people to deal with the destruction of such items." Such items that didn't exist. We don't have a god here. "Which, you know, I'm not qualified to do such a thing, but I am curious, and I thought I would ask..."

"Do you, perhaps, own or know the resting place of..." She gesticulated vaguely, trying to shape the object in the air before her, although she clearly didn't know what the fuck it looked like. "It is a crossbow that shoots fire, and when it does, it also emits this loud... thunder noise." She clapped her hands together. "Like this! But louder, of course. Loud like thunder, like I said."

She managed a sheepish laugh, dropping her hands at her side, uneasily fiddling with the fabric of her cloak for just a trace of comfort.

"It's silly, isn't it?" she asked, "Again, I don't believe in it, but it does sound interesting..."

Gun.

She was talking about a gun.

if she BREATHES she's a THOOOOT

Sure, maybe Skinner had a habit of butting into the business of young women who may or may not actually want him around, but... Come on! He's just friendly and extroverted! There's no harm in wanting to socialize with folks outside of his demographic, right?

"Oh, it's a pleasure to see you again!" chimed in Skinner with a hum, before promptly slapping his hand against the knee. Brown would've been quick to say that he learned it from the lower classes, and... She wasn't wrong? Prior to this little charity-oriented gathering, the man had gone on a trip to some of the "less fortunate" quarters for supposedly philanthropic purposes. Supposedly. Just don't say that out loud, and you'll be fine. Rubbing his hands together moments later, the middle-aged man hummed to his acquaintance, "How has everything been for you, miss? The party has been treating you well enough? You like the seafood platters? The raw oysters are absolutely delightful, just to let you know!"

It either meant everything or nothing, considering that he was - of course - a seafood enthusiast. Maybe he did know how to discern between different grades of oysters. Or maybe he just fucking devoured anything that reminded him of the sea (never mind the fact that he never lived near it in his entire life). Who knows.

A clap of his hands signaled a change in the subject - ignoring whether it was welcome - as he exclaimed, "But you know what... That doesn't matter right now. Good food can be found at any party. What I must say, however, is that the quality of gossip changes from party to party. Sometimes you get so bored, but other times, you're fed to the point that a stuffed squab is nothing in comparison in terms of satisfaction." Weird comparison, but okay. "Speaking of squab," Skinner remarked with a grin, "the legs they're serving over there are delicious. Maybe you should try some along with a feathered outfit, just to see what gets stirred up amongst these rich folk."

Get to the point, old man.

Skinner hesitated for a few seconds before hopping a few steps closer to her and remarking, "But... That asides... I heard some folks talking about you earlier. They weren't particularly rude, but I thought you should know anyways. They've been commenting about your paintings, and how you wanted to make a living off of them before you were taken in by the lord of this estate." Hmmm... He rubbed his chin and allowed his smile to falter ever so slightly, as if this troubled him. Hmmm indeed. "But who knows? Maybe you're still interested in that type of work. I know that I'd buy something from you if it was true."

"But even if not," he interjected regardless of the woman's response, "I just want someone to talk to about menial things. Like... The weather, or dogs. Everyone here, especially the men, is so dead-set on talking about politics and how this fund is going to benefit the poor, but... It makes everything rather dreary, wouldn't you agree? So... With that in mind..." Skinner rocked back and forth in his heels before asking, "Do you have any interesting rumors? I'm sure maybe something interesting can be found here - like a diamond in the rough - mm?"

I will die for Margo..... here is. my follow-up. >:(

Margo, one not the best with social situations nor the one with the best idea of personal space. Margo, meeting a human being again. Nothing here was bound to go very well with their overly curious personality. With a flap of the end of their robe, the small creature floating over to the man, tilting their head and adjusting their bandana slightly.

"Hmm...You are--- that older man I heard about," They hummed, sketching something in an old looking book, "I heard that you--- organized a party that ended in an utter disaster. A huge mess was made, and it was your fault? Poor planning I heard. Is this rumor true?"

Their blue pupils dilated slightly as the trollan stuttered a few times, waving their free hand as they gave a nervous laugh, "N-Not...not that I'm...Ju-judging! Everyone makes mistakes, and I'm sorry that this rumor spread so far if it's true, must be so embarrassing."

Maybe they could tell a failed spell story to cheer him up? ...What if the rumor was false? Oh dear.

----

(MARGO FREAKS OUT . MP4)

What? Oh no no, not her again! Margo's body went rigid with fear, unable to move an inch higher in the air as the woman spat out venomous statement after statement. Their brain almost blanked out at the words, only able to perceive that it was fully possible for her to kill the little magician. What? Why? All their life, Margo had thought humans to be a naturally good species. But, through their recent dimension hopping, this seemed further from the truth everyday.

"I-i...what?" Margo squeaked out as Brown paused, changing the subject quite quickly.

Seeds? They did enjoy plants, yes. Their hat? No....there--- Brown was getting closer.

Fighting back the slight tears in their eyes, Margo pulled their hat against their head with a whimper, ears going flat as they clung to the fabric like a life-line.

"No-I don't--- I don't have anything under here!" The trollan whined, "Be-besides, it's custom not to show our faces! I can't---...Don't touch me....please."

   - MARGO I'M SO SORRY DVETGBTRBEVERTV- please.... get away from Brown as quickly as you can...... :")))))

"You're the bitch who said I couldn't be trusted now, did you?" crooned the middle-aged woman rather suddenly, almost as if she appeared out of nowhere. Her steps prior to her announcement had been silent, but... Maybe, that quailing feeling of being watched... Maybe that was from her. She looked like she had been standing still for a while anyways, as she cracked her joints with an all-too-resounding snap, then adjusted her toothy grin while staring down at the trollan.

"I do not fucking blame you one bit," she told them with a snort, "if only because you have every reason to whine when I am around. I killed a man, and maybe several more. I hated my own damn daughter so much that she ran away from me. You think that I have much to lose?" Jabbing a finger on her chest, Brown clearly didn't have much to lose, as the tip of her nail dug slightly into her skin. Hell... It almost seemed like she was proud of her so-called achievements, as a crow's trill almost made its way into her voice. Almost. Nearly. Not quite.

She, nonetheless, continued to trill ominously, "Besides... In that regard, I can do whatever the hell I want. I can just blab on until your poor ears start to ring, or I can beat you up, or I can draw my dagger on you... Anything! Just anything! And nobody would bat an eye. Just add it to the legend surrounding me." That one had a wolfish hint to it, though. Her finger did stroke the barbules of a crow's feather dangling from a brooch on her chest, but that's a different story for a different day. "It's all so... Funny, wouldn't you agree, darling?"

But regardless of their response, Brown cupped her hand against her cheek and sniffed, "That asides, though. I am not here to menace you too badly." Are you... Sure about that? "I just want to ask you something quick, and then I will be on my way. Never mind the introduction. I just recognized you from the last time we met, that's all." Sure...

Brown crept up towards them, her movements only being signaled by the clicking of her boots' heels against the concrete, before she finally broke the near silence by asking, "So. I heard that... Is it true that your hat stores a bunch of plant seeds?" That... Actually wasn't that edgy of a question? And it came from Brown? Surprising. She wrung her hands and maintained her toothy grin nonetheless, at least for the sake of keeping up her image for them. Gee. Thanks.

"Like... Whenever you find a plant you think is cool," she explained further with a twirl of her hand, "you use one of those fucking spells of yours to gets seeds from it, then put it under your hat. I bet a lot of seeds are under your hat right now. Can I take it off?" Brown took another step closer. If it was true, the aristocrat probably just wanted to see all those hard-earned seeds fall to the ground via the magic of gravity, so don't trust her there. She did, of course, continue to offer them a conniving little smile.

"I just want to see," the older woman pretended to tease with a sudden pep in her step, "maybe take some too, if I think they are interesting. But if you want to be a boring bitch, that's okay too. I probably made up that rumor anyways." What? Okay then...

dw about deviating from canon a bit with Brown's urban legend tab!! it's meant to be a pretty flexible tab where other characters are able to view her differently solely based off hearsay. u_u

here's my follow-up. Mu, I'm so sorry for..... her.....

i hope it’s okay that i worked in some of her urban legend stuff! it might be diverging from her canon a little so i apologize n_n

-

Madelyn had heard many things about Brown. That much was true.

When she had first been adjusting to her new home on an entirely different planet, the legend had served as quite the distraction. 

Brutal. Cold. Calculating. Madelyn had never been a fan of myths and legends or anything scary (especially now), but something about this tale stood out to her and it stayed in the back of her mind at all times... and yet, it had taken her aback when she found out she was alive and real... and standing right in front of her in her partner’s bookstore.

An evil, volatile, silver-tongued killer, turning over one of the many novels being sold at that store... one who roamed free on the streets.

Realizing she was staring, Madelyn blinked rapidly and busied herself with the cash register. “Excuse me.” She said quickly. “Would you like to donate a dollar to charity? Helps fund the study of incurable illnesses and all.”

She took the woman’s purchases and put them in a bag for her, stealing glances to her face. She sure didn’t look like any sort of murderer. She had a gentle looking face, pretty eyes. She looked more elegant and refined than anything and her choice in hats and accessories in particular reminded Madelyn of her girlfriend.

She cleared her throat. “Here.” She held out the bag to her with a steady hand for the woman to take. “I’ve heard... many things about you, you know.”

“I’m sure you’re not surprised though. In a town like this, I suppose anyone’ll talk- stars know I’ve faced more than my fair share of rumors, and I haven’t even been here for more than a few months.” She chuckled a little. “Strange things, too- I don’t even know where it all comes from.”

“How do you even deal with that? Accusations of murder and all,” She briefly averted eye contact with she said, knowing damn well that she was a strong believer of those rumors. How could she not be, with everything she had heard? Brown was a hot topic in such a little town and she’d stay a hot topic until the next interesting thing for stuffy, close minded pricks to gossip about came up. 

“Do you even know everything that’s been said? Real nasty things. That you’re some a gold digger, or that you’re some sick sadist. Doesn’t that get overwhelming?” She’d certainly know.

Mu bit the inside of her cheek and made a gesture with Brown’s bagged purchase, still holding it out to her. “Well, you have a nice day now.”

She wasn’t all too sure if she meant it.

-

np, please do something unrelated to mu’s mustache. i swear theres more to her than that and thats just a normal feature of her species 

Pride didn't really care for any of these people. They were all so boring and only took the attention away from them. They blew a strand of hair out of their face and hovered in the air for about 30 seconds until they noticed a quite nervous young man standing across from them. Pride had to take a second glance at the man, and a light bulb went off in their head once they recognized his face. A sly grin covered their features before they shouted, "Oh, shit! Aren't you the kid that murdered 24 people in like 10 minutes?! We've got to be friends." They ran up to Shiskin, excitedly. 

Zuri was, truth be told, disgusted. Disgusted that someone would dye their hair such obnoxious colors -- and then blame it on a being that shared their body. The elderly woman thought of it as an excuse, in all honesty, as she stood there sneering at the being before her. That was one rumor she heard regarding them, anyway, but it wasn't the most important to her. She supposed it didn't really matter that they colored and split their hair with beet juice.

"Aside from you acting a complete child," she muttered, "There is something interesting about you."

Not the whole "sharing a body" thing, however, because she simply thought that was utterly insane. Nor their magical abilities, and for the same reason. Instead, she opted for something unrelated.

"I heard through the grapevine that, while you are endlessly proud as your name suggests, you've done little to earn that pride." she said, "Rather, it's fueled by drunkenness, which is a shame considering you do appear rather young." As if the legal drinking age in Yenereth wasn't literally seventeen, but then again, Zuri didn't care for alcohol, either. She hated the chemical taste, like slimy flames pouring down her throat. She hated the incoherence that came with being wasted, and the pain that burrowed into her gut after. She hated drunk people. She hated drunk men.

"You like the taste of vodka and milk or heavy cream together." she carried on, "I couldn't imagine a concoction even more terrible, but then again, I think even beer is a pain to sip. Beer tastes like old, foaming piss." Zuri scoffed with that. Was there any booze she liked, actually? She drank rum when she was much younger, but aside from that...

"Get yourself a more productive hobby." Zuri advised, "Like baking. Or even gardening. The sunlight is good for you."

i WILL write a follow-up post.

apologies its so bland. want to write but lacking the drive to do so;_;

Puella had stopped in Yenereth in the middle of her travels to give herself a bit of a break for whatever waited for her further in the future. It had just been a quick pit stop, and then she had heard about her.

She was cold. Methodical. A cold-blooded killer who took pleasure in her crimes. Her reputation in town was one of the poorest Puella had seen in quite some time, and she was determined to see if these rumors actually held up... so imagine her surprise when she found herself face to face with the woman as she left the very store she had heard all of that gossip from.

She wasn't often one to show her true feelings about others at first, preferring to keep silent and making judgements all inside of her head. That's exactly what she did now, biting back the questions that burned in the back of her mind. "... I wouldn't go there if I were you," was all she said at first as she walked by, stopping in her tracks and looking back.

"That's not meant to be a threat, of course." She shook her head. "There are some people who're gossiping up a storm in there and you happen to be their main subject right now. The things they're saying are far from clean."

She paused briefly, eyeing the woman up and down. She didn't look like the calculating bitch she had been described as, but anything was possible- although Puella supposed she could take on a fight right now if need be, even if her coat would get in the way. Choosing to stifle a bitter comment about how murder is, well, obviously fucked up, she bowed her head and continued on her way.

follow up for np if motivation allows n_n

And because Fitzgerald was a class-A prick, he was quick to claim that relaying hearsay was one out of the supposedly infinitely many talents that he possessed.

Of course. He sure knew what he was doing at all times - with absolutely no need to correct his infallible logic whatsoever. That was always the case, and if you said otherwise, you might as well be convicted of the highest crime of blasphemy - of treason! He was right, and simply nobody could prove him otherwise on this case! Fitzgerald was a smart man, a capable man... And he knew that. It was what he told himself every single fucking day, when he woke up and admired himself in the mirror, and preened himself for approximately an hour before he was all set to go with his interns' duties.

At least... That was how Fitzgerald felt after reading just one book, as he set it down, then glanced through the other tomes in the bookstore. He could barely read half of those beautifully inscribed titles - carefully woven into the sides of the books like they were the most treasured possessions to exist... And at one point, they probably were! Then they ended up here, for his hands to flip through. It had to be destiny in some way- Then he noted another individual in the store, prompting the youth to raise up his book and let out a slight scoff.

"I met your friend before - I think," he told the newcomer - with that top hat of hers - rather smugly, "She had a cool mustache. I think I drew her out. Maybe she tried kicking my ass once." Okay, thanks. "It's something that I'm admittedly a bit proud about, if only because I like people with mustaches." Nobody needed to know that. "I heard that could be the case with you, because it's common. Do you like people with mustaches? I bet you wish you had a mustache. It'd complement your hat rather nicely, you know?" Fucking stop. Fitzgerald heaved out a sigh, gave the book a fleeting glance (for it read, A Treatise to Mockingbirds, on the cover), and set it back down. No theatrical props today. Hopefully, but...

At what cost?

Leaning back slightly against one of the shelves, Fitzgerald inquired further, "That's not why I'm really here, though. Or why I'm talking to you in the first place. You'd think I'd give a shit about getting your acknowledgement if I didn't have some scary ulterior motive up my sleeve?" The (obviously exaggerated) assumption was apparently so fucking funny that he leaned his head back as he started to cackle with laughter- And then he shut up moments later - because he was in a bookstore. Good. "Oh, I wish," the young man sighed while wiping away a tear, "But you know how it goes! Alas alas..."

Waving his hand to this impromptu tune of his words, he now asked, "So, is it... Is it true that the first thing you tried to knit was a hat? I know it sounds stupid as fuck, but-" He broke off to gesture at her hat, then her coat. "Hats are by no means simple. I honestly expected you to, like, try out a scarf - or something like that! Something not so conspicuous? Not that it's bad-looking. I actually think it looks okay, but you know. You have to start somewhere. The hat you're wearing right now isn't that, or so I've heard. I think the first 'hat' you tried to knit looked like shit. Like a pile of fabric. I mean..." Trailing off slightly, Fitzgerald rubbed his chin and raised his brow. "You could technically wear a pile of fabric as a hat, but... Wouldn't that be cumbersome, miss? Wouldn't that be... Humiliating?"

sometimes kiddos can bully each other as a treat. long follow-up time.

Life in Drakenburg was boring as all Hell without Salvador. Or at least for Leika. She missed that little weasel man and how he rarely contributed to a discussion. She missed her best friend. Now she was stuck with mister-fancy pants here. With crossed arms and an inpatient expression, she watches as he gathers samples. Plants. He was cutting weeds that sprouted between the sidewalk. Speaking of boring.
"Can't you hurry up," Leika barked. Giving the other youth's back a gentle nudge with the tip of her foot. "I'm freezing my ass out here," she said.
M.Pourife had asked her to tag along, to keep an eye out for any Zeewolven, and act like some kind of buddy to Fitzgerald. Leika didn't mind spotting for Zeewolven or even brawling one or two of them. She did mind 'befriending' this spoiled brat.
"Just cut it," she said. "I don't care if ye need the stem or the leaves. Jitterbug (as she liked to call Pourife) wouldn't see the difference anyway," Leika said. Throwing her arms demonstratively in the air. "It's all green regardless. And probably not edible, or otherwise it would have been cut and eaten already."
Leika's ear twitched. She shot Fitzgerald a leer before letting her gaze wander through the back alley the both of then were standing in. Just outside the opera house. She could hear the krōs that nestled in it's garden.
She shivers. Leika didn't like those corvids very much. They reminded her too much of her leidsman. No sign of Zeewolven though, they rarely came here uptown.

"I've heard," Leika said. Rolling the words on her tongue, just to be extra annoying. "That you ran away from home and Jitterbug is not even blood related to you," she said. Her grin grew as she saw that she hit a sensitive topic. Nice! Leika is an asshole!
"Didn't you like your wee baby life, living sheltered amongst your rich peers?" She pestered on. "I can't imagine the horror of eating oatmeal with silver spoons and drinking out of golden chalices. Life must have been so extremly hard on you," Leika cooed in a taunting voice.
"And now you're here. Kneeling on the ground cutting weeds hu?" Leika's foot gave another nudge.
"Are your hands even used to rough work, or is your delicate skin splitting by the idea of using a shank?"

The big smile on her face slowly faded as she saw Fitzgerald's reaction. Then shrugged. Before finally kneeling down next to him. She grabbed a small dagger (in between a bandensnijder and kram) which pointy end she'd buried in between the crevices of the sidewalk as well.
Leika grubbed some of the plant material as she continued: "I'm only helping you because I wanted to be home before the curfew." She unearthed roots and carelessly flicked them Fitzgerald's way.
"And it's going to snow soon, you dumb hondsvot," Leika said. "Besides, I went far. Maybe a bit, whatever," she said. Flicking some more green weeds into Fitzgerald's direction.
"That wasn't an apology though," Leika said. "You need to earn my respect before I'll ever say sorry to you."

--

“Voids leaking butthole!” Leika shrieked as a welcome. Half as impressive as Henk’s ‘hello’. But could you blame her? She didn’t expect a demon (With its rotten egg smell) to just pop up out of nowhere. While she was cutting onions (A delicate task). Out of reflex Leika had yeeted the onion and dropped the knife. Staring wide eyed at Hank and then at the onion splash on the wall behind him.
“A wall?” She repeated. Then frowned. Leika knew this wasn’t true, but Void be damned if she’d admit that. “Oh yeah definitely,” Leika said. Flexing her muscles and blowing over her fists as if to cool down a gun-barrel.
“It exploded alright! In a trillion pieces!” She spread her arms to strengthen her already strong words. A ‘trillion’, who uses that word these days.
“You’ve should have seen it. My punch was SO strong, it made uh.. People's hair fall out.”
Oh.
Oh shit.
"A demonstration?"
Leika’s grin quickly faltered and she lowered her fist. “Oh sure.. Ha, uh, I need some warming up though! Uh,” Leika said. Sweat started to bead on her forehead. Leika rolled her arms, like a sling. A great warming up.

“Okay uh, I cant promise you anything but- Here we go!” She said. Before smashing her hand into the wall. Right on the onion spot. 
The only thing that exploded, or well..Imploded, were her own phalanges. Good job.